Author: Momo Chan

It was my seventh day back in my real family’s home when I saw the confession post. [The year my parents adopted me, I knew their real daughter was in the same orphanage. But I didn’t say anything. I was terrified of being left without a family, of being at the matron’s mercy again.] [Now my parents favor me and treat her poorly. The guilt is eating me alive. How can I ever make it up to her?] In my last life, when I discovered the poster was the girl who had taken my place, I dragged my useless right leg to confront her, my mind shattering. But that same night, she buckled under the pressure and jumped from a building. My parents blamed me for her death. They screamed that I should pay with my life, that I had to die. Only my adoptive brother, Ethan, shielded me. He took me away from that house, gave me a new place to live. But he refused to find me a doctor. Instead, he tormented me daily. “You drove Lily to her death,” he would whisper. “You extinguished a bright, living soul. You will spend the rest of your life atoning for it.” In the end, swallowed by a deep depression, I followed in her footsteps. I jumped. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I first found that post. 1 The commenters thought Lily Hecht was just fishing for attention, a troll making up a story. They filled the thread with memes and sarcastic replies. She posted an update. [My parents raised me for eighteen years. They love me, they couldn’t bear to send me away. So they let me stay, as the real daughter’s younger sister.] [The first time we met, we were both five. We became best friends at the orphanage. But I was so scared her parents would recognize her and not adopt me. So one day, I convinced her to play hide-and-seek. I told her to hide and stay hidden.] [I tried to find her later, I really did, but she’d already been adopted by another family. She’s had a terrible life. Her leg is crippled, and she’s so thin, just skin and bones.] [I heard her adoptive family was awful. They beat her, neglected her. She had to drop out of middle school to fend for herself.] [And me? I grew up with every luxury. If I so much as sneezed, my parents and brother would call the family doctor. I go to the best private high school. I feel so, so sorry for her…] Last time, reading those words was what made me snap. How could I not hate her? On the first day I was brought back to the Hecht family, my mother held me and wept. My father, a man with a stern face, had red-rimmed eyes. My adoptive brother, Ethan, gently stroked my head. It should have been the start of a happy life. But then Lily appeared. She wore a beautiful dress, a diamond necklace I’d only ever seen in magazines glittering at her throat. She smelled soft and sweet, like flowers. I instinctively looked down at myself. At my right leg, shattered by my foster father. It could barely support my malnourished body. My nine-dollar thrift-store clothes carried a strange, musty odor. The black lint from the fabric was still wedged under my fingernails. Why? Why did she get to live my life? I hated Lily from that moment on. She had changed so much that I didn’t recognize her as Lulu, my friend from the orphanage. After I got lost all those years ago, a kind person had taken me there. We were always hungry, always cold. The matron was cruel, but she was always gentle with Lulu. Every time the matron took Lulu away to “play a game,” Lulu would return with a bag full of snacks. I wanted snacks too, so I asked her about the game. “It’s not fun at all,” she’d said. “It hurts, and it smells bad. If you want some of my snacks, I can share.” “But whatever you do,” she warned, “don’t let them make you clean. If you look too clean, the matron might force you to play the game.” I believed her. I spent my days covered in dirt, a little mud-caked wild thing. Then, six months later, Lulu wanted to play hide-and-seek. By the time I climbed out of the dusty cabinet, night had fallen. And she was gone, adopted by a rich family. I was happy for my friend. But she had lied to me. When that bloody truth was ripped open, in my previous life, I had attacked Lily in a frenzy. My parents and Ethan had rushed in. When they learned that Lily was the reason I had been separated from them for thirteen years, they couldn’t believe their sweet daughter could be so vicious. She just cried, apologizing over and over. “I’m so sorry, Mara. I ruined your life, I’m so sorry…” Not long after, Lily jumped to her death, right in front of me. My parents, who had been furious at her deception, broke down completely when they saw her body. My mother grabbed the collar of my shirt, her face contorted with grief. “What did Lily do wrong? She was just a scared little girl trying to escape the matron! She just wanted a mommy and daddy to protect her! Why did you have to expose her? Why did you have to kill her?” “Give me back my daughter!” And what did I do wrong? Why did I have to spend my best years as a cripple? Why did I have to dig through trash for food, wearing the same pair of shoes through all four seasons? Does dying suddenly make you the innocent one? I don’t remember how I left the Hecht house that day. All I remember is Ethan wrapping his arms around me, shielding me from my parents. His embrace was as warm as his voice. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’m here.” But his very presence in this family was because of her. They had adopted him only because Lily had wanted a big brother. 2 Ethan settled me into his apartment, gently wiping the tears from my face. “You’ll live with me from now on. Right here.” But Lily’s death became a recurring nightmare. When I woke up screaming in the night, Ethan would hold me tight, whispering softly. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m with you.” “I’ll put on a movie for you. It’ll help you take your mind off things.” But the scenes of people falling in the films only terrified me more. So Ethan switched to opera. The soaring, dramatic music frayed my nerves. The only thing that brought me a sliver of peace was clutching Ethan’s hand. I was like a castaway clinging to driftwood, desperate for something to keep me afloat. In that despair, love began to bloom. But my mental state only worsened. I tried to save myself. “Can you take me to see a therapist tomorrow?” Ethan refused. He leaned close, his voice a gentle poison in my ear. “When Lily died, her head was smashed open. Have you ever thought about how much that must have hurt?” “Do you remember? She was apologizing to you right before she died. Have you forgiven her in your dreams yet?” “Mara, you’re a murderer.” “You drove Lily to her death. You extinguished a bright, living soul. You will spend the rest of your life atoning for it.” So that was it. Ethan hadn’t saved me because he believed I was innocent. He took me in to torture me, to avenge Lily. This time, I closed the web page and pretended I had never seen it. I wouldn’t become a sinner again. I would use the Hecht family’s influence to climb as high as I could. Then I would leave this place forever and build the life I wanted. The only person I can ever truly rely on is myself. So I went downstairs and found my mother. “I want to go back to school.” 3 The day I came home, my mother had suggested I transfer to Lily’s high school. I hated her, and I was terrified of being mocked for my leg, so I’d refused. Now that I was bringing it up myself, my mother was delighted. “That’s wonderful! Lily will have company on her way to school now.” “Mara, you’ve missed a lot of classes, but your brother is a freshman in college. He can tutor you. Just ask him if you need anything.” Ethan was sitting on the sofa, watching TV. He looked up at her words. He had the same gentle expression I remembered. But I wanted nothing to do with him anymore. I shook my head. “He doesn’t need to trouble himself. I can ask my teachers.” Ethan’s gaze dropped. “Suit yourself.” “Dinner’s ready,” my father called. Lily came downstairs, too. She sat across from me, looking timid and tense. As my mother served us, she cheerfully announced I’d be starting school. Lily’s face paled slightly. “It’s great that… that sister wants to study. I’ll take care of her at school…” “Mom,” I interrupted quietly. “I can’t eat celery. I’m allergic.” I’d discovered it during one of my old jobs. I was so hungry I’d eaten a customer’s leftovers, only to break out in hives, struggling to breathe. The restaurant owner had panicked and called an ambulance. Afterward, he docked my pay for the month, claiming I’d disrupted his business. My mother froze, then quickly removed the celery from my bowl. “Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. I’ll remember from now on.” “Here, Lily, you have it. Celery is your favorite.” She didn’t just give Lily my piece. She tossed it in the trash and served Lily a fresh one, as if my food was now contaminated. Then my mother picked up a piece of fish, carefully removing the bones for her. “A bite of celery, then a bite of meat. You need your perfect balance, don’t you?” The love that should have been mine was being poured all over Lily. Lily watched me cautiously, gauging my reaction. I just shoveled the meat into my mouth. The fake beef I used to eat was soft and tasted like tofu. This was real meat, tender and savory. I was eating so fast. Suddenly, a pork rib landed in my bowl. Ethan had served it to me. “The ribs are good, too. Don’t just eat the beef.” I froze, not daring to touch it. My mind raced, wondering if there was something wrong with it. A warmth trickled from my nose. He quickly grabbed a napkin and wiped the blood away for me. I shot up from my chair, stumbling backward. The chair legs screeched against the floor. My mother looked over, and I stammered, “I’m full.” As I ran upstairs, I heard Ethan’s low voice. “Maria, Mara looks a bit flushed. Could you make her some cooling herbal tea?” That was Ethan. Always so considerate. Even when I first came back, a stranger to him, he would ask if I was settling in okay, if my clothes were warm enough. That’s why, in my past life, I never once suspected that his kindness was a mask for his hatred. But it doesn’t matter. This time, Lily won’t die. And I won’t be driven to jump from a building. The school enrollment was handled quickly. On Monday morning, I was supposed to go to school with Lily. She came to my room. 4 Lily held out an orange shopping bag. Inside was a designer backpack. I’d seen couriers deliver them to wealthy customers before. A brand called Hermès. Very expensive. “Sister, your backpack is a little small. You’ll have a lot of books in high school, it won’t fit everything. This one’s new, you can have it.” Ever since I’d returned, Lily had been finding excuses to give me expensive things. I used to think she was showing off and would always reject them coldly. Only now did I understand. It was her way of compensating me for stealing my identity. This time, I took it without a second thought, already calculating its resale value. After all, money would never betray me. Seeing that I hadn’t refused, Lily practically skipped out of my room. I slung the bag over my shoulder and headed downstairs. As I passed the living room, my mother called out to me. “Mara, do you like Hermès bags, too?” Her voice was soft, but the edge was sharp. “If you like them, Mom can buy you one. But you can’t steal…” She coughed, rephrasing. “You can’t just take Lily’s bag.” I stood frozen. “Lily gave it to me.” “That’s impossible. Lily treasures that limited-edition bag. She barely even uses it. I once joked about giving it away, and she cried her eyes out.” Just then, Lily came downstairs. Hearing our conversation, she rushed to confess. “I did give it to sister.” My mother was confused. “But don’t you love that bag?” “I…” Lily stammered, unable to bring herself to tell the real reason. Her hesitation only confirmed my mother’s suspicions. Her face hardened, believing I had bullied her precious daughter. That’s when Ethan spoke up. “It’s true, Lily did give it to her. I heard them talking upstairs.” Lily immediately latched onto the lie. “Yes, that’s right. Ethan can vouch for me.” But Ethan had been downstairs with our mother the whole time. Our mother sighed. “You two are just too soft-hearted.” “We’ll let this go for now.” And just like that, the matter was closed. I was a thief who couldn’t be proven innocent. I clenched my fists but said nothing more. My mother wouldn’t believe me anyway. They were Lily’s family. Whatever I did was wrong. There was no point in arguing. Later, I found a consignment shop and sold the bag. The wire transfer hit my account: a staggering number with six figures. More money than I could have earned in a hundred lifetimes. It was worth being called a thief. 5 School wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined. When my classmates found out about my leg, they were kind and went out of their way to help me. Because of that, Lily never approached me. She pretended not to know me. And I had no interest in starting a drama about the long-lost daughter. She sat in the front row; I sat in the back corner. We stayed out of each other’s way. That evening, I stayed late to ask a teacher a question. By the time I came out, Lily and the driver were gone. Ethan was waiting for me at the school gate. “I told them to go on ahead.” His voice was low. “Mom found out you sold the bag. She’s furious.” “Dad gets back from his business trip tonight, and he knows, too.” “When we get home, just admit you were wrong. I’ll speak up for you. They won’t be too hard on you.” I couldn’t figure Ethan out. Based on his personality, he should have been just as angry as our parents, scolding me for selling Lily’s gift. He should never have been the one to help me. Could it be? Had he been reborn, too? Ethan reached for my schoolbag, but I flinched away on instinct. “I understand. I need to buy some school supplies. You should go ahead, brother. I can get a cab home.” Without waiting for a reply, I limped away as fast as I could. It didn’t matter if he’d been reborn or not. In this life, he could protect his sister, and I would walk my own path. We would have nothing to do with each other. When I got home, the air was thick with tension. My parents were sitting grim-faced on the sofa. The orange backpack was on the coffee table in front of them. Lily sat beside them, prim and proper, though she shot me a guilty look. She clearly hadn’t intended for her gift to cause so much trouble. My mother was the first to speak. “Mara, this morning your brother and Lily lied to protect you, so I didn’t expose you for stealing. But how could you sell it?” Her voice rose. “That was Lily’s most prized possession!” “If I hadn’t seen it in a shop window and bought it back, you would have broken her heart all over again!” My father tossed a credit card onto the table. His voice was cold as ice. “This family is not so poor that we need to sell handbags for cash. If that got out, people would think we mistreat our own daughter.” “From now on, I’ll deposit your allowance onto this card. This is your only warning. But first, you will apologize to Lily.” “You were in the wrong.” I had no idea how much money was on that card. I could apologize, take the card, and let the whole thing blow over. Or I could fight, expose Lily’s real reason for giving me the bag, and reclaim my innocence. This seemed to be a question where I was doomed to lose, no matter what I chose. So. I chose…

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I was trapped by a System, forced into a mission: save the tragic hero, Keir Vance. For him, I bore two children. For him, I drowned in a five-year fog of postpartum depression. And for five years, Keir took care of me. To the outside world, we were a story of enviable devotion. The System’s voice was a constant whisper in my ear. “See? Isn’t this happiness? A husband, children… such a perfect family. Why would you ever want to go back?” On the television in my hospital room, a news report flashed across the screen: Keir Vance, spending a fortune on his new girlfriend. That supposed girlfriend was my son’s tutor. The photo showed the three of them in a tight embrace, a perfect, happy family. For the first time in years, a genuine smile touched my lips. “He seems to have found his true love,” I said softly. “Can I go home now?” The System shrieked, its voice hysterical in my mind. “I’ve had a hundred hosts, and you are the most ungrateful one I have ever seen!” “So what if his affection for Sophia has spiked to fifty-one percent? He hasn’t divorced you, has he? He hasn’t thrown you out! That means he still loves you! Are you really going to give up after everything you’ve been through?” I managed a weak, tired smile. Five years. Five years swallowed by the suffocating darkness of depression. Countless pills. Round after round of electroshock therapy. A fine web of scars crisscrossing my wrists. My only reason for living, the single thread I clung to, was the thought of returning to my own world, to my parents. I stared at the track marks from countless needles covering my arms. My voice came out as a raw rasp. “But you promised. You said I could leave when the mission was complete.” Just as the words left my lips, a small, sweet voice came from behind me. “Mommy, are you leaving?” I froze, turning my head slowly. My daughter, Mia, stood in the doorway of my room. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, but she forced a brave little smile. “If you leave… does that mean you won’t have to cry secretly every night anymore?” I crossed the room and pulled her into a fierce hug, the dam of my own tears finally breaking. She burrowed into my chest, her voice muffled. “If that’s the case, then you should go, Mommy. Mia will be a good girl. I’ll listen to Daddy and Aiden.” This was the daughter I had pushed away, a casualty of my depression. And yet, she was so perceptive, so kind. Her words were like a knife twisting in my heart. I wanted to go home, but how could I leave her? Suddenly, the door was kicked open. Sophia stormed in, her face a mask of fury. She marched up to me and slapped a newspaper across my face. “Mrs. Vance, I took pity on you. I helped you take care of Aiden because of your depression. Is this how you repay me?” The corner of the paper sliced my cheek, a sharp, stinging pain. I picked up the newspaper. The headline made my blood run cold. [VANCE MATRIARCH’S DEPRESSION OPENS DOOR FOR HOMEWRECKER TUTOR] The accompanying photo was the one of them on the Ferris wheel, locked in their family embrace. Sophia’s face was flushed with rage, but she stood tall, defiant. “As Aiden’s tutor, I have given him nothing but the best care and guidance. And you, instead of being grateful, you turn on me like this.” “It was your own flaunting that…” Before I could finish, my son, Aiden, burst into the room, his face contorted in anger. “I was the one who asked Miss Sophia what it felt like to have a mom! That’s why she hugged me!” he screamed at me. “You’re a psycho! Why don’t you just die? How did I end up with a mom like you?!” The color drained from my face. It felt as if all the strength had been ripped from my body. Mia stepped in front of me, her small face red with indignation. “Mommy’s not a psycho! She loves us so much! Miss Sophia is the bad one! She’s always pinching me when no one’s looking!” Aiden glared at his sister, his eyes vicious. “You’re lying! That crazy woman has already corrupted you!” Without another word, he lunged forward and shoved Mia hard. My heart seized as I watched her stumble backward. I threw myself forward to catch her. At that exact moment, Keir pushed the door open, his brow furrowing at the chaos in the room. His gaze landed on Sophia, and his voice dropped, turning cold. “Didn’t I tell you that you weren’t allowed to come here?” Sophia flinched but recovered instantly, plastering a gentle smile on her face. “A child’s education must be nurtured from a young age. I came to take Mia home. She’s old enough to begin professional instruction, not spend her days in a hospital watching over… a depressive.” Her words hung in the air, pointed and cruel. Keir’s eyes shifted to Mia. Mia clung to me, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to leave Mommy! Miss Sophia pinches me and hits me, and she tries to make me call her ‘Mama’!” Any hesitation on Keir’s face vanished, replaced by a cold, hard mask. “So instead of focusing on your treatment, you’re spending your energy slandering Sophia? You’ve even taught Mia to be a liar. It seems it’s past time she was away from your influence.” His words struck me like a physical blow. I clutched Mia tighter. “I didn’t…” “You’ve disappointed me, Clara. Deeply.” He turned to the nurse, his face a picture of strained patience. “Give Mrs. Vance a sedative. She needs to rest.” The needle pierced my skin, and a wave of weakness washed over me. Powerless, I watched as they took my daughter away. A moment later, the System’s voice buzzed in my head, practically seething. “This is all Sophia’s doing! She orchestrated the newspaper leak to frame you! She’s the one who brainwashed your son and abused your daughter! Now even Keir is on her side!” “Clara, stay and fight her! Fight for your husband, for your children!” I closed my eyes, my voice a dry whisper. “You leaked the story to the papers, didn’t you?” The System went silent. After a long pause, its voice returned, softer now, laced with an irresistible, soothing quality. “It doesn’t matter who did it. Just stay, Clara.” “Time is frozen in your original world. You can go back whenever you want. There’s no rush.” “You are Keir’s true love.” As it spoke, images of my parents flickered in my mind. But five years is a long time. So long that if I didn’t actively try to remember, their faces would begin to blur. A spike of panic shot through me. I spoke to the System, my voice firm. “I want to go home!” Before the System could protest, the phone a nurse had left for me began to ring. It was a video call. On the screen, my daughter’s face was beet red. She was crying, her voice choked with sobs. “Mommy, I’m so hot. I feel sick.” My heart twisted. I looked past her, at the electric heater on the wall behind her, its dial cranked up to a hundred and fifty degrees. My pupils contracted in horror. “Mommy, I can’t breathe. Daddy and Aiden went out. Miss Sophia told me to be a good girl and do my homework.” I fought down my rising panic, soothing her as best I could. The second I hung up, I ran. I didn’t even stop for shoes. I flew out of the hospital like a madwoman. The taxi hadn’t even come to a full stop when I leaped out and started pounding on the front door of our house. The door opened quickly. Sophia stood there in a pristine white dress, a look of perfect, polite confusion on her face. “Mrs. Vance? This late, you…” I shoved her aside and sprinted for my daughter’s bedroom. The door was locked. From inside, I could hear faint, shallow breaths and weak cries. “Mrs. Vance, the child is doing her homework. Barging in like this will only disrupt her concentration.” Seeing her put on this sickening act, raw fury burned through me. I raised my hand and slapped her, hard, across the face. Then I turned to the maids, who had come running at the sound. “The key!” I screamed. They just stared at each other, then looked helplessly toward Sophia. Just then, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Keir was home. He looked surprised to see me, but his gaze fell on Sophia’s red, swollen cheek, and his face instantly darkened. “Clara, what the hell are you doing?!” Sophia swayed, leaning against him, her body trembling as she put on a brave front. “Keir, I know Mrs. Vance is unwell. For five years, I have tried to be patient. I have helped raise your children.” “But it’s clear she will never be grateful. Perhaps it’s time for me to leave.” Keir looked at me, at my wild eyes and disheveled state, and rubbed the bridge of his nose in weary frustration. “Clara, I am begging you, please stop this.” “I have taken care of you for so long. I have done more than enough. Can’t you just be normal for once?” “After all these years… I can’t take it anymore.” I’m the one acting crazy? Tears streamed down my face, but my laugh was desolate. I was the one who pulled him out of the darkness. The day his company went public, he swore he would love me forever. I really thought I had found true love in this world. I had even considered choosing him over my own parents. And now, he couldn’t take it anymore. In the next second, Aiden shot out like a cannonball, slamming into me and sending me tumbling down the stairs. “How dare you hit Miss Sophia! I’ll hit you back for her!” My head cracked against the wall at the bottom of the staircase. Blood blurred my vision. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony ripping through my heart. I staggered to my feet, staring at Aiden in disbelief. The hatred and disgust in his eyes were a mirror, reflecting my shattered heart back at me. I had almost died giving birth to him. His birth was the trigger for my depression. But in my moments of clarity, I would hold him all night, my heart melting with a love so fierce it hurt. I gave him all the love I had. And for Sophia, he had just tried to kill me. And Keir… Keir just stood there. He didn’t move. My voice was a raw croak. “Mia is in there! It’s a hundred and fifty degrees! I’m begging you, just let her out!” Seeing the cold indifference on Keir’s face, I crawled to him, grabbing at the leg of his pants. “Please. My baby is in there.”

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My CEO wife watched with cold indifference as I was humiliated for three years. But even a cornered rabbit will bite, and I’m no rabbit. “I’ll beat the hell out of your precious childhood sweetheart every time I see him.” The night I asked for a divorce, she got drunk and kissed me. 1. I was dreaming. A back-alley brawl, a brick raised high in my hand. Suddenly, a searing pain exploded across my face. My eyes snapped open to a startling scene. I was in a conference room, easily over a thousand square feet, filled with more than a dozen people in sharp business suits. They were all staring at me with amusement. Standing before me was a man with slicked-back hair and a smug face, shaking out his hand. Unless I was mistaken, he had just slapped me. Before I could process it, he spoke. “Cole, sleeping in a meeting is one thing, but snoring? Evelyn is speaking. Are you trying to provide background music?” “You son of a…” I was about to let him have it when a flood of memories that weren’t mine slammed into my brain. My name is Cole Evans, husband to Evelyn Stone, the CEO of Stone Industries. We’ve been married for three years, but I’ve never even touched her. I hold a meaningless position at the company, a punching bag for anyone who feels like taking a swing. The man who hit me is Miles, the company’s Vice President and Evelyn’s childhood friend. I touched my cheek. The texture of the skin felt different. The stinging pain, however, was very real. At the head of the table, Evelyn glanced at me, a flicker of a frown on her perfect face, before her eyes returned to the documents in her hand. She was undeniably beautiful. Paired with that icy demeanor, she was the quintessential ice queen. It was no wonder the original Cole had endured three years of misery just to be near her. “Continue,” she said calmly, her voice even. It was as if me getting slapped was of no consequence to her at all. Miles smirked, poking a finger into my chest. “Next time, don’t even bother showing up to embarrass yourself…” His words were cut off by a sharp cry of pain. I had caught his jabbing finger and bent it back. Hard. Everyone in the room froze. The looks of amusement vanished, replaced by something else, something uncertain. Miles doubled over, his face turning a dark shade of purple. “Let go! You son of a bitch, let go of me!” His yelling only made me squeeze harder. I watched the sweat bead on his forehead as I spoke, my voice low and steady. “Mr. Miles, did no one ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself when you talk?” At that moment, Evelyn looked up again, her voice laced with a clear warning. “Cole!” I glanced at her, then applied more pressure. Miles dropped to his knees with a pained gasp. A collective intake of breath echoed through the room. Then I let go. As Miles scrambled to get up, I kicked his shin, sweeping his legs out from under him. 2. He collapsed to the floor in a heap. The conference room fell into a dead silence. Evelyn’s expression finally changed. Those calm, placid eyes were now burning with fury as she stared at me. I met her gaze without flinching. “Evelyn, if you can’t keep your dog on a leash, I’ll do it for you.” Miles was still on the floor, more humiliated than he’d likely ever been in his life. His usually composed face was twisted with rage. He stammered, his lips trembling, “You… you… you…” The other executives finally snapped out of their shock. They looked like they wanted to scold me, as they usually would, but seeing the feral look in my eyes, they all held their tongues. Evelyn threw her pen down on the table. “Cole. Apologize.” How laughable. My cheek was still throbbing, yet my own wife was demanding I apologize to the man who hit me. The original owner of this body must have had the patience of a saint. “Fine,” I said. I crouched down, grabbing the back of Miles’s neck. “Mr. Miles…” THUD. I slammed his forehead into the polished floor. “Sorry if I hit you too hard.” THUD. Another one. “My apologies.” THUD. The third. Three sentences, three solid cracks of his head against the ground. Miles’s eyes looked ready to shoot fire. I leaned in close to his ear. “Touch me again, and a few bumps on the head will be the least of your worries.” I stood up, brushing off my pants and ignoring Evelyn’s murderous glare as I walked out of the conference room. Once outside, I pulled out my phone. The black screen reflected an unfamiliar face. The features were delicate, almost too refined, but the complexion was pale and the eyes were listless. It was the face of a man who had been swallowing his anger for a very long time. More memories flooded in. The original Cole’s parents died young. He was adopted by Evelyn’s grandfather. Three years ago, on his deathbed, the old man forced the two of them to marry. Cole moved into Evelyn’s villa but they always slept in separate rooms. He was given the empty title of “Project Consultant,” a job with no duties other than to endure the entire company’s scorn. The receptionists would sneer at him. The cleaning lady would deliberately splash dirty water on him. And Miles found new ways to torment him almost daily. Through it all, Evelyn was a silent, cold observer. What a pathetic existence. I wondered if the poor bastard was paying for some past-life sins. I started chasing girls at three, ruled the neighborhood streets by five, was peeking into the girls’ locker room by ten, and by eighteen, I was a well-known brawler with a reputation. If it were me, I would have torn this entire company down. I checked my pockets. Nothing but the phone. I saw a few guys smoking on the terrace and walked right over, plucking a cigarette from one of their packs and sticking it in my mouth. 3. The guy was about to curse me out, but one look from me and he scurried away. I took a drag and immediately started coughing. This body was pathetically weak. In the middle of my coughing fit, the group of smokers suddenly scattered. I turned to see Evelyn standing there, her expression as frosty as ever. “When did you learn to fight?” she asked. I took another drag, blowing a smoke ring. “Just now.” “Miles is the Vice President of this company.” I stepped closer, until we were only a foot apart. “And? Does that make his slaps more valuable?” She was silent for a few seconds. “Grandfather said you weren’t to be bullied.” Coming from her, the words were a bitter irony. I smiled and blew a puff of smoke right in her face. Her expression immediately soured. “You…” I cut her off. “So what the hell have you been doing for the past three years? Stress-testing me?” Evelyn didn’t rise to the bait. She waved the smoke away from her face, her eyes falling on my cheek. “There’s a first-aid kit in my office. Go take care of that.” “Don’t need to,” I said, walking past her. “I’ll leave it as a reminder that this isn’t a place for human beings.” “Cole.” I stopped but didn’t turn around. “Don’t cause any more trouble.” I let out a short, sharp laugh and kept walking. “Tell that to Miles. And one more thing—the divorce papers will be on your desk tomorrow. It’s for the best. For both of us.” I didn’t wait to see her reaction. Relief, probably. I skipped the office and went straight to HR to request a resignation form. The young woman at the desk looked at me like she’d seen a ghost, fumbling for what felt like an eternity before pulling a form from the bottom of a drawer. “M-Mr. Evans,” she stammered, “this needs Ms. Stone’s signature…” “Then get her to sign it.” I stuffed the form in my pocket. “Put me down for a personal day. I’m leaving.” As I walked out, the two receptionists, who had been huddled over a phone, snapped to attention and went silent. It seemed my reputation was preceding me. I shot them a grin. One of them fumbled her phone, nearly dropping it. Felt good. The elevator arrived from the underground garage. Inside stood Miles, flanked by two of his yes-men from the project department. The look in Miles’s eyes was murderous. I hesitated for a second, then, instead of leaving, I stepped right into the elevator with them. The doors slid shut, and the air turned to ice. “Cole,” Miles hissed, his voice tight with rage. “This isn’t over.” I watched the floor numbers light up. “Yeah, you’re right about that.” He blinked, then sneered. “You think acting tough for a day changes anything? Evelyn is only tolerating you because of her grandfather. Once that wears off, you’re nothing.” The elevator reached the fifth floor. The doors opened to reveal a few people waiting. They took one look at the scene inside and wisely decided to wait for the next one. The doors closed again. “Mr. Miles,” I said, turning to face him. “Your ‘Star Vista Plaza’ project… the building material quotes are inflated by about thirty percent, wouldn’t you say?” The color drained from his face. “The supplier, ‘Apex Materials,’ is owned by your uncle,” I continued. “Last Wednesday night, you took him to the Gilded Canary club. Two bottles of Lafite, charged to the company’s expense account.” I paused. “Oh, right. There were two girls that night, too. Also part of the ‘entertainment,’ I presume.” The two cronies next to him had gone pale. Miles’s lips trembled. “You… What the hell are you talking about?” The elevator reached the ninth floor. I slammed my hand on the emergency stop button. With a loud groan, the elevator jolted to a halt between floors. “Are you insane?” Miles shrieked, his eyes wide with terror. I didn’t answer. I just drove my foot into his stomach. He grunted, clutching his gut as he crumpled to the floor. His two goons made a move, but I pointed a finger at them. “You move an inch, and the evidence of your kickbacks will be in the ethics committee’s inbox by morning.” They froze. I grabbed a fistful of Miles’s hair, hauling him up from the floor, and drove my knee into his stomach. He gagged, tears and snot streaming down his face. “Listen up,” I whispered, my mouth next to his ear. “I have five copies of all your dirty laundry. If you ever mess with me again, they will find their way to all the right people.” His eyes were wide with terror. I let him go, and he collapsed in a heap. “So from now on, you see me, you walk the other way. You say one more word to me, and I’ll drown you in a septic tank.” I hit the button again, and the elevator resumed its ascent. When the doors opened, a crowd of people was waiting. They all stared, mouths agape, at the scene inside. I straightened my suit, stepped over the whimpering form of Miles, and walked out. It was 9 PM when I got back to the villa. To my surprise, Evelyn was sitting on the sofa, a laptop open in front of her, though she clearly wasn’t working. This was new. In three years of marriage, we had perfected the art of avoiding each other. Me in the guest room, her in the master bedroom, our use of the common areas carefully staggered. This was the first time she had ever waited up for me. I kicked off my shoes and headed for the guest room. “Cole.” She called my name, her voice stopping me in my tracks. I turned. She closed the laptop, her gaze landing on my bruised cheek. “Did you put anything on that?” “Don’t need to. I’ll live.”

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I made twelve calls. Not a single person would lend me the money. My husband, Mark, said the company was tight on cash flow. My mother-in-law said her nest egg was untouchable. My brother-in-law, Kevin, said he’d just started his job and was broke. My mother was lying in the ICU, the ventilator rising and falling with each breath. The doctor said if I didn’t pay the deposit soon, they’d have to stop her medication. In the end, the person who lent me the money was my mom’s neighbor, an old man who collected cans and bottles to get by. Mr. Peterson spent a full twenty minutes counting out the small, crinkled bills from a plastic grocery bag. “Here you go, dear.” My hands were shaking when I took the money. For ten years, I’d handed over every paycheck, paid down their mortgage, and served their entire family, young and old. And all of it was worth less than the kindness of a man who salvaged cans for a living. This was a debt I was going to collect. Down to the very last cent. 01 “Five thousand dollars… you’ll have to ask someone else, Clara.” Mark’s voice came through the phone, edged with impatience. I stood outside the hospital’s emergency room, my legs trembling. “Mark, my mom had a brain hemorrhage. The doctor says she needs surgery immediately.” “I know, but there’s really no liquid cash in the company accounts. Try asking my mom.” He hung up. I stared at the call duration on the screen: 47 seconds. My mother’s life, to him, was worth forty-seven seconds. I had to call my mother-in-law three times before she picked up. “Clara, dear, what’s the rush?” “Mom, my mother is in the hospital. We’re short five thousand for the surgery. Could you possibly—” “Oh, heavens no. I can’t touch my nest egg. You need to make Mark figure it out. He’s your husband.” “Mark said the company has no money.” “Well then, you’d better think of something else. What kind of money do you expect an old woman like me to have?” Her tone was light, as if she were commenting on the price of lettuce at the market. My brother-in-law’s call was even quicker. “Clara, I just started working, I’m totally broke. You’re putting me in a really tough spot.” I remembered his wedding last year. Mark and I gave them a gift of five thousand dollars. I remembered when he was in college. I’d paid for half of his tuition over four years. I didn’t say anything. I just ended the call. The hallway reeked of antiseptic. A gurney rushed past, its wheels making a rhythmic rumbling sound against the linoleum floor. I sank to the floor in a corner, scrolling through my contacts again and again. There was no one left. I had asked everyone I could. A doctor emerged from the trauma unit. “Where’s the family? If the deposit isn’t paid, we can’t proceed with treatment.” I pushed myself up, my legs weak. I had to brace myself against the wall to stand. “Doctor, please, just give me a little more time.” “Half an hour. That’s the most I can give you.” He turned and walked away. I watched his white coat disappear around the corner, my mind a complete blank. Then I heard a voice. “Dear, is your mother in the hospital?” I turned my head and saw Mr. Peterson. He was wearing a patched-up winter coat and carrying a large woven sack filled with the clinking shapes of bottles and cans. “Mr. Peterson? What are you doing here?” “I heard from Mrs. Gable next door. I came as fast as I could.” He set his sack on the floor and pulled a worn plastic bag from inside his coat. “This is what I’ve managed to save up these past couple of years. You take it for now.” I was speechless. “Mr. Peterson, I can’t take your money.” “Take it.” He pressed the bag into my hands. “Your mother is a good woman. When I was sick years ago, she was the only one who brought me a hot meal.” I opened the bag. It was filled with small bills. Ones, fives, tens, all of them wrinkled and soft with age, some with the corners worn away. Mr. Peterson squatted on the floor and began to count. “One hundred, two hundred, three hundred…” He counted slowly, his gnarled fingers carefully smoothing out each crinkled bill before setting it aside. People bustled past in the busy hospital corridor, but no one gave him a second glance. I stood beside him, tears streaming down my face. “Forty-eight hundred, forty-nine hundred, five thousand.” He stood up and handed me the neat stack of cash. “Exactly five thousand. You should count it, dear.” My hands trembled as I took the money. “Mr. Peterson, I…” “Don’t say another word. Go pay the bill. Your mother is waiting.” Clutching the wad of cash, I ran toward the billing window. Halfway there, I stopped and looked back. Mr. Peterson was stooped over, his back bent, slowly picking up an empty plastic bottle someone had dropped on the floor. Five thousand dollars. How many thousands of cans and bottles had he collected to save that? I didn’t know. I only knew that I had been a servant to the Davis family for ten years, and in return, I had received less kindness than from a man who salvaged trash for a living. 02 The light above the operating room door glowed for four hours. I sat on a plastic chair in the hallway, my eyes fixed on that red light, not moving an inch. Ten years ago, it was a light just like this one. Back then, Mark was just starting his business, renting a basement office. No air conditioning. It was a sweltering sauna in the summer. I worked my day job, and at night, I helped him organize his books and prepare financial statements. One night, we worked until three in the morning. I fell asleep with my head on the desk. When I woke up, he had draped his jacket over my shoulders. “Honey,” he said, “once I make it, I’ll give you the good life.” I believed him. The first year of our marriage, his mother said her health was failing and she needed someone to look after her. I quit my job and moved in with them. The second year, his brother, Kevin, got into college and couldn’t afford tuition. His mother said, “Clara, you can cover it for now. Kevin will pay you back after he graduates.” I covered it. Forty thousand dollars over four years. He never paid back a single cent. The third year, our son Leo was born. I raised him by myself. The feedings, the diaper changes, the waking up in the middle of the night to mix formula. Mark said he was busy. Busy with client dinners, busy with business deals. His mother said raising children was a woman’s job, that she was too old to help. The fourth year, his mother said the household expenses were high and that I should give her my paycheck for “central management.” “Clara, I’ll save it for you. It’s better than you spending it carelessly.” I gave her my debit card. My take-home pay was four thousand a month then. Later, it rose to six thousand. Over ten years, it added up to nearly half a million dollars. The fifth year, we bought our marital home. The down payment was one hundred thousand. My parents gave me sixty, and I used forty of my own savings. The day we closed on the loan, Mark was out of town on a business trip. I ran around by myself, to the bank, to the county records office, signing a mountain of paperwork. The clerk asked me, “Whose name should be on the deed?” I looked at the form and suddenly remembered something my mother-in-law had said. “Clara, you married into the Davis family, so you are a Davis now. Stay out of your own family’s business. We don’t want people gossiping.” I wrote down my own name. At the time, I thought of it as the last escape route I might ever need. I never imagined that ten years later, I would actually have to use it. The operating room light went out. The surgeon came out. “The surgery was a success. The patient will need to be monitored in the ICU for 48 hours.” I stood up, my legs numb, nearly collapsing. “Thank you, doctor.” “The family should get some rest. There’s a long road to recovery ahead.” I nodded, watching as the nurses wheeled my mother out. Her face was ashen, her head wrapped in bandages, tubes extending from her body like a lifeless puppet. I followed the gurney, walking step by step toward the ICU. Just then, Mark’s call came through. “Clara, how was the surgery?” “It was successful.” “That’s good. I have an important meeting tomorrow that I can’t miss. It’ll be tough on you over there, but call me if anything happens.” I didn’t say a word. “Hello? Clara?” “I heard you.” I hung up. The ICU doors swung shut, and I watched my mother through the glass window. Ten years. I did the laundry and cooked the meals for the Davis family. I cared for my in-laws and raised our child. I managed the books for Mark’s company, ran his errands, and held down the fort at home so he could build his business. I gave the best years of my life to that family. And today, when my mother was on the verge of death, they wouldn’t even lend me five thousand dollars. I leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling. The rhythmic beeping of the machines in the ICU sounded like a countdown. Ten years of marriage. A thirty-two-year-old life. What had it all been for? 03 The hospital room was quiet, punctuated only by the steady beep of the heart monitor. My mother was awake. She opened her eyes and studied my face for a long moment before recognition dawned. “Clara?” “I’m here, Mom.” I took her hand. It was frail and bony, her skin a roadmap of blue veins. “The surgery bill…” “It’s paid, Mom. Don’t you worry.” She stared at me, then asked quietly, “Who lent it to you?” I didn’t answer. “Was it the Davises?” I still said nothing. She closed her eyes. After a long pause, she spoke. “Clara, I’m so sorry.” “Mom, what are you talking about?” “I never should have let you marry into that family.” I froze. “I saw right through them from the beginning,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Your mother-in-law… she says all the right things, but the only people she cares about are her own children. In her eyes, you’re nothing but a free maid.” I remained silent. “I’ve seen how much you’ve suffered all these years.” She opened her eyes, her gaze meeting mine, her rims red with unshed tears. “But you never said anything, so I couldn’t interfere.” “Mom…” “Clara, my life isn’t worth you begging them.” She squeezed my hand. “Who was it? Who really lent you the money?” I was quiet for a long time. “Mr. Peterson.” She looked stunned. “The man who collects cans?” “Yes.” The room fell silent. My mother stared at the ceiling, a single tear tracing a path from the corner of her eye to her temple. “Clara, listen to me.” “I’m listening, Mom.” “Don’t be a fool anymore.” She turned her head to face me. “They don’t treat you like a human being. Why on earth are you still treating them like family?” I looked at her, and something inside me shattered. Or maybe, something was finally pieced back together. It was nine in the evening when I got home. Leo was already asleep. My mother-in-law was on the couch watching TV. She didn’t even look up when I walked in. “You’re back? How’s your mother?” “The surgery was a success.” “Good. Oh, and remember to get up early tomorrow to cook. Kevin’s wife is coming over.” I just looked at her. “What are you staring at? Go take a shower and get to bed.” I turned, walked into my bedroom, and locked the door behind me. Mark wasn’t home yet. I opened my laptop and created a new spreadsheet. I thought for a long time about the title. Finally, I typed four words: The Ten-Year Bill. Row one: Surrendered Salary, $480,000. Row two: Mortgage Payments, $250,000. Row three: Car Payments, $75,000. Row four: Kevin’s Tuition & Wedding Gift, $65,000. Row five: Ten Years of Unpaid Domestic Labor, Market Rate, $300,000. I sat there, staring at the screen, calculating every last cent. I was still at it at two in the morning when Mark finally came home. He tried the door, found it locked, and knocked twice. “Clara? Why’s the door locked?” I didn’t move. “Clara?” I shut down the laptop and opened the door. He reeked of alcohol, his tie hanging crooked. “You’re just getting home?” “Client dinner.” He kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed. “I’m exhausted. So, is your mom any better?” I stared at him without answering. “Alright, well, let’s get some sleep. I have another meeting tomorrow.” He rolled over, and within seconds, he was snoring. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his back. This was the man I had spent a decade with. In all that time, he had never truly listened to a single word I said. I stood up and opened the laptop again. This bill had to be settled. 04 The first thing I did was report my debit card as lost and have it canceled. The bank printed out statements that were over twenty pages long. I went through them, page by page. From January 2014 to September 2024, there was a transfer every single month. Into an account under my mother-in-law’s name. The first year, four thousand a month. The third year, it went up to five thousand. The sixth year, six thousand. Over ten years, the total came to $483,700. I decided to round it down to an even $480,000. I wasn’t going to fight over the change. The company’s finances were even easier to track. I had been a part-time accountant for Mark’s company for five years, and I had backups of everything. When my friend Linda helped me organize the data, she just kept shaking her head at the numbers. “Clara, have you been living under a rock all these years? All this money, and you didn’t see a dime of it?” “I thought we were a family. I didn’t think we needed to keep score.” “A family?” Linda scoffed. “What did your ‘family’ say the night your mom was in the ICU?” I fell silent. “Listen to me. You need to leave him. This man, this family… are you keeping them around for Christmas?” I compiled all the evidence into folders, neatly labeled: Salary Statements, Mortgage Records, Car Loan Payments, Company Accounts. And one more item, the most important of all. The fifty thousand dollars my dad had lent Mark to start his business, money he got from selling his own house. I still had the promissory note, signed by Mark, his thumbprint pressed beside his signature. I remember my mother-in-law saying at the time, “Clara, your father did this willingly. It’s not a loan, why do you need a piece of paper?” My dad had insisted. “It’s always smart to put things in writing, even with family.”

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The day I got the positive pregnancy test, I did something I hadn’t done in years. I went to Frank’s office. Through the glass wall of the conference room, I couldn’t resist calling his phone. But then I saw her—the woman sitting next to him, his secretary—pick up his phone and decline the call without a second thought. Then, with practiced ease, she unlocked the screen and started typing. A moment later, a message from “Frank” buzzed on my phone. “In a meeting. Don’t call unless it’s an emergency.” I stared at the words for a long time. When I looked up again, I saw her, in front of everyone, affectionately adjusting his slightly crooked tie. I calmly typed back. “Fine. Are you two coming out, or am I coming in?” 01 The moment our eyes met, the panic on the woman’s face vanished, replaced by a perfectly composed expression. She leaned close to Frank’s ear, whispering something. The gesture itself wasn’t scandalous, but her expression was tinged with a delicate sense of grievance. When Frank finally looked up at me, his brow furrowed in annoyance. He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat before striding toward me. “What is it?” His voice was cold, laced with the irritation of having his work interrupted. The tie around his neck was one he’d been wearing often lately. It wasn’t a gift from me, nor was it one he’d bought himself. I’d heard it was a thank-you gift from his secretary after the company’s annual gala. What I hadn’t known was that this “secretary” was a new, stunningly beautiful young woman. I glanced at the woman who remained in the conference room. “Why don’t you have her come out too?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I told her to hang up. I told her what to send.” “Chloe just graduated. She can be a bit impulsive, but she means well.” “Don’t go scaring a young girl like that.” In the five years I’d been married to Frank, I’d rarely heard him say so much at once, except at business functions. And now, he was doing it to defend another woman. A woman who knew his phone password before his own wife did. The joy I had felt on my way here had completely evaporated. I let out a bitter laugh. “Frank, do you think I’m blind?” I stood and stepped closer to him, trying to read the real emotion in his eyes. “Tell her to come out.” Before Frank could refuse, a petite figure stepped between us. “Mrs. Vance, I’m right here.” The woman’s face was a picture of innocent, delicate features, but her eyes held a defiant pride. “You probably don’t realize how crucial this meeting is for Mr. Vance.” “From your perspective, I hung up on the CEO’s wife. But from Mr. Vance’s perspective, an interruption like that could become a black mark on the company’s record.” “I may not be important, but I have a duty to ensure Mr. Vance’s work proceeds without a hitch.” “Mrs. Vance, if you have a problem, take it up with me. This has nothing to do with Mr. Vance.” As I watched the look of admiration grow in Frank’s eyes, the whole situation felt absurd. Over the years, plenty of women had orbited Frank, trying to get his attention. The flirtatious ones, the aloof ones, the ones who threw money and resources at him. I had observed them all, even tested a few. But I never knew his type was this… corporate zealot. “Take it up with you? Alright.” I made a show of looking at the name badge on her chest. “Chloe, is it? As of this moment, you’re fired.” The pride on her face shattered instantly. “On what grounds can you fire me? This is Mr. Vance’s company! I work for him, and my conscience is clear!” I sneered. “On the grounds that I’m his wife. And the second-largest shareholder in this company.” Tears welled in Chloe’s eyes, threatening to spill over. “Stella, have you made enough of a scene?” Frank’s voice was like ice. “This is a company, not your personal playground where you can throw tantrums whenever you please.” “It was one missed call. What on earth could be so important? Go on, I’m all ears.” The man who was always so composed and distant was now red-faced with anger. I had never seen him so openly emotional, not even the year he took a bullet for me. Behind him, the conference room door was ajar. A room full of executives sat in dead silence, their expressions knowing. From now on, I, the rarely seen Mrs. Vance, would be the butt of all their jokes. At that thought, I calmly picked up the test results I’d placed on the table. Frank’s eyes narrowed at the movement. “What’s that?” “Nothing,” I said. “Just a piece of scrap paper.” 02 Frank clearly wanted to say more. But then my phone vibrated. The name “Dad” on the screen silenced him. My father’s voice was filled with an undisguisable joy and affection. “Stella, honey, tell Frank to put his work on hold. I’ll personally oversee the waterfront project for him. His priority right now is taking care of you and the baby. I’ll fly back in a couple of days…” I looked at the impatient man in front of me, my voice strained. “Dad, you don’t have to.” There was a pause on the other end, then a note of concern. “What’s wrong? Tell me, did that boy do something to hurt you?” Turning away, I fought back the lump in my throat. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll handle it.” After a moment, a sigh came through the phone, sounding years older than it had a minute ago. The man who had dominated the business world for decades was always sharp when it came to his daughter, yet he was also helpless. Just like six years ago, when I endured the first and only slap of my life for the sake of marrying Frank. The blow had landed on my face, but it was my father, a man nearing fifty, who had cried first. “Stella, your mother never suffered a day in her life. How can I stand to watch you go through this?” My mother was lucky in life, though her life was short. In a more traditional era, she lived under my father’s protection, giving birth to me at the late age of thirty-six. But on the very first day I met Frank’s mother, she joked at the dinner table that Vance wives were expected to have a baby in the nursery within a year or two. Frank had remained silent, but my father had nearly crushed the wine glass in his hand. I, however, had brushed it off. Marriage was between two people. The Vances had no significant background. Even with a difficult mother-in-law, I was confident I could build a happy life. Besides, what wasn’t a man worth who had literally taken a bullet for me? Chloe’s voice sounded from behind me. “Mr. Vance, I just got a message from the client. They’ll be here in five minutes.” Frank’s voice returned to its usual calm. “Understood.” As the footsteps faded away, I took a deep breath and lowered the phone, which had long since disconnected. Suddenly, a pair of high heels appeared in front of me. It was Chloe. She was smiling, a mocking glint in her eyes. “Mrs. Vance, Mr. Vance said that if you need anything in the future, you can tell me directly. I can pass the message along for you.” Communication between a husband and wife, relayed through a third party. The implication was crystal clear. She savored the look on my face for a moment, her expression smug. “Let me be blunt, Mrs. Vance. Mr. Vance gave me a great opportunity, and I cherish the chance to work with him. I understand how much this company means to him, so I have no intention of leaving.” “Unlike you, everything I have, I’ve earned through my own hard work. I’d rather have real value in a man’s eyes than just be a trophy wife.” Her gaze was taunting, a stark contrast to the gentle, determined woman she had been in front of Frank. I couldn’t help but clutch my handbag tighter, a cold smile on my face. “You have quite the high opinion of yourself. Frank has never had a shortage of people willing to work for him. Your so-called ‘value’ is worthless to him.” She didn’t get angry. Instead, she coolly opened her phone’s photo gallery, showing me screen after screen of screenshots of my text conversations with Frank. “You probably didn’t know this, but Mr. Vance gave me his phone password last month. Which means, since then, the person on the other end of your conversations has been me.” “Oh, and that sapphire necklace you loved so much for your anniversary? That was my suggestion.” “That time you asked him to come home early, and shared a picture of that new nightgown you bought? I was the one who convinced him to leave work and go home to you.” “Do you know what happened after that? I stayed up all night finishing his reports, and the next day, he gifted me a sapphire bracelet, identical to your necklace. I just never wear it… to avoid suspicion.” CRACK! The sharp sound of a slap echoed in the air. My fingertips and my heart went numb. The emotional control I had always been so proud of shattered in an instant. “Who the hell do you think you are? How dare you touch my marriage?” She clutched her cheek, her shock lasting only a moment before she started to laugh. “Are you scared?” When I didn’t answer, her smirk widened. “Don’t worry, I’m not the type to use cheap tricks to seduce a man. And I have no interest in breaking up a marriage. Unless,” her tone shifted, her smile turning seductive, “he’s the one who takes the first step. Then I won’t hesitate to walk the other ninety-nine.” A fanatical gleam lit up her eyes, and it was that look that suddenly brought me back to my senses. That year, if Frank’s first step hadn’t nearly cost him his life, I never would have tearfully walked the other ninety-nine. And now this woman stood before me, gloating, as if it were a badge of honor. I had my family’s name and fortune to fall back on. What did she have? “Cat got your tongue?” the woman pressed, unwilling to let it go. As I turned to leave, I let out a small laugh. “What else is there to say? Should I wish you luck?” 03 Of course, Chloe assumed I was just lashing out in anger. As I left, I saw her, one side of her face red and swollen, click-clacking in her heels straight toward the VIP lounge where Frank was. She knew exactly how to play on a man’s sympathy to win his favor. At least in that regard, she was much smarter than I had been. I was twenty-two when I first met Frank, standing behind my father. Back then, like everyone else, he would simply bow his head politely and greet me, “Miss Rhodes.” At first, it was pure attraction. I handpicked him to be my personal bodyguard. But he never grew arrogant because of my favor, nor did he ever show a hint of annoyance at my unreasonable demands. He was diligent and serious about his work, but always polite and distant with me. Later, when I was kidnapped by a business rival, he threw himself in front of me, taking a bullet meant for me. That bullet nearly killed him. And it made me fall completely. During the days he lay unconscious, my dreams were filled with the clean, soapy scent of him as he held me in his arms. The day he woke up, I stood before him with puffy, swollen eyes, first scolding him for his incompetence, then blushing as I pointed to the graze on my own shoulder, demanding he take responsibility. My excuse was flimsy, but he nodded. I was ecstatic. Little did I know what a difficult path I had chosen for myself. When I got back to the Vance house, I could hear Frank’s mother’s voice from the living room. “Young people have it so easy these days. In my time, what daughter-in-law would dare not to serve her mother-in-law? Did you see the look on her face last time I asked her to bring me a basin of water for my feet? Her eyes were practically red with anger!” “I truly regret it. If she hadn’t chased after him with her money back then, our Frank would never have married a barren saint we have to worship.” The housekeeper, Maria, chimed in, “You’re so right…” I pushed the door open. The room fell silent enough to hear a pin drop. Maria, who had been cracking sunflower seeds on the sofa, jumped up, a sheepish smile on her face. “Miss Stella, you’re back. Have you eaten? There are some leftovers from lunch, I can go heat them up for you.” “No, thank you.” Sensing my coldness, Frank’s mother bristled. “Stella, there are a million things to do around the house. Why did you run off so early in the morning without saying a word?” The Vance family rules were strict and archaic. For a woman, the only value lay in producing heirs, serving her husband, and managing the household. On my first day of marriage, Frank’s mother handed me a broom and told me to sweep the entire house, saying it was what a proper new wife should do. I had put up with it for five years, trying my best to please her. But I never realized she didn’t appreciate any of it. I let out a cold laugh. “We have two live-in housekeepers, two cooks, a gardener, and a family doctor.” “Tell me, what exactly is there left for me to do personally?” She was probably shocked by my sudden defiance. She was speechless for a moment, her face flushing red. “This—this whole household needs managing, doesn’t it? Don’t the corners need checking? What if someone with sticky fingers takes something, are you even keeping track?” Her words were nasty. Maria’s face fell, and she carried her plate into the kitchen. I looked at her calmly. “Aren’t you here? I hired the staff, I pay their salaries, and Frank is never here. So, as the mother of the house, shouldn’t you be pulling some weight?” Realizing her mistake, Frank’s mother grew even more flustered and angry. “Why should I have to serve you! You can’t even have a child!” I looked at her twisted face, my eyes cold. She was the one who had promised that living together would be temporary, just until she felt we were settled. Frank had asked me to be understanding. And so I was, for five years. For five years, I endured my husband’s coldness and my mother-in-law’s constant passive-aggressive digs. Slowly, I began to understand the helpless look in my father’s eyes all those years ago. “A child?” I glanced down at my stomach with a faint, mocking smile. Ignoring her shouting behind me, I walked straight to the master bedroom. Probably due to the pregnancy, I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. When I woke up, the sky was already dark. I could hear Frank’s mother’s unusually cheerful laughter from the living room, along with a man’s distinctive voice. Frank was home? As I listened, something felt wrong. I opened the door to a scene of domestic bliss. Frank was actually chatting with his mother, a rare sight, while Chloe was smiling sweetly, massaging his mother’s feet. His mother sighed contentedly. “Where would you find such a perfect girl? So filial and considerate. This is better than any professional masseuse.” “Frank, you have to treat her well. If you don’t, I’ll just have Chloe come work for us here. It’s not like that wife of yours is anything more than a decoration…” The man only frowned slightly, a look of helplessness in his eyes. “Mom, what are you talking about?” “What am I talking about? She has less and less respect for me every day. What good is all her money? After all these years, she hasn’t produced a single heir. I can’t even hold my head up high in front of the family!” “I think she’s bad luck! Always dressed to the nines and running around outside… Who knows what she’s up to behind your back—” CRASH! The vase I threw shattered at their feet. A woman’s shriek pierced the air. Frank looked up at me in disbelief, his voice filled with fury. “Stella! Have you lost your mind!” I crossed my arms, looking down at him, and let out a soft laugh. “Mad?” “No,” I corrected myself. “I’m more clear-headed than I have ever been.”

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On my 28th birthday, my grandmother was nagging me about getting engaged again. I took a cab to my boyfriend’s office, only to overhear him telling a female colleague that I was average-looking, from an average family, and just wasn’t good enough for his. His mother, he said, had always despised me, and now he was having second thoughts about marrying me. I’d been with Ted Hoffman since I was 18. Ten whole years, and I never imagined he’d be weighing the pros and cons of our relationship. That night, when he came home, I didn’t ask him a single question. For the first time, I just ate my dinner in silence, showered, and went to bed. As we lay there, he finally asked, “Chloe, you’re being awfully quiet. Are you trying to pick a fight? You’re not thinking of breaking up with me, are you?” “Do you want to?” I asked back. “Yeah,” Ted said. Then he got up, dressed, and left for a party with that same female colleague. I didn’t feel sad or heartbroken. I just opened my phone. I scrolled to an old classmate, Dean Miller, who was also being pressured to get married. A while back, he’d messaged me, “Hey, what if we gave it a shot?” 1 I texted him at 1 AM. I didn’t feel like I was being forward. I knew how much pressure Dean was under to get married; he was probably more desperate than I was. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he replied. “?” “Chloe, are you serious? Last I heard, you had a boyfriend.” “Just broke up,” I typed. “I’m done trying to fix men. If you’re okay with it, let’s just make this work for both of us.” Dean didn’t hesitate. An “OK” popped up almost instantly, followed by a long explanation. “You know I’m still in the army, right? Stationed out in the desert. Probably won’t be discharged for another year.” “After that, I’ll either get a government placement or find a new job. Can’t say what the income will be.” “I have a house my mom bought for me, paid in full. You can live there after we’re married.” “I’ve got about 50k in savings and I’ll get a discharge bonus, but I’m no high-flyer. Probably can’t provide like your ex-boyfriend did.” Dean and I used to sit near each other in high school. He’d seen the whole story of me and Ted unfold. If he was okay with all of this, then I had nothing left to say. I replied with a simple “Okay” and we set a date to get the marriage license. He had a week of leave coming up. That gave me enough time to pack my things and move. Once that was settled, I opened my social media feed. Unsurprisingly, Ted’s colleague, Lily Yan, had just posted: [Drinking the pain away with my childhood sweetheart.] In the photo, Ted and Lily were clinking glasses, their heads so close they were almost touching. Their breath mingled in the air, and Ted’s eyes were hazy with drink. I liked the post. A second later, a message from Ted popped up. [Are you jealous? Don’t be like that. Lily’s just like a little sister to me.] Right. They grew up together, their bond closer than mine with him ever was. Lily looked like a porcelain doll. It wasn’t just Ted; I could see her appeal, too. She’d been studying abroad and had only recently returned, placed in the Hoffman family’s company by her parents to gain experience. That’s when she and Ted started spending more time together. I used to genuinely think of her as a little sister. It took me a long time to realize that their social circle was a fortress, and I was on the outside. Before Lily came back, Ted would take me to his friends’ gatherings. They were never warm, but at least they were polite. After her return, she became the only woman in their group. Ted would always say I didn’t like crowds and leave me at home. The truth was, he thought I was clueless and awkward, not clever and charming like Lily. We fought about his unspoken comparisons countless times. And every time, I was the one who quietly gave in. So this time, when he assumed I was just throwing a tantrum, I didn’t argue. I just told him: [I’m not. We broke up. Your life is none of my business anymore.] Then I blocked him. A few hours later, Ted stumbled home, drunk. He collapsed onto the sofa. There was a lipstick smudge on his collar. The person helping him was Lily. She was a little drunk too, repeating over and over, “Chloe, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop Ted. Please don’t be mad at him.” I wasn’t mad. He was my ex-boyfriend. There was nothing to be mad about. I helped Lily into a chair and poured her a glass of honey water, treating her like a guest. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” She was so disarmingly sweet. Even if she had a hint of malice, those misty eyes made it impossible to stay angry. No wonder Ted was so taken with her. 2 The next morning, Ted woke up with a pounding headache. He instinctively called out my name, “Chloe,” but was met with silence. Stumbling out of the bedroom, he saw me on the sofa, typing away on my laptop. His voice turned sharp. “Chloe, my head is killing me.” “I heard,” I said without looking up. Ted paused, then demanded, “My head hurts. Go make me some lemon water.” I could barely be bothered to respond. My creative juices were flowing, and I didn’t want the interruption. “You can make it yourself. I’m a little busy.” With that, I got up and went into the study, leaving Ted standing there, stunned. Making hangover tea wasn’t difficult. Light the stove, boil water, add honey and lemon, let it cool. I’d done it for him countless times. He’d drunk it countless times. He never thought it was anything special. But now that it was gone, an emptiness gnawed at him. The memory of our breakup last night soured his mood, and a bitter resentment began to brew. He fumbled around the kitchen, made himself something to eat, and then knocked on the bedroom door. “Since we’re broken up, you should move out. This is my family’s apartment.” He spat out the words my family’s apartment with extra venom. My fingers froze over the keyboard. A sharp pain, like a knife twisting in my gut, shot through me. Ten years together. He knew I was an orphan, that I craved a family more than anything. When we first moved in, he’d promised me that even though the deed was in his name, this was my home, too. And now, one day after breaking up, he was kicking me out. I looked up. The man at the door had a face of stone, his eyes cold and distant. He looked at me not like a lover, but with a simmering annoyance. I took a deep breath. “Fine. Can I move out tomorrow? I haven’t had time to pack.” A smirk played on his lips. “No. Today. We’re broken up. There’s no reason for you to stay here.” I looked at him as if he were a complete stranger. “Alright. Whatever you say.” They say a woman never truly has a home. Break up, you move out. Get divorced, you move out. If your name isn’t on the property, a single word from a man can leave you homeless. For the first time, I understood that feeling deep in my bones. After he left for work, I began to pack up my life. For ten years, I truly believed I would marry Ted Hoffman. I had poured my heart into this apartment, making it a home. Plush toys and figurines, lace-trimmed curtains, delicate and adorable pots and pans. Packing it all felt like an impossible task. The more I tried to organize, the more chaotic it became. My head started to spin. Maybe it would be easier to just throw it all away. As I stood there lost in thought, the doorbell rang. It was Ted’s mother. 3 She didn’t know we had broken up. The moment she stepped inside, she started in on me, just like always. Mrs. Hoffman had never liked me. Every meeting was an opportunity for her to find fault. I used to just endure it, hoping that with time, she would eventually accept me. This time was no different. The words flew out of her mouth. “Chloe, you live off my son, you use my son’s things, and this is how you keep the place? A complete mess!” “I don’t know what Ted ever saw in you. No looks, no family background, and you can’t even keep a house clean. You’re completely useless.” “I know you didn’t have parents to teach you any better, but you can’t be this hopeless. Look at this place, it’s a pigsty! How can anyone live here?” “Clean this up right now and come home with me. We have guests coming, and I need you to help out in the kitchen.” The words tumbled out of her so fast I couldn’t get a word in edgewise to tell her we were no longer together. Finally, when she paused for a breath, I managed to say, “I can’t. I have things to do.” She cut me off. “What could you possibly have to do? Sit around writing those silly little stories of yours? Fine. If you come, I’ll give you a thousand dollars for your trouble.” The offer of a thousand dollars stopped the rest of my sentence in my throat. Well, if we were broken up, I might as well get something out of it. It was only when I arrived at the Hoffman residence that I understood her true intentions. She had invited the Yan family for dinner and wanted me to be their waitress. I should have felt a pang of hurt, but as I stood in the corner and watched Ted walk in with Lily and her parents, I suddenly understood what he meant when he said we were “not a good match.” Lily’s parents, impeccably dressed and radiating wealth, walked ahead. Lily and Ted followed, side-by-side, looking for all the world like a young couple visiting the in-laws. They were a perfect pair. I had been to the Hoffman house many times. In my teens, it was to prove I could stand up to them. In my twenties, it was to convince Mrs. Hoffman to accept me as a daughter-in-law. I served tea, did laundry, cooked meals. I did everything I could to be the perfect, dutiful partner. But I realized then that all my efforts had earned me fewer smiles from Mrs. Hoffman than a single gift from Lily. The ruby necklace around Mrs. Hoffman’s neck was a casual gift from the Yans, worth a small fortune. For families like theirs, it was nothing. I laughed at myself. How could I have been so naive? How could I believe love could conquer all, wasting half my life on Ted? Six more days, and I would be free of this quagmire. Even though my arrangement with Dean was one of convenience, I was surprisingly happy about it. I was a creature of habit, terrified of change. I would never have left this situation unless I was forced to. But now, facing the prospect of a new life with a new man, I felt a strange sense of excitement. Once the Yans arrived, I was expected to leave. Mrs. Hoffman transferred the money to my account and told me to use the back door. In ten years together, to prove I wasn’t a gold digger, I had never accepted any expensive gifts from Ted or taken advantage of his family’s wealth. Getting that sudden influx of cash, I felt a pang of regret. If I had known we wouldn’t get married, I should have gotten more out of it. Why waste the title of “girlfriend”? As I was unlocking a rental scooter, Ted caught up to me. He had known I was there all along. His face was a dark mask. “Chloe, where are you going?” “Back to the apartment to finish packing,” I said. “You told me to move out, remember?” Ted let out a ragged breath. He pulled me into his arms, his voice tight with frustration. “Why do you have to be so difficult?” He stroked my hair, just as he had a thousand times before when he was trying to soothe me. “You used to be such a sweet girl. When did you get such a temper?” “Just because I said no to Grandma about the engagement, you throw this huge fit. Can’t you just be a little more understanding?” I turned my head and buried my face in his neck, allowing myself one last moment of closeness. “I can, Ted. I can be understanding.” Understanding enough to let you go, to not stand in your way as you find someone who is your equal, like Lily. He misunderstood, thinking I was giving in. A long sigh of relief escaped him. “Good. My family is having dinner with the Yans tonight. It’s just business, don’t read too much into it.” “There’s nothing going on between me and Lily. I only see her as a sister. I’ll come find you after dinner. You just wait for me at home, okay?” He kissed my forehead and turned to leave. I watched his tall figure walk away, and for a moment, I was transported back ten years. It was this same person, his face flushed, his voice trembling, who had come up to me and confessed, “Chloe, I like you. Will you be my girlfriend?” The ocean that once was is now just a trickle of water. After only a few thousand days, our story had reached its end. I sighed silently. Perhaps all love stories are destined to die young. 4 Back at the apartment, I threw out all the trinkets I could part with and packed the rest. I was still sorting through everything late that night when Ted returned. The moment he walked in, the smile on his face froze. He sighed heavily. “Chloe, I thought we agreed you weren’t going to do this.” I had already dozed off waiting and woke with a crick in my neck. “I’m not. We broke up. I have no reason to keep living in your apartment.” Ted’s patience wore thin. He tossed his jacket aside. “Fine. Have it your way. But you should know, if you walk out that door, I’m not coming after you.” Perfect. Right in front of him, I placed my key on the shoe cabinet and turned to leave. Ted watched me for a moment, but then he followed, blocking my path. He was visibly agitated. “What is it going to take to make you just listen to me for once?” he demanded, as if I were the one being completely unreasonable. His attitude was so absurd I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe if you had agreed to get engaged, I wouldn’t be ‘making a scene’.” Ted clenched his jaw. “Chloe, just give me some more time to get used to the idea. Right now… I just don’t think you’re a suitable person to marry.” A suitable person to marry. I couldn’t quite grasp what that meant. The first time I heard that phrase was five years ago. My grandmother had just had heart surgery. Fearing she might not have much time left, she wanted to see me and Ted married. Back then, we were still deeply in love. When I brought up marriage, he froze. He held me for a long time without saying a word. Finally, he whispered, “Chloe, let me talk to my parents first, okay? I’ll give you an answer after that.” I nodded, my heart filled with hope, believing he was planning our future. But after that day, something in Ted shifted. He was still gentle and attentive, but whenever I mentioned engagement or marriage, he would change the subject. If I pressed him, he would get angry. “Look at you, you don’t have a stable job or income. How is this supposed to work? What would my parents think?” “Chloe, I’ve been holding this in, but you’re just not marriage material. You don’t know how to dress, you can’t socialize, and you don’t understand anything about business. You can’t help the family company at all.” He tore me down until I was worthless. But when I would break down and say I wanted to end things, he would send long, pleading messages to win me back. I always thought the root of his hesitation was his mother. It wasn’t until Lily returned that Ted’s attitude did a complete one-eighty. His actions showed me exactly what a “suitable” marriage partner looked like. No matter how much a man loves you, it won’t stop him from weighing his options and choosing the path that benefits him the most. I left the apartment I had lived in for years. Since Dean hadn’t arrived yet, I had nowhere to go, so I rented a small studio for the time being. I took stock of my savings, thinking about making a down payment on a place of my own in the city. Since Dean was away most of the year, it probably wouldn’t matter to him where we lived. I browsed online listings and actually found a few decent pre-owned apartments. After scheduling some viewings, I stayed home and finished writing the third installment of my online novel series. 5 The day I published the final chapter of my novel, Dean came back. We hadn’t seen each other in ten years, but he had barely changed. Strong brows, dark eyes, and tanned skin stretched over muscles bigger than my fist. His tall, powerful frame exuded a raw, masculine energy. He wasn’t as classically handsome as Ted, but he was rugged, radiating pure testosterone. The thought that this man was going to be my husband made me blush. “Dean, long time no see.” He grinned. “Chloe. It’s been too long.” His smile was so genuine. We spent one night catching up, and the next day, we went and got our marriage license. The red certificate I had dreamed of getting with Ted for years, the one I had longed for, was now in my hands after a ten-minute appointment with a different man. On the way back, my heart was a whirlwind of emotions. After getting the license, I took him to my grandmother’s house in the countryside. She was living with my uncle and seemed to be in good spirits. When she saw Dean, her face lit up. “Chloe, who is this?” I handed her our marriage certificate. “Grandma, I’m married. This is my husband, Dean.” She didn’t seem surprised at all, nor did she ask about Ted. She just examined the certificate over and over, then studied Dean for a long moment. “Good,” she said. “This is good. You two look right together.” The photographer at the registrar’s office had said the same thing. Looking at our photo together, I felt an unexpected sense of rightness, a strange feeling that this was how things were always meant to be. Dean just smiled. “Grandma, I’ll take good care of Chloe. Don’t you worry. We’ll give you a great-grandchild as soon as we can.” He was a natural actor. After we left, he handed back the cash gifts he’d received from my family. “I know this is probably a lot to take in at once, so I’m not going to push you,” he said, pressing a bank card into my hand. “You keep these. And this card, consider it a wedding gift from me.” I fiddled with the card in my hand. “Dean,” I finally asked, “what exactly is this between us?” He chuckled softly. “Let’s call it fate.” He was stationed so far away for so long, he never had time for a girlfriend. Pushing 30, he was indifferent to the idea of love. If his mother hadn’t been pressuring him, he never would have rushed into marriage with a near-stranger. He chose me because he figured a familiar face was better than a complete unknown. At least kissing me wouldn’t be awkward. He didn’t care that I had a long-term ex. In his mind, a woman who could stay with one man for ten years had to be a good person at her core. Only loyal people hold on to a relationship for that long. People like that live by a code. Seeing the relaxed expression on his face, I could guess what he was thinking. That was fine. I was also ready to just let life happen and see where it took us. Maybe it would turn out okay. We went to visit his mother next. Amazingly, my new mother-in-law adored me. She immediately gave me a card with a generous check inside and refused to let me lift a finger to help with dinner or the dishes. Before we left, she gave me another card. She told me it was for a down payment on a house. “I know we bought a place here in town, but Dean said you’re used to the city and might not want to move back,” she explained. “This is a little something to help you buy furniture and decorate. Get nice things. A comfortable home makes for a comfortable life.” His mom had been a waitress at the same diner for over a decade. Her hands were rough with calluses. That card probably held her life savings, and she had just handed it over to me without a second thought. My hand trembled as I took it. In the car, I slipped the card back into Dean’s pocket. “I can’t take this. You should hold onto it and find a way to give it back to your mom.” He glanced at it silently. “No. You’re my wife now. This money is yours to manage.”

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At the Christmas party, Bella Snow, a Gen Z intern in my department, suggested we go to an exclusive private restaurant. Under the table, she rubbed her foot against my calf. “Director,” she purred, “if you don’t have a few too many drinks tonight, how am I supposed to get my chance to move up?” To avoid any suggestion of impropriety, I made a point of arriving late. When I walked in, I found they had ordered ten king crabs and two bottles of Louis XIII. The moment she saw me, Bella stood up, a triumphant smirk on her face, and led the other interns towards the door. “Oh, the Director’s here! We kids won’t disturb your meal.” “You can get the check, though,” she added with a wink. “After all, you’re the one making six figures.” They giggled as they scurried out, even snatching a few unopened boxes of expensive cigars on their way. I looked at the bill, my face impassive, and paid with my card. Then, I took out my phone and sent a message to the department’s group chat. “This year’s Christmas team-building event was a great success. Thank you all for your participation.” “As per company policy, the budget for this event was $1,000, which I have paid in advance.” “The remaining $14,000, which exceeded the budget, will be split among the 12 participating colleagues. That’s $1,167 per person.” “Please transfer the amount to me by the end of the workday tomorrow. I will provide an itemized receipt.” 1 The day before Christmas, Bella Snow was livestreaming from her desk, her phone propped up right next to her company monitor. She swayed her hips for the camera, the hem of her short pleated skirt threatening to fly up as she spoke in a syrupy-sweet voice. “Hey everyone! Tonight, I’m going to show you what a super-exclusive private dinner looks like.” “And while I’m at it,” she giggled, “I’m going to conquer our uptight, sleazy old director.” The comments section exploded with encouragement. The department’s administrative assistant walked over with a form, whispering a reminder. “Bella, you need to submit the restaurant choice for approval in advance for team events. And the budget is capped at one hundred dollars per person.” Bella snorted. “This is a private dinner hosted by Director King for us interns. Your little rules don’t apply to him, do they?” The assistant, flushed with embarrassment, retreated with her form. I was in the break room making coffee and saw the entire exchange. The dinner was set for seven, but I deliberately waited until eight to leave. Pushing open the door to the private room, I was hit by a wall of alcohol and seafood fumes. The massive round table was a wasteland of empty glasses and plates, dominated by the shells of a dozen enormous king crabs. Several gift-wrapped boxes of premium bird’s nest soup were stacked in a corner. Seeing me, Bella showed no sign of awkwardness. Instead, she rose to her feet like the hostess of the party. She dangled a set of car keys and shouted to the group of tipsy interns. “Alright, ladies, next stop, karaoke! Director King is here to pay the bill!” A male intern, his eyes glazed over, slapped the table. “Thanks, Director King! You’re the man!” As Bella passed me, she paused and whispered, her voice meant only for me. “Wyatt, consider this meal the down payment for pursuing me.” “Too bad,” she smirked, “I’m not interested in old men.” With that, she and her entourage swept out of the room in a chorus of laughter. A waiter approached with a credit card machine and the bill. “Sir, your total is fifteen thousand dollars. Will that be card or digital payment?” Diners at nearby tables cast curious glances, their whispers reaching my ears. I ignored them, pulled a black card from my wallet, and handed it to him. “Card. And please print an itemized receipt for me.” The waiter’s hand faltered for a second before his professional mask slipped back into place. On the way home, I pulled over and opened a file from the company’s internal server. The employee handbook, Chapter 3, Article 12, “Team Building Expense Reimbursement Policy,” was clear: Departmental team-building events have a per-person budget cap of $100. All expenses must be submitted to the administrative and finance departments for prior approval. I took a screenshot. Late that night, I posted a message in the main department group chat, tagging everyone. “This year’s Christmas team-building event was a great success. My thanks to Bella Snow, Jessica Lee, Mark Chen… and the other 12 colleagues for their enthusiastic participation.” “As per company policy, the budget for this event was $1,000, which I have paid in advance and will be reimbursed by the company.” “The remaining $14,000, which exceeded the budget, is to be split among the 12 participating colleagues. That’s $1,167 per person.” “Please transfer the funds to my Venmo or PayPal by 9 AM tomorrow when you arrive at work.” “I will forward the itemized receipt to each of you shortly.” The chat went dead silent. The interns, who had just been flaunting their lavish dinner on social media, were nowhere to be found. Half an hour later, an intern named Jessica meekly typed a message. “Director, you make a seven-figure salary. Are you really going to nickel-and-dime us interns over this? We only make three thousand a month.” I picked up my phone and typed a reply. “I earned my money through skill and hard work. It didn’t fall from the sky. I have no intention of paying for someone else’s vanity and greed.” “This is a workplace, not your parents’ house.” “If I don’t see the money by 9 AM tomorrow, our legal department will be in touch.” Bella remained silent in the group chat. But two minutes later, a colleague, Liam, sent me a screenshot. It was Bella’s social media post, a picture of her flipping off the camera in a karaoke room. The caption read: “Warning: avoid this sleazy, gross old man. Tried to get me to sleep with him, and when I refused, he’s trying to make me split a $15,000 dinner bill. So disgusting! Ugh!” The post was hidden from my view. I looked at the screenshot, a faint smile playing on my lips. 2 The next day, I walked into the office right on time. A group of interns from the dinner were huddled in a corner. They scattered the moment they saw me, their eyes a mixture of resentment, contempt, and schadenfreude. At nine o’clock sharp, the morning meeting began. Bella clicked in on her high heels at 9:05. She walked straight to the associate director’s chair next to mine, sat down, and started touching up her makeup. I glanced at her but said nothing, launching directly into the day’s agenda. “Bella, where’s the first draft of the marketing proposal I asked for yesterday?” She snapped her compact shut with a click, checked her reflection, and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Director King, I was so disgusted by a certain cheapskate last night that I couldn’t sleep a wink.” “How could I possibly have the energy to think about proposals?” “Besides,” she added with a sneer, “we Gen Z are here to fix the workplace, not to be slaves for capitalists. Stop rushing me.” “Yeah! I’m in a bad mood, no inspiration.” “This is our silent protest against exploitation by unethical management!” another chimed in. I ignored their outburst and turned my attention to another intern, Mark. “Mark, what about the competitor analysis report you were assigned?” Mark leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and pulled out his phone to play a game. “Director, Bella said we’re all on strike today. You can deal with it.” I opened my laptop, my fingers tapping a few keys, and accessed the company’s security system. I clipped and saved the footage from yesterday afternoon: Bella’s livestream, the admin’s attempt to intervene, and this morning’s footage of them all arriving late and playing on their phones. I packaged it all into an email to the Head of HR. The subject line read: [Regarding Serious Breaches of Labor Discipline and Attendance Irregularities by Interns in the Creative Department]. The meeting ended on a sour note. As I was getting water from the break room, I passed the smoking lounge and heard Bella on the phone, her voice loud. “He just wants to sleep with me! I’m telling you, from my very first day, he was staring at me with those creepy, leering eyes!” “That dinner was a trap. He wanted to get me drunk, but luckily, I was smart enough to get out of there.” “Now that he sees I didn’t take the bait, he’s furious. He’s using the dinner bill to pressure me. Isn’t that disgusting? What a pervert!” I leaned against the doorframe, cup in hand, and waited for her to hang up. “Bella,” I said calmly, “slander is a criminal offense. Are you aware of that?” She jumped, startled, but quickly composed herself with a sneer. “Well, well, Director King eavesdropping on private conversations? How tacky.” “I’m warning you,” I said, my voice low, “you have a few hours left before the deadline for the transfer.” “Think carefully. Is it better to lose a thousand dollars, or to lose a whole lot more?” Bella burst into exaggerated laughter. She suddenly whipped out her phone, opened her streaming app, and shoved the camera in my face. “Everyone! Everyone, come and see! This sleazy old man is threatening me now!” “Just because I wouldn’t let him harass me, he’s threatening to sue me for slander! Everyone, come and judge for yourselves!” Thousands of viewers flooded the stream, and the comments scrolled by in a blur of insults directed at me. “Wow, that guy looks decent, but he’s such a creep.” “Go girl! Sue him! Ruin his career!” “Get out of there, sister! People like that will retaliate!” I didn’t flinch or try to grab her phone. I even managed a slight smile for the camera. “Hello, I’m Wyatt King.” “You’d better not end this stream,” I said, my voice even. “This is all evidence for the court.” With that, I turned and walked away, leaving her stunned and speechless. Back at my desk, I sent a text to my personal lawyer. “Get ready. Slander suit, with a civil claim for damages attached.” At five-thirty, the workday ended. The group of interns strutted past my desk, making a point to snort contemptuously. Just then, my phone vibrated. It was a Venmo notification for $1,167. From Liam. He included a message. “Director, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for this to happen. Bella forced us to go.” “She said anyone who didn’t go wasn’t a team player and would be ostracized…” I stared at the message for a few seconds. Then I hit “Decline Payment.” I replied: “You don’t need to pay this. Don’t do anything. Just watch.” 3 The next day, I was jolted awake by the frantic ringing of my phone. It was the company’s PR Director, her voice laced with panic. “Wyatt! What on earth did you do to that intern? The entire internet is filled with stories about you!” I hung up and opened Twitter. The third trending topic was a single hashtag: #AdAgencyDirectorHarassment. I clicked on it. It led to a long, detailed article, complete with photos, posted by a gossip account with over a million followers. The headline was sensational: [EXCLUSIVE! Renowned Ad Agency Creative Director Wyatt King Accused of Luring Female Intern with Position, Attempting Assault, and Extortion!] The article painted me as a lecherous middle-aged man who preyed on young, beautiful interns, constantly harassing them. The “proof” was a series of carefully cropped chat screenshots. For instance, I had asked Bella: “Is the proposal finished? If you have time tonight, let’s discuss the details.” The screenshot only showed: “Do you have time tonight?” Another example: I had said, “That skirt you’re wearing today is a bit too short and unprofessional for the office. Please be mindful of the dress code.” The screenshot only showed: “That skirt you’re wearing today…” followed by a drooling emoji. The most damning piece of evidence was a so-called “candid photo.” It was from the restaurant. My pen had fallen on the floor, and I had bent down to pick it up. The photo, taken from an incredibly misleading angle, made it look like my head was buried under Bella’s skirt. The caption read: “He was touching me under the table! I was so scared my legs went weak!” The comment section was a cesspool of thousands of comments, all of them personal attacks. “This guy should be chemically castrated!” “He looks so respectable, I can’t believe he’s so disgusting!” “That Bella girl is no angel either, wearing a schoolgirl skirt to work?” The story spread like wildfire through the industry. The CEO of a pre-IPO company I was courting for a major merger sent a direct email. “Mr. King, in light of the current negative press regarding your personal conduct, we have decided to suspend all collaboration to mitigate risk. We wish you the best.” I had spent six months on that project, worth hundreds of millions. It vanished in an instant. And then, a greater blow fell. My wife, her eyes red-rimmed, threw a set of divorce papers in my face. “Wyatt, you’ve completely humiliated me!” “My mother called, asking if you’re keeping a mistress!” “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Let’s just separate for now. I need time to think, to reconsider our entire relationship.” She didn’t give me a chance to speak. She just dragged her suitcase out and slammed the door behind her. Then came the messages from several headhunters I’d worked with for years, simple “sorry” emojis. The word was already out. I was blacklisted from the industry because of a sex scandal. The moment I got to the office, my door was kicked open. Bella and her cronies strode in. She slammed her phone down on my desk. It was open to the article slandering me. “So, Director King, how does it feel? It’s not too late to get on your knees and beg.” She looked down at me, her face a mask of undisguised triumph and greed. “Here’s the deal. You’ll forget about the dinner bill, and you’ll pay each of the twelve of us one hundred thousand dollars for emotional distress.” “Then, you’ll post a public apology on the company website and your personal Twitter, admitting that you harassed me first.” “Do that, and I’ll be the bigger person and ask the gossip site to take down the article. What do you say?” I had only one word for her. “Out.” The smile froze on her face. I ignored her, locked my office door, and closed the blinds, shutting out the frantic knocking from the PR and HR departments. From my drawer, I took out everything I had prepared. The itemized receipt from the restaurant, officially stamped. The video footage of their collective work stoppage from that morning. And a digital voice recorder, containing Bella’s extortion attempt from just moments ago. I took a deep breath and dialed 911. “Hello, this is Wyatt King. I’m calling to report a case of online slander and blackmail.” After hanging up, I sent a text to Liam. “My office. Now.” A few minutes later, Liam slipped in, looking nervous. I didn’t waste time. I pushed a file across the desk to him. It was a detailed bank statement I had acquired from a private investigator. The account holder was Bella Snow. For the past six months, there had been a regular monthly deposit of thirty to fifty thousand dollars from the corporate account of that very same private restaurant. “This is proof that Bella was using her position to steer clients to that restaurant in exchange for a hefty kickback on their alcohol sales.” I looked up, my eyes locking onto his. “It’s called corporate embezzlement. It carries a sentence of three to ten years.” “She used you as a pawn. Are you still going to cover for her?” “Think carefully. Do you want a full-time job with a modest salary, or do you want to go to jail with her as an accomplice?” The color drained from Liam’s face. His lips trembled, unable to form words. With a shaking hand, he pulled out his own phone and played an audio file. “Director… I recorded this at the dinner…” “I just wanted to have it as a memory…” I took the phone and pressed play. Bella’s cloying, syrupy voice filled the room, crystal clear. “Go wild, girls! Order the most expensive things on the menu!” “This old man is all about saving face. There’s no way he won’t pay!” “He wants to sleep with me, does he? Well, tonight we’re going to make him bleed! Teach him that I’m not that easy!” “Why’s he so jumpy? It’s just my foot, it’s not like he’s going to get pregnant. What a prude…” I picked up my own recorder from the desk and smiled.

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The year-end bonuses were announced, and the entire department erupted. Everyone got $60,000. I was the only one who got zero. My supervisor advised me, “Young people shouldn’t get so hung up on gains and losses. You need to see the big picture.” I nodded and went back to writing my code without another word. At the end of the year, the chairman called me in, beaming, to renew my contract—a direct offer for six years. “The company needs a workhorse like you.” I turned my laptop towards him. On the screen was the final version of the project I had just completed. The buyer was his arch-nemesis. At the same time, I placed a resignation letter and a request for a non-compete agreement waiver on his desk. “Mr. King,” I said, “my new employer offered me a six-million-dollar signing bonus. I’m done playing your games.” 1 My phone vibrated on my desk like a trapped animal. In the company’s tech department group chat, the red notification bubble glowed stubbornly, the number climbing from 99+ to a height I couldn’t be bothered to count. The mood was jubilant. The screen was a blur of digital red envelopes and bold screenshots of bank transfers. “Holy crap! $60,000! The company must have made a killing this year!” “Mr. King is the GOAT! Stick with him and you’ll eat well!” “Confirmed in my account! Thanks, team! Ready to give it my all again next year!” In every screenshot, the glaring “$60,000.00” was like a raging fire, searing the eyes of everyone who saw it and igniting a frenzy throughout the office. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of money, mixed with the irrepressible excitement and boisterous laughter of my colleagues. I, Luke, was the sole outsider to this celebration. I opened my pay stub, my fingertip feeling a chill as it touched the screen. The page loaded. Every other line item was normal, until my eyes slid to the very bottom. Year-End Bonus. Followed by a number that felt like a cold, calculated insult. “$0.00”. No shock, no anger. In that moment, my mind was a complete blank. It was as if a deep-sea mine had detonated inside my skull, and in its wake, the world fell into a dead silence. All sound, all color, bled away. All that remained was that “$0.00,” burning itself onto my retinas like a vicious brand. “Luke, my office.” My supervisor, Leo Kane, stood at his door, beckoning to me. He wore that familiar smile—affable, yet permitting no argument. I stood up without expression, pulling back my chair and walking through the ecstatic crowd. My colleagues, who had just been cheering, now wore complicated expressions as they looked at me. Some pity, some gloating, but mostly, the detached amusement of watching a drama unfold. I didn’t care. I walked into his office and closed the door, shutting out the noise. Leo pointed to the chair opposite him and poured me a glass of water himself. “Luke, you saw the pay stub, right?” he began, his tone as calm and steady as a therapist conducting a session. I nodded, saying nothing. “I know you must be feeling like this is unfair,” he continued slowly, taking a sip of his tea. “But you have to understand, as a young man, you need to see the big picture. You can’t just focus on short-term gains and losses.” The big picture? A cold laugh echoed in my mind. Such a familiar phrase. When he made us work late into the night, he’d say, “Young people need to hustle to grow quickly. That’s seeing the big picture.” When he made us take over failing projects for free, he’d say, “With great ability comes great responsibility. This is the company’s trust in you. You have to have perspective.” Now, with those same words, he was erasing the blood and sweat of more than three hundred days and nights of my life. “You are the core of Project Zenith, the soul of the operation. The company sees it, and the chairman sees it,” Leo’s voice was laced with a persuasive power. “This, you could say, is a special test from Mr. King. He wants to see if you’re just in it for the money, or if he can truly entrust the company’s future to you.” “Pass this test, prove your loyalty and your perspective, and your future will be limitless.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial, solemn whisper. “Trust me, the company will never mistreat a true contributor.” I looked at him, at the face that seemed so sincere as he sold me this fantasy. I could see the calculation and contempt in his eyes. He saw me as a tech nerd he could easily manipulate, a fool who didn’t understand office politics, someone who could be placated with a few empty words. I didn’t argue. I didn’t question him. I just nodded calmly. “I understand, Leo.” My compliance pleased him. His smile widened. “That’s the spirit! I knew you were a smart guy. Go on, get back to work. Finish up Project Zenith, and I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with the chairman.” I walked out of his office. The air outside still felt feverish. A few people were gathered around my desk. Evan, my college classmate and the lead of Tech Team Two, was at the center of the huddle. He saw me, pushed through the crowd, and came over to slap my shoulder hard. “Luke, man, don’t sweat it. It’s just a bonus, right? My treat tonight at The Gilded Lantern. I’ll make it up to you!” His voice was loud, dripping with charity, ensuring everyone around us could hear. I saw the brand-new Rolex Submariner on his wrist, glinting under the office lights. I saw the pristine, limited-edition Jordans on his feet. All bought with that $60,000, I presumed. Bought with my hard work. And his so-called “treat” was just an opportunity to parade me around as a pathetic charity case. I ignored him and went back to my seat. I opened my phone. The last message in my chat with my girlfriend, Jenna, was the “Good morning” I’d sent her. I sent a new message: “Bonuses are out.” A long time later, she replied with a single word. “Okay.” She didn’t ask how much I got. Not a single word of concern. I opened her social media. Her latest post was from ten minutes ago. A nine-photo grid of her and her friends shopping at designer stores. A new Chanel bag, a Cartier bracelet. The caption read: “Choice is more important than effort. So happy!” In the photos, she was smiling radiantly, a brightness I had never seen before. I shut off my phone. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, tightening its grip until all the blood was forced out, leaving only a cold, suffocating ache. Humiliation, resentment, fury… a thousand emotions churned in my chest, threatening to shatter my composure. But I held them back. I took a deep breath, pushing it all down. I opened my IDE. The blue light from the screen cast a cold glow on my face. I typed a single command. git push A seemingly innocuous security patch for Project Zenith was calmly committed to the repository. Just then, in the department chat, Leo tagged everyone, then tagged me individually. He shared an article titled, Young Man, Your Perspective Defines Your Future. The group chat immediately filled with agreement. “Leo’s right!” “See the big picture, and your path will only get wider!” “We should all learn from Luke, not sweating the small stuff!” The praise felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. I closed the chat window without a flicker of emotion and opened an encrypted email client. An unread message sat in my inbox. I opened it. The body contained a single sentence. “The fish is off the hook.” The sender was Mr. Cole, CEO of Stratos Tech and Chairman King’s mortal enemy. My lips pressed into a thin line. I typed two words in reply. “Into the net.” 2 It was drizzling when I left work. I called Jenna, wanting to take her out to dinner, to talk things through. I had already booked a table at her favorite French restaurant and even rehearsed my opening lines. I wanted to ask her what had gone wrong between us. She answered, her voice edged with impatience. “Hello? What is it?” “Jenna, let’s have dinner tonight. I booked—” “I can’t!” she cut me off sharply. “I have to entertain a really important client tonight. You eat by yourself. If there’s nothing else, I have to go, I’m busy.” Beep… beep… beep… Listening to the dial tone, I stood at the entrance of the office building, letting the cold rain fall on my face. The wind bit at my skin. I laughed at myself, a bitter, hollow sound, and walked towards the parking garage. My car was in the furthest corner of the second basement level, a dimly lit, deserted spot. As I approached it, a ripple of tinkling laughter echoed from behind a nearby pillar. A voice I knew all too well. It was Jenna. I froze, my body rigid. Beside Leo’s new BMW 5 Series, Jenna, in flawless makeup and a tight black dress I’d never seen before, was laughing as she bent down to get into the passenger seat. She wasn’t carrying her usual Coach bag; a brand-new Hermès was slung over her arm. Leo gallantly closed the door for her and walked around to the driver’s side. As the car started, he rolled down his window, his gaze landing directly on me. He paused for a second, then a knowing smirk spread across his face. “Luke, still here? Good timing. I’m just giving Jenna a ride. You young people should communicate more.” His tone was that of a caring supervisor, but he stressed the word “communicate” with a heavy, suggestive emphasis. I watched the BMW’s taillights disappear at the garage exit, feeling as if I’d been turned to ice. The cold started in my fingertips, spreading inch by inch until it reached my heart, solidifying into a block of permafrost. So her “important client” was our supervisor. So “I can’t” just meant she couldn’t for me. So her post about “choice is more important than effort” was about this. I went home. The apartment was dark and empty. On the dining table sat a beautifully wrapped gift box. My anniversary gift for our three years together, something I had been planning for a long time. A Tiffany necklace. It had taken me three months of scrimping and saving to afford it. I had imagined her look of surprise a thousand times. How laughable it all seemed now. In her eyes, that necklace was probably worth less than a single tire on Leo’s car. On autopilot, I opened my laptop. On the desktop was a small program I had written myself, with an icon of an inconspicuous blue radar. I had coded a location tracker for her phone, worried about her walking home alone at night. She had accused me of not trusting her, and we’d had a huge fight over it. I deleted it in front of her, but I had kept a backup. I double-clicked the icon and entered Jenna’s phone number. A blinking red dot immediately appeared on the city map. The location was Miyabi, the most expensive Japanese restaurant in the city. The kind of place where a meal costs five figures. I stared at the red dot, the last shred of hope in my heart extinguished. I refreshed my social media feed. A mutual friend from the marketing department had posted something thirty seconds ago. It was a screenshot of a bill, the background clearly the private room at Miyabi. The name on the bill was Evan’s. The caption read: “Thanks for the amazing dinner, Evan and Leo! Best meal of the year!” Below it was a group photo. In the picture, Jenna sat between Leo and Evan, a wine glass in her hand, her face flushed and her smile dazzling. She was looking up at Evan, her eyes filled with a worshipful adoration I had never seen directed at me. In that instant, I could almost hear my own heart shattering. Not with a sharp, agonizing pain, but with a final, numb silence. I picked up the gift box from the table, walked to the door, opened the trash chute, and let go. A dull thud. Our past, buried with my own hands. I returned to my computer and opened the source code for Project Zenith. In the ocean of millions of lines of code, I found a core encryption module. And there, I left a mark only I could understand. The number “0”. The “0” from my zero-dollar bonus. The “0” that meant resetting everything to zero. It was a back door. A one-way door to hell. 3 A week later, the company was decked out in celebratory banners, the atmosphere electric. The award ceremony for the first phase of Project Zenith was being held in the headquarters’ largest auditorium. Chairman King himself was expected to attend. I sat in the back row, a ghost in the corner. The big screen displayed a polished PowerPoint presentation. Ninety percent of its content was what I had typed out, character by character, during countless sleepless nights over the past year. But now, on the “Core Project Members” slide, my name was listed last. And the presentation was credited to a single person. Evan. He walked onto the stage in a brand-new designer suit, his hair slicked back, looking every bit the triumphant “Project Lead.” The spotlight followed him, making him the undeniable star of the show. “Chairman King, esteemed leaders, dear colleagues, good afternoon.” His voice boomed through the microphone. “The success of Project Zenith is a testament to the company’s visionary strategy, the trust and support of Mr. King and our leadership, and of course, the tireless efforts of our entire team…” He launched into a grandiloquent speech, casually attributing my core algorithms to a “breakthrough” he had achieved after “repeated verification and overcoming significant challenges,” with the “able assistance of Luke and other colleagues.” Leo, sitting beside him, added helpfully, “Evan is truly outstanding and has a great sense of the big picture. From the very beginning, I knew he was the man for the job. It turns out my judgment was correct.” He painted himself as a discerning mentor, a master strategist. The two of them were a perfectly rehearsed act. In the front row, Chairman King beamed, nodding frequently. When Evan finished, Mr. King personally went on stage and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done! This is the future of our company! Capable, responsible, and most importantly, has perspective!” his voice was strong and clear. “To recognize Evan’s outstanding contributions to Project Zenith, I am pleased to announce that the company will award him the down payment for a 1,000-square-foot apartment at The Waterfront!” The announcement was met with thunderous applause. Everyone looked at Evan with envy. The Waterfront was the most exclusive riverfront property in the city. The down payment alone was at least half a million dollars. I saw Jenna, in the front row, jump to her feet, clapping enthusiastically. She gazed up at the brilliant man on stage, her eyes shining with undisguised admiration. A look I once thought was reserved only for me. All eyes were on the stage. No one noticed me in the corner, also clapping. A placid smile was on my face, but my eyes were a frozen, bottomless lake. My phone was discreetly raised, aimed at the stage. The camera was recording everything. Evan’s lies, Leo’s hypocrisy, Mr. King’s foolishness, and Jenna’s adoration. It would all become evidence. After the ceremony, Evan was swarmed by a crowd, a conquering hero. He saw me and made a point to come over, putting on his “best buddy” act. “Luke, don’t be discouraged. This was mainly to boost morale, to concentrate our resources. I haven’t forgotten your contribution, brother. Next time, it’ll be you.” He “comforted” me with condescension, as if I were a junior who needed his guidance. I looked at his disingenuous face and nodded with a smile. “Congratulations, Evan.” My voice was quiet, but every word was crystal clear. “You deserve it.” He clearly missed the meaning behind my words, grinning smugly before being swept away by his admirers. I watched him go, the smile on my lips turning colder. Yes. You deserve it. All of you will get exactly what you deserve.

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At fifteen, Adrian Hale helped me escape an abusive orphanage. At seventeen, I was working in a VIP lounge in the city’s underbelly when I was dragged into an alley and nearly assaulted. He was the one who found me, who stabbed those men into comas. On the day of his trial, facing a barrage of flashbulbs, he held his head high and said he had no regrets. “I just wanted to protect the woman I love, Seraphina Monroe. I wanted her to finally be able to stand in the sun.” At twenty-two, Adrian was released from prison. When he found out I was still a delivery driver in Aura City, he threw himself into the glittering world of high society and made me the richest woman in the city. After we were married, he shared every detail of his life with me, publicly referring to himself only as “Seraphina Monroe’s husband.” Then, at twenty-five, the grand casino we built together, The Empyrean, opened its doors. I lit up the sky with a half-hour fireworks display from the Zenith Tower. But when I came home, I found ten empty condom boxes on the nightstand. In the trash, there were stained tissues—the aftermath of their passion. I kicked the disgusting evidence in front of Adrian. But he didn’t even look up. He glanced at it with casual indifference and called for a maid to clean it up. “It was just a game, Seraphina. Don’t take it so seriously.” I laughed coldly and handed him the divorce papers I’d prepared. “I never play games.” Adrian swatted them out of my hand. “We are never separating. Unless I’m dead.” He had said those exact words at our wedding. It was the same promise we made to each other when we first escaped the orphanage at fifteen. But now, ten years later, it was the dead of winter. “We’ll talk when you’ve calmed down.” He left. The only thing left on the divorce papers on the floor was the print of his shoe. A moment after he was gone, my phone lit up with two messages from an unknown number. “Seraphina, can you just let Adrian go? You’re old news, a washed-up hag. You can’t even get a man excited anymore!” “You must have seen the mess in the bedroom. I’m telling you, I’m the only one who can make Adrian happy.” A series of intimate photos followed. A woman, her shoulders bare, lay on our bed, her eyes smoldering with desire. Adrian’s back was to the camera, his muscles taut, his skin slick with a thin layer of sweat. The tattoo of my name, which he had gotten on his arm just for me, was a glaring wound in the picture. “See? Adrian’s true love is me, not you!” “So I suggest you step aside. Otherwise, you won’t be keeping your position at the company for much longer.” The woman’s taunts were laced with a naive arrogance, as if such a declaration of ownership could actually make me back down. I laughed until my heart trembled. Then I went online and listed the millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry Adrian had bought me over the years for one dollar each. When Adrian returned, he found me directing the maids as they packed everything away. After a maid told him what was happening, his eyelids lifted slightly. “They’re just trinkets. If you don’t like them, it’s good to get rid of them.” I leaned against the window, a wine glass in my hand, and said nothing. He walked towards me, his leather shoes silent on the marble floor. He took the glass from my lips and drained it in one gulp. “She’s young and reckless, all bark and no bite. Is she really worth getting this angry over?” He finished the wine and placed the empty glass back in my hand. His dismissive attitude made it seem as if I wasn’t the one who had fought beside him through blood and fire to build our empire. As if it had been someone else. I smiled faintly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be so petty.” I tossed a stack of photos onto the sofa. The girl’s face, a bloody, unrecognizable mess, was in full view. “So I taught her a lesson myself.” My voice was calm. The words had barely left my lips when a rush of air whipped past my cheek. “Seraphina!” Adrian’s hand was raised, his face contorted with rage. The slap stopped less than an inch from my face. “Bianca is a model! Doing this… you’re trying to ruin her!” There was no love in his eyes. Only a raw, burning hatred, as if he wanted me gone. I stared at him, and for a moment, I was back in the rain-soaked alley at seventeen. I was working at a nightclub, and a group of men had dragged me into the darkness, tearing at my clothes. He had looked at them with that same expression, right before he stabbed each of them over thirty times. The only difference was, this time, that look was directed at me. “So?” I crushed the wine glass in my hand. With my other, I grabbed his arm and pressed his palm tight against my cheek. “Are you going to punish me like this… for her?” Our eyes clashed, a silent, vicious battle. The metallic scent of blood filled the air between us. Only then did he see the shards of glass embedded in my palm. “Seraphina.” He flinched, trying to pull his hand back. I didn’t move. I just watched as he took my hand and began to painstakingly pick out the slivers of glass. “I would never truly hurt you.” “She was out of line. She deserved a lesson.” He finally answered my question. A trickle of blood oozed from the wound, and he instinctively bent down, his lips covering the cut. Back in the orphanage, when other kids hurt us and we had no medicine, we would “disinfect” each other’s wounds this way. Even now, he held onto the habit. I pulled my hand away. “Don’t. It’s dirty.” Adrian froze. Then he called for a maid to bandage my hand. And he walked out. He didn’t come back for days. But my private investigators kept me informed. Adrian was with Bianca, taking her to the best plastic surgeons for skin grafts. Within a week, she was back in the public eye, having landed five major luxury brand fashion shows. When I heard the news, I went straight to The Empyrean to find him. On the golden walls, massive LED screens played a loop of Bianca’s runway videos. “It seems you really like her,” I said calmly. “You’re willing to give her the company’s top resources as compensation.” Adrian’s lips thinned. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Seraphina, you hurt her.” “As your husband and her mentor, it’s my duty to make it up to her. Why can’t you just let it go?” I found it laughable. I pulled the divorce papers from behind my back. “Sign this, and I’ll let her go.” This time, he didn’t just toss the papers aside. He ripped them to shreds. “I told you, we are never separating. Unless I’m dead!” I knew he couldn’t let go of his obsession. Even more, he couldn’t let go of the empire we had built together. I smiled, grabbed a nearby bottle of Lafite, and smashed it against the massive screen beside me. Screams erupted in the lobby as people scrambled to get away. When the entire ground floor was empty, I stared at him, my feet crunching over the broken glass. “Adrian.” I called his name softly, a trail of blood marking my path as I walked toward him. I raised my hand. The jagged edge of the broken bottle was pressed against his throat. “Do you really think I don’t have the guts to send you to your grave?” His pupils contracted. He grabbed the bottleneck, his knuckles white. I didn’t back down. I pushed it deeper. “If you don’t agree to this divorce, I’ll send you on your way myself!” My entire body was tense. I could see beads of blood forming on his neck. But in the next second, he let go. The sharp glass plunged into his throat. Blood instantly soaked my hand. He just looked at me and smiled. “Seraphina, I will never agree to a divorce.” He grabbed my hand, forcing the bottle in deeper. “If you’re going to force my hand, then do it now.” His tone was as casual as if he were asking what was for dinner. I yanked the bottle back. A warm spray hit my face. The smell of blood filled my nostrils, thick and suffocating. I was dizzy, thrown back to that rainy night at seventeen. All the strength drained from my body. The bottle fell from my hand, shattering on the floor. “Seraphina.” A pair of cold hands steadied me. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Adrian gently patted my trembling back, even as his own blood soaked his shirt. He had held me just like this for fifteen years in that orphanage, trying to shield me from harm with his own frail body, trying to warm me with his own cold skin. He would whisper it over and over, “Don’t be afraid, Seraphina. I’m here.” We had carried that love through twenty-five years of blood and tears. And now, it was unrecognizable. I pushed him away, forcing myself to walk. My weak limbs gave out, and I collapsed to the floor. “Seraphina!” He moved to help me up. “Stay away!” I clawed my way back to my feet and stumbled out. After that, Adrian and I didn’t see each other. My sources told me he was recovering in the hospital, with Bianca constantly by his side. In her spare time, she managed to win an international modeling award. I paid it no mind, focusing solely on running The Empyrean. But Bianca couldn’t wait. She came to the casino to flaunt her victory. “Seraphina, this award was a birthday gift from Adrian.” She brandished the golden trophy, her eyes glinting with triumph. “Did you really think scarring my face would make him leave me?” She stepped closer. “Adrian’s love for me is real. The more you hurt me, the more he cherishes me. These endorsements and awards are just small tokens of his affection. What I really love is how much more passionate he’s become.” I noticed then that she had removed the silk scarf from her neck. Her pale skin was covered in a constellation of dark red marks, each one a testament to the wild, unrestrained nights she and Adrian had spent together. “You’re so pathetic, Seraphina.” She tilted her head back, her face a mask of scorn. “I hear you and Adrian have been together for eight years and still don’t have a child.” “You should get that checked out. It would be a shame if I beat you to motherhood.” I smiled. In the blink of an eye, Bianca screamed. She clutched her stomach and crumpled to the floor, her eyes burning with hatred. “Seraphina, you’ll burn in hell for this!” The curve of my lips widened. I brought the sharp point of my heel down hard on her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you die long before I do.” “Aren’t you afraid Adrian will hate you for this?” she choked out. I pressed down harder. “What happens between him and me is none of your business.” That night, Adrian came home. He had his men surround the villa, their presence a silent, menacing siege. An armored car was parked outside. He had only ever used such tactics when eliminating threats to our organization. I never thought they would be turned on me. I opened the door. We stood facing each other, each of us flanked by a sea of bodyguards. “Seraphina.” It was the first time he had ever said my name with such coldness. “Aren’t you going to give Bianca an explanation?” “She came looking for a fight. I just gave her what she wanted. Isn’t that right?” I descended the staircase slowly, stopping in front of him. The faint glow of his cigarette failed to illuminate his entire face. “Did you really think I was as docile as the rumors say? That I’d welcome your mistress with a smile?” I exhaled a plume of smoke. “Adrian, don’t forget, half of everything you have is in my name.” “The only reason I haven’t made this a public spectacle is out of respect for our history. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let some clown disrespect me.” I held out the divorce papers again, dropped my cigarette, and crushed it under my heel. “But if you sign this, I can let everything else go.” The clouds blotted out the moon completely. In the darkness, I didn’t miss the red glint in Adrian’s eyes. I sighed. “For twenty-five years, you helped me escape that hellhole, you went to prison to protect me. In return, I willingly conquered half of Aura City for you, so you could be free to find your own happiness.” “My debt to you is paid. Let’s part ways amicably.” “Amicably.” Adrian finally spoke, sneering the word. His response was to snatch a lighter and set the divorce papers ablaze. “I won’t let her bother you again.” The flames died out. He turned and left with his men, without a backward glance. I stood there until his silhouette vanished, then let out a series of stifled coughs. “Boss.” My men rushed to my side. I waved them away. “It’s nothing. The usual.” To gain a foothold in Aura City, the endless dinners and drinks had taken their toll on my lungs. It was a chronic problem even the best doctors couldn’t fix. The cough persisted for days. I finally made an appointment at a private hospital, only to walk in on Bianca, in her room, threatening to kill herself. “Adrian, you said you loved me! Why won’t you divorce her? Why won’t you stand up for me?” “Don’t you know I’m ruined like this? I might as well be dead!” She grabbed a fruit knife and tried to plunge it into her own chest. Adrian blocked it with his arm. A long, deep gash opened up, blood pouring out. The knife clattered to the floor. Ignoring his bleeding arm, he cupped her face and kissed her deeply. A grotesque, desperate passion. Just like eight years ago. I pushed the door open. They both turned to look at me. “Seraphina! I’ll make you pay for this!” Bianca shrieked, scrambling for the knife and lunging at me. I twisted her arm behind her back and threw her to the floor. Adrian grabbed my forearm. “Seraphina, don’t.” “Don’t what?” I laughed, a humorless sound. “You’re the one who said she wouldn’t bother me again.” “I gave you the courtesy of handling it, but now she’s trying to kill me. If I don’t do something, you both might actually think I’m a pushover.” SLAP! The sound of my hand connecting with Bianca’s face echoed in the room. That single blow seemed to shatter the fragile truce between Adrian and me. He shoved me away like a madman, grabbing the knife and pointing it at my heart. “Seraphina, if you touch Bianca again, don’t blame me for what happens.” The tip of the blade tore the collar of my shirt. He stood before Bianca like a guardian, ready to fight her battles. Not long ago, he had sworn he would never hurt me. “Are you sure you want to do this to me… for her?” The hand holding the knife was trembling, but his eyes were resolute. “Seraphina, you’re forcing me to do this.” “I won’t let you hurt her again.” I laughed. I truly laughed. “Adrian, there’s no going back for us.” Only when you’ve loved can the absence of it be so monstrous. The Adrian of seventeen was gone forever.

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Four years after I died, my headstone was already crooked. I haunted Jim’s dreams for weeks, begging him to come fix it. But he wouldn’t come. Frustrated, I kept up my ghostly wailing, crying about how miserable I was in the afterlife. In his sleep, Jim just scowled. “Leave me alone, Erica. I’m not going. I’m busy.” And yet, one night, he showed up right after getting off work, a shovel slung over his shoulder. The man had never done a day of manual labor in his life. He took one swing. And my headstone… it toppled over completely. Jim, a cigarette dangling from his lips, actually let out a short, sharp laugh. “Damn it, Erica. Are you doing this just to mess with me?” 1. Another All Souls’ Eve came and went. As usual, Jim burned nothing for me. My debts in the Underworld just kept piling up. Even the Reapers were telling me to just move on, to reincarnate already. I looked down at the tattered rags I wore and shook my head. No. Jim was too much of a bastard. I had to watch him raise our daughter. Only then would I be willing to let go. Jim and I have a daughter. She’s four years old this year. I don’t know her name. I don’t even know what she looks like. Jim won’t let me see her. He rarely visits me, either. The first year after my death, he went on a rampage, throwing everything of mine out of the house. He forbade the nanny from even speaking my name. It was as if he was trying to erase me from his world, scouring away every last trace until nothing remained. The house was covered in wards. He slept with silver charms by his pillow. And my daughter’s room was sealed behind a web of protective circles. Even a fleeting glimpse of her was an impossible dream. For a man like Jim, who never believed in ghosts or gods, to go to such lengths… he must have really put his back into it. He despised me that much. So how could I ever hope he would treat our daughter with kindness? I have to watch. I have to stay until she’s grown. 2. A cold wind sliced through the night. I huddled behind my fallen headstone, wrapping my arms around myself, but I couldn’t stop shivering. The cemetery was swallowed by darkness. I buried my face in my knees, too scared to look up. Too scared of being seen by the other shades passing through. These lost souls, they prey on helpless spirits like me. They steal your clothes. They devour your offerings. They hoard the warmth of incense meant for others. I had no one, so I was an easy target. A sound rustled nearby. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my face deeper into my knees, holding my breath. Suddenly, the sound stopped right in front of my grave. With a heavy thud, a shovel landed at my feet. I peeked out from behind the stone, and a sob nearly escaped my lips. It was Jim. He stood there in a black overcoat, his features sharp and severe in the moonlight. He cast a lazy, dismissive glance at my headstone as if to confirm it was mine. As if it were hard to tell. He hated complications. The massive marble slab bore only a few words. Beloved Wife: Erica. Husband: Jim. He hadn’t even added our daughter’s name. He wasn’t in any hurry to fix the stone. Instead, he crouched down, pulled a cigarette from his coat, and lit it, his eyes fixed on the small, faded photograph of me. A cloud of smoke curled from his lips. “Erica,” he murmured, his voice a low drawl, “you had all that money. You couldn’t have left a little for me when you died?” “Now here I am, in the prime of my life, running a business and raising a kid.” He tapped the ash from his cigarette and gently poked my forehead in the picture. The nerve of him. He was the one who spent his days partying and chasing women. Of course I had to leave something for my daughter. He was still thinking about my money, even after I was dead. Shameless. A surge of fury shot through me. I whipped up a gust of wind and sent it howling straight at him. Jim’s hair was thrown into disarray, the collar of his coat flipped up, and a smudge of ash landed on his sleeve. But he didn’t get angry. He just flicked the ash away, his gaze lifting slightly. “Mad now, are you?” “You’ve been dead this long, and you’re still holding such a grudge.” I conjured another gust, slapping it across his face. He talked too much. Instead of getting angry, Jim just smiled. He stubbed out the cigarette under his heel and picked up the shovel. “Fine, I’ll fix it.” “I don’t know why being a ghost is so complicated. One day you’re crying about being cold, the next you’re complaining you’re broke.” “Erica, you’re a ghost. Have some dignity, will you?” I glared at him. It was his fault. He barely visited once a year. How was I supposed to get by without clothes or offerings? Every time I told him I needed something, he’d brush me off, his eyes closed in feigned sleep. “I got it.” “Stop haunting my dreams.” “My sleep is precious. I have to wake up and earn money for your daughter’s formula.” I believed his crap. I waited and waited. And waited some more. Finally, when I couldn’t wait any longer, I slipped back into his dreams. He was still lying there, eyes shut, and spoke with weary familiarity. “Erica, you again. Don’t you ghosts ever sleep?” “You promised you’d burn me some money!” Jim chuckled. “Forgot. Just wait a little longer. I’ll get to it when I have time.” Right. No time? He had enough time to take our daughter with him to meet a blind date. He was a master at squeezing minutes out of his day, but when it came to me, he was always “too busy.” At least this time he showed a flicker of conscience. I only had to scream at him in his dreams twice before he showed up. Jim hefted the shovel, sizing up the hole. I watched him, a frown creasing my ghostly brow. He looked a little too eager. Did he even know what he was doing? Of course not. Jim brought the shovel down with a powerful swing. My headstone crashed to the ground. It landed at his feet, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on his expensive trousers. Jim grimaced and muttered a curse under his breath. Then I heard him ask, “Erica, you can probably still live here without a roof, right?” A fire ignited in my soul. I clenched my fists, ready to give him a slap he’d feel in the mortal world. “Daddy!” 3. A small, sweet voice drifted from the darkness. I froze. Jim flinched, immediately hiding his cigarette and frantically brushing the ash off his coat. My head snapped around. There, running towards us, was a little girl in a white puffer jacket. Her hair was woven into beautiful little braids, her cheeks rosy and full. Her eyes were like dark, round grapes, shining and bright. She was laughing as she ran straight for Jim. She was so small, so soft. It was effortless for Jim to scoop her into his arms, wrapping his large coat around her, hiding her completely from my view. “Didn’t Daddy tell you to wait in the car?” Jim’s voice had lost its edge, replaced by a gentle warmth. He nuzzled his nose against the little girl’s cheek. “Mrs. Lynn said she’s making stew at home, and I’m hungry.” She wrapped her tiny arms around Jim’s neck, pressing her cheek against his. “Daddy, your face is so cold. Let’s go home.” She kissed his cheek, then her small hands moved to cover his ears, a tiny, earnest attempt to shield him from the wind. So smart. So sweet. I couldn’t get enough of the sight of her. Jim kissed her back, pulling the coat tighter around her. He glanced at the ruined gravesite. “Erica, you’ll have to make do with the house for now.” “My daughter’s hungry. I have to go.” My fists tightened. I surged after him. “When are you going to fix it?!” Jim couldn’t hear me. But the little girl in his arms peeked out from the folds of his coat, her grape-like eyes looking right at me. Then, she spoke. “Daddy, isn’t that lady going home?” Her little finger pointed directly at me. Jim froze. He glanced over his shoulder. Of course, there was nothing there. Without another word, he shrugged off his entire overcoat, wrapped our daughter in it until she was a tight, warm bundle, and strode towards the cemetery gates. As he left, his voice floated back, a low, flat warning. “Don’t even think about following me, Erica. The wards I have at home will be more than you can handle.” I stopped in my tracks. All I did was stir a gentle breeze to brush the last of the ash from his cuff. Jim’s eyes dropped to the spot where the wind touched him. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he turned and walked away without looking back. I stood there, alone, and didn’t follow. 4. Silence descended. I sat on my overturned headstone, my mind drifting back to a time long, long ago. Jim and I had an arranged marriage. A merger of two family empires. He loved to play. He was a fixture in the tabloids. A star of the gossip columns. He was at his wildest at twenty-seven. I was twenty-three. We were forced together. Before the wedding, he’d smirked at me. “There’s a line of women waiting to be Mrs. Jim. You’re such a good girl, Erica. Try not to get your heart broken.” I met his gaze, my voice even. “If any of them had what it takes, the spot wouldn’t have been vacant for me to fill.” He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “I thought you were more of a poet, Miss Zhou.” “I know a little about strategy, too,” I said modestly. Jim laughed. I’d never seen him laugh like that. His teeth were perfectly white, his hair catching the light, and genuine delight danced at the corners of his eyes. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his suit jacket draped over one arm. He looked part lazy rogue, part confident heir. “Alright then,” he said. “From now on, you protect me, Miss Zhou.” I had met many men, but none were like Jim. Beneath the polished, handsome exterior was a core of untamable recklessness. I knew I could never hold onto him. I wouldn’t dare dream that a man like him could ever love just one person. So I never overstepped. I never tried to cage him. In two years of marriage, I never once interfered in his affairs. He liked my cooking, but he was always too busy to come home. Often, he would show up at ten at night and ask me to make him something. I would only ever make him a simple omelet with a side of greens. Jim wasn’t a picky eater; he always finished every bite. I’d make the food and go back to my room. He’d eat and leave, never staying the night. I had the sprawling three-thousand-square-foot apartment all to myself. It was a peaceful existence. But that idyllic life didn’t last. After two years, Jim’s parents started pressuring us to have a child. Jim hated the idea. He dropped all pretense of a happy marriage. He was photographed with other women at galas. He spent a fortune launching the careers of aspiring starlets. He even had his father’s mistress send a floral arrangement to his mother’s company launch party. In the span of two weeks, the family business was trending for all the wrong reasons. Jim’s mother was furious. But Jim just sat across from me at dinner, calm as ever, placing a piece of fish in my bowl. “The fish is good. Eat up.” As he was leaving, he put on his coat and glanced back at me. “Don’t worry about my mother.” He paused, then added, “If she gives you any trouble, call me.” Just as he predicted, she did. His mother was a formidable woman. Unable to control her son, she turned her pressure on me. Back then, I didn’t know how to bow my head or show weakness. She made my life difficult, time and time again, but I never told Jim. Until my family’s company started to fail. Investors pulled out. The cash flow dried up. Desperate, my father told me to go to Jim’s mother, to beg her to give us a lifeline. It was only then that I learned how badly my family’s business had been struggling. It couldn’t withstand the targeted attacks from Jim’s mother. So I went to see her. For the first time in my life, I learned to bow my head. She agreed to save my family’s company. But there was a price. She wanted me to have a child. “Jim is a lost cause,” she said coolly. “I need a new heir.” 5. I signed the non-disclosure agreement. One evening, as Jim was finishing his omelet and getting ready to leave, I took out two wine glasses. Under the warm glow of the dining room lights, Jim looked up, a playful smile touching his lips. I stood up, the pencil skirt molding to my form, the click of my heels echoing on the marble floor. Jim leaned back in his chair, draping his jacket over the back, watching me with a lazy, amused expression. I walked over to him and, looking down, carefully poured the wine. A drop splashed onto the back of my hand. He watched me for a second, then his large hand covered mine, and in one smooth motion, he pulled me onto his lap. I sat there, my ears burning, but forced myself to remain composed. Jim chuckled and drained his glass. The scent of wine was intoxicating. He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Trying to make me stay?” I buried my face in the crook of his neck, unable to meet his eyes. I could only manage a small, shy nod. Jim toyed with a strand of my hair that had fallen near his hand. “Can’t drive after drinking,” he murmured. “Guess you’ll have to put me up for the night?” “Hmm?” I didn’t answer with words. I just pressed a soft kiss to his neck. His blood was warm. I could feel his pulse beating against my lips. Jim laughed, tilting my chin up. His kiss was possessive and absolute, stealing the air from my lungs. It was a night of beautiful madness. After that, Jim started coming home more often. He spent more and more time with me. Back then, under the guise of caring for his health, I asked him to quit smoking and drinking. And he did. He started carrying candy and gum in his pockets instead. He made time to have dinner with me. He took walks with me in the evenings. He learned my favorite foods at fancy restaurants, my preferred level of sweetness in a bubble tea. That life lasted for four months. Then, I found out I was pregnant. Joy, then shock. And then, a wave of panic and fear washed over me. According to the contract, the child belonged to his mother the moment it was born. I couldn’t let her find out about the baby yet. So I told no one. Not even Jim. Until he found the contract. I thought he would explode with rage. I braced myself for it. But all he did was ask me, his voice quiet and hollow, “Erica, do you even have a heart?” “You used our child as a bargaining chip.” I gripped the sleeve of his shirt, my face pale. I couldn’t say a word. I had deceived him. From the very beginning, I had never considered asking for his help. I had never imagined that our tangled lives would weave something real between us. I had used him. There was no defense for it. “I thought you had some feelings for me,” he said, his voice laced with betrayal. “I didn’t think you could be bought by my mother.” “Erica—” He said my name, and his eyes were filled with ice. “We’re done.” I sighed, unable to bear the memory of his frozen gaze. I only remember that in the four years that followed, he returned to his world of parties and beautiful women. He had completely moved on from me. A gust of wind swept by. I shrank into myself, wrapping my arms tighter around my knees. My mind was filled with the image of my daughter’s round, dark eyes. So beautiful. She had grown up safe and sound. She was such a good girl. A tear escaped, then another. Laughter mixed with sobs. A sour ache bloomed in my chest, and the tears wouldn’t stop, soaking the front of my spectral form. The cold wind bit at me, making my very bones ache. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand, and I couldn’t breathe. So I cried harder. Until the cemetery was filled with my desolate, echoing wails. On and on. Endlessly. Tears fell, drop by drop, onto my cold legs, staining the exposed white bone beneath with a ghostly red. I clenched my twisted, broken fingers, my nails digging into the raw flesh. The pain was excruciating. A voice, thick with blood and sorrow, tore from my throat. “What are you crying about?” “Isn’t being a ghost better than being alive?” “All this wailing is giving me a headache.” 6. I looked up. A young woman was leaning against a nearby headstone, casually munching on an apple she’d clearly filched from an offering plate. Behind her stood two figures I knew well. The Reapers who were assigned to guide me. I blinked, the tears stopping mid-fall. “I’m not going,” I blurted out. “I’m not reincarnating.” “I have to watch my daughter grow up.” One of the Reapers sighed. “In your current state, you can’t even get past the front gate of their house. How do you expect to watch over your daughter?” “But because you’ve shown kindness and helped the other lost souls here, we’ve petitioned the higher-ups on your behalf. We found a body for you.” “She looks about eighty percent like you did.” They pushed the young woman forward. She took another bite of her apple and did a little twirl. “So? What do you think? Satisfied?” I wiped away the blood and tears, finally getting a good look at her. She was slender, with fair skin. A small, red beauty mark dotted the corner of one eye. She was the spitting image of me in my early twenties. I hesitated. “If I take your body, what about you?” “Eh, I’m sick. No cure. I was going to die soon anyway,” she said with a shrug. “If you can use it, take it. Saves me the suffering.” “But what about your parents? What if they realize I’m not you…?” She shook her head. “Tough luck my whole life. Grew up in an orphanage. No family.” “The Reapers promised me a storefront in the Underworld so I can start a business.” “I’m done with the pain of living.” “Just say yes already.” I nodded, my eyes filling with fresh tears of gratitude. I thanked them over and over. The Reapers pulled my spirit from its ruined form and pushed it into the new body. I stared at my hands in wonder. They were warm. No longer cold and brittle, no longer carrying the faint, scorched scent of my death. The Reapers led the young woman’s soul away. Before they vanished, one turned back. “You have fifteen days.” “Erica, may you find your peace.” I listened to the strong, steady beat of my new heart, tears streaming down my face. Fifteen days. I would have taken fifteen minutes. I missed my child so much. After they left, I walked out of the cemetery. Using the information the girl had left in her phone’s notes, I found her small rental apartment and settled in. That night, I drafted a resume. My target was Apex Holdings. The company Jim had built from the ground up after I died. 7. The next morning, I applied some light makeup and changed into a white pantsuit. Standing in front of the mirror, I felt a jolt. I looked so much like my younger self. I smiled at my reflection. “Hello, Ava.” Ava’s identity was that of a top university graduate with an impeccable resume and extensive work experience. Getting into Apex wasn’t difficult. After a series of interviews, I was hired a week later. I didn’t see Jim on my first day. But I knew my resume had landed on his desk long before. My work experience, my hobbies and interests… I had filled it all out as myself. Jim had once helped me edit my own resume, back in the second year after I graduated. He’d had me work as his intern, personally training me for six months. Besides, the photo on this resume was a dead ringer for me. He had to know.

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