Author: Momo Chan

My superstar brother picked me up from work, but the paparazzi snapped a photo and claimed I was a desperate simp chasing him. To mock me, my brother posted a fake medical report online, claiming I had a terminal illness and didn’t have long to live. He even asked people to Venmo him $50 to fund my funeral. Unexpectedly, in the middle of the night, my door was pounded on. Standing there, red-eyed and frantic, was the usually cold and untouchable movie god, Preston Shaw. “I’ll give you fifty million dollars. Please, just give her to me. Let me save her.” My brother raised an eyebrow. “You’re too late. She’s already gone.” I, having just returned from a midnight snack run, stood quietly behind the movie god, holding a bag of chips. “Who’s gone?” The next second, the movie god fainted. My brother: “Crap. I forgot he’s terrified of ghosts.” Me: “…?” 1 When I was seven, I accidentally stepped on a famous actress’s dress during a commercial shoot. The actress, known for her gentle public image, leaned down and hissed that I was finished. Since then, faced with a barrage of fake scandals and blacklists, I decided to smash the jar and go full villain. I embraced the “love-to-hate” route in Hollywood. By the time my biological brother, Chase Chen—a top-tier idol and rapper—returned from his music studies abroad, my reputation was unsalvageable. “Here’s the plan,” my brother, who shares my DNA, said. “We pretend we don’t know each other. Don’t drag me down with you.” “You said you’d help me when you got back!” “There’s no fixing this, sis. Delete your account and restart. Maybe ask Mom for a third child.” “?” Since then, he’s been my biggest anti-fan. If I get a papercut, he offers salt. If my foundation is cakey, he offers sandpaper. If I’m dieting, he eats a three-tier cake in front of me. End of flashback. Right now, I had just finished filming a variety show with the movie god, Preston Shaw. I was sitting in my brother’s car, admiring my makeup in the mirror. “You look happy. Did sparks fly with the movie god today?” Chase asked, driving with one hand, a lollipop in his mouth. “Physical sparks, maybe. This sweater is cheap polyester; the static electricity is insane. I zap everything I touch.” “Oh?” Chase was silent for two seconds, then chuckled. “So that’s what he meant.” “What?” Chase didn’t answer. He just handed me his phone. The trending topics were dominated by Preston Shaw. It was the first day of recording, so that was expected. But the hashtags were… weird. I clicked on #PrestonShawSparks. It was about a tweet he had just posted. Preston, who usually speaks in monosyllables, had written a whole paragraph: @PrestonShaw_Official: I heard that when two hearts get close, sparks fly. I didn’t believe it before. But after colliding thirteen times today, can we define this as destiny? “…Is he off his meds?” I stared wide-eyed. Was Preston possessed? He was notoriously cold. We hadn’t exchanged more than three sentences today, and I swore he was glaring at me half the time for being in his way. Chase shook his head. “Maybe the static shocked his brain.” 2 The next day, things got even weirder. #ChaseChenSecretGirlfriend #ChloeChenDesperateSimp #ChaseAndChloeCohabitation Turns out, the paparazzi caught Chase picking me up. They spun a tale about how I, Chloe Chen (the D-list villainess), was throwing myself at Chase Chen (the A-list idol), and how he eventually took me home. Me: “…” Guys, look at the names. Chloe Chen. Chase Chen. We look alike! A fool would ask if we were related! But the comments were brutal. “Don’t tarnish my oppa! Chloe Chen is a stage name! Her real name is Gertrude!” Me: “…?” “No way, twenty years ago when she did that commercial, wasn’t her name Mary?” Me: “…??” “Wait, I know this! I’ve been a hater for ten years. Her real name is Sally Ann DeOpsva, she’s half-Russian!” Me: “…???” Hold on, bro, you know too much. I scrolled down, face darkening. No one got it right. Instead, they dug up the incident from twenty years ago. “Who cares what her name is? She’s been a liar since she was seven.” “True. I feel so bad for Lydia Quinn. She took care of that ungrateful brat, only to be backstabbed.” “Lydia Quinn hasn’t been active in years. Is she retired?” “I hope she comes back just to slap Chloe in the face!” Slap. I placed my phone face down on the table. Lydia Quinn. The first celebrity I ever met, and the architect of my ruin. Because of one sentence—”You’re lying”—directed at a seven-year-old, I had carried a label of dishonesty for twenty years. She used my “betrayal” to gain sympathy and win her Best Actress award. Meeting her again? Honestly, I was kind of looking forward to it. Buzz buzz. My phone vibrated. A notification from Twitter. Chase had posted. @ChaseChen_Real: I can’t hide it anymore. She has a terminal illness. She almost fainted on the road, so I brought her home to die in peace. She’s gone now. Venmo me $50 for a Cyber-Funeral (Deluxe Edition). Attached was a fake diagnosis report he pulled from who-knows-where. My brother is quiet only when he’s plotting evil. “Hey, you’re eating my blood buns (profiting off my misery)!” I walked into the living room, rolling my eyes. “Shh, I’m fishing for a big catch.” Chase typed furiously on his phone. I kicked him. “Is there food? I’m starving.” “Sis, it’s 1 AM. Aren’t you a female celebrity? Don’t you diet?” “The celebrity is dead. I’m a ghost now.” I scratched my messy hair. “Forget it, I’ll go buy something.” The convenience store was close. I walked back with a bag of snacks and saw a tall figure standing at our door. A stalker fan? I knew living with Chase was risky. I crept closer and saw Chase leaning against the doorframe, looking bored. “…She’s already taken her last breath,” Chase said solemnly. Huh? I squinted and stepped forward. “Who took their last breath?” The figure spun around. Before I could see his face, he collapsed onto the floor. Thud. “Crap. I forgot he’s afraid of ghosts,” Chase said, looking at me. “Sis, wash your face. You look like a zombie from the night shift.” “Yes, yes, your majesty.” I squatted down to check the body. When I saw the face, I nearly fainted too. “Preston… Preston Shaw?!” 3 “…” “…” Silence. Finally, I broke it. “Chase, are you trafficking men now?” “I’m a legitimate businessman.” “What is going on?” “I don’t know! He ran to our door screaming he’d give me fifty million to hand you over. Am I the kind of brother who sells his sister?” “Holy crap, is that a Black Card in his pocket?” “Where? Where?!” I glared at him. “…Cough.” Chase composed himself. “I really don’t know. Ask him when he wakes up.” “Okay, but why did we drag him into my bed?” “Your sheets are pink. He probably likes pink.” “And you say you aren’t trafficking him.” “I’m straight.” Chase frowned. “It’s fine, I texted his agent. They’ll pick him up soon. Can’t believe a six-foot-two man is scared of ghosts…” I rubbed my chin. “You sound like you know him well.” “Know him? I hate him. People who approach me with ulterior motives are the worst. Especially since his motive is my biggest trigger.” “Then why did you—” Ding dong. The doorbell rang. Creepy at this hour. Chase stood up. “Must be his agent. I’ll get it. Watch him.” I rolled my eyes. Once he left, I turned back to Preston Shaw. And locked eyes with a pair of deep, ink-black pupils. Crap, when did he wake up?! I opened my mouth but found no words. Preston just stared at me, slowly reaching out a hand. I watched, frozen, as his finger reached for me. Zap. Static electricity sparked where he touched me. “…” I am throwing this sweater away. But Preston acted like he didn’t feel it. He gripped my wrist, his expression tragic. “Are you really with Chase Chen?” Me: “…?” Huh? Bang! A loud slam from the front door. The next second, Chase stormed in, grabbed Preston by the collar, and hauled him up. “Why is she here?” Confusion flashed in Preston’s eyes. “While I still have patience, get out of my sight.” “What happened? Who was at the door?” I asked, bewildered. Preston seemed to realize what Chase meant. He looked at me with a complicated expression, then slowly stood up. “Did you step in glue? Move!” Chase snapped. Preston sighed and walked out. “What is your problem? You’re so rude. I’ll go see him out—” “Sit down.” Chase pushed me back onto the bed. “?” I slapped his hand away. “Did the static fry your brain too?” Ignoring his dark expression, I walked out. The front door was open. Preston stood there, radiating a chill colder than Chase’s anger. I peeked around him. A woman stood in front of Chase. It was dark, but as I walked closer, our eyes met. My blood froze. …Lydia Quinn. Even with the marks of time, her beauty was undeniable. I would never forget those eyes. She saw me. Just as she opened her mouth, the door was slammed shut in her face. Slam. Louder than before. I turned around. Chase was looking at me. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hold back your tears at home.” 4 The next day, I arrived at the variety show recording with swollen eyes. I was late, so I tried to sneak to the edge of the lineup. But when I stopped, everyone was staring at me. Strange. Usually, I’m background decoration. I turned my head and met a pair of familiar smiling eyes. “…Chase?” My brother, who was asleep when I left, was now standing next to me, dressed to the nines. And he was holding a child’s hand. Wait, a child? I widened my eyes. The kid blinked back. He looked familiar. This was my nephew, Leo! My cousin, a rapper who debuted with Chase, went off the rails after Chase went abroad. He left a trail of broken hearts and, eventually, a baby. When the mothers teamed up to cancel him, he dumped the kid on us and begged us to hide him. He shaved his head and swore to reform. I hadn’t seen him or the kid since. Why was Leo here? With Chase? I looked at Chase. He winked at me repeatedly. I nodded thoughtfully and asked politely, “Did your contact lens slip, Mr. Chen?” “…” Chase rolled his eyes and looked toward a screen displaying the live comments. [Holy crap, Chase and Chloe actually have a kid?] [LOL ‘contact lens slip.’ Chase is winking at a brick wall.] [So the rumors are true? Cohabitation and a secret child?] [Why does that kid look familiar…] [Why is everyone focused on them? Look at Preston Shaw in the middle. His face is terrifyingly dark.] I looked back at Chase. He had the face of a man ready to sacrifice himself. Just as I was about to signal him, a tall shadow separated us. Preston Shaw, who was standing in the center position, had walked over and stood wordlessly between me and my brother. I was even more confused. The host finally recovered. “Welcome to Saturday Night Frenzy! By popular vote, we have Chase Chen as our special guest! This episode is live!” “Hello everyone, I’m Chase.” “Welcome! We noticed you brought a cute little guest. Who is this?” I realized the situation. I looked at Chase, but Preston blocked my view completely. I moved left, he moved left. I moved right, he moved right. I frowned. My cousin must have dumped the kid on Chase again. We couldn’t reveal his identity yet. What would Chase say? Thinking this, I saw a finger point at me. “Ask her.” Me: “…?” Excuse me? The misunderstanding skyrocketed. The comments went wild. [Wow. ‘Ask her.’ That’s basically saying ‘Go ask your mother.’] [OMG… but why is Preston squeezing in there?] [Wait, wasn’t there a rumor that Preston and Chase had a thing? Is Preston jealous of the sister-in-law?] I opened my mouth to explain, but Preston suddenly grabbed my nephew’s other hand. With a solemn face, he announced: “The child is mine.” Me: “?” Chase: “??” Comments: “???” [WHAT?] [Preston, wait. Yours and WHOSE?] [Mom, the fanfiction is coming true.] [So the rumor about Preston and Chase having a secret love child in London is real?] Chase’s brain clearly short-circuited. The host, a professional, laughed nervously. “Haha! What a joke! Let’s start the games!”

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I’m eighty years old this year. My husband passed away early, but my pension is substantial, and my health is excellent. Life has never been happier. Until one day, my granddaughter called me to help her catch a cheater. I grabbed my cane and ran out the door. Dammit, I always knew that boy had shifty eyes and wasn’t a good person. 01 When I arrived at the hotel, I saw my granddaughter arguing with the front desk. “I’m Jason’s wife. I already showed you our marriage certificate. Why can’t you tell me the room number?” “This involves customer privacy.” “What privacy? I came with Jason today, we just forgot the key card.” “There is no check-in information under your name.” The receptionist even added: “A wife should be more understanding of her husband. Being suspicious only harms your marriage.” My granddaughter’s face turned red with anger. I slammed my cane onto the front desk and lay down directly on the floor. Wriggling my body left and right like a caterpillar, I slowly crawled on the ground, moving from the front desk all the way to the main entrance, shouting as I moved: “This is a black-hearted hotel.” “They won’t reissue a room card.” “Bullying an eighty-year-old woman.” “Everyone, don’t stay here.” Halfway through shouting, I choked on my own saliva. I coughed while still remembering to wriggle. Several customers who had just entered the hotel were scared away by my antics. The manager rushed over, and the receptionist explained the situation to him. The manager squatted down and said to me: “Grandma, we really can’t tell you the room number. If your granddaughter can’t control her man, you can’t make trouble for our hotel.” What kind of nonsense is that? I don’t want to hear a word of it. Twenty-year-old me might have been helpless, but eighty-year-old me has plenty of tricks. I accelerated my wriggling towards a nearby customer, scaring him into screaming and running away. The manager’s face darkened: “Grandma, if you keep this up, I’m calling the police.” I nimbly changed direction and headed towards another person who had just entered the hotel. I deliberately used my feet to push, arching my back, crawling in an even more bizarre posture. “Call the police then. I’m almost a hundred years old. If the police let me out, I’ll just come back and lie down in your hotel.” “Let’s see if I die first or your hotel closes down first.” While the manager hesitated, I scared away two more customers. The manager, helpless, had to tell me the room number. My granddaughter hurriedly helped me up. After getting up, I felt a wave of dizziness and leaned on my cane to rest for a while. Sure enough, getting old means getting tired after crawling on the ground for a bit. As soon as my granddaughter and I arrived at the room, we heard laughter coming from inside, with a coquettish female voice being particularly prominent. My granddaughter’s eyes instantly turned red. Heart aching for her, I knocked on the door and shouted: “Housekeeping.” Jason grumbled as he came to open the door. My granddaughter slapped him right in the face. “Emily, why are you here?” My granddaughter pounced on him and started hitting him. I observed for a while, seeing she had the upper hand, and walked into the room. I saw a woman in her early twenties wrapped in a quilt, leaning against the headboard, looking at me in terror. “Girl, why are you being a mistress at such a young age? Are you Jason’s colleague?” The girl shook her head hurriedly and explained, “I just met him today. I provide door-to-door massage services.” Hearing this, my contempt for Jason deepened. Another man who can’t control his lower body. At this time, the dispute at the door became more intense. Slap! Seeing the crowd of onlookers growing, Jason slapped my granddaughter in exasperation. My granddaughter didn’t react, frozen in place, big tears falling straight down. Furious, I rushed forward and hit Jason on the head with my cane. Caught off guard, Jason knelt on the ground clutching his head. I hit his limbs and back indiscriminately, and he couldn’t straighten up from the pain. “Rebelling, are you? Cheating and daring to hit your wife.” “Let’s see you hit your wife again.” Someone called the police. Four officers arrived and pulled us apart. The police looked at me sternly, and I was a bit scared. Seeing Jason lying on the ground crying about pain, I was even more afraid of being at a disadvantage. So I also lay on the ground with a constipated look on my face. No matter what the police asked, I just said I hurt all over. Helpless, the police had to take us all back to the station first and call our families to pick us up. My son, Mike, rushed over and asked nervously: “Mom, are you okay?” I put on an expression of excruciating pain, then whispered: “I’m fine. That son of a bitch Jason hired a prostitute. Get them divorced immediately.” Using the excuse of taking me to the hospital for a checkup, Mike took me home to rest first. On the way, Mike promised me repeatedly that he would handle this matter well. Who knew that half a month later, during the Dragon Boat Festival, I was preparing a big table of food, waiting for the family to come home for a reunion. My granddaughter called me from outside. As soon as I opened the door, I saw Jason hugging my granddaughter, standing at the door with a smile. 02 Bang. I thought I was dizzy from cooking and hallucinating, so I subconsciously closed the door. The wind slammed the door against the wall with a heavy thud. A few seconds later, I opened the door again. Outside still stood my granddaughter and her whoring husband, only now their expressions were a bit stiff. I sighed and let them in. Looking at this situation, they had reconciled. I returned to the kitchen, chopping vegetables on the cutting board with a clang clang, getting more annoyed the more I worked. Before I retired, I was a chef. My cooking is delicious, and I enjoy it, so I’m always the head chef during holidays. But thinking that part of the food I worked so hard to make today would end up in Jason’s stomach made me angry. I’m eighty years old; I do what I want. So I quit. I went to the living room. My son and daughter-in-law had arrived, and they were chatting happily with my granddaughter and grandson-in-law, as if the hotel farce that day was just my personal hallucination. “I hurt my arm swinging my cane a while ago. It hurts especially today, can’t cook anymore.” “Jason, you go do it.” Jason stood up, face full of hesitation. My son wanted to speak for him but was silenced by my glare. Seeing no one helping him, Jason hesitated for a while but still went into the kitchen. On the sofa, seeing my displeasure, my granddaughter leaned on me, red-eyed, and said: “Grandma, I’m pregnant. The doctor said if I abort this time, I might not be able to conceive again.” “Grandma, I’m sorry for making you worry.” Looking at my granddaughter on the verge of tears, my anger vanished instantly, leaving only heartache. “So you’re not pursuing the matter with Jason?” “Mom, I talked to Jason’s family. That was a moment of confusion for him. He promised it won’t happen again,” my son explained. “Yes, he even wrote a guarantee letter by hand.” My granddaughter took a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. I didn’t even bother to look. Even emperors’ edicts can be revoked; what credibility does a guarantee letter from a whoremonger have? I held my granddaughter’s hand tightly and said, “Your pregnancy is a good thing. As long as you’re happy, Grandma is happy.” My granddaughter’s eyes reddened again, ready to cry. At this time, Jason shouted from the kitchen that the food was ready. Looking at the plates of black, unrecognizable food on the table, I barely picked at some to eat. Ugh. Disgusting. “Jason, Emily is pregnant now. With your cooking skills, what will you do for meals?” I asked. “Grandma, we’re thinking about that too,” Jason replied. “I hired a cook last week, but her cooking was too heavy-handed; we weren’t used to it.” “Then find another one. Anything is better than takeout.” “Grandma, we were thinking,” Jason stammered, “could you come to our house to help cook? Your cooking is delicious, and you know Emily’s taste.” I was shocked. I’ve seen people leeching off their parents, but never seen leeching off grandparents. My granddaughter hurriedly added, “Grandma, I’m on leave to rest for the baby recently. It’s boring being home alone, and I hope you can come keep me company.” I took a big gulp of water and asked, “How much did you pay the previous cook a month?” “$400 a month, responsible for lunch and dinner.” “Fine. I’ll also be responsible for your breakfast. I’ll give you a discount, $550 a month.” “That price can hire a very good cook on the market,” Jason questioned. “Then spend the money to hire one,” I rolled my eyes. “I’m an old bag of bones. I should be enjoying my retirement, yet I have to help you young people.” “You didn’t originally think of not paying a cent, did you?” “Grandma, no problem, I’ll transfer the money to you,” my granddaughter replied. “You’re pregnant and on leave, where would you get money?” I said to Jason, “You transfer it to me. Pregnancy is 10 months in total, transfer $5,500 to me now.” Jason’s face turned green, but with our whole family staring at him intently, he succumbed to the pressure and transferred the money. Counting the amount received in my bank account, I said, “This money is just for cooking fees. I’ll ask you for grocery money every week.” 03 After staying at my granddaughter’s house for three months, exercising in the park every morning and square dancing at night, I knew the surroundings like the back of my hand and made a group of friends. One day, while preparing lunch as usual, I found that a commonly used seasoning had run out. Recently, my granddaughter became obsessed with Thai flavors, especially loving the refreshing yet slightly sour taste. Jason’s mother was overjoyed to hear this, constantly talking about “sour for boys, spicy for girls,” convinced that my granddaughter was carrying a son. Therefore, she specially sent a bottle of seasoning sauce, saying a friend brought it from Thailand. My granddaughter loved it and put this sauce in almost every dish, so it was consumed very quickly. I visited all the nearby stores in the past two days but couldn’t find the same sauce. Just as I was worrying, my new friend, Mrs. Fang, said her family also ate it often, and it was sold in an import supermarket 6 miles away from our community. After getting the news, I rushed to the supermarket by bus. Just as I was about to pay after buying the sauce, I saw Jason’s mother in front of the next aisle. I was about to greet her when I heard a young female voice talking to her: “Mom, we’re running out of Thai seasoning sauce at home, let’s buy some.” I remembered Jason is an only child; does he have sisters? Seeing them about to walk towards me, I subconsciously hid in a blind spot. At this time, I saw the girl’s face. I was struck by lightning, frozen in place. She was actually the masseuse from the hotel that night! She definitely couldn’t be Jason’s sister! What on earth is going on? Why did she call her “Mom” just now? It wasn’t until they paid and left that I reacted. No matter what, I have to follow them and see. I hurriedly finished paying; luckily, they hadn’t gone far. I ran a few steps first, then followed them from a distance, watching them affectionately holding hands and shopping. My heart beat like a drum as a terrible guess formed in my mind. Until they walked into a nearby community together. The community required access cards, so I couldn’t enter. But I remembered this community; Jason had mentioned his parents lived here. Is the masseuse living with Jason’s parents as their daughter-in-law now? I felt the world spinning. My legs had been walking intensely just now to keep up with them. Now that I finally stopped, I had to lean against a roadside tree to support my body and keep from collapsing. I thought of my granddaughter’s four-month pregnant body, her slightly protruding belly; I thought of a few months ago, my granddaughter telling me with red eyes that Jason promised to be loyal to the family in the future; I thought of a year ago, my granddaughter’s happy smile at the wedding. On the wedding day, thousands of flowers adorned the venue. I held Emily’s arm through the crowd, accompanying her up the stairs, her trailing white wedding dress shining with fine light. I watched her and Jason exchange rings and complete the ceremony. The ceremony concluded, countless ribbons burst forth. Under the ribbons were two happy faces. At that time, I thought they could be happy forever. For the first time, I hated my old age. I should have grabbed Jason’s mother and the masseuse by the collar, beaten them up, and made them give Emily an explanation. But I could barely keep up with them. A passerby handed me a tissue and asked softly, “Grandma, are you okay? Do you need help?” Turns out, unknowingly, my face was full of tears. I thanked the passerby and forced myself to return home. No matter what, I have to pull myself together. I have to let my granddaughter know about this. 04 When I returned home, it was already dark, and Jason had come home from work. Seeing me back, he sat on the sofa and pointedly said: “Grandma, you still need to cook earlier in the future. I’ve been hungry for an hour, and you just got home.” “Irregular meals are bad for Emily too.” Watching his hypocritical face, I almost threw up. I held back the urge to scold him and walked into the kitchen. Jason stopped me and handed me three bottles of Thai seasoning sauce. “I found we were running out at home. Since Emily likes it so much, I asked Mom to get a friend to buy a few more bottles from Thailand.” What Thailand, what friend. He asked his mistress to buy it at the supermarket at the community entrance, right? Disgusting. As soon as Jason left, I threw these sauces into the trash. At the dinner table, my granddaughter suddenly said: “Why does the curry chicken taste a bit different?” I tasted it; there was indeed a difference. Before, it was a sourness that stimulated the top of the head, now the flavor was much milder. “Grandma, did you not put the seasoning sauce today?” Jason asked. I frowned, suddenly feeling strange. Why does Jason care so much about the seasoning sauce? He never enters the kitchen at home usually; why could he discover the sauce ran out in time? These subtle doubts made me feel faintly uneasy. Usually, I would think this is Jason’s concern for my granddaughter. But since I’ve discovered his cheating, this excessive concern is extraordinarily unusual. “A friend gave me a bottle of Thai seasoning sauce today, didn’t use the one you gave. So the taste is a bit different,” I said half-truthfully. “Grandma, mine is the most authentic from Thailand, very expensive. Bought specially for Emily,” Jason said seriously. “The one given by others might have problems. Don’t give it to Emily anymore; she doesn’t like it either.” Bullshit. What problem could seasoning sauce have? It was obviously bought in the same store as yours. I was about to refute but suddenly realized something. “Okay, I’ll use the one you gave next time,” I pretended to agree. Jason nodded with satisfaction. After dinner, I dug through the trash and retrieved those three bottles of sauce. From the appearance, these three bottles were no different from the ones I bought today. Even the color of the juice was similar. I dipped my finger and tasted it. The taste was completely different. One was overly sour, while the other was slightly sour with a fragrance. The difference in the curry chicken taste today was indeed due to the sauce. How can identical appearances have different tastes? Could this really be the “authentic Thai” one Jason mentioned? But I clearly saw Jason’s mother buying the same sauce as me. I only felt my thoughts were chaotic and complicated. It seemed I was wandering in front of the truth, infinitely close, but unable to find the door.

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One week before the college entrance exams, I, the top student predicted to be the valedictorian, stabbed a needle into my own eye. In my past life, during the last mock exam, my boyfriend’s childhood friend, Chloe, accused me of copying her. When the teacher compared our papers, he found our essays were identical. He criticized me on the spot and warned me not to do it again. However, during the math exam, Chloe accused me of copying her again. After checking, our answers were identical once more. The teacher scolded me harshly for being unrepentant and sent me home to reflect. I couldn’t understand it. I clearly didn’t cheat. Yet, whether it was English or Math, my answers were nearly identical to Chloe’s. As the college entrance exam approached, I had to suppress my doubts and enter the exam hall. After finishing the English paper, I thought I was safe. Unexpectedly, Chloe stood up again to accuse me of cheating. I tried to defend myself, but the answers on my paper were still identical to hers. In the end, I was disqualified from the exam and kicked out. Moreover, I was banned from taking any national educational exams for two years due to cheating. In despair, I jumped from the roof. When I opened my eyes again, I was back one week before the college entrance exam. 1 “Mia! Why did you copy Chloe’s exam paper? Even the essay is word-for-word identical!” “You’re the top student in the grade!” The homeroom teacher’s angry shout exploded in my ears. I looked up, meeting his eyes filled with anger and disappointment. I turned my head blankly to look around. I saw Chloe glaring at me viciously. She curled her lip and shrieked, “Mia, you’re so shameless, even copying my essay!” I trembled all over, struck by lightning, finally realizing I had been reborn. Reborn to the moment Chloe first falsely accused me of copying her. In my past life, the school organized the last mock exam a week before the college entrance exam. Near the end of the English exam, Chloe, sitting next to me, suddenly raised her hand and shouted: “Teacher, Mia is copying my paper!” The homeroom teacher looked shocked, and I found it absurd. I had consistently ranked first in the grade for years; why would I copy her paper? Chloe glared at me, eyes certain, provoking, “Teacher, if you don’t believe me, compare our papers.” I handed my paper to the teacher first. Chloe was my boyfriend Tyler’s childhood friend. Ever since I got together with Tyler, she had found fault with everything I did. I thought this was just another one of her tricks against me. I was used to it and didn’t take it to heart. But after the teacher finished reading the papers, the look he gave me instantly turned into utter shock. “Mia, what are you doing? Why did you copy Chloe’s paper!?” My mind went blank. How could I have copied Chloe’s paper? Chloe lifted her chin, face full of triumph, “Mia, don’t deny it. Look for yourself, even the essay is copied. You’re despicable!” I took the paper and looked; it was exactly as she said. 2 Even the essays were identical. I was confused and shocked. How was this possible!? I clearly did the paper myself. I tried desperately to explain, but no one believed me. After all, the two papers were identical. The teacher thought I was under too much pressure as the exams approached. He comforted me with a few words and told me not to do it again. During the math exam in the afternoon, Chloe raised her hand again. “Teacher, Mia is too shameless, she’s copying my paper again!” After checking, the teacher found my answers were identical to Chloe’s again. His face darkened immediately, scolding me for being unrepentant and sending me home to reflect. During those days at home, I racked my brains. But I couldn’t figure out why, even though I didn’t cheat, my answers for both English and Math were identical to Chloe’s, even the essays. In the college entrance exam hall, I cleared my mind and focused on answering. With the exams being so strict, it was impossible for the previous situation to happen again. After finishing the English paper, I felt confident. But as soon as the bell rang ending the exam, Chloe, sitting to my left, raised her hand. “Proctor, I want to report the student next to me for copying my paper!” Two proctors immediately stepped forward to check. Once again, my answers were identical to Chloe’s! The punishment came quickly. For two years, I couldn’t take any national educational exams. Born into a poor family, the college entrance exam was my only chance to change my destiny. Losing this chance meant I had no future. In despair, I jumped from the roof. But unexpectedly, God let me live again. This time, I will rewrite the ending! Seeing my silence, the teacher thought I had tacitly admitted it. He tapped my desk, heartbroken. 3 “Mia, I know the pressure of the college entrance exam is huge for you, but your grades are excellent. As long as you perform normally, getting into an Ivy League school is no problem. You don’t need to do this at all.” I snapped back from the immense shock, frowning deeply, just nodding slightly without defending myself. Like in my past life, no one would believe me even if I spoke out. After all, Chloe and I had identical essays. Chloe raised her eyebrows and sneered, “Maybe all of Mia’s previous exam results were copied, and I just happened to catch her this time.” As soon as she finished speaking, the surrounding students looked at me differently, full of suspicion and disdain. The teacher gave me a deep look but didn’t say anything more. Reborn, I must find a way to cope. For the second exam, Math, in the afternoon, I planned to hand in a blank paper. As long as I didn’t answer, she couldn’t accuse me of copying her. Seeing I hadn’t moved my pen, the teacher stood beside me to remind me. Chloe glanced over, seeing my paper still blank. She immediately mocked, “Teacher, I was right. Mia must have copied before. Now that you’re watching, she can’t answer!” Meeting her contemptuous gaze, I picked up my pen, took a deep breath, and scribbled nonsense on the paper. If I wrote nonsense answers, she couldn’t possibly say I copied. “Fifteen minutes left until the end of the exam, please hurry up.” As soon as the teacher finished speaking, Chloe beside me raised her hand again. She glared at me, gritting her teeth, and shouted, “Teacher, Mia is too shameless, she copied my paper again!” The teacher’s face darkened, picking up our papers to compare. I glanced at Chloe; her plan was going to fail this time. My answers were completely irrelevant nonsense. Bang! The teacher was furious, slamming the test paper heavily on my desk. “Mia!” A bad premonition rose, and I quickly picked up the two papers. Even my fabricated answers were identical to what was written on Chloe’s paper. Word for word! I was dumbfounded again. I clearly wrote nonsense, how could it still be identical to hers? 4 The teacher’s face turned red with anger, and he said sternly, “Mia, you are truly incorrigible! Go home and reflect immediately, don’t come to school before the college entrance exam!” I numbly packed my things, ready to go home. I really couldn’t figure out why the answers I wrote casually were still identical to Chloe’s. Before leaving the classroom, Chloe stopped me. She had a smile on her face, but it was sinister and terrifying. “Mia, it seems all your previous grades were copied. What will you do for the college entrance exam?” “The college entrance exam is the only chance for a poor person like you to change your fate. If you can’t copy, you’re dead meat!” She finished speaking and strode away with a malicious smile. Chloe was right; the college entrance exam was my only chance to change my fate. Missing this opportunity meant a dead end for me. So I absolutely cannot repeat the same mistakes! Just as I walked out of the school gate, an urgent voice came from behind. “Mia, stop right there!” I turned around sharply and saw my boyfriend Tyler looking livid. He rushed up to me, pointed his finger at me, and raged: “How can you be so shameless? I always thought you had good grades and were a good student. I didn’t expect your grades were all copied.” “Of all people to copy, you copied Chloe. Mia, who gave you the nerve!” I sneered. I was blind to have liked him in my past life. Seeing my silence, he threatened viciously again, “I warn you, if you dare bully Chloe again and copy her paper, I’ll dump you!” I rolled my eyes directly and said coldly, “Wrong, I’m dumping you now. Stay away from me!” With that, ignoring his stunned expression, I turned and left. Now I’m busy saving my life, no time to entangle with him. Back home, I stayed indoors, preparing for the upcoming college entrance exam. Soon, the day of the exam arrived, and I came to the exam center. Just about to enter, a hand suddenly grabbed me. By the familiar feeling, I knew it was Chloe. Her usual sharp sneer rang in my ear. “Mia, you’ve copied for so many years. This is the college entrance exam, I want to see how you copy me!” Followed by Tyler’s viciously disdainful voice: “The exam is so strict, let’s see how you copy Chloe’s paper. You’re dead!”

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I was born with a dual personality. Normally, I’m a gentle, good girl. But three drinks in, I switch to a ruthless, bloodthirsty monster. When I was seven, at my aunt’s wedding, I sneaked three glasses of wine. When I woke up, my hands were covered in blood. At my feet lay a dozen skinned tabby cats and a massive hunting dog that had been strangled to death. My parents, shaking with fear, threatened suicide to make me swear I’d never touch a drop of alcohol again. But now, at my fiancé’s birthday party, his childhood sweetheart, Felicity, insists I drink. I shook my head, claiming an alcohol allergy. Felicity, glass in hand, teared up: “Ethan, I knew she looked down on me. What did I do wrong?” Ethan, my fiancé, snapped impatiently: “Felicity is toasting you. It’s just a drink. Will it kill you?” He grabbed my chin, forcing the high-proof liquor down my throat. “Be good! Drink three as punishment. Apologize to Felicity.” 1 One glass of white liquor burned its way down my throat. Watching Ethan pour the second, I shook my head, trying to stay lucid. My voice was raspy. “I really can’t drink. Something bad will happen.” Felicity looked wronged. “Ethan, I think she just doesn’t welcome me. I should go.” Ethan grabbed her to comfort her, then turned to me with thinly veiled anger. “Anna, why do you have to be so difficult?” I smiled bitterly. Once upon a time, Ethan would block every drink for me. I remembered him holding my hand under the table, defending me: “My Anna is allergic to alcohol. I’ll drink for her…” I took a deep breath. Standing up, I stumbled. A buzzing sound filled my head, like a pair of eyes slowly opening in the dark. Ignoring everything else, I staggered to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, desperate to stay awake. “Pathetic. Didn’t you say you were allergic? Why are you fine?” Felicity stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes full of mockery. Her tone dripped with sarcasm. I clenched my fists. Bad. The alcohol content was too high! I gritted out through clenched teeth: “Get out!” Instead of leaving, Felicity smirked and stepped closer. “You don’t know, do you? Ethan and I set this up just for you. You’re drinking whether you like it or not.” “Because Ethan is going to get you drunk and give you away as a toy.” I snapped my head up, eyes wide with disbelief. “Impossible!” Ethan and I had been together for three years. We were engaged. I couldn’t believe it. But the moment I stepped out of the bathroom, Ethan walked towards me with a dark face and a glass of wine. “Two more glasses. Drink up, Anna. Apologize to Felicity!” I looked at him, my heart sinking. I can’t drink! The memory of those skinned cats from when I was seven was etched into my brain. I promised my parents. No more killing. I rushed to the door, turned the handle, but it was locked tight. “Open the door! I’m leaving!” Ethan advanced on me, holding the glass. “Anna, show some class. You haven’t finished your apology drinks. Where are you going?” I almost growled. “Open the door! If you force me to drink again, you won’t be able to handle the consequences!” Ethan sneered. “Anna, who are you scaring? You always say you’re allergic, but look, you drank one and you’re fine. Just two more, and we’re good.” Ethan’s buddies chimed in. “Exactly. In this day and age, who doesn’t drink? Stop being dramatic.” Felicity smirked at me, her smile widening. Seeing no escape, I exhaled, staring Ethan down. “Felicity said you’re going to get me drunk and give me away. Now you’re forcing me. Explain.” Ethan’s face changed instantly. 2 He looked at Felicity disapprovingly. “Felicity, why did you tell her beforehand?” Felicity shrugged. “Ethan, what are you afraid of? She can’t escape today anyway.” My head buzzed. A white light exploded like lightning. My voice trembled. “Ethan, are you really doing this?!” “I’m your fiancée!” “Anna, listen. Felicity wants to get into the film industry. There’s a director willing to give her a chance, but the condition is… you. He likes your innocent look.” “Anna, don’t worry. Even if you sleep with another man, I won’t mind. The wedding is still on.” I watched Ethan’s mouth move, dazed. Was this the man who fought thugs for me? Why did everything change the moment Felicity appeared? “Ethan, do you hear yourself? Did you forget your proposal vows?” “And why should I, Anna Feng, sacrifice myself for Felicity’s career? Who the hell is she?” Ethan looked increasingly impatient. “Felicity is like a sister to me. You’re my woman, so you’re her sister-in-law. What’s wrong with helping her? Don’t be so selfish!” He stepped closer. “Anna, I know you wouldn’t agree if you were sober. Be good. This liquor is strong. Two more glasses and you’ll be drunk. You won’t feel pain. When you wake up, it’ll be over.” “You’re disgusting!” I trembled all over, teeth chattering. Tears flowed freely, cold on my face. Ethan, dark-faced, grabbed my hand like usual and pulled me into his arms. But the next second, he pinched my chin and poured the liquor down my throat without hesitation. “Anna, relax. It’ll be over soon.” I gagged and teared up, but Ethan squeezed harder, forcing the alcohol down. When the glass was empty, the eyes in my mind opened completely. Cold and cruel. I panicked. It was happening again. My memory would cut out, and then… blood. Everywhere. The smell of iron filling the air. I screamed hysterically: “No more! If I drink again, you’ll all die!” “Ethan, we’re done! Unlock the door and let me go!” Felicity laughed, her eyes full of contempt. “Ethan, Anna is really drunk. Saying we’ll all die? Who is she scaring?” She smiled sweetly. “Anna, my future depends on you. Take good care of Director Deng.” Ethan saw my grief and tightened his grip, his voice softening slightly. “Anna, stop fussing. You’re my fiancée, just help me, help Felicity. One more glass, and you’ll be out.” My heart felt like it was being sliced open. The first night I looked forward to was my wedding night with Ethan, not a sacrifice to a stranger I’d never met. Just then, the doorbell rang. Felicity lit up. “Director Deng is here!” The man who entered was short, bald, and his belly jiggled when he walked. He leered at me immediately. He asked Ethan, “Is this your fiancée? You’re really willing?” 3 Ethan gritted his teeth and pushed me towards the greasy man. “Director Deng, we have a deal. After tonight, Felicity is the lead in your new movie.” Director Deng pinched my waist, his fat face trembling with a smile. “Deal. But let’s be clear. I hate trouble. After I’m done with her, I don’t want any issues.” Ethan replied matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry. She’s my woman. She listens to me. She won’t make a scene.” He turned to me, commanding: “Anna, serve Director Deng well tonight. I promise to give you the grandest wedding.” I struggled furiously, eyes spitting fire. “Ethan, you bastard! Who gave you the right to decide for me!” Director Deng looked displeased. “Can you handle this or not?” Felicity got anxious, grabbing Ethan’s arm. “Ethan, Anna doesn’t seem willing to help me. What do we do?” Ethan glared at me, quickly pouring another glass, smiling apologetically at Director Deng. “Director Deng, relax. One more glass and she’ll be docile.” The greasy man nodded, gesturing for speed, then added: “I should warn you. I have some… special hobbies. I like it rough.” He pulled out his phone, showing pictures of women whipped until they were bloody. I was struggling against Ethan, but hearing this, my pupils shrank. A chill ran down my spine. “Ethan, are you trying to destroy me?” “Have you forgotten everything between us?” He paused. Felicity immediately whined, “Ethan, I don’t want to be a background actor anymore.” Ethan’s grip tightened instantly. “What’s a little suffering for Felicity? Being a sister-in-law means sacrifice!” “Be good! Drink this. The whipping won’t hurt as much when you’re drunk. Anna, I’m doing this for you.” My heart plummeted, turning to ice. I stared at him dead on. “Ethan, I really can’t drink. Three glasses and I turn into a homicidal maniac! Last chance. Let me go now, and we’re done.” With the alcohol accumulating, dizziness set in. I felt the string about to snap. The eyes in my mind were gleaming with cold, murderous light. She was stirring. I couldn’t hold her back much longer! “Anna, what nonsense. A maniac? Who’d believe that? Everyone knows you’re gentle.” Ethan dismissed my warning completely. Director Deng was impatient, reaching out to grab me with greasy fingers. Felicity watched with glee, her eyes full of disdain. I scanned these demons living among humans and suddenly grinned. Using the last of my strength, I snatched the bottle from Ethan. To everyone’s shock, I downed the entire bottle. The high-proof alcohol burned through every sense. “Ethan, you’re right. Drinking takes the pain away.” Surprise vanished from Ethan’s eyes, replaced by a satisfied smile. “That’s right. Glad you figured it out, Anna.” Felicity giggled. “Thought she was so chaste. Turns out she’s easy.” Director Deng grabbed my shoulder, fingers wandering. “Fucking obedient. Good girl!” My eyelids drooped, then snapped open. I spat out: “Useless trash! Should’ve let me out sooner.” Director Deng looked eager. “Yeah, you’re my little snack today. Feed me!” Felicity joked, “Director, go easy. Anna is fragile.” My gaze lingered on their necks. The arteries pulsing underneath. I licked my lips. “So thirsty!” The man hugged my shoulder, laughing lewdly, dragging me towards the bedroom. “I’ll feed you right now!” In the living room, Felicity stared at the closed bedroom door, snuggling into Ethan’s arms, smiling broadly. Now Ethan was hers. The lead role was hers. Anna Feng was just a stepping stone. She didn’t believe Ethan would want a used woman. She looked up and kissed Ethan’s cheek, speaking softly. “Ethan, thank you so much for today.” Ethan smiled. “Silly girl, you’re like my sister. I’ll try to give you whatever you want.” He lowered his head to deepen the kiss when a blood-curdling scream erupted from the bedroom! Felicity’s eyes lit up, but she said, “Oh my, Anna must be suffering! Ethan, does your heart hurt?” Ethan frowned, surprised. “Wait, that’s a man’s voice. It’s Director Deng!” 4 When Ethan and Felicity rushed in, they found the greasy man naked and hogtied. His neck was a bloody mess. He was paralyzed with fear, fat face trembling, muttering: “Don’t kill me, don’t kill me…” I looked away from the pile of lard, shaking my hand. Fresh blood dripped from my fingertips. I tilted my head at the dumbstruck pair in the doorway. Felicity seemed slow to process, eyes wide. “Director Deng is into this?” Hearing voices, Director Deng kicked his bound legs, screaming: “Did you set me up?! Trying to kill me?!” “Get this crazy woman away from me!” Ethan pointed at me furiously. “Anna, what are you doing? Do you know the consequences of offending Director Deng?” Felicity snapped out of it, exasperated. “Anna, how can you be so evil? You offended Director Deng, what about my lead role? I just asked you to service him a little, and you seek revenge!” She stomped her foot. “Ethan, look at her! She did it on purpose! She can’t stand seeing me succeed!” Ethan’s temple throbbed. He grabbed my wrist, gritting his teeth. “Didn’t you agree just now? Now you’re ruining it for Felicity? How can you be so vicious?! Believe it or not, I’ll announce our engagement is off tomorrow!” Messy hair covered my eyes. I slowly looked up, my gaze chilling to the bone. Ethan shuddered under my stare, then barked: “Anna, I’m talking to you! Cut the act!” “Apologize to Director Deng now! Let him play however he wants. Soothe him! Felicity’s lead role can’t be lost, she’s a future movie queen, hear me?!” His voice dropped, anger rising on his face. “Anna, if you still want me to marry you, obey! Or I’ll dump you in a second!” “Noisy!” I tilted my head, spat out a mouthful of blood, grinned to show bloodstained teeth, and fixed my eyes on Ethan’s neck. “Acting tough? I know you. A spider on the street makes you jump.” Ethan looked at the man on the bed, fawning. “Director Deng, don’t worry. I’ll tie Anna up for you later. I guarantee you’ll have fun!” He didn’t notice the man on the bed wouldn’t even look at me, shivering at the mere mention of my name. Ethan looked around for rope. Just as he turned, I spoke. “Looking for this?” His eyes landed on the rope in my hand. He reached for it, but the next second, I looped it around his neck. In an instant, he was choking, eyes bulging, fingers clawing at the rope. Voice tight: “Anna, what are you doing? Let go!” Felicity lunged, trying to pull the rope, slapping my hand frantically. “Anna, are you crazy? You dare hurt Ethan? Let go!” I rolled my neck, tightening my grip, lowering my eyes to leisurely admire the struggle beneath my hands. The more he struggled, the better I felt. That’s right. Trash, you should have let me out sooner. Ethan’s face turned purple. He squeezed out: “Anna, let go!” I smiled, letting go abruptly. He gasped, sucking in air greedily. Pointing at my nose, he cursed: “Anna, you just tried to kill me! I’ll kill you today!” But the next second, he couldn’t speak.

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The serial murder case I spearheaded was overturned eight years later. The victims’ enraged families cornered me outside my parents’ house and stabbed me multiple times, demanding my life as payment. My own family, ashamed of the scandal, cut ties with me. I served an eight-year sentence for gross negligence in the performance of my duty. After my release, I sought refuge in the quiet coastal town of Port Willow, making a meager living as a fisherman. Finally, there was a measure of peace. But that hard-won serenity shattered the moment my ex-wife, Seraphina “Sera” Albright, arrived. She was now the celebrated Police Commissioner of Cresthaven, famed for her string of high-profile cases. A relentless storm lashed the coast, and a swarm of reporters pressed against my small wooden cabin, shouting. “Mr. Kincaid, sources say the Commissioner remained unmarried for eight years, waiting for your return!” I stared at her, standing there in her rain-slicked glory, and the urge to laugh was overwhelming and bitter. No one knew that the one who had manufactured the case, built the evidence, and pushed me out to take the fall—all to elevate her lover, Brandon Cole—was this very same “devoted” Commissioner Albright. 1 The cabin door remained locked, and the reporters, seeing this public snub, were audibly sympathizing with Sera. She, however, appeared perfectly composed. The rising volume of the crowd finally drew Frankie, the owner of the fishing boat, out of the cabin. He approached Sera, visibly terrified, bowing slightly. “Commis— Commissioner Albright, we’re all honest, hard-working people here,” he stammered. “This town can’t handle a person of your stature. If you and all these cameras don’t leave, we’ll lose tomorrow’s haul.” He then turned toward the cabin and called out, a plea in his voice: “Rhys Kincaid! The Commissioner came all this way for you. Just step out and talk to her!” “That won’t be necessary. Don’t pressure him,” Sera’s cool voice cut in. At the sound of her voice, my hands froze. The sharp nylon mesh of the net sliced a deep, ragged line across my index finger. Even after all these years, hearing her voice—that practiced, even tone—still stripped away my hard-won tranquility. I knew her better than anyone. The possibility that she was here out of some lingering affection was as absurd as the sun rising in the West. I knew she wouldn’t leave until she got what she came for. Thinking of Frankie, and the small kindnesses he’d shown me, I let out a long, heavy sigh. I put down the net and stepped out of the small shack. The instant I appeared, the reporters swarmed. A barrage of questions. Rapid fire. “What’s it like, going from decorated Detective to dockside fisherman?” “Is your avoidance because you still resent the Commissioner for exposing your negligence?” “We hear your former protégé, Brandon Cole, has proposed to her multiple times. Any comment on that?” The manic energy pushed them forward. Microphones jabbed my face. My eyes sought hers—Sera was standing a few feet away, watching the spectacle with a cold, assessing gaze. I felt a chill lock up my muscles. Question after cutting question hit me, but I couldn’t form a single word. My throat was dry. Nothing. The reporters, frustrated by my silence, grew more aggressive, nearly shoving me over. Then, Sera moved. She pushed through the crush of bodies and stood directly in front of me, shielding me. Her voice was low, yet commanded instant silence. “Everyone,” she said, “this is a private matter between Mr. Kincaid and me. We won’t be answering any questions.” She gestured toward the docks. “They have work to do. Let them get back to it. Clear out.” The crowd dispersed grudgingly. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, ready to bolt back inside. “Rhys Kincaid,” Sera said. I forced myself to meet her eyes, my body rigid. “Is there something else, Commissioner Albright?” She flinched, just a hairline tremor at the formality of the title. She took a moment, then asked, her voice soft, “Have you… been well? All these years?” The question, coming from her, was so wildly, obscenely ridiculous I almost laughed. But the moment wasn’t for humor. She took a step closer, lifting a hand toward me. My body reacted instantly. I stumbled back, not noticing the metal bucket beside my feet. CLANG! I fell hard and gracelessly, flat on my back. The fresh cut on my finger struck a jagged rock, and bright blood welled up and ran down my palm. Sera rushed forward, her face a mask of concern, reaching for me. “Are you hurt? Let me help you up.” I scrambled away from her touch, bracing myself against the rough wood of the cabin to stand. “I’m fine.” Ignoring Frankie’s stunned gaze, I hurried to dismiss her. “Commissioner Albright, if that’s all you came for, I need to get back to work. I’m out on the water before dawn.” Sera’s expression fractured into something that looked convincingly like pain. She reached out again. “Rhys, do we really have to be this cold to each other? You don’t know what I’ve been through these past years—” A new voice cut her off. “Mommy! Dad and I missed you so much!” A boy, maybe nine or ten, barreled straight into Sera’s arms. Brandon Cole approached, steering my parents—Robert and Susan Kincaid—by the elbow. He gently took the hand Sera had extended to me, pulling her closer with a proprietary air. “Sera, why didn’t you call me when you came to see the Master?” he chastised, but his tone was light. “Mom and Dad were frantic when they heard you came out to this remote place alone.” He glanced at me, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t mind us, Rhys. The boy missed his mother. And with her being pregnant again, we all have to be extra careful.” My eyes drifted, involuntarily, to her flat stomach. The irony was a punch to the gut. Eight years unmarried, waiting for me? She had two children with Brandon, one already nearly ten. I thought back. Before my arrest, she’d been injured in the line of duty, claiming she needed a year at a specialized recovery clinic. That must be when it happened. They were already intertwined, already a family. And I, the fool, had been oblivious, throwing myself into solving just one more case, chasing one more bonus, to make sure she had the best care possible. Before I could even process the assault of emotion, my parents’ accusations began, a torrent of righteous anger. “Rhys Kincaid, you have the nerve to still be breathing!” My father, Robert, spat the words. “You shamed us beyond repair!” My mother, Susan, cried out, “Your father had a stroke three years ago! If Brandon hadn’t been checking on us, if he hadn’t rushed your father to the hospital—your father would be dead and buried!” I looked at their graying hair and the deep lines of their aged faces, and despite everything, a wave of hollow regret washed over me for the years of care I couldn’t give them. But watching them cling to Sera and Brandon, the sting of betrayal intensified. If they knew the truth—that the people they were thanking, the people they cherished, were the ones who had framed me for a crime that cost innocent lives—what would that do to them? My father looked at me with open disgust. “Sera, that boy is a disgrace. He isn’t worth your worry.” He shook his head. “If I had committed such a horrific wrong, I would have had the decency to disappear forever! You shouldn’t have come for him!” My mother chimed in, pure contempt in her voice. “That’s right. We disowned him eight years ago. Don’t worry about hurting our feelings. What good is a son like that? We only recognize you and Brandon as our family now.” Frankie was watching the exchange, his eyes wide and beginning to look wary. There was nothing left to say. My subtly trembling hands were the only thing that betrayed the cold fury churning inside me. Sera noticed the tremor. With a look of practiced sympathy, she explained, “They’ve had to endure public scorn for years, Rhys. Try not to blame them.” She gently soothed my parents, then turned back to me before leaving. “What happened back then… I still owe you for it,” she murmured. “My number hasn’t changed. Call me if you ever need anything.” I simply nodded, refusing to speak. Seeing my non-committal nod, Sera finally seemed satisfied and departed. Call her? I thought. I wanted to run from them, not beg for the scraps of charity she might condescend to throw my way. After my parents and the entourage were gone, Frankie walked over and clapped my shoulder, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything, but I knew. Something had shifted. The next day, I was assigned to the oldest, most dilapidated boat, given the back-breaking tasks. Frankie shuffled his feet, avoiding my eyes. “Rhys, it’s not that I don’t want to look out for you,” he mumbled. “Look, after the spectacle yesterday… and, well, everyone knows you did time.” He looked miserable. “No one wants to share a boat with you. You’ll have to work alone.” I nodded silently, shouldered the heavy fishing net, and walked toward the small boat that looked painfully frail against the churning waves. A wave of crushing sadness washed over me. The fragile illusion of peace—Sera had personally destroyed it.

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Right before finals week, Chloe, the school’s resident rich girl and Prom Queen, volunteered to help everyone “blow off some steam.” That night, the entire senior class showed up at the most exclusive club in the city. The only person Chloe didn’t invite was me. But looking at the photos flexing on Instagram and Snapchat, I didn’t shed a tear. I put on my noise-canceling headphones and focused on my textbooks. In my last life, I was the target. I saw Chloe’s posts, rushed to the club out of concern, and walked right into her confessing her love to my boyfriend. I swallowed my pride. I tried to be the responsible one. I begged my classmates to go home and rest, to focus on the exams that would determine our futures. And what did I get? Pure hatred. “You can’t have fun, so you won’t let anyone else have fun, huh?” It wasn’t until I snapped photos and sent them to the parents’ group chat that everyone was dragged home. They all aced their exams. They all got into Ivy Leagues. And I was completely ostracized. The day my boyfriend, Liam, and I both got our acceptance letters, Chloe posted a suicide note on social media and downed a bottle of sleeping pills. That night at the club, after I had interrupted her confession, she had gotten wasted. She ended up alone in an escape room game, stripped, and someone filmed it. After Chloe got her stomach pumped, Liam and the rest of the class lost their minds. To avenge their “fallen angel,” they kidnapped me. They filmed videos of me being tortured. They blackmailed my parents, forcing them to jump off a rooftop. They faked my suicide. They forged a note saying I was sleeping around and the guilt of killing my parents drove me to drink pesticide in a basement. After I died, the whole class popped champagne. Liam finally got with Chloe. It was only after I died that I learned Chloe’s true identity… But then I opened my eyes. I was back. I was back to the night she offered to treat the whole class. This time, I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. “Finals are practically here. I know everyone is stressing out, so tonight is on me! Black card energy only!” “I’m taking you guys to the hottest spot in town!” Amid the cheers, Chloe was surrounded like a celebrity, holding a platinum credit card high in the air. My hand froze on the classroom door handle. Inside, the voices got louder. “By the way, whatever you do, do not tell Luna. She’s such a buzzkill. She’ll definitely snitch to the teachers or our parents!” Laughter erupted. Chloe flipped her long hair, playing the role of the benevolent queen. That sentence hit me like a bucket of ice water. This scene was too familiar. I had already lived through this. Realizing where I was, I let go of the handle and backed away from the door. I was reborn. The realization rang in my head, making my whole body tremble. Not from fear. From excitement. In my last life, I hadn’t heard this conversation clearly. Everyone kept their mouths shut. Even Liam, my boyfriend, just told me to go home early and rest. I thought he cared about me. Now I know he was just covering his tracks. His heart was already with Chloe, the “heiress.” “Luna is hot, but she’s such a nerd. She’s obsessed with me, what can I do?” “I can’t dump her right before finals. We’re classmates; I can’t be that cruel.” When Chloe had defended him back then, calling him kind, she had slipped a love letter into his hand. “You guys stop. Luna is desperate. This exam is her only ticket out of mediocrity. She has to try hard.” And just like that, Chloe was the saintly, rich beauty, and Liam was the gentle, golden-boy class president. And I was the clown obsessed with him. But Liam forgot something. He was the one who stalked me for three months, begging me to say yes. I only studied so hard because I promised my parents I’d get Valedictorian if they let me date him. Thinking about what was coming, my hands went cold. In a few hours, the class would be at the club. Chloe would “accidentally” forget to block me from her story. I would see it. Then, she would confess to Liam in front of everyone. I would show up, fight with her, and she’d end up drunk and alone… It was all a setup. Remembering the hell I went through, I pulled out my phone and walked away from the classroom. Once I was in a quiet corner, I called my parents. I asked for my private tutor to come over tonight. “Mom, the exams are practically here. Every second counts. No breaks. I want to study tonight.” This time, I wasn’t going to stop them. Chapter 2 While the whole class was sneaking around, gathering at the rendezvous point, I was sitting in front of my tutor. While they were raising glasses and cheering, I walked over to a vase of water and dropped my phone into it. I watched the screen flicker and die. A smile finally crept onto my face. “Alright,” I said to the tutor. “Let’s get back to Calculus.” At the club, the bass was thumping against eardrums, syncing with adrenaline-filled heartbeats. Some students hesitated, staring at the drinks in their hands. “Chloe… finals are literally on Monday. Is drinking really a good idea?” “If anyone finds out…” Chloe, her designer dress shimmering under the strobe lights, laughed it off. She was clinging to Liam’s arm. “The whole class is here. Who’s gonna snitch? If we all keep quiet, nobody knows.” “The only person with a big mouth didn’t get an invite.” “Relax.” Chloe claimed she “knew people” at this club and told everyone to drink up. Between the lights and the peer pressure, the hesitation evaporated. “Chloe’s got us! She’s loaded!” “It’s just one night! We need to decompress!” “Besides, we crushed the mock exams. Our average is way higher than the other classes. Consider this a pre-celebration.” “Everyone is here except Luna. If she wasn’t Liam’s girl, we wouldn’t even tolerate her…” Someone mentioned my name. Liam, already flushed from a few shots, slammed his glass down and sneered. “Don’t mention her. I’m already regretting it.” “After tonight, I’m dumping Luna!” The cheers got louder. Chloe smiled, satisfied. She slyly pulled out her phone, snapped a grid of photos, and hit post. Visibility: Only Luna. Talking about me made Liam look disgusted. He drank more, letting Chloe hold his hand. He looked like he was in heaven. “Luna and I are different. She follows me around like a puppy. She has to grind just to crack the top ten. Look at me—I barely try, and I’m number one!” “She probably thinks we’re going to the same college.” Liam raised an eyebrow, looking smug. “I applied to a school I know she can’t get into.” “Someone like her? She’s not in my league.” I only learned he said these things after I died in my last life. But now? I didn’t care where Liam went to college. This time, I was going to make sure he didn’t go to college at all. Calculating the time, thinking I had seen the photos and was rushing over, Chloe decided to make her move. She stood in front of everyone and started her confession. “Liam, graduation is coming.” “I don’t want any regrets. I know you have a girlfriend, but I have to be honest.” “Liam, I like you.” The DJ switched the track from EDM to a slow ballad. The spotlight hit Chloe and Liam. Chloe was dressed to kill, looking vulnerable and expensive. Liam stared into her eyes, swallowed hard, and felt his resolve crumble. “Chloe, I…” She put a finger to his lips, her eyes darting to the entrance. She frowned slightly when she didn’t see me, stopping him from speaking too soon. “Don’t answer yet. I know you wouldn’t betray Luna.” “I’m just so jealous of her. Wait until this song ends, then tell me.” She looked so fragile, so heartbroken. It hit Liam right in the chest. They were teenagers, running on hormones and adrenaline. The dozens of classmates surrounding them started chanting, pushing for a yes. “Say yes! Say yes!” “Liam, you legend! Chloe is a thousand times better than Luna!” “Why are you hesitating? Dump the nerd and get with the queen!” “What are you waiting for, Liam?” Under the pressure, Liam’s wandering eyes focused. He looked at Chloe, and his expression hardened into determination. Chloe smiled, but she kept glancing at the door. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She gripped her dress. “Come on, say yes! Chloe’s nervous!” She bit her lip. I still wasn’t there. While the club was reaching its boiling point, I was lying comfortably on my sofa. Late that night, my parents came home from the office. When they saw me awake, they looked surprised. I cut straight to the chase. “Dad, I don’t want to sponsor that scholarship student anymore. The one named Chloe.” “Cancel the secondary credit card I authorized for her.” Chapter 3 I almost laughed saying it out loud. Who would have guessed? The school’s big spender, the “Ms. Moneybags,” was actually the charity case my family was anonymously supporting. It was supposed to be a double-blind donation, but somehow Chloe figured out it was us. And once she realized my family was her benefactor, she started targeting me. I used to think she hated me because of grades. But who would have thought a girl with average scores would suddenly shoot into the top ten, while her own grades tanked until she was dead last? “My family has money to burn. I don’t need school to succeed.” She’d say that while flashing a bracelet with a designer logo and wearing the latest limited-edition sneakers. Meanwhile, my family received a letter saying her grandfather needed a $50,000 surgery. In my last life, when I “snitched” and the parents came, everyone left. Except her. She told everyone her parents were busy running their company and the chauffeur was on his way. The class believed her. They felt bad leaving her. But Chloe’s parents were dead. She only had her grandparents in the countryside. No chauffeur was coming. The money my family spent on her could have funded a hundred other students. And what did we get? My parents dead. Betrayal. And Chloe spitting on my grave after I was gone. “What charity? You only helped until I was eighteen! What about college? What about my lifestyle? What if my grandparents get sick?!” “Pah! You rich capitalists are all fake. You deserved to die!” Back in reality, my parents looked shocked. Before they could speak, I hugged them both. Feeling their warmth, my eyes teared up. I remembered their broken bodies on the pavement from the last life. Rage burned in my chest, but I forced it down. I looked up and smiled. “Promise me, okay? I know I was wrong.” “I realized you were right. I’ll listen to you. I’m breaking up with Liam.” I was so stupidly in love in my past life. Death cures that pretty quickly. My parents, who had always hated my relationship with Liam, looked confused but relieved. “Luna, you said you wanted to study to go to his college. Why the sudden breakup?” “Your mother and I talked… we were actually going to support you if you really loved him…” “Is that little punk bullying you? Just wait, I’ll…” Their concern was suffocating in the best way. Guilt mixed with anger in my gut. I shook my head, hugging them tighter. “I just want to focus on myself. I don’t want to regret anything.” I wasn’t going to let them off the hook. This time, they were going to be the ones with regrets. At the exact moment the credit card was frozen, nobody in the club noticed. Liam, basking in the envy of his peers, agreed to date Chloe. He kissed the corner of her mouth and made a solemn vow. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, I’m breaking up with her.” Chloe’s smile froze for a second before she forced a sweet, timid expression. “Is this okay? You haven’t broken up yet… maybe we should…” Thinking she was worried about her reputation, Liam laughed and kissed her again. “Don’t worry. She’s obsessed with me. I’m the love of her life; she wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt me.” Hearing this cringe-worthy dialogue, Chloe’s eye twitched. She wasn’t happy. She was panicking because I hadn’t shown up. Seeing the cameras in the dark corners of the club, she pushed Liam away and yelled for everyone to drink. “Let’s celebrate! A toast to us! And to… acing our finals!” Just as the class rushed the dance floor, drinks in hand, a heavy hand clamped down on Chloe’s shoulder. She spun around, eyes lighting up, thinking it was her “connection.” But her face fell when she saw a bouncer. “What do you want?” “Can’t you see we’re partying?” A waiter stepped forward, holding a POS machine, asking for payment. “Miss Chloe, your group has run up a significant tab. Plus the outstanding balance from previous visits. We need you to settle the bill now.” Chloe was annoyed. She pulled out the card and threw it on the floor. “Do you know how to do business? You’re embarrassing me.” “Take it. Take the money and get lost!” She took her anger out on the waiter. Used to this treatment, the waiter picked up the card. He swiped it. His obsequious smile vanished. It was replaced by a cold, hard stare. “Miss Chloe, this card has been declined. It’s deactivated.” “Do you have another form of payment?” Chloe’s head snapped up. Chapter 4 “No… that’s impossible. It can’t be canceled.” “I’ve used it here a dozen times. It’s the only card I brought…” Seeing the bouncers closing in, the color drained from Chloe’s face. One of them reached for her. Liam stepped in, playing the hero. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Sensing the shift in atmosphere, the rest of the class gathered around, forming a protective wall in front of Chloe. “Back off! You want to fight?” “We’re together! Do you have any idea who Miss Chloe is? Do you know who her family is?!” “If you touch her, her dad will have this place shut down and you’ll all be fired!” They shouted threats. Chloe looked panicked. She saw the main doors being locked and bolted. She screamed and buried her face in Liam’s chest. “Liam, what do I do? The card isn’t working.” “They’re going to hurt me.” Her voice was just loud enough for everyone to hear. The students looked uneasy. Suddenly, the crowd of bouncers parted. A massive man with a thick gold chain and a scar on his face walked out. “Who the hell said they were looking for me? I’m the owner.” “Who claims they know me? Let me see your face.” Chloe froze. “I… I…” She didn’t know him. She’d never even seen the owner. Exposed in front of everyone, she started crying, jumping up and down in frustration. “I was scammed! I thought the other guy was the owner! I didn’t know!” “I can’t pay right now! What do we do?!” Seeing her tears, the class went into full defense mode. Liam puffed out his chest. “We aren’t deadbeats! We just didn’t bring cash!” “We’re here to celebrate before finals! We aren’t trying to dine and dash!” “How much is it? We’ll pool our money!” Liam didn’t know that regular clubs don’t let high schoolers in. Chloe had brought them to a shady underground dive run by gangsters. Getting in was easy. Getting out… not so much. Hearing Liam offer to pay, the boss twisted the gold ring on his finger and grinned, showing yellow teeth. “Your total is sixty-eight thousand, eight hundred and eighty.” He spread his hands. His eyes raked over Chloe and the girls behind her. “Of course, if you can’t pay with cash… flesh works too. These schoolgirls look fresh…” “That’s nearly seventy grand! You’re running a scam!!” The crowd exploded. They were high school students. Even if they pooled their allowances, they couldn’t scrape together ten thousand, let alone seventy. Liam screamed at the boss. Chloe was shaking. The girls were terrified. “Chloe, call your family! Ask them to send money!” Family? Nobody was coming. Chloe bit her lip until it bled. She looked at Liam, tears streaming down her face. “I wasn’t… I’ll think of something. I’ll call Luna.” “She’s the only one who can save us now. Before the teachers and parents find out, we need her help.” She didn’t call the police. She didn’t call an ambulance. She kept saying only I could save the class. She dialed my number. Again. And again. No answer. “Help! Ahhh!” “Trying to rip us off? Beat these broke kids to death!” The bouncers moved in. Students were getting smashed with beer bottles. Chloe covered her mouth, trembling, barely able to stand. An hour later, I picked up my new phone and inserted the SIM card. As soon as I logged into WeChat, a message popped up. Luna, you did this on purpose! I scoffed and deleted the message. I looked at the screen and counted down in my head. Almost there. Just a little longer… A moment later, the silent parent group chat exploded. A parent posted a video, crying. “My kid… my perfectly healthy kid… why is he in the ICU right before finals?!” “Wait, didn’t the school say there was a mandatory study session tonight?” “Why are our kids at a nightclub?!” I clicked the video, raised an eyebrow, and watched the chaos unfold. This time, let’s see how you talk your way out of this, Chloe.

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When my wife, Sienna, lost her family and her fortune, I walked away. After she rebuilt her empire, I showed up at her door every year. The first year, I held our son, Leo, and she tossed me fifty thousand dollars, telling me to get lost. The second year, I brought my terminal cancer diagnosis. She didn’t even glance at the report, gave me a hundred thousand, and told me to disappear forever. For the third and fourth years, I did as she wished and vanished from this world. It wasn’t until the fifth year that she received a call from our son. “Dad, when are you bringing the food? I’m hungry.” 1 “Dad, I’m so hungry.” I watched as my four-year-old son, Leo, having slipped away from the shelter, found my old phone, charged it, and mimicked me making a call. When I was bedridden and dying, I had relied entirely on DoorDash. My orders, often cheap, were always the last to be delivered. When Leo was hungry, I would call the rider to rush them. So, he thought that calling would magically fill his tummy. He dialed again and again, the faint screen glow illuminating his innocent face, but this time he had called the emergency contact—Sienna. I wanted to stop him, but my hand passed right through his small body. A flicker of annoyance. Three years, and I still forget that I am only a soul. “Leo, don’t call her. She won’t answer.” She probably still believes I’m just a gold-digger who ran when things got tough. “Go open the small wooden box on the table. I left you some money in there.” Most of the money I’d taken from Sienna was put into a trust for his future. The box held a thousand dollars in cash for any immediate needs. As if he could hear me, Leo walked over and picked up the box. Just then, a cool, crisp voice answered from the phone. “Dean Harrison?” I froze, realizing the call had been active for over a minute. “Didn’t I tell you to go die in a hole somewhere?” Her tone was utterly flat, as indifferent and cold as ever. I curled my fingers, feeling a deep, spectral shame. My son’s mother was cursing me out right in front of him, even though they didn’t know who the other was. She sneered. “Want more cash? Fine. Come beg me for it.” Leo’s eyes lit up as his tiny voice chirped into the receiver. “Ma’am! When will you bring my food? I’m hungry!” Silence stretched on the other end. “Put Dean on the phone.” “You mean Dad?” Leo’s face instantly dropped. “But he can’t answer the phone.” Sienna’s voice sharpened. “What do you mean, he can’t?” “Dad says he’s sleeping.” A four-and-a-half-year-old has no concept of death. A harsh, dismissive laugh came through the phone. She clearly didn’t believe this pathetic excuse. “Is that so? I’m curious to see what new trick he’s pulling now.” I tried to curve my lips into a smile, but I couldn’t. What trick could I possibly pull? I didn’t even have the energy left to float over and scare her. Leo hung up, his mouth curled up in anticipation. He curled into a ball on the edge of the worn sofa, waiting patiently. But I was frantic. Sienna hated me so much. What would she do to our son? An hour later, a knock sounded. My non-existent heart pounded. “Don’t open the door, Leo!” Leo already had the door open. Outside were no delicious meals, only several men in dark suits—security. They swept the small room, confirmed no one else was there, and took my son away. “No!” I was utterly helpless, watching Leo being carried off. When Sienna opened her own front door, she saw Leo, tear-stained and crying. She then peered over his head, scanning the empty space behind him. “Where is that man?” 2 The man she meant was me. I lowered my gaze. In her mind, I wasn’t even worth a name anymore. The bodyguard answered truthfully. “When we arrived, the only person in the house was the boy.” Leo wrenched himself free and hugged Sienna’s leg. “Auntie, the bad men grabbed me.” I was stunned. This was only the third time Leo had ever seen Sienna. He didn’t know she was the mother who refused to acknowledge him. Yet, blood ties were at work, creating a natural, instinctive dependence. Sienna looked uncomfortable when he hugged her. She frowned and scoffed. “He really is heartless, sending his own brat to face my anger.” I waved my hands frantically, a futile gesture. “No, Leo isn’t a brat! He’s our child.” She would never believe it. After she gave birth, the doctors found Leo had the Wei family’s inherited heart condition. I had sought her out then. Her words still echoed in my spectral ears. “The child I gave birth to was a stillborn.” “Dean Harrison, do you think I’m the same Sienna you tricked before? Fool me once, shame on you. Try to fool me twice, shame on me.” “Get lost. Here’s twenty thousand dollars. That’s the buy-out price for our five years together.” I said, “It’s not enough.” She didn’t want the boy, but the boy needed money for surgery. Sienna gritted her teeth in fury. “You really are consumed by greed! Fine, here’s fifty thousand. Because that’s all you’re worth.” Five years of love, reduced to a commodity for sale. I knew this act would make Sienna despise me, but I didn’t care. Leo used that money for his surgery. He would live a healthy life now, and that made it all worth it. Now, Sienna spoke to Leo in a cold voice. “Tell me, where is your father hiding?” Leo looked up, his eyes full of tears. His features were so much like mine. Sienna seemed to lose herself for a moment. “Dad sleeps in the daytime, and at night he goes up to be a star.” At this, Sienna’s expression hardened. She pulled her leg away from him. “He’s resorting to the pity-play now, is he?” Leo stumbled and fell onto his backside. I floated over, using all my strength, yet still failing to break his fall, watching him land right through my arms. The small box he was clutching also crashed to the floor. My son, who hadn’t eaten properly in two days, struggled twice to get up. My spectral heart twisted in agony. Sienna watched him coldly, though her fists were inexplicably clenched. Leo hugged the small box to his chest, then bravely patted his own rear. “Dad, it doesn’t hurt.” For a moment, I wondered if he could see me. Then I remembered. When I was paralyzed and dying from stomach cancer, he learned to take care of me at just two years old. He even tried to collect plastic bottles while I slept. One day, he came back injured after a fight with a stray dog, and I coughed up blood from the shock. He smiled and comforted me, saying he wasn’t hurt. Sienna looked around the room, her voice brittle. “Dean Harrison, come out!” The room remained silent, devoid of life. I was standing right in front of her, yet she couldn’t see me. After waiting a beat, she found my absence infuriating. Her voice was full of contempt. “How heartless. To use a child this big as a pawn.” “Get him out of here.” Sienna said this and walked into her lavish house. The security men abandoned Leo on the large, unfamiliar street. Night had fallen. Leo stood there, alone and confused. He spoke to the little box. “Dad, where should I go now?” My heart ached beyond measure. I could only pray that the people at the shelter would realize he was missing soon. Leo looked up at the moon. “Dad, if I follow the moon, will I find you?” He was too hungry to walk and fell twice. Stumbling, he finally found a public waste bin and spotted half-eaten slice of cake inside. His eyes lit up. He grabbed the stale, slightly sour cake and shoved it into his mouth. I wept, trying to stop him. “Leo, don’t eat that! It will make you sick!” He couldn’t hear me, but the cake was knocked out of his hand by someone else. 3 It was Sienna, who had appeared without me noticing. She looked at my dirty, starving son and clenched her jaw. “Dean Harrison, is this how you treat your son?” She forced him into the car parked nearby. Leo began to cry and scream, all affection gone. “Why won’t you let me eat? You’re a bad person!” He tried to lick the residue from his fingers. Sienna grabbed his hands. With a mixture of disgust and meticulous care, she wiped his tiny hands clean with a wet wipe. “Didn’t your father teach you not to pick up things from the ground?” Her movements were gentle, yet precise. I remembered when we were together. She always looked after me with such devotion. My friends called her the mom-friend, gentle and considerate. Leo, however, was as stubborn as I was. When he pushed her away, his small hand slapped her cheek. “I don’t want you, you bad person!” I flinched, terrified, and looked at Sienna. She didn’t look angry. She lowered her lashes, tossed the used wipe, and stared out the window, refusing to look at the side profile that was so much like mine. Her voice was laced with self-mockery. “A temper as fierce as your father’s. Thank God he’s not my child.” I gave a bitter, soundless laugh. Sorry to disappoint you. The small box slipped from Leo’s lap. She bent to pick it up. She glanced at the dirty wooden box and seemed to find it strangely familiar. I instinctively wanted to intervene. If she opened it, she would learn the truth from all those years ago. She would live the rest of her life racked with guilt. Better that she hate me than feel that crushing guilt. Yet, I looked at Leo, and the part of me that wanted him to be safe under his mother’s care yearned for her to open it. I was torn, a knot of anxiety. She simply tossed the box back into Leo’s lap. “Stop picking up junk.” I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Sienna brought Leo back to her mansion. She instructed the housekeeper to prepare some food, adding after a glance at Leo’s scrawny frame, “Something easily digestible.” “I don’t know how that man raises a child. Skinny as a rail. Good thing I didn’t marry someone like him.” I nodded. I was, undeniably, a poor father. Sienna sat at the dining table, watching Leo pick the carrots out of his food. She frowned and instinctively snapped, “Dean Harrison, don’t pick at your food.” Both she and I froze at the sound of the name. “I’m keeping you right under my nose. I refuse to believe Dean won’t come to collect you.” With that, Sienna rose and walked upstairs, her back view looking like she was fleeing. Leo’s eyes brightened. “Really? Dad is coming to get me?” That night, Leo refused to sleep in the guest room. He insisted on the sofa. The nanny couldn’t persuade him, and Sienna finally grew impatient. “Kids are a pain. Let him. He can sleep wherever he wants.” Leo slept on the sofa for three days. Seeing him curled up in a tiny ball, Sienna frowned fiercely. “Was your father so cruel he never let you sleep in a bed?” Leo shook his head. “Of course not. Dad is on the sofa.” Sienna didn’t understand, but I was weeping. We only had one sofa. When my illness worsened, I was often unconscious on that sofa, and Leo thought I was just sleeping. He would climb into my arms and hold me tight. Even at the shelter, he preferred to stay on the sofa in the reception area, as if he were sleeping in my embrace. Sienna started working from home recently, often staring at the door. She watched Leo, who was also looking at the door, and asked: “Hey, what’s your name?” “Leo Harrison.” “Leo Harrison, your father abandoned you, too.” Leo instantly looked like a defiant little animal. “No way! My dad would never abandon me!” “Oh, really? Then why hasn’t he shown up to get you after an entire week?” As soon as she finished speaking, the doorbell rang. Sienna stood up immediately, a look of grim confirmation on her face. “Your father is here.” Leo scrambled to his feet, looking toward the door with desperate anticipation. When the door opened, both of them froze. 4 Leo pouted. “Liar! That’s not Dad.” The man at the door was handsome, wearing a white shirt. I had seen him once before, when Leo had just had his surgery and was with Sienna as they left an OB/GYN appointment, looking very close. The man glanced at Leo, confused. “Where did this kid come from?” Sienna answered flatly. “I just picked him up off the street.” The man’s eyes widened. “You’re collecting children now?” He remembered something and pointed furiously at the flower bed in the yard. “Who pulled up my sunflowers!” My heart felt a dull ache. They were living together. Sienna glanced at Leo, who was shorter than her knee. Leo guiltily avoided her eyes and went back to the sofa. Sienna seemed indifferent. “It’s just flowers. Plant more.” Seeing her reaction, the man didn’t press the issue. He followed Sienna inside, but as soon as he sat on the sofa, he covered his nose. “What is that weird smell? Sienna, you said you were extra sensitive to smells while pregnant. Can’t you smell this?” I stared, shocked, at her flat stomach. After seeing how she had treated Leo over the past few days, I had hoped that she would realize he was our child and treat him well. But now that she was having a child with another man, what would happen to my son? Sienna finally noticed the strange odor in the air. She looked at Leo on the sofa. She walked over, lifted Leo up, and pulled back the sofa cushion. A pile of food wrapped in plastic bags and seven withered sunflowers scattered across the floor. Both she and the man were speechless. Sienna’s face flushed with fury. “Leo Harrison, what in the hell are you doing?” Leo wailed. “Don’t touch my things! I was saving them for Dad!” I remembered the times when Leo was tiny and outside collecting trash. Some kind people would see him and buy him food. He never ate a bite himself, always bringing it home to me. After he was taken to the shelter, the director taught him a few times, and he learned to eat some, but always saved what he thought was the very best. Other kids at the shelter avoided him because they thought he smelled bad. Sienna’s eyes were complicated. “Why would you do that?” Leo cried miserably. “Dad never got to eat anything good. You said he would come and get me, and I wanted to save these for when I see him.” Sienna wanted to scoff, but the sound caught in her throat. “What are you talking about? He went off to live the good life with some rich woman. What could he possibly not have eaten?” Leo shook his head. “No, he didn’t. Dad always said he wasn’t hungry.” At first, I said I wasn’t hungry so he would eat more. Later, when the disease took over, I truly couldn’t eat. The man beside Sienna asked, “Why is there a cremation box on the floor?” It was the small wooden box that had fallen when Leo stumbled. Sienna stared blankly. “An urn?” No wonder it felt familiar. As if she had seen it somewhere before. A small stack of money and a letter had fallen out of the box. The letter seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Sienna’s trembling hands struggled several times before she could pick it up. The envelope bore my handwriting, which she knew so well: [For Leo, from Dad.] She tore open the envelope. In an instant, her eyes turned crimson.

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My boyfriend, Liam, died on William Zio’s private yacht. The official story was that he argued with someone, slipped, and fell into the sea. But I knew the truth—he was beaten to death. It was all because Seraphina Vance, the unforgettable flame of William’s life, had idly flirted with Liam, complimenting his voice. William’s jealousy had erupted like a volcano. He’d ordered his men to beat Liam to a pulp and toss his broken body into the freezing, midnight water. “Seraphina said you have a lovely voice?” William had sneered. “I suppose I’ll have to hear it for myself.” When the news of Liam’s death reached me, I didn’t cry. I simply tore up the acceptance letter from the top-tier university I was about to attend. I flew back home and became the most docile canary in William Zio’s gilded cage. He would often tip my chin up with his fingers, murmuring to me as if I were a cherished pet, “Aria, my dear, I can give you anything you desire. Anything but my love.” I’d look up at him, my voice a soft whisper. “Anything?” But inside, my heart was a frozen, silent wasteland. What good is your love to me? It’s your life I want. 1. Everyone in New York’s elite circle knew that I, Aria Thorne, was Seraphina Vance’s stand-in. Three years ago, after a spectacular fight with William, Seraphina had stormed off to America in a fit of pique, cutting off all contact. That was when I made my move, leveraging a side profile that was a five-point match to hers to become the perfect shadow by William’s side. I learned to be pliant, obedient. If William pointed east, I would never dare to look west. Slowly, I became the woman who stayed by his side the longest, second only to Seraphina herself. Sometimes, he would gaze at me, lost in thought, his fingertips tracing the line of my jaw. “Your eyes are the most like hers,” he’d murmur, “but she would never look at me the way you do…” I knew he was looking through me, seeing someone else. Then, recently, whispers started circulating that Seraphina was coming back. The day her flight landed, William had the entire airport terminal carpeted with ten thousand roses, a display of extravagant welcome. And I, naturally, became the subject of gossip once more. “The real thing is back. The understudy should know her place.” “If Seraphina hadn’t left, trash like her wouldn’t even be fit to polish Mr. Zio’s shoes.” “That whole doe-eyed act of hers makes me sick.” In the back of the town car, I scrolled through my phone, my eyes welling with tears, a single drop trembling on my lashes. “Upset?” William pulled me into his arms, his tone unreadable. I rested my head on his shoulder, my voice soft and sticky like honey. “William, I know how important Ms. Vance is to you… I won’t compete with her.” “The fact that you chose to bring me home first today… that’s more than enough for me,” I whispered, then tilted my head up to press a soft kiss against his cheek. He was clearly pleased, scratching me under the chin as if I were a kitten. I snuggled closer, remaining in his embrace until the car glided to a stop in front of his private villa. As we got out, I clung to his arm, my reluctance palpable. “Be good,” he said, his gaze dropping to my chest with undisguised intent. “Mrs. Gable made you that restorative broth. Drink it and get some rest.” A sly smile touched my lips. I leaned in close to his ear, my breath a warm caress. “Tonight… I have a new toy for us to play with.” A faint blush crept up his neck, and he wrapped an arm tightly around my waist. “You little temptress.” His kiss was bruising, almost violent, as if he wanted to meld me into himself. My hand slipped down from his waist, but he caught it firmly. “None of that now,” he murmured against my earlobe, tapping the tip of my nose. “Wait for me.” I relaxed in his arms, letting out a soft, breathy sigh. “William, I won’t fight for you… I only want you.” Then, with a catch in my voice, I added, “It’s just… sometimes I feel so insecure.” A tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek. At the sight of it, his expression softened. His warm palm stroked my shoulder. “Aria, I won’t cast you aside.” After another moment of tender reassurance, I wiped my eyes and turned to go. “Aria,” he called out suddenly. I turned back, my heart feigning a hopeful leap. “Your purse.” He held out the new Chanel bag he’d bought me. The light in my eyes dimmed instantly. I took it obediently and watched his car disappear down the long drive. It’s starting, Seraphina. Are you ready? Inside the villa, the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, greeted me warmly with a bowl of the broth. I took it, my makeup smudged from my performance, and hurried upstairs, locking the bedroom door behind me. The moment the lock clicked, all the strength drained from my body. I slid down the door, slumping to the floor like a deflated balloon. I stumbled into the bathroom and turned the shower on, letting the hot water cascade over my face. I scrubbed at my skin, at every inch of my body, as if trying to wash away some indelible stain. The stinging in my eyes from the scalding water finally shocked me back to reality. I stared at my reflection in the fogged mirror. The woman looking back was a stranger—pale, her eyes a hollow void hiding a universe of madness. My right hand began to tremble uncontrollably. I gripped my wrist, my nails digging into my own flesh. It was happening again. This body, and the soul trapped within it, were rejecting the role I had been forced to play for three long years. 2. There was a time when I was the princess in my parents’ world, cherished and adored. Then a car crash shattered everything. Overnight, I lost them both, plunging into a severe depression that left me a sullen, silent shadow of my former self. It was in the darkest days at that private clinic for troubled youths that I met Liam. Everyone at the clinic was afraid of him. Like me, he wore the label of “problem.” But he wasn’t withered and silent like I was. He was a caged beast, snarling at any doctor or nurse who dared approach, his words sharp as broken glass. He was a creature of thorns and solitude, fiercely independent. But with me, he was different. He knew I was terrified of thunder, so on stormy nights, he would sit vigil in the hallway outside my room, a silent stone guardian, not leaving until the last rumble faded and he had to drag his numb legs away. When I once mentioned offhandedly that I missed the salty air of the ocean, he scaled the clinic walls and disappeared for three days. He returned with a bottle of murky, briny water and a fresh set of bruises he refused to explain. He found a pop-top tab from a soda can and spent a whole month grinding it against the concrete pavement until it was a misshapen, makeshift ring. When the other kids taunted me, calling me an unwanted orphan, he forced it onto my finger. … “Aria,” he’d said, “with me, you can still be a princess.” So you see, William? The person you destroyed wasn’t just some nobody. You destroyed the one who, with all his fierce, untamed tenderness, pulled me back from the abyss. You destroyed my entire world. “Liam, you broke your promise.” I curled into a ball in the darkness, my voice barely a whisper, clutching the small, worn good-luck charm he’d given me. He had pressed it into my hand at the airport when he saw me off to study abroad. His eyes were red, but he tried to act cool and detached. He’d fidgeted for what felt like an eternity before pulling a crumpled, red fabric charm from his pocket and shoving it at me. “Just picked this up on the way,” he’d mumbled, his neck stiff, his ears burning crimson. “Figured you might get bullied out there alone. So, you know… take it. It’s from me… and I’ve never given a girl anything before.” His voice grew quieter with each word, his face redder. I’d smiled and, right there in front of him, solemnly hung it around my neck. He’d darted his eyes away, so flustered he nearly tripped over his own feet. As the plane took off, I watched his figure shrink on the tarmac and made a silent vow: Liam, wait for me. I’m coming back. During my first year away, his messages arrived like clockwork, bridging the time difference. A “Good morning” at 8 AM, a “Good night” at 10 PM. He shared every trivial detail of his life with infectious excitement: “Aria, old Mr. Henderson’s dog had puppies. They’re ugly as little rats.” “Why are you taking so long to reply? Is your homework more important than me?” “I’m looking at an apartment with a yard. When you come back, we’ll have our own home.” … His very last message was sent under a sky full of fireworks. “Rich people are something else. Even their fireworks are blue. When you get back, I’ll set some off for you too. A whole night’s worth.” But after that night of blue fireworks, his messages stopped. I never heard from him again. Then the news came: Liam had fallen from a private yacht and was lost at sea, his body never recovered. I didn’t believe it. I flew back in a frenzy, broke through the police tape, and screamed his name at the vast, merciless ocean that had swallowed him whole. The only answer was the crash of the cold, indifferent waves. And the owner of that yacht? At that very moment, William Zio was at a rooftop restaurant, his arm around his one true love, Seraphina Vance, as they enjoyed afternoon tea. “William, darling, it was just one person. Why is it causing such a commotion?” Seraphina, draped in a pristine white gown, spoke words laced with poison. William handed her a glass of juice, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “He was a nobody, darling. Not worth ruining your day over. With me here, no one will dare to make a fuss.” Two weeks later, the case was closed. “Accidental drowning.” The real killer never even had to show his face. It took me months to find out that the yacht belonged to the prince of New York’s elite—William Zio. 3. I never expected to meet Seraphina so soon. William was personally giving her a tour of the greenhouse, a “hobby” he’d built on a whim but had rarely ever set foot in. Dressed in the latest Chanel suit, Seraphina tilted her chin up, surveying the space like a queen inspecting her domain. In reality, for the past three years, it was I who had tended to every plant, every blossom within these glass walls. “Ms. Thorne,” she paused, her manicured fingertips brushing against a cluster of gladioli I had painstakingly nurtured. Her voice dripped with mock surprise. “You look so fragile, yet you seem quite skilled at tending to flowers.” Before the words had fully left her mouth, she casually snapped the stem of a perfectly bloomed gladiolus. The movement was slow, deliberate, her eyes flashing with unconcealed provocation. I immediately lowered my gaze, my voice soft and submissive. “It’s just a simple skill. I’m not worthy of Ms. Vance’s praise.” William stood nearby, saying nothing to stop her. In fact, he seemed to find my deference rather pleasing; the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. “However,” Seraphina said, dropping the broken flower and grinding it under the heel of her shoe. Her gaze flickered meaningfully towards William before settling back on me. “These flowers are too… cold. They don’t suit William. He only likes roses—intense, vibrant.” I looked up, my expression a carefully crafted mix of admiration and timidity. “You have excellent taste, Ms. Vance. William often says you’re just like his favorite rose—brilliantly beautiful, the one and only in his heart.” My “relayed” compliment pleased her, and William as well. A flicker of triumph crossed her face. She linked her arm through William’s, resting her head on his shoulder, but her eyes, now sharp with a condescending command, returned to me. “Well then, I’ll have to trouble you, Ms. Thorne. Those rose bushes over there look a bit messy. Since you’re so skilled, why don’t you tidy them up?” William remained silent, which was his form of consent. Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, saw what was happening and quietly offered me a pair of gardening gloves. But Seraphina let out a light laugh, stopping her. “Oh, no. All the top florists I knew back in the States say you must work with your bare hands to feel the true life of the flowers. Gloves? So unprofessional.” It was a blatant lie, and everyone present knew it. William adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze falling on me with a weight that was both probing and permissive. “Do as Seraphina says.” He was using this to placate Seraphina’s bruised ego, and to reassert my complete and utter obedience. I bowed my head without argument, knelt, and began to gather the thorny, withered rose clippings scattered on the ground. “Heh,” Seraphina’s mocking laugh came from above. “William, look at her, kneeling there. Doesn’t she look just like a…” She didn’t finish, but I felt the thick, suffocating malice in her unspoken words. I looked up at her and managed a pale, humble smile. A sheen of cold sweat broke out on my forehead as a thorn bit deeply into my finger, the pain making my performance of delicate suffering all the more convincing. “As long as it makes Ms. Vance happy.” My reaction seemed to bore her. She huffed and settled into a nearby wicker chair to sip her tea. I continued my work, focused, as if the world around me had faded away. Until Mrs. Gable cried out in alarm, “Ms. Thorne! Your hand! My goodness, you’re as white as a sheet!” Her words were my cue. My body went limp, darkness swam before my eyes, and I collapsed sideways. In the last moment of fading consciousness, I felt a strong arm snake around me, catching me before I hit the ground. It was William. I leaned against his chest, my breath shallow, and whispered an apology laced with guilt. “I’m sorry, William… I still… couldn’t do it right…” The hospital room smelled of antiseptic. I woke with a soft groan, a pained frown on my face as I felt the sting in my arm from the IV drip. William was instantly at my side with a glass of warm water, his own brow deeply furrowed. “The doctor said you’re suffering from exhaustion and low blood sugar. What’s going on?” I lowered my head, my long, dark hair falling forward, making my face seem even paler. Under his increasingly impatient gaze, I finally seemed to gather my courage and spoke in a small voice. “I… I remembered you mentioning how difficult it was to cultivate the new ‘Roman Holiday’ roses… I thought that if, for your and Ms. Vance’s engagement party, the venue could be decorated with flowers I grew myself… it would be the last thing… I could do for you.” My voice choked with unshed tears. I turned my head away defiantly, my shoulders trembling. The atmosphere in the room instantly dropped several degrees. He had just proposed to Seraphina, driven more by a fear of losing control and being abandoned by her again than by love. And I, upon hearing the news, hadn’t thrown a tantrum. Instead, I had silently set about preparing a “final gift” for him. The stark contrast was a thorn digging into his conscience. “The last thing?” He grabbed my chin, his grip tight, forcing me to face him. His eyes burned with a mixture of anger and a flicker of panic he himself didn’t recognize. “Aria, who gave you permission to decide you’re leaving?” I looked at him through a blur of tears, my expression one of heartbroken disbelief. “I know I’m just a substitute. Ms. Vance is back… I can’t be so shameless as to overstay my welcome.” “Who told you you were a substitute?!” he snarled, as if I’d struck a nerve. He released me abruptly, but his fingertips still felt the phantom heat of my tears. “Besides, when did your coming and going become your decision to make?” 4. That night, in a break from all precedent, William stayed with me until I fell asleep before leaving to see Seraphina. In my dreams, I saw Liam again. He was wearing that same faded white shirt, standing in front of the little house with the yard we had always dreamed of. The morning sun cast a golden halo around him. “Aria,” he said, smiling and waving me over, his eyes as clear and unpolluted as the day I first met him. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you.” I smiled back, but as I did, tears began to stream down my face. “Liam,” I whispered, “I miss you so much… Wait for me, okay? I’ll come find you soon.” A few days later, I returned to the villa from the hospital, only to find that Seraphina had moved in. She sat in the garden, playing with a fluffy white Pomeranian at her feet. She didn’t even bother to look up. “Ms. Thorne, you’re so delicate. Shouldn’t you have rested a few more days?” I offered a polite smile. “Thank you for your concern, Ms. Vance. I’m much better now.” She ignored me, scratching the dog under its chin, her words dripping with double meaning. “Chai is such a good boy. It’s a shame, though. At the end of the day, he’s just an animal. He can’t change anything.” She let out a sharp, piercing laugh. I stood my ground, my face a placid mask. As expected, the little dog, as if agitated by something, suddenly perked up. It broke free from Seraphina and charged straight at me. Amid the gasps of the staff, it sank its teeth into my calf. A sharp, searing pain shot up my leg. I cried out. Mrs. Gable rushed forward and forcefully shoved the dog away. It yelped and scurried off, leaving my leg bleeding freely.

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My adoptive father lured me outside and deliberately left me in front of a crazed fighting dog. The dog’s teeth severed nerves, and with them, all sensation of pain. After that, I grew even quieter, like a doll that only knew how to follow orders. When my birth parents finally found me and brought me home, the girl who had taken my place wouldn’t let me in. She held a fruit knife to her own wrist. “If she sets one foot inside, I’ll die right here!” Tears streamed down her face, but the blade had barely broken the skin. Expressionless, I walked over and took the knife. “Let me help you with that, sister.” Then, with precision, I sliced open her artery. Blood sprayed across the floor. My mother and father stared at me, their eyes wide with terror. 1 The moment Clara Blackwood saw me, she bolted to the kitchen and came back with a fruit knife. She pressed the tip against her wrist, her face a mask of tragic tears. “If she sets one foot inside, I’ll die right here!” she wailed. “I’ve lived in this house for fifteen years! Why does she get to come back and steal your love?” My mother panicked. “Clara, don’t be rash! We can talk about this.” “She’s a monster! Look at her eyes! They’re terrifying!” Clara pressed down, dragging the knife across her skin. It was a superficial cut, producing only a few beads of blood. She howled, “It hurts! I’m bleeding!” As I watched her performance, a single directive formed in my mind: Die. She said she wanted to die. I moved robotically toward her and took the knife from her hand. “What are you doing?!” Clara’s eyes widened. I didn’t speak. I found the artery in her wrist and drew the blade across it. “Let me help you with that, sister.” Blood gushed out, ten times more than before. Clara let out a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed, convulsing on the floor. My mother’s face went white. “Oh god! Call 911!” My father lunged, snatching the bloody knife from my hand. His voice trembled. “Tessa, what are you doing?” I looked at them calmly. “It was a directive.” “What directive?” “My sister said she wanted to die. I was helping her execute it.” Just then, my brother, Jerry, came running down the stairs. He saw Clara in a pool of blood, then looked at me. His eyes filled with a mixture of horror and rage. “You monster!” he screamed, pointing at me. The wail of an ambulance grew closer. I stood silently beside the spreading puddle of blood, my own hands stained crimson. My mother’s voice shook. “Tessa, why would you do this?” “It was a directive,” I repeated. I didn’t know how else to explain. At the hospital, Clara was rushed into emergency surgery. I was left alone in the hallway of the ER. I clutched an old, battered music box—my only possession. It was broken. The winding key was loose, and it could only produce a few stuttering, off-key notes. Still, I wound it again and again, listening to its fractured melody. Three hours later, the surgeon emerged. “The patient is out of danger, but she lost a lot of blood. She’ll need to be admitted for observation.” My mother let out a shaky breath of relief before walking over to me. She looked at my blood-spattered clothes, her expression a battle between pity and fear. “Tessa, let’s go home.” Back at the Blackwood estate, the bloodstains in the living room hadn’t been fully cleaned. My mother asked the housekeeper to finish up while she sat across from me. “Tessa, tell me, why did you hurt your sister?” I stared at her and mechanically repeated the words. “It was a directive.” “What directive? Who gave it to you?” I couldn’t answer. I just looked down, fiddling with the music box in my hands. Tears welled in my mother’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Tessa, what on earth happened to you?” 2 The next afternoon, Clara was discharged from the hospital. Her left wrist was wrapped in a thick bandage. She was pale, but her eyes burned with malice. The second she saw me, she lunged, snatching the music box from my hands. “Monsters only deserve to play with trash!” She raised it high and slammed it onto the marble floor. With a sickening crack, the box shattered into a dozen pieces. The winding mechanism sprang out, rolling far under a sofa. The delicate ballerina inside snapped in two. I stared at the wreckage on the floor. I didn’t cry or scream. I simply knelt. Piece by piece, I began to gather the fragments. The sharp edges of the broken wood sliced into my fingertips, and drops of blood fell onto the floor. I didn’t flinch. I just kept picking them up. “She’s insane! She’s lost her mind!” Clara shrieked. My mother tried to pull me away, but then she saw the blood streaming from my fingers. As she tugged at my arm, my sleeve rode up, revealing the horrifying tapestry of scars beneath. Knife wounds, bite marks, and the circular patterns of cigarette burns. They covered my thin arm in a dense, shocking lattice. My mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “What are these?” My father saw them too. “Get her to the hospital! Now!” The doctor’s findings stunned everyone into silence. “The patient is experiencing complete congenital analgesia—the inability to feel pain. Her emotional center has also suffered severe damage.” “This condition is incredibly rare,” the doctor continued, his face grim as he studied my X-rays. “It’s usually the result of extreme, prolonged trauma. Her nervous system was deliberately damaged. Someone intentionally severed the nerves that transmit pain signals.” My mother fainted before he could finish. My father’s voice was a choked whisper. “Who would do something like this to a child?” The doctor shook his head. “In my thirty years of practice, I have never seen such a cruel and methodical act. It’s a miracle this child is alive at all.” I sat on the examination table, listening quietly. The cuts on my fingers had been bandaged. I felt nothing. That night, back home, I placed the broken pieces of the music box into a small cardboard box. Clara saw me and smirked. “Still trying to fix that thing? Dream on. That piece of junk should have been thrown out years ago.” I didn’t respond, just continued to arrange the fragments. The next morning, news of Clara’s “accident” had spread through her school. My brother, Jerry, came home with a dark look on his face. He cornered me in the hallway. “It’s all your fault,” he seethed. “Clara almost died because of you!” He was holding a mug of freshly brewed coffee, his eyes like ice. “Do you really feel nothing?” He didn’t believe the doctors. “I don’t believe you’re a monster. You’re acting!” He tipped the mug, pouring the scalding liquid over the back of my hand. The near-boiling coffee instantly turned my skin an angry red. Blisters rose immediately, and the top layer of skin began to peel away. I just looked down at it. I didn’t react. I didn’t even pull my hand back. The look on Jerry’s face shifted from fury to shock, and then to raw fear. “You… you really can’t feel it?” I met his terrified gaze. “No.” That single word seemed to shatter him more than a scream ever could. He lost control, shoving me hard. “What are you?! No normal person is like this! You’re not my sister!” I stumbled backward and fell, my head cracking against the sharp corner of the coffee table. Blood trickled down my cheek. I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a sound. I just silently pushed myself back up, wiped the blood from my face with the back of my other hand, and continued to look at him. The sight of my silent suffering broke him completely. He grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the table and raised it, ready to bring it down on my head. 3 “Stop!” My father, coming down the stairs, saw the scene and roared with fury. He lunged forward, wrenching the ashtray from Jerry’s hand, and delivered a powerful backhand slap across his face. Crack! Jerry’s cheek swelled instantly. “That is your sister! Your own flesh and blood! Are you trying to kill her?!” my father bellowed. “Look at her hand! Look at her head! Look at all the scars she already has!” “She has suffered enough! How much more are you going to torture her?!” Jerry stood frozen, staring at my scalded hand and the gash on my forehead. I still wasn’t crying, just watching them with my empty eyes. My mother ran down, drawn by the shouting. When she saw me, her eyes filled with tears. “Tessa, honey, you’re hurt again?” She reached out to hug me. I didn’t pull away, but I didn’t respond either. I was just a beautiful, broken porcelain doll. “Jerry, on your knees!” my father commanded, pointing at the floor. “Apologize to your sister!” Jerry looked at me, his eyes a mix of guilt and terror. “I’m… I’m sorry, Tessa…” I looked back at him and said softly, “It’s okay.” Those two words made tears spring to his eyes. He was beginning to realize that I wasn’t the monster. My mother carefully tended to my wounds. “Tessa, tell Mommy, does it hurt a lot?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t hurt.” “Are you scared?” I thought for a moment. “I don’t know what scared is.” My mother’s tears fell faster. She pulled me into a tight embrace. “Mommy will never let anyone hurt you again. Not even your brother.” I rested in her arms, feeling nothing. To make up for what had happened, my mother bought me an expensive white cashmere sweater. She gently helped me put it on. “Tessa, how does it feel? Is it comfortable?” I ran my hand over the fabric and nodded. “It’s nice.” I couldn’t feel its softness, but I knew it was something good. I sat quietly on the sofa in my new clothes. But when Clara came home, her eyes immediately locked onto the sweater. “Why does she get to wear something so nice?! You’ve never bought me anything this expensive!” “Clara, your closet is full of beautiful clothes,” my mother reasoned. “Those are old! Now that she’s back, you don’t love me anymore!” Clara grew more and more hysterical, snot and tears mixing on her face. “Fifteen years in this family means less than one day with her!” Sobbing, she ran to the coffee table and snatched a box cutter. “You don’t deserve to wear nice things!” She rushed at me, intending to slice the sweater off my body. I didn’t move. I just watched her come. The sharp blade slashed across the fabric. In the chaos, the tip of the cutter plunged into my shoulder. Blood instantly bloomed, staining the white cashmere a brilliant red. I looked down at the ruined sweater. “Directive was ‘wear’,” I said softly. “Clothing damaged. Directive failed.” “What failed directive?! You’re a psycho!” Clara raised the cutter again. My mother leaped forward, tore the weapon from her hand, and delivered a resounding slap across Clara’s face. Crack! She used all her strength. Clara stumbled back several steps, stunned. “Are you insane?! Do you want to go to jail?!” For the first time, my mother looked at Clara with pure ferocity. “She is your sister! Your real sister! How could you stab her?!” Clara held her cheek, staring at our mother in disbelief. “Mom? You hit me? You hit me for her? For that monster?” “Yes! I hit you for her!” my mother said without hesitation. “And if you ever dare to hurt Tessa again, I will send you to juvenile hall!” 4 In all her life, my mother had never spoken so harshly to Clara, let alone hit her. “You don’t love me anymore…” Clara sobbed and ran upstairs. My mother ignored her and turned to check my wound. “Tessa, does it hurt?” I shook my head, my gaze fixed on the blood-soaked sweater. “The clothes are broken.” “It’s okay, honey. Mommy will buy you a new one.” “But this one was special,” I said, the first unsolicited emotion I had expressed. My mother’s tears started again. “Why was it special?” “Because it was the first piece of clothing Mommy bought for me.” Her heart broke. She held me tight. “Mommy will buy you so, so many clothes,” she whispered. “You will never lack for anything ever again.” But some things, once lost, can never be replaced. My parents took me back to the hospital for my shoulder. The doctor said the blade had missed the bone, but I would need stitches. I sat through the entire procedure without making a sound. “This child’s tolerance for pain is incredible,” the doctor remarked. … While we were out, Clara found the box with my music box fragments. “Why is she still keeping this junk?” She found a hammer, intending to smash the pieces into dust. Jerry stood by and watched, saying nothing. Clara swung the hammer again and again, pulverizing the wooden shards. Finally, all that was left on the coffee table was a small pile of white powder. “There,” she said, satisfied. “Now she has nothing to obsess over. A monster doesn’t deserve anything beautiful.” Jerry looked at the dust and remained silent. When we returned, Clara greeted us with an innocent smile. “You’re back, little sister?” I nodded and went to the drawer where I kept the box. It was empty. I checked other places, but it was gone. Finally, I saw the pile of white powder on the coffee table. I knew what it was. I reached out with my bandaged hand to cup the dust, but it was too fine, slipping through my fingers. I made no sound, but a single tear escaped from my blank eyes and traced a path down my cheek. It was the first time I had cried since coming home. It was the only time. My mother saw it and covered her mouth in shock. My father was speechless. Jerry stared at my single tear, and he looked as if the air had been punched from his lungs. That silent drop of water was a more powerful accusation than any scream. “Tessa…” my mother began, wanting to comfort me. I shook my head, my expression returning to its usual emptiness. “It’s okay. It was broken for a long time.” Clara saw everyone’s reaction and scoffed. “What are you crying about? It was just a piece of trash. She’s a monster. What does she need a music box for anyway?” My mother glared at her. “Did you do this?” “So what if I did? That junk should have been thrown out!” My mother looked like she wanted to hit Clara again, but she restrained herself. She knew that no punishment could bring back what I had lost. Jerry walked over to me, his voice trembling. “Tessa, I’m sorry.” I looked at him. “Why are you apologizing?” “I… I should have stopped her.” “It’s okay. It was already broken.” My forgiveness seemed to wound him more than any accusation. The next day, he cornered my mother, demanding to know about the music box. “What was that thing? Why was it so important to her?!” My mother looked at his red, swollen eyes and knew he hadn’t slept. “Jerry, do you really want to know the truth?” “Yes! I need to know what happened to Tessa!” Tears began to stream down her face. “Tessa wasn’t just abducted, Jerry. She was thrown into hell.”

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I’m a no-name actress from the wrong side of the tracks, and to survive in this dog-eat-dog town, I faked a connection with Sebastian Wheatley, the crown prince of Manhattan’s elite. My nemesis, Phoebe Vance, didn’t buy it. She dropped a fortune on paparazzi and private investigators to tail me. “I’m going to rip that mask right off your face,” she hissed, “and show the world what kind of trash you really are.” I fell to my knees, begging her to stop. “We’re not even in the same league. Please, just leave me alone.” Phoebe just laughed, a cold, triumphant sound. “I just can’t stand that fake, holier-than-thou act of yours. It makes me sick!” She called a press conference to announce her findings. And she finally found it—the truth. It turns out I’m Sebastian Wheatley’s long-lost sister. 1 The dressing room was arctic. Phoebe Vance, poured into a skintight black dress, sat perched on a velvet armchair, her legs crossed elegantly. The silver stiletto on her dangling foot, encrusted with rhinestones, swung back and forth like the blade of a guillotine, ready to drop. I was kneeling before her. The cold marble floor was agony against my kneecaps, a spreading numbness I didn’t dare shift away from. “Ava Reed, you really are a performer,” Phoebe purred, leaning forward. Her long nail traced a line down my cheek, a cat toying with a mouse. “All those years playing the saint, but deep down, you’re just gutter trash, aren’t you? You sure know how to kneel.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Phoebe… I’m begging you. Don’t do this. I’m no competition for you. Please, just let me go.” I was a nobody in this industry. I started at seventeen and now, at twenty-six, I’d never even landed a lead role. My biggest claim to fame was a supporting part in an Oscar-nominated film. But I was cheap and I worked hard, earning me a reputation as the industry’s workhorse. I was never short on offers. All that screen time meant audiences recognized my face, and my public image was decent enough. That was it. Compared to Phoebe Vance, it was nothing. She was born into money, a true industry princess. Her debut was a starring role, with A-list actors practically carrying her projects to prop her up. Endorsement deals with major brands fell into her lap. We were from different universes, worlds apart. I had no idea how I’d managed to piss off this heiress so badly that she wanted to destroy me. A month ago, her assistant contacted me out of the blue. Phoebe had spent a seven-figure sum to hire the best P.I. firm and paparazzi team in the city, swearing to strip me bare and leave me exposed for all to see. My hands trembled as I held the phone to my ear, tears already welling up. “Phoebe, why are you investigating me? Did I do something to offend you? Tell me, I’ll fix it, I’ll apologize!” Phoebe’s laugh was sharp and cold. “Offend me? You think you’re even worthy?” “I just can’t stand fakes and phonies,” she said. “See you at the Starlight Gala next month. You better be ready.” 2 I spent the next month in a panic, calling in every favor I had, trying to find out what was going on. But Phoebe dodged all my attempts to reach her. Until today. The Starlight Gala. Half of Hollywood was in attendance. I came with my agency; an actress of my status didn’t rate a private dressing room. Phoebe’s assistant summoned me to hers. The moment I walked in, she eyed me with a smirk. “Well, if it isn’t our industry’s little workhorse,” she chirped. “Ava, you work so tirelessly. You must have had a tough childhood, hmm?” The insinuation hit me like a physical blow. I dropped to my knees on the spot. “Phoebe, whatever you found, please don’t tell anyone!” Phoebe sank back into the plush sofa, legs crossed. She looked triumphant, tapping a blood-red nail against her chin as if in deep thought. “What did I find? Let’s see… an orphanage? A job as a dishwasher?” She clicked her tongue. “Tsk. Doesn’t quite match that ‘East Coast heiress’ persona you’ve been selling, does it?” Her words sucked the air from my lungs. I collapsed onto the floor, a single thought screaming in my mind: It’s over. It’s all over. She had dug up everything. I had cultivated an image as the only daughter of a wealthy family, which wasn’t entirely a lie. I was from Connecticut, and I was an only child. The part I left out was that my parents died in a car crash when I was four. None of my relatives wanted me. They said I was cursed, that I’d jinxed my parents and would bring bad luck to anyone who took me in. They carved up my family’s assets and dumped me in an orphanage. Those years were hell. I wore donated hand-me-downs, got bullied at school for it, and had to work to earn my keep back at the orphanage. My grades were, unsurprisingly, terrible. After barely graduating high school, I was working odd jobs when a talent scout found me. 3 I thought entering the entertainment industry would be my ticket out, a way to earn a decent living through hard work. The reality was a rude awakening. This place was a meat grinder. Calling it a cesspool would be a compliment. I was seventeen, not even a legal adult, when I got my first role as a minor handmaiden. The casting director cornered me on his office sofa, his breath reeking of whiskey. “Spend the night with me, and I’ll give you a better part,” he slurred. “The lead’s personal maid. She has pages of dialogue. Better than being a glorified extra, right?” I grabbed the glass ashtray from his desk and threw it at his head. Afterward, my manager dragged me back to apologize and pay his medical bills. The agency shelved me for a year, giving me a measly three-hundred-dollar monthly allowance. At nineteen, I landed a part in a low-budget web series. My manager got me drunk, and my own assistant personally walked me to the producer’s hotel room at two in the morning. I fought back, scrambled out the window, and called the police. Of course, the whole thing was hushed up. My agency bosses screamed my head off before terminating my contract. I was free, but no other agency would touch me. I ended up working as an extra on film sets. For three years, I hustled. My acting was solid and my work ethic was relentless, which eventually got me noticed. A bigger agency finally signed me. This time, I got a decent supporting role. I had learned my lesson. I couldn’t be the reckless, naive girl I once was. My new manager took me to industry parties. I learned to plaster on a smile and toast with the best of them. When investors got handsy, I gritted my teeth and endured it. I was desperate not to be poor again. With no family and no connections, being bullied and humiliated in this world of glamour and power felt like my destiny. I could take the insults, the condescension, the unwanted touches. As long as they didn’t cross my ultimate line. 4 Then one day, Director Evans, a titan of the industry, personally requested me for an audition. “There’s a fire in your eyes,” he told me. “A resilience that’s perfect for this role.” “Come to my hotel room tomorrow night. Nine o’clock. We’ll discuss the scene.” The color drained from my face. Director Evans was brilliant, but his vindictive nature was even more famous than his films. I’d been in the business long enough to hear the stories. Anyone who defied him found their career in Hollywood mysteriously stalled. Two years ago, a talented young actress who’d won a Best Newcomer award was blacklisted after refusing his advances. Rumor had it she had a mental breakdown. Her family took her abroad, and she was never seen on screen again. She was a leading lady, from a well-off family. I was an orphan. Crushing me would be as easy as squashing an ant. I braced myself for the worst. If it came down to it, I would just quit the industry. But as a high school graduate with no diploma, my future would probably involve delivering for DoorDash. Standing in that hotel corridor, I thought of my bleak prospects and started to cry, my makeup running down my face. And that was the day I met Sebastian Wheatley. The whispered-about crown prince of Manhattan’s elite, the sole heir to the Wheatley Corporation, whose media empire controlled half of Hollywood. He was flanked by bodyguards, his suit immaculate, his features as sharp and cold as carved ice. For some reason, my pathetic, sobbing figure caught his attention. Sebastian walked over and handed me a tissue. “What are you crying about?” Through a blur of tears, my lips trembled, but no words came out. I must have been a pitiful sight. His interest faded as quickly as it had appeared. He frowned, clicking his tongue. “For God’s sake, wipe your nose.” 5 That was my one and only interaction with Sebastian Wheatley. But by a stroke of horrible luck, a paparazzo caught the moment on camera, and the photo went viral. I decided to lean into it. I gave a deliberately vague statement to the press: “Mr. Wheatley and I… we’ve known each other for a long time.” “As for the nature of our relationship, it’s not really something I can discuss publicly.” The internet exploded. Because I’d never revealed my true background, and an old rumor about me being an “East Coast heiress” was still floating around, fans started connecting imaginary dots. Sebastian’s mother was from Connecticut, they pointed out. Maybe we were related, cousins perhaps. And if you squinted, there was a faint resemblance in the lines of our faces. That theory was immediately shot down. “Get real, trying to claim ties to the Wheatley family? The audacity!” “Seriously, look at Ava Reed’s career. She’s never even been a lead. If she was Sebastian Wheatley’s cousin, would she be this pathetic?” “Definitely not his cousin. Probably some dirty little secret, a mistress on the side.” “Please. Everyone knows Sebastian and Phoebe Vance are the real deal—childhood friends, a perfect match. Why would he stoop to someone like her?” “Exactly! Even if she was his mistress, her career is still a joke! Look at Phoebe, she debuted as a leading lady. That’s the kind of power the Wheatleys wield!” “My bet? Ava’s just a shameless clout-chaser making it all up.” “She’s got guts, I’ll give her that. Faking a connection with Sebastian Wheatley? But why hasn’t he denied it?” “The man runs a multi-billion dollar empire. You think he has time for this celebrity gossip?” They had no idea how close to the truth they were. But they didn’t understand the industry, and they certainly didn’t understand Sebastian Wheatley. The man was notoriously aloof, a prince of ice who looked down on everyone. He gave no one the time of day. Once, a top-tier actress tried to throw herself at him. Sebastian simply instructed his bodyguards, “Get her out of here. If this happens again, she is to never appear in my sight line again.” Even with Phoebe Vance, his supposed childhood friend, he was polite but distant. When they spoke, he maintained a ten-foot gap between them. For a man that cold and hard-hearted to hand a tissue to a nobody actress he didn’t know? Impossible. 6 After the news broke, Director Evans immediately called me. The “meeting” was moved from his hotel room to the company’s conference room. He, the producer, and the casting director were all there, treating it as a formal, professional audition. I got the part. After that, the investors who used to harass me suddenly backed off. No one dared to touch a woman “connected to Sebastian Wheatley.” Even if it was just a rumor, it was enough to give me some breathing room. I thought I could survive on that lie for a few more years. But Phoebe wouldn’t let me. The sharp heel of her stiletto ground into the back of my hand. Phoebe leaned down, her face close to mine. “Ava Reed, you think you’re worthy of even being associated with Sebastian Wheatley?” “After tonight, everyone will know what kind of pathetic gutter trash you really are.” “A rat from the sewer belongs in the sewer. Crawl back to where you came from!” she spat. “Some people are not for vermin like you to even dream of!” “Agh—!” The heel dug deeper, a searing pain shooting up my arm. I felt the bones grind. I cried out, trying to pull my hand away, but Phoebe’s assistant stepped forward, pinning me down by my shoulders. I was forced to look up into Phoebe’s eyes, which burned with a toxic mix of rage and jealousy. And in that moment, I finally understood. It was all about Sebastian. It was over. I had borrowed the tiger’s skin to protect myself, and now, the tiger was here to rip me apart. I closed my eyes in despair. … 7 The Starlight Gala was a blinding spectacle of flashing lights. It was being broadcast live nationwide, with dozens of media outlets and millions of viewers online. Ushers practically dragged me to the backstage waiting area, my face ashen. As I glanced at the front row of the audience, my pupils contracted. The ghostly white of my face turned to a dead, hopeless gray. Phoebe had invited Sebastian Wheatley. In a few moments, in front of the entire country, Sebastian would say he didn’t know me. What hope would I have left? The investors and directors I’d fooled would tear me to shreds. And the public, who lived for this kind of drama, would have a field day. I could already picture tomorrow’s headlines, a storm of humiliation and scorn. Some people look alive, but they’re already dead. In that instant, I wished a meteor would fall from the sky and obliterate the entire venue. But my fantasy didn’t come true. Phoebe, holding the long train of her gown, walked gracefully onto the stage.

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