Author: Momo Chan

The day my parents divorced, two agreements sat on the table. One was to stay with my gambling, debt-ridden father in the old neighborhood. The other was to go with my mother, who was remarrying a wealthy businessman, to the coast. In my last life, my younger brother, Liam, threw a tantrum, crying for Mom. I quietly packed my bags and went with Dad. Later, Dad quit gambling, our old house was demolished for a huge payout, and he showered me with affection. Meanwhile, Liam was emotionally abused at his stepfather’s house, forbidden from leaving, and eventually died from depression. This time, starting over, Liam snatched the cigarette from Dad’s hand and clung to him, refusing to let go. “Leo, I feel bad for Dad. You go enjoy the good life. I’m leaving it for you.” Dad froze for a second, then a look of relief crossed his face as he patted Liam’s head. I said nothing. I just picked up the train ticket to the coast. Liam didn’t know that the only reason Dad quit gambling in our last life was because I, diagnosed with a brain tumor, worked myself to the point of coughing up blood to pay his debts. My life was the price for his redemption. In this new life, free from the sound of debt collectors, all I wanted was a good night’s sleep. … I picked up my worn duffel bag. “Go on, get out of here. Go find your gold-digging mother,” Dad said, waving his hand like he was shooing a fly. Liam hid behind Dad and made a face at me, mouthing exaggeratedly, “Bro, don’t come crawling to me for money later.” I just smiled and didn’t say a word. I turned and walked out into the rain. I hunched my shoulders, a damp chill seeping into the very marrow of my bones. It didn’t really matter where I went. I just wanted to find a quiet place to live out my remaining time. No more listening to loan sharks banging on the door. No more smelling that nauseating stench of cheap cigarette smoke. Mom’s black Mercedes was parked at the end of the alley. The window rolled down, revealing her perfectly maintained face. She frowned at the sight of me, soaked to the bone, her eyes filled with disdain. “What happened to you? Get in, quickly. Don’t get the car dirty.” I opened the back door and was about to get in. “Put that bag in the trunk,” Mom snapped, pointing at my duffel. “It’s filthy. God knows what kind of germs are on it.” I paused for a moment. But I did as she said, closing the door and stowing the bag in the trunk. When I got back in the car, I squeezed myself into the corner, trying not to touch the leather seats. The heat was blasting, but I was still cold. “Leo, when we get there, you need to be sensible,” Mom said, watching me in the rearview mirror as she drove. “Your stepfather doesn’t like noise. Stay in your room unless you have a reason to come out.” “Don’t slurp when you eat. Don’t drag your feet when you walk.” “And another thing. Don’t ever mention your father. He’s bad luck.” I watched the rain-streaked scenery fly by and nodded. “I know.” The thorn in my brain pricked me again. For a second, the world went black, and I raised a hand to my forehead. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked, her tone laced with impatience. “Nothing. Just carsick,” I said. “So dramatic,” she scoffed. “You’re just like your father.” I closed my eyes and swallowed, forcing back the coppery tang of blood that rose in my throat. I’m not doing this again in the next life. The drive took five hours. It was pitch black by the time we pulled into a gated community on the hillside. It was ablaze with light, yet cloaked in a dead, suffocating silence. “We’re here.” Mom parked the car, touched up her lipstick, and took a deep breath. She was shifting gears, transforming from the sharp-tongued woman she was with me into a gentle, considerate wife. “Get out. Remember to call him Mr. Sangster.” I followed behind her, carrying my duffel bag. A man was sitting on the living room sofa. A blanket covered his legs, and a book was in his hands. He looked up when he heard us. This was my stepfather, Julian Sangster. The man who drove Liam to his death in my last life. “You’re back?” His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Julian, this is Leo,” Mom said, pushing me forward with a plastered-on smile. “Leo, say hello to Mr. Sangster.” I stepped forward and gave a slight bow. “Hello, Mr. Sangster.” Julian turned a page in his book as if he hadn’t heard me. After a few seconds, a quiet “Mm” escaped his nostrils. His gaze flickered down to my wet shoes, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “The carpet is new.” He looked back down at his book. “The guest room is ready. Second floor, first door on the left.” “Thank you, Mr. Sangster,” I said. Mom let out a sigh of relief and pulled me upstairs. “See? Mr. Sangster is a very nice person,” she whispered. “Just don’t make him angry, and you’ll be able to stay here.” The room was huge and empty. “Mom.” I called out just as she was about to leave. “What is it?” “I’d like to change rooms.” Her expression soured instantly. “Leo, are you seriously being picky the moment you arrive? What’s wrong with this room? It’s a hundred times better than that pigsty your father lives in. Don’t be ungrateful.” I watched her tirade calmly. When she finally ran out of steam, I spoke. “It’s not that. This room faces north. It’s too cold.” “I’d like a south-facing room, even if it’s smaller.” I was genuinely cold. The tumor had messed with my body’s ability to regulate temperature, leaving me in a perpetual state of freezing. Only sunlight offered any real comfort. “Cold? Just turn on the heat,” she said, thinking I was being unreasonable. “The south-facing rooms are your Mr. Sangster’s study and a storage room.” “The storage room is fine,” I said. Her eyes widened. “Are you insane? You’d rather sleep in a storage room than a perfectly good guest room? Are you doing this on purpose? Trying to make Julian think I’m mistreating you?” Her voice grew shrill. I covered my ears. It was too loud. The blood vessels in my head throbbed. “I’m just cold,” I repeated. Just then, two soft knocks came from the doorway. Julian was standing there, a glass of water in his hand, his expression dark. “What’s all the shouting about?” Mom’s demeanor changed in a flash, her voice trembling. “It’s nothing, Julian. The boy is just being difficult, complaining about his room. I’ll handle him.” Julian looked at me, and I looked back at him. His face was pale, his lips colorless. He looked like he was dying. “Where do you want to stay?” he asked me. “The south-facing one,” I said, pointing down the hall. “That room is filled with old furniture.” “I don’t mind. As long as there’s sun.” Julian was silent for a moment. “Suit yourself. Just don’t shout in the hallway.” He turned and left, completely uninterested in our mother-son dispute. Mom poked my forehead in frustration. “Just keep pushing it. What will people say when they hear you’re living in a storage room? How am I supposed to show my face?” I ignored her and walked toward the end of the hall with my duffel bag. I pushed the door open, and a cloud of dust hit me. But I saw the floor-to-ceiling window. When the sun rose tomorrow, this room would be warm. That was enough. I made my bed and placed the photo album under my pillow. The doctor’s diagnosis was tucked inside it. As long as I was alive, no one would bother snooping through my things. That night, I slept soundly. There were no debt collectors in my dreams, only a vast, endless darkness. I settled into the house like a ghost, an invisible presence. Julian liked quiet. Even the housekeeper tiptoed around. Mom spent her days trying to please him, making him soup, giving him massages, and watching boring financial news with him. She was less a wife than a high-end caregiver. As for me, I rarely left my room, except for meals. I had cleaned out the storage room. It was still cluttered with old furniture, but the sunlight was wonderful. I would often pull up a chair and sit by the window for hours, basking like an old man on the verge of death. Sometimes Julian would pass by my open door. He would pause when he saw me soaking up the sun, but he never said anything. The look in his eyes was strange, as if he were looking at one of his own kind. One day at lunch, the dining table was silent except for the soft clinking of chopsticks against porcelain. My phone suddenly buzzed, sounding like an alarm in the quiet room. Julian frowned. Mom immediately put down her chopsticks and shot me a glare. “Who told you to bring your phone to the table? Have some manners.” “Hang up,” she ordered. I took out my phone and glanced at the screen. It was Liam. I declined the call. Two seconds later, it buzzed again. I declined it again. The third time it vibrated, Julian set down his chopsticks. “Just answer it,” he said, his voice faint. “The noise is giving me a headache.” I took the phone out to the balcony. The second I answered, Liam’s voice exploded in my ear. “Leo, did you do this on purpose? You took the bank book, didn’t you?” I held the phone away from my ear. “What bank book?” “Dad said the bank book is missing. He’s sure you stole it. There was five hundred dollars in there!” I had to laugh. That five hundred dollars was what I had earned washing dishes last summer. “That was my money,” I said. “Your money is the family’s money,” Liam shot back, full of self-righteousness. “Dad has no money for cigarettes now, and he’s throwing a fit. You’d better transfer the money over, or I’ll tell Mom you stole from us.” I could hear things crashing in the background and Dad’s slurred curses. “Useless piece of trash! Ungrateful wolf!” “I should’ve strangled you at birth!” Even from hundreds of miles away, those voices still suffocated me. “I didn’t steal anything,” I said calmly. “That was money I was saving for my medical bills.” “Medical bills? What’s wrong with you?” Liam sneered. “Stop pretending. Just send the money, or I’ll go to your school and tell everyone you’re letting your own father die.” I looked out at the garden. The flowers were in full bloom, a violent, blood-red. “Liam,” I said. “You chose this path. Now you have to walk it, even if you have to crawl.” “Don’t bother me again.” I hung up and blocked his number. As I turned, I felt a warmth trickle from my nose. I touched it and my hand came away covered in blood. Frantically, I pulled a tissue from my pocket and pressed it to my face, tilting my head back to stop the flow. But it was coming fast, running down my throat and into my stomach, making me nauseous. I rushed to the downstairs bathroom. In the mirror, I saw the bright red blood staining half my face. I turned on the faucet and desperately tried to wash it off. “What are you doing?” A voice came from behind me. I froze, and through the mirror, I saw Julian standing in the doorway. He was looking at my blood-and-water-streaked face, his eyes dark and deep. I hastily wiped my face. “Nosebleed,” I mumbled, looking down. “Probably just the dry air.” Julian didn’t say anything. He walked over and handed me a clean towel. “Here.” I took it and pressed it to my nose. “Thanks, Mr. Sangster.” He glanced at the faint red streaks still in the sink. “Does this happen often?” “Sometimes,” I lied. The nosebleeds were getting more frequent. Julian studied me for a long moment. “You should see a doctor,” he said. “It’s not necessary. It’s an old problem.” I kept my head down, trying to get past him. “Leo.” He stopped me. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells in this house. Your mother is your mother. You are you.” I froze and looked up at him. His expression was still cold, but there was something in his eyes I didn’t understand. “If you don’t feel well, say something.” “No one’s giving out medals for toughing it out.” He turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the bathroom. The towel in my hand smelled faintly of pine. That was his scent. That, and the faint scent of death. Julian had a secret. I knew because I’d seen a familiar pill bottle in his study’s trash can. It was a powerful painkiller, the kind prescribed to terminal cancer patients. Mom had asked me to bring a fruit platter to his study one day. Julian wasn’t there; he was at the hospital for dialysis. As I was leaving, I saw the familiar white bottle in the wastebasket. I picked it up. It was labeled as Ibuprofen, but inside were morphine tablets. I’d used the same trick. Hiding life-saving medicine in an ordinary vitamin bottle, to fool myself as much as others. So, the aloof, untouchable stepfather, the man Liam called a cold-hearted monster, was also enduring his own private hell. I put the bottle back and pretended I hadn’t seen anything. That evening, Julian came home looking worse than usual, his steps unsteady. Mom rushed to help him. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped, pulling away, his voice tight with pain. Mom’s hands froze in mid-air, her eyes welling up. “Julian, did I do something wrong?” “I’m just tired,” he said without looking at her, and went straight upstairs. He paused for a fraction of a second as he passed me. In that instant, I smelled the heavy scent of antiseptic from the hospital, and a faint, metallic trace of blood. The lingering smell of dialysis. I woke up in the middle of the night, pain screaming through my head. The tumor was pressing on my nerves, a relentless, crushing force. I was drenched in a cold sweat, curled in a ball, shaking. I needed water. I stumbled out of bed and made my way downstairs. The living room was dark, but I could see a shadow on the sofa. It was Julian, sitting perfectly still. A cigarette glowed between his fingers, a tiny ember in the darkness. I didn’t dare make a sound and started to back away. “Since you’re awake, come here.” His voice, hoarse and weary, cut through the dark. I had no choice but to approach. “Mr. Sangster.” “Do you play chess?” he asked. “A little.” “Play a game with me.” I sat across from him. In the moonlight, I could see his face was ashen, his forehead slick with sweat. He was in pain, just like me. We played three games in silence, the only sound the crisp click of the pieces on the board. His moves were aggressive, a release of some pent-up fury. Mine were steady, calculated. “Are you that afraid of losing?” Julian suddenly asked. “I can’t afford to lose,” I said, placing a piece. Julian let out a short, dry laugh. “Life is a lost game from the start. No matter how much you struggle, you lose in the end.” I didn’t argue. As dawn approached, the final game ended. I was about to put the pieces away when Julian’s hand pressed down on the board. “Leo. That diagnosis you have hidden under your pillow,” he said, his voice low. “How long did you plan on hiding it?” He looked up, his deep-set eyes boring straight into me. “Leo. That diagnosis you have hidden under your pillow. How long did you plan on hiding it?” My hand, holding a chess piece, froze. My heart skipped a beat. He knew. Of course he knew. In this house, if he wanted to know something, nothing could stay hidden.

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Ten years ago, I walked in on my wife, Isabelle, in an intimate moment with my adopted brother, Noah. Unable to process it, I flew into a rage, slapped them both hard, and smashed everything in the room. Faced with my fury, Isabelle offered no explanation. She just watched me break, her expression unnervingly calm. That same night, she had men tie me up and haul me off to prison. Before they took me away, she cooked a lavish meal for me, her voice soft and gentle. “Jacob, you really scared Noah yesterday. You need to go cool off for a few days. I’ll comfort him, and once he’s feeling better, I’ll come get you.” But “a few days” turned into ten years. When I was finally released, I found a small town and took a job as a waiter in a diner, living under a new name. Until I saw her again. My ex-wife, Isabelle. She was dressed head-to-toe in designer brands, her makeup flawless. She froze when she saw me, and then her eyes reddened as she grabbed my hand. “Jacob, you’re out. Why didn’t you tell me?” she choked out. “These past years… have you been okay?” I gave a bitter smile, touching my head through my worn cap. I had no hair left. A decade of torment had left me with terminal cancer. By my calculations, I had about a month left to live. … I didn’t answer her, just tugged the sleeves of my worn jacket down further, trying to hide the dense constellation of needle marks on my arms. Isabelle, unwilling to let it go, was about to speak again when my boss yelled from across the diner. “Owen! What are you dawdling for? Get over here and clear that table!” “Coming!” I called back, not daring to look at Isabelle again as I practically fled. In my peripheral vision, I saw her mouth open as if to call my name, but no sound came out. Later, I brought out her order. She had only ordered braised short ribs, a bowl of spicy lamb stew, and a bottle of wine. I frowned. She was allergic to fish and hated the smell of lamb, yet these were my two favorite dishes. It was a cruel irony, as stomach cancer had prevented me from eating them for years. I placed the dishes in front of her, my face a blank mask. “Ma’am, your order is complete. Please enjoy your meal.” I turned to leave, but she grabbed my sleeve. “Jacob, this is all for you. Sit down. Have a drink with me, please?” I froze, the memory of her preparing my favorite foods just before sending me to hell for ten years flashing through my mind. Seeing my silence, she pressed on, her voice cracking. “I’m begging you. Just let me talk to you for a minute…” I sighed and finally sat down across from her. She poured me a glass of wine. “Jacob, I was supposed to pick you up the day you were released. I went to the prison, but I couldn’t find you anywhere. I asked everyone for information, but they all said… they said you were dead.” I didn’t touch the wine or the food. “I’m not. Sorry to disappoint you, Isabelle.” Her reaction was unexpectedly emotional. She leaned forward, her hands closing over mine. “Jacob, I know I wronged you. Please, come back with me. I’ll make it up to you! In three days, it’s your father’s sixtieth birthday. Come home with me, and I’ll explain everything for you.” Ten years ago, just to appease my adopted brother Noah and to keep me from exposing their affair, Isabelle had fabricated evidence of me accepting bribes at the company. It landed me a ten-year prison sentence for a crime I didn’t commit. My own parents, without asking a single question, disowned me on the spot, calling me a parasite on society. Her words brought all the pain and despair of those years rushing back. I fought to suppress the overwhelming anguish, but my body began to tremble uncontrollably. “Explain?” I rasped. “What is there to explain? Are you going to explain the disgusting things you and Noah were up to?” My voice, thick with emotion, was louder than I intended. The curious, gossiping eyes of the other diners turned toward us. I shot to my feet and walked away. I thought I would never see Isabelle again. After all, how much remorse could the person who sent me to hell truly feel? But the next morning, when I arrived for my shift, she was already there, waiting by the door. She rushed toward me, her eyes searching my face. “Jacob, you were a top-tier engineer. Are you really content to waste away in a small diner like this?” I laughed coldly. “But didn’t you already destroy my life? Don’t you feel sick saying this now?” My words struck a nerve. A flicker of panic crossed her face, and she opened her mouth to explain, but I walked past her and into the diner. Isabelle didn’t leave. She ordered a single dish and a pot of tea and stayed for the entire day. I ignored her, carrying on with my work as usual. Just before my shift ended, a searing pain ripped through my stomach. A hot, metallic liquid surged up my throat. I staggered back, trying to stifle the agony, and accidentally knocked over a bottle of red wine on a customer’s table. The wine drenched the man’s shirt. He stared for a moment, and before I could even apologize, his hand cracked across my face. “What the hell, are you blind? This jacket is designer, you piece of trash! You think you can afford to replace it?” He grew more enraged, ignoring my apologies. He kicked me hard in the stomach, sending me sprawling to the floor. Then, he picked up the wine bottle and poured the rest of it over my head. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A strangled gasp escaped me as I coughed up a mouthful of blood. The crimson liquid mixed with the red wine, staining my clothes in a sickening mess. Still not satisfied, the man raised his foot to kick me again, but someone shoved him aside. Isabelle stood over me, her eyes blazing with fury, shielding me with her body. “I dare anyone to touch him!” she roared. The man started to curse, but when he saw the feral look in her eyes, a flash of fear replaced his anger. He muttered a few more insults and quickly fled the diner. Isabelle knelt down, gently helping me up, her face etched with panic. “Jacob, all this blood…” I glanced down at the red stains on my shirt and stammered, “It’s… it’s just the wine.” I pushed her away and ran. The next day, I quit my job. I had only been working to pay for my chemotherapy drugs anyway. Since I was going to die soon, there was no point in continuing. Besides, my greatest wish now was to get as far away from Isabelle and her world as possible. I wanted to die in peace. There were no formalities. I told my boss, collected my final paycheck, and left. As I walked out, I remembered my last medical report was still at the hospital. I decided to pick it up and buy some more painkillers. But just as I collected my report, I saw a familiar figure. My adopted brother, Noah. And with him were Isabelle and my own parents. Noah saw me first. He froze, his face a mask of disbelief. “Jacob? You’re not dead?” My eyes fell to the bag in his hand. It was from the maternity ward. The name written on the label was Isabelle’s. Only then did I notice the slight, but definite, swell of her stomach. Even after ten years, seeing them together like this felt like having a piece of my heart violently ripped out. A bitter laugh escaped me. “Still alive. Sorry to disappoint you.” A dark look flashed across Noah’s face, quickly replaced by a wounded expression. “Jacob, I know you hate me for marrying Isabelle. But you two were divorced, and you went to prison for what you did ten years ago. You couldn’t expect her to wait for you forever…” Isabelle chimed in. “Mom and Dad are here. If you just apologize properly, I’m sure they’ll forgive you. Tomorrow is Dad’s birthday, after all.” I scoffed. They were the ones who were wrong. Why should I be the one to apologize? “I have nothing to apologize for,” I said sharply. “You know the truth about what happened ten years ago.” At that moment, my parents noticed me. They looked much older. Not yet sixty, but their hair was almost completely white, their backs stooped. They stared at me, stunned. My mother was the first to speak, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “Why are you so thin? Are you on something? You were trouble ten years ago, and you didn’t even come to us after you got out. You must have a guilty conscience!” I was floored. It took me a moment to understand what she was implying. Ten years, and this was her first reaction. Not concern, not a question about my health, but a suspicion that I was on drugs. This was the image they had of me. I laughed, a hollow, tear-filled sound. Seeing me laugh, my father’s frown deepened. “Your mother’s right. You don’t look healthy.” He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the hospital’s lab. “You’re coming with me for a drug test!” His voice was loud, drawing a crowd. In the struggle, he shoved me, and I fell, my head hitting the corner of a table. Blood trickled down my forehead. The sudden stress sent another wave of agony through my stomach, and a cold sweat soaked my clothes. Isabelle’s voice cut through the haze, gentle but laced with concern. “Jacob, I didn’t notice yesterday, but you really should… listen to your parents. Go get the test. It’s not too late to get help.” Noah added his fake concern. “Brother, I know you’ve been through a lot, but you can’t keep making these mistakes!” Their condescending tones, their righteous certainty. Why? I had done nothing wrong. Why did I have to pay for their paranoid fantasies? My father tried to grab me again, but I pushed his hand away and struggled to my feet. “Fine. I’ll go.” I limped into the testing room. The results, of course, were negative. A flicker of embarrassment crossed my parents’ faces, but there was no apology. My mother just glanced at me and said awkwardly, “Well, that’s that. Come home. Tomorrow is your father’s sixtieth birthday. Make sure you’re there.” I took a step back, putting distance between us. “You were right all those years ago. I’m not your son. We cut ties a long time ago. I won’t be coming to the party. Happy birthday, Mr. Melling.” I gave them a formal bow, and ignoring their curses and pleas, I turned and walked out of the hospital. On the morning of my father’s sixtieth birthday, I woke up choking on blood. The pain was constant now, so intense that I could barely stand. I knew my condition was worsening rapidly. Every day was a new form of torture. I probably didn’t even have a month left. After I had coughed up another mouthful of blood, Isabelle started pounding on my door. “Jacob, open up! It’s me!” I didn’t want to see her. “Isabelle,” I said through the door, “you’re a pregnant, married woman. It’s not appropriate for you to be here, visiting your ex-husband.” Her voice faltered. “Jacob, I know you hate me. We can talk about us later. But today is your father’s birthday. You have to be there. We need to be a family and talk things through.” I had no intention of going, but she called a locksmith and had him force the door open. Weakened by the cancer, I was powerless to stop her. She was insistent, practically dragging me into her car. In the car, she kept looking at me in the rearview mirror. Finally, she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Jacob, why are you so thin?” I ran a hand over the needle marks on my arm and smiled bitterly. “Terminal cancer. Would you believe me?” Isabelle stared, then burst out laughing. “Jacob, don’t even joke about something like that. How could you have cancer? You must have been on some crazy diet. I always told you, a little meat on the bones looks good on a man. You shouldn’t be so anxious about your body…” I didn’t hear the rest of what she said. I just nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. It was a joke. I don’t have cancer. Just a stupid diet.” We drove the rest of the way in silence. The party was already underway when we arrived. I kept my eyes down, standing off to the side, a silent shadow. My parents, in a tacit agreement, didn’t introduce me to anyone. Instead, Noah played the part of the dutiful son, and Isabelle the perfect daughter-in-law, mingling with the guests. I was the odd one out. As the party was winding down, a swarm of reporters burst in, surrounding Noah. “Mr. Melling, is it true that your current wife was once your sister-in-law?” “How long has this inappropriate relationship been going on? Is it connected to your brother, Jacob Melling’s, sudden criminal behavior?” Faced with the onslaught, Noah’s eyes immediately reddened. Under the glare of the flashing cameras, he fell to his knees before me.

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1 I woke in a haze, the world blurry and distant after my kidney transplant. The first thing I saw was Mom and Dad, screaming and crying as the cops hauled them away. It turned out my new kidney had been bought off the black market, for a very high price. The little girl whose kidney they’d taken had just been rescued. Seven days later, I was moved from the sterile isolation ward to a regular room. I had barely settled in when a beautiful, frantic woman burst through the door and lunged at me. “You little monster,” she shrieked, her hands grabbing at me. “You stole my daughter’s kidney! How could you? Give it back! Do you hear me? Give it back!” The man beside her, however, just stared at me, his eyes locked on my neck. “Seraphina, look,” he said, his voice tight. “The birthmark on her neck… it’s identical to our Evelyn’s.” … “My poor Chloe,” the woman, Seraphina, sobbed, her grief raw and terrifying. “She’s only seven, and now she’s missing a kidney!” “Oh, God, what did I do to deserve this? I’ve already lost one daughter, isn’t that enough?” “It’s all because of you, you little beast! If it weren’t for you, my daughter would never have been kidnapped, her kidney would never have been cut out of her!” Nurses and an orderly rushed in, trying to pull her away. “Ma’am, please, this child is only seven, too,” a nurse pleaded. “Her parents were just arrested. She’s been all alone since the surgery. She’s been through enough, please, leave her be.” “She’s been through enough?” Seraphina’s voice dripped with venom. “She has my daughter’s kidney inside her body! What has she been through? Her kidney failed, so she gets to steal my daughter’s? What about my Chloe? Hasn’t she been through enough?” Her eyes were bloodshot, her finger pointed right at my nose as she spat her accusations, flecks of saliva hitting my face. It wasn’t enough. She wrenched herself free from the staff, and the full force of her palm slammed into my cheek. The world exploded in a flash of white. A torrent of hot blood gushed from my nose, and I froze, paralyzed with shock. I scrambled back on the bed, trembling, with nowhere to hide. Tears, spit, and blood streamed down my face, staining the clean white sheets. I curled into a ball, hugging my head, my world collapsing into sobs. “Mommy, Daddy, save me… I’m so scared, it hurts so much!” I was only seven. I used to be their precious little girl. I was in the hospital for acute kidney failure. I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know that the kidney Mom and Dad said would save me had cost another little girl so much. Seraphina stood over me, her nails digging into my arm as she continued to curse me. Every touch was like an electric shock, making me flinch and shrink further away. Before, whenever someone bullied me, Mom would wrap me in her arms, and Dad would be ready to fight for me. But who was going to protect me now? Finally, the man who had come in with her, Julian, pulled her back. His eyes were still fixed on my neck. “Seraphina, look at it,” he insisted. “That birthmark… it’s exactly like our Evelyn’s…” She shot a glance at me. “Like hell it is! Don’t you try to change the subject and make excuses for this little parasite.” “I’m telling you,” she snarled, turning her fury back to me, “you give Chloe’s kidney back! Or I swear, I will make your life a living hell!” She left, and a warm puddle spread beneath me on the bed. I had wet myself. The orderly who had stayed behind silently stripped the soiled sheets, looking down at me with a heavy sigh. “A damned shame,” was all she said. She left with the trash and never came back. My hospital account was now overdue. They couldn’t afford an orderly for me anymore. The painkillers stopped. My meals became little more than broth and water. I was in pain, I was starving, and I had no idea what to do. The hospital called the police, reporting that I had no guardian and they should take me away. The police said I was a patient, and the hospital was responsible for me. I was a piece of trash, pushed from one place to another, wanted by no one. Three days later, the man, Julian, returned. He held a file in his hands, his expression conflicted as he stared at me for a long time before finally speaking. “Evelyn,” he began, his voice strained. “I’m your father, Julian Grey. And Seraphina, the woman you met… she’s your mother.” “You were taken from us by a trafficker when you were ten months old. We’ve been searching for you ever since.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “And Chloe… she’s your sister. That kidney inside you… it was hers. She’s the reason you’re alive.” I was so hungry I barely had the strength to move, but I summoned every bit of courage I had and whispered, “Sir, my name is Elara Miller. My dad is Mark Miller, and my mom is Linda Miller.” “I have a mom and dad.” “I… I want to see them!” At the mention of my parents, my eyes filled with tears, and my small hands twisted the fabric of my hospital gown into knots. A flicker of impatience crossed the man’s face, his tone turning harsh. “Those animals paid twenty grand for you! They don’t deserve to be parents. They don’t even deserve to be called human!” “No, that’s not true! My mommy and daddy are good people! They love me! I… I won’t let you say that about them!” He shot to his feet, his voice booming in the small room. “Evelyn Grey, I am your father! You have my other daughter’s kidney inside you. Do you honestly think I’m happy to acknowledge you?” “I’ve been talking to you all this time, and you haven’t called me ‘Dad’ once, but you call those child-trafficking monsters ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’?” “Let me give you some advice,” he said, leaning in, his voice a low growl. “You’d better figure out your place in all of this, and fast. Because if you don’t, your life is about to get much, much harder.” He stormed out, leaving me shivering in the cold silence. I buried my face in my hands and wept. It couldn’t be true. How could I not be my parents’ daughter? They loved me so much. They would go to jail for me! I didn’t want that woman who hated me with every fiber of her being. I already had a mommy and a daddy. I had to see them. I had to hear it from their own mouths that I was their child. 2 Thankfully, the hospital bills were paid. The drip stand by my bed was once again filled with expensive, imported medicines. A week later, a luxury car came and whisked me away to a place they called the Grey Estate. The staff eyed me with open hostility as I stood, weak and trembling, at the grand entrance. “That’s the one who stole Miss Chloe’s kidney. How dare she show her face here?” “Shameless. First she takes the kidney, now she thinks she can waltz in here and take Miss Chloe’s place as the family heiress?” “Look at her, like a little rat. I’m certainly not waiting on someone like that.” They didn’t bother to lower their voices. But I never wanted to be an heiress. My name is Elara Miller! I have a mom and a dad who love me. The sharp click-clack of high heels echoed from behind me, and Seraphina’s furious face filled my vision. She grabbed the front of my gown and started dragging me back out the door. I lost my footing and fell, my body scraping painfully against the marble floor as she pulled me. “I don’t care! I will not have this little monster living in my house! She hurt Chloe, she’s a predator!” “Seraphina, calm down! She’s our daughter! I showed you the DNA report!” Julian’s voice was sharp. “She is not! Our Evelyn died a long time ago! I only have one daughter, and her name is Chloe!” “How could this… this trash be Evelyn?” “Get her out! Get out!” My small body was dragged over the threshold, down the stone steps. The pain in my abdomen flared, sharp and searing. The wound felt like it was tearing open. I clutched my stomach, crying out that it hurt. But no one listened. “Seraphina! Let go of Evelyn! Do you think I’d care about her if she didn’t have Grey family blood in her veins?” Julian shouted. “Chloe is my daughter too, you know! I’m hurting just as much as you are!” He moved to grab me from her, but in the struggle, his foot came down hard on my stomach. An involuntary scream tore from my throat. I writhed on the ground, clutching myself as waves of agony washed over me. Only then did they seem to notice the trail of blood seeping through my gown, a dark ribbon stretching from the house all the way into the courtyard. “How disgusting! Someone clean up this little beast’s blood, now!” “She’s stained my favorite courtyard…” The last thing I saw before I passed out was Seraphina’s face, twisted in a mask of pure disgust. I woke up in the estate’s storage room. A single wooden plank served as a bed. There was no water, no food, and no one. The pain from my surgical wound was intense. I curled up, hugging myself tightly. Mommy, Daddy, I miss you so much. If you knew how much I’m suffering, you’d be heartbroken, wouldn’t you? Just wait for me. I’ll find a way to see you. I’m your daughter. I’ll always be your daughter. The wooden door creaked open, and I was hauled back into the main villa. On the sofa sat Julian and Seraphina, along with a girl about my age and a stern-looking older woman—my grandmother, I presumed. The little girl saw me and ran over, her face bright with excitement as she took my hand. “I haven’t had anyone to play with in so long! Mommy, did you find a friend to come play with me?” Before I could pull my hand away, Seraphina snatched the girl up into her arms, her eyes filled with a love so fierce it was almost painful to watch. Her voice was as soft as silk. “Chloe, darling, don’t touch her. She’s filthy.” “Mommy, if you talk like that, you’ll make our guest sad. If she’s dirty, we can just give her a bath! I have new clothes she can wear, then she won’t be dirty anymore!” Seraphina opened her mouth, but then closed it, her gaze softening as it rested on Chloe, adoration spilling from her eyes. So this was the sister I had harmed. She was beautiful, adorable, and as soft and gentle as a little white rabbit. The grandmother on the sofa cleared her throat. “Seraphina,” she said, her voice commanding. “Evelyn is Grey blood. She belongs in this family, and she will stay.” “Mother!” Seraphina protested. “This is not up for discussion. Am I supposed to let a descendant of the Grey family be raised on the streets like some stray? What would that do to our family’s reputation?” Her word was final. “You,” she said, her gaze pinning me to the spot. “Come here. Kneel before your parents, call them ‘Mother’ and ‘Father,’ and we’ll put this matter to rest.” “From now on, you are the eldest Miss Grey, and Chloe is the second.” When I didn’t move, she sighed, her tone softening slightly. “Evelyn, I know you’re scared. But your mother and father truly do love you. When you were lost, your mother nearly died from grief.” “That’s why we adopted Chloe, who was the same age as you. We always told Chloe she had an older sister. We never hid the fact that she was adopted.” “Because your parents have always been waiting, hoping that one day, they would find you.” “Evelyn, be a good girl. Kneel, say the words, and from now on, Grandma will protect you. No one will ever bully you again.” Her words were meant for Seraphina as much as for me. But how could I betray the mom and dad who loved me? “Grandmother,” I said, my voice trembling but firm, my teeth chattering from fear. “My name… is Elara Miller. I want to go back to my own home. I want to see my mommy and daddy.” The room fell silent. The warmth vanished from my grandmother’s face, replaced by a terrifying, icy mask. “You see, Mother? The little beast has no heart!” Seraphina exploded. “I say we cut her open, take the kidney back for Chloe, and throw her out with the trash!” “Evelyn, you are an ungrateful child!” Julian roared. “Your grandmother came here personally to speak up for you, and this is how you repay her? By defying her?” In the chaos, Chloe wriggled out of her mother’s arms and ran to me, taking my hand. “Sister, please don’t make Grandma and Mommy and Daddy angry. I don’t blame you. We’re a family.” “I’ve been waiting for you to come home, sister! I can play with you from now on, just the two of us. Wouldn’t that be nice?” She threw her arms around me in an excited hug, but her movement jostled my wound. A sharp jolt of pain shot through me, and I instinctively pushed her away. Chloe lost her balance, stumbling backward. Her head hit the hard floor with a sickening thud. For a split second, there was silence. Then, she let out a piercing wail. My blood ran cold. I knew, in that moment, that I had done something terrible. 3 “Chloe!” They swarmed around her like bees to a threatened hive. Seraphina clutched her tightly, whispering comforts, her own eyes red with panic. Julian frantically checked the back of Chloe’s head, shouting for the butler to call their private doctor. Even my grandmother rushed over, patting Chloe’s back gently. Once they were sure Chloe wasn’t seriously hurt, all eyes turned to me. There was nothing but pure, undiluted hatred in their gazes. “You black-hearted little monster,” Seraphina hissed, advancing on me. “I knew you wanted to hurt Chloe.” “Did you think if you killed her, you could take her place? In your dreams!” Two sharp slaps cracked across my face. “Someone get me a rope!” Julian’s voice was low, but vibrating with fury. “Tie this little menace up and lock her in the storage room! Let her think about what she’s done!” Even my grandmother turned her back on me, heading upstairs to check on Chloe without another word. “Please, just let me go,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “I just want to go home! I just want to see my mom and dad!” My pain, my fear, my desperation—it meant nothing to them. “Gag her!” Seraphina screamed. “Tie her up and get her out of my sight! Now!” I was bound tightly, the coarse rope digging directly into the tender flesh of my wound. Every breath was a fresh wave of tearing, searing agony. I wanted to scream, but my mouth was stuffed with a filthy rag. Tears and snot covered my face. My nose was blocked. I couldn’t breathe. Mommy, Daddy, please, somebody save me! It hurts so much! I don’t know how long I was left like that, drifting in and out of a haze of pain. Eventually, someone came to untie me. A doctor treated my wound, and the storage room became my new home. Someone brought me food at regular intervals, and I was allowed to use the outdoor staff bathroom. The estate was vast and beautiful, but I didn’t want to be there. The desire to go home, to see my real parents, burned stronger than ever. I explored every corner of the property, searching for an escape route, but the walls were too high, the gates always locked. I was an anomaly on the estate. They called me “Eldest Miss,” but not a single person treated me with a shred of respect. Only Chloe still clung to me. She loved calling me “Sister” and followed me everywhere. Her kindness terrified me. She was the family’s cherished treasure, and I was afraid that one wrong move, one accidental slight, would land me tied up in the darkness again. So I ran, and she chased. To her, it was a game. To me, it was a torment I couldn’t escape. One afternoon, she cornered me by the lake. “Sister, I got you!” she giggled, out of breath. “That was fun! Let’s play again. You run, and I’ll catch you, okay?” “Get away from me!” I finally snapped, my frustration reaching its peak. “Just leave me alone!” I turned and walked away, ignoring the wounded, tearful look on her face. A moment later, I heard a splash. She had slipped and fallen into the lake. After a heartbeat of hesitation, I dove in after her. I managed to pull her out, dragging her onto the bank just as a crowd of staff came running. “Chloe! Sweetheart, how did you fall in? Did someone push you?” Seraphina was there in an instant, wrapping Chloe in her arms, shooting me a look of pure loathing from the corner of her eye. “Sister…” Chloe choked out, coughing up water before she could say more. I stared in horror at Seraphina’s face, which was twisting with rage. “It wasn’t me!” I cried, desperate. “She fell in by herself! I saved her!” My words were meaningless. “I knew it… I knew it was you,” she seethed. “You venomous little snake. Chloe does nothing but sing your praises, and you try to kill her!” Julian arrived, his eyes wide with disbelief. “I told you we should have just taken her to the hospital, taken the kidney, and been done with it! But no, you insisted on keeping her, on finding a donor for a replacement!” “Julian, we’ve been raising a viper! If she ever hurts my Chloe again, I swear, I will kill myself!” Julian looked at Chloe, who was still coughing weakly, and his eyes turned red. “Evelyn! What is wrong with you?” he roared at me. “You have Chloe’s kidney, and I’m protecting you! I brought you home to be the eldest daughter of the Grey family, and you’re still this vicious?” “If I had known you were this kind of child, I would have left you to die on the street! If anything had happened to Chloe, I would have torn you to pieces!” I gasped for air, my whole body trembling. The wound in my abdomen had torn open again from the effort of the rescue, and the pain was excruciating. The servants were already approaching with ropes. I couldn’t bear it again. I would rather die. “The Eldest Miss Grey? I never wanted to be your precious Eldest Miss!” I screamed, my voice raw with anguish. “I just want to be Elara Miller! I just want my own mommy and daddy!” “You already have Chloe! Why won’t you let me go? Who wants to be your daughter?” “You’ve given me nothing but pain!” “Fine! You want the kidney? Take it! Take my life, too! Is that what you want?” Before anyone could react, I turned and threw myself back into the cold, dark water of the lake. I knew how to swim. But this time, I didn’t try. I let myself sink, welcoming the silent, suffocating darkness. When they dragged me out, Julian’s face was ashen, and Seraphina was pale as a ghost. “Evelyn,” Julian’s voice trembled with a rage I hadn’t heard before. “You’d rather die than be our daughter? Is that how badly you want to see those animals?” I just nodded, my resolve firm. “Fine,” he said, his jaw tight. “I’ll arrange a visit.” A flicker of hope ignited within me. For the first time since I’d arrived at the Grey Estate, I smiled. “Thank you… sir.” The night before the visit, I was too excited to sleep. I woke up early, put on my cleanest clothes, and tried to make myself look presentable. Julian sat beside me in the car. I felt small and nervous, but not afraid. I was about to see my mommy and daddy. With their love, I could face anything. In the stark, gray room of the prison, my parents looked exhausted and worn. But when they saw me, their faces lit up, their muscles trembling with emotion. I ran to them, tears of joy streaming down my face. “Mommy, Daddy, I missed you so much!” CRACK. A stinging slap sent my head reeling. It was Mom. Her face was a terrifying mask of rage. She raised her hand again and struck me with all her might. I stumbled back and fell to the floor, too stunned to even cry. I’m Elara. I didn’t betray you. I didn’t accept them. I’ve been waiting for you. I love you. Why? Mom, why are you hitting me? Dad lunged forward, his foot raised to kick me, but a guard quickly intervened. Pinned by the guards, he and Mom still thrashed, reaching for me, their mouths opening in a torrent of curses and screams. I stared, paralyzed, a horrifying memory surfacing—the moment they were arrested. Their screams and cries then weren’t for me. They were at me. Just like now.

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I’m a literal-minded legal fanatic, born without a hint of irony. When my mother joked that my father’s antics made her want to die, I called 911 to report him for attempted murder. When my deskmate swore he’d tear his heart out for me, I pressed a surgical rib spreader to his chest and demanded he fulfill his “gift.” Soon, no one dared use figurative language around me—in my presence, everyone became law-abiding and precise. Then came my engagement party. My fiancé, Patrick Elkin, brought his stepsister Jessica—no blood relation, of course. They must have thought I wouldn’t dare ruin my own day. She smirked, “Eleanor, you have no idea how naughty my brother is in private. Last night he ‘bullied’ me until I was hoarse. With your frigid little body, you couldn’t last three minutes.” The room laughed—everyone but me. My eyes turned cold. In an instant, I pinned Patrick down, aimed pepper spray at his eyes, and announced: “Hands behind your head! I’ve called the police. You just confessed to false imprisonment and battery—that’s ten years minimum. Nobody leaves until they arrive.” 1 “Who called it in?” the lead officer asked. “I did.” I presented my ID. “The suspect is Patrick Elkin, male, twenty-six years old.” “He just publicly admitted to committing an act of sexual battery against his stepsister, Jessica, last night,” I stated, my voice clinical. “The act resulted in damage to the victim’s vocal cords.” “All twenty-four people present can serve as witnesses.” Jessica, still perched on the sofa with a half-empty glass of red wine, froze. Her mouth hung open in a perfect O. Patrick struggled violently beneath me. “Fuck! You dare touch me!” “Eleanor Vance, are you out of your goddamn mind?” “It’s called banter! Banter, do you understand the concept?” I increased the pressure of my knee on his back, and Patrick let out a howl. “Officer, the suspect is agitated and displaying violent tendencies,” I said calmly. “Requesting the use of handcuffs.” The officers exchanged bewildered glances. Finally, one of Patrick’s friends, a guy named Chad, snapped out of his stupor and rushed forward to pull me off. “Eleanor, what the hell is wrong with you?” “Jessica was joking!” “Everyone knows Patrick and Jessica are close! What’s wrong with a little dirty talk?” I sidestepped Chad’s grasp and pointed a finger at his nose. “Do you want to go to jail with him?” “Harboring a criminal, obstruction of justice. Up to three years.” Chad snatched his hand back. Jessica, regaining her senses, burst into tears and threw herself at the officers. “Officers, it’s a misunderstanding! It’s really a misunderstanding!” “My brother and I were just kidding around.” “My voice is hoarse because… because I was singing all night!” “Not because he ‘bullied’ me!” Expressionless, I played a recording on my phone. Jessica’s voice filled the room. “My brother is so naughty in private.” “Last night, he ‘bullied’ me in his room until my voice was hoarse.” I hit pause. “According to the Penal Code and its judicial interpretations,” I recited, “the term ‘bullied’ in this specific context can refer to sexual acts performed against a woman’s will.” “You have stated the time, place, and consequence. This constitutes a standard self-reported criminal complaint.” I looked at the police. “I request that the victim, Jessica, be taken to a hospital immediately for a forensic gynecological examination and an injury assessment. And to collect any residual DNA evidence from her body.” Jessica’s face went deathly pale. Patrick roared, “Examine my ass! I never touched her!” “We were playing video games all night!” I sneered. “A moment ago, it was ‘banter.’ Now it’s ‘video games.’” “Inconsistent testimony points to a high degree of suspicion.” “Officer, this is highly problematic. I suggest you take them both in for questioning.” They slapped a pair of silver bracelets on Patrick’s wrists. As they led him past me, he glared, his eyes burning with hate. “Eleanor Vance, you just fucking wait.” “You ruined our engagement party.” “If you don’t get on your knees and lick my shoes clean, you can forget about ever marrying me!” I smoothed my collar. “According to the Public Order Act, threatening or intimidating another person is punishable by up to five days detention and a fine.” “Officers, you all heard that.” Patrick was shoved into the police cruiser. Jessica, sobbing almost to the point of fainting, was helped into another car by a female officer. Before the door closed, she looked back at me, her eyes filled with pure venom. The remaining guests in the private room stared at each other. No one dared to speak. I picked up my purse and scanned the room. “Group sex is also a crime,” I said evenly. “Behave yourselves.” I turned and walked out. Behind me, I heard the sound of Chad smashing a glass against the wall. 2 In the mediation room at the police station, Patrick’s mother, Miranda Elkin, was pointing a finger at my nose, screaming. “Eleanor Vance! Did all that reading rot your brain? Huh?” “You’re not even married yet and you’re sending your own man to jail?” “How do you expect the Elkin family to show its face in public?” Patrick sat in a chair, his handcuffs removed. He had one leg crossed over the other, a look of profound boredom on his face. Jessica was curled up in Miranda’s arms, sobbing. “Aunt Miranda, it’s all my fault.” “I shouldn’t have made that joke.” “Eleanor took it seriously. I don’t blame her.” “She was just trying to uphold justice…” “You hear that?” Miranda looked at Jessica with pride. “Listen to how sensible Jessica is! And then look at you!” “You’re a block of wood! Not an ounce of humanity in you!” I took out a tissue and wiped the spittle from my face. “Mrs. Elkin, public humiliation is also against the law.” Miranda was so enraged she raised her hand to strike me. The officer rapped his knuckles on the table. “Hey! This is a police station! Sit down!” Miranda sat down, seething. The officer reviewed the report. “After a preliminary investigation, we found no signs of assault on Ms. Jessica. It appears this was indeed a joke.” He glanced at me. “The reporting party was acting out of civic duty.” “Since it’s a misunderstanding, just sign the papers, and we’ll mediate this.” Patrick snorted. “Mediate? Not a chance.” He stood up and walked over to me. “Eleanor, all my friends were there today. I’ve been completely humiliated.” “You want me to forgive you? Fine.” He pointed to Jessica’s feet. “Jessica had to run all over to the hospital in these heels. Her feet are blistered.” “You, right now, get on your knees!” “Lick her shoes clean!” “And then say, ‘I was wrong, sis.’” “Do that, and I’ll pretend this never happened.” Jessica waved her hands in a show of protest. “Oh no… Eleanor, you’re a lady from a good family, this would dirty your hands…” But her foot, clad in a diamond-studded stiletto, inched forward. Miranda chimed in from the side. “It’s what she deserves! If you do something wrong, you get punished.” “You still think you’re some high-society princess? Keep being stubborn, and I’ll make sure your father’s company goes bankrupt by tomorrow!” “Jessica is your little sister. What’s wrong with serving her a little?” I looked at Patrick. “Are you sure?” He tilted his chin up. “Of course. You won’t do it? Then the engagement is off!” “Your family’s finances are a little tight right now, aren’t they?” “Without my family’s investment, your father will be jumping off a building!” I had tolerated him for the sake of our families’ business alliance, but I would not tolerate this. I took out my phone. And opened the camera. “Here,” I said. “Repeat your demands.” Patrick slapped the phone out of my hand. It hit the floor with a crack. The screen shattered. “You dare record me? You pathetic waste of space, you can only live inside your little rulebook.” “Do you really think I wouldn’t kill you right now?” He grabbed my collar and shoved me against the wall. His fist was raised. The officers immediately rushed over to restrain him. “What do you think you’re doing? Trying to assault an officer now?” I leaned against the wall and straightened my rumpled collar, then glanced at my shattered phone on the floor. “Destruction of private property, value exceeding five thousand dollars, a significant amount.” “Attempted assault.” “Patrick, your criminal record is about to get a little thicker.” Patrick kicked a chair over. “Fine! Fine! You want to talk law with me? Let’s talk law!” He pointed at Jessica. “Jessica, call our lawyer.” “Sue her! Sue her for defamation! For slander!” “We’ll demand one million dollars in emotional damages! Not a penny less!” Jessica wiped her tears away, a triumphant smirk appearing on her face. “Brother, do we really have to do this?” “Eleanor didn’t mean any harm…” “Call him! Call him now!” Miranda also stood up, glaring at me. “Eleanor Vance, you brought this on yourself.” “The engagement is off! We’re calling it off tomorrow!” “Let’s see how you explain this to your father!” With that, the three of them turned and stormed out. I knelt and picked up the broken phone. I removed the SIM card. A small smile played on my lips. Cloud backup complete. Recording uploaded. Call off the engagement? That suits me just fine. But before that, I was going to teach them what the law really means.

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1 Three years after the car crash that supposedly stole my memory, I saw Lucas Kennedy again at a Sotheby’s auction. He was there to bid on jewelry for his wife. I was there to reclaim what was mine. Years apart had etched lines of exhaustion onto his face, while I, in contrast, glowed with a newfound brilliance. The sight of me left him visibly uncomfortable. When the piece we were both there for was presented, he finally broke the silence between us. “Sophia,” he said, his voice strained, “I lied to you three years ago, when you lost your memory. The truth is… I was your boyfriend.” I ran a thumb over the massive diamond on my ring finger and offered him a faint, cool smile. Who ever said I actually had amnesia? … The centerpiece of the entire auction was a vintage emerald bracelet. Its only imperfection was a series of hairline fractures spiderwebbing beneath the gold of its inner clasp. Lucas’s pupils contracted. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes as he looked at me. Of course he recognized it. He was the one who had put those cracks there. That was three years ago. It was also the twentieth year of my love for him. Ever since we were children, I’d followed him around like a shadow, offering him the best of everything I had just to see him smile at me. He was indifferent at first, but with time, he grew accustomed to my constant presence. When he was eighteen, another girl confessed her feelings for him. As he turned her down, his eyes found mine across the room. The playful glint in them saw right through my carefully hidden crush. Later that day, he leaned in, his breath warm against my skin, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You know,” he murmured, “yours is the only confession I’ve ever wanted to hear.” A hot blush crept up my cheeks. I tried to pull away, but he cupped my face, his lips tracing a path from my forehead, down the bridge of my nose, and finally, settling on mine. It didn’t take long for his grandfather to notice the spark between us. With his blessing, we were officially engaged. At last, I had a legitimate reason to be by his side. But that was also when everything began to change. Lucas’s gaze fell on a faint scar on my shoulder, now artfully concealed by a rose tattoo. A wave of pain washed over his features. “Sophia,” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, “is that from the crash?” I smiled, my eyes as placid as if I were looking at a complete stranger. Just then, a cloying, sweet voice cut through the air. “Lucas, darling, that’s the one I want! You have to get it for me, please?” The voice continued, “It looks so much like the one that—” The words died in her throat the moment she saw my face. Christiane Reed, whose face had been glowing with a triumphant smile just a second ago, went deathly pale. Her expression hardened into a mask of pure, unadulterated jealousy. She recovered quickly, tightening her grip on Lucas’s arm as if to show him off. “Sophia, what a surprise. It’s been so long. Lucas and I are married now. I hope that doesn’t upset you.” The next second, she covered her mouth with a hand, a spark of malicious glee in her eyes. “Oh, right, I forgot. You don’t even remember the past, do you? How could you possibly be upset?” I swirled the amber liquid in my wine glass, watching them with a calm, elegant poise. Christiane had changed a lot in three years. When I first met her, she was a timid girl fresh from the countryside, wide-eyed and nervous about everything. She was Lucas’s junior from college and became his assistant after graduation. At first, I didn’t think much of the extra attention he gave her. I was so sure of our love, so certain that there was no room for anyone else. That belief shattered the first time I walked in on him gently kissing the tears from Christiane’s cheeks. My mind went blank. Lucas saw me and shoved her away, his voice laced with panic. “Sophia, it’s not what it looks like. Christiane was just upset about a mistake at work. I was comforting her.” I fought back the stabbing pain in my heart and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I know.” But I didn’t know. I didn’t know that was only the beginning. 2 After that day, Lucas and Christiane became inseparable. He said he needed to train her, to show her the ropes. But I saw them. In the convenience store downstairs from the office, she’d be standing in front of me in line, her fingers looped around his cuff, curled against him like a kitten. During meetings, her hand would be clasped in his under the table. He even canceled a dinner date we’d planned for weeks because she called him complaining of a “small headache.” That night, I stood in a torrential downpour, soaked to the bone. When I finally dragged my miserable self back to our villa, he barely glanced up from his work. “Sophia, don’t overthink this,” he said, his tone dismissive. “She’s all alone in this city. It’s not easy for her. I’m just looking out for her.” I nodded, my heart twisting into a tight, painful knot. My throat was so raw I could barely speak. “I know.” But only I knew that later, huddled under the shower, I cried until I couldn’t breathe, letting the sound of the water drown out my sobs. I came down with a raging fever the next day. For the first time in a long time, Lucas seemed genuinely worried. He rushed to the hospital and pulled me into a fierce embrace, his voice low and thick with concern. “Sophia, how could you let yourself get like this?” I blinked open my heavy eyelids, the familiar scent of pine from his cologne filling my senses. For a fleeting moment, I felt like we were back in the good old days, before everything fell apart. Then his phone rang. Christiane’s voice, a mixture of tears and a practiced helplessness, came through the speaker. “Lucas, the power’s out at my place. It’s so dark, and I’m scared. Can you come stay with me?” The arms holding me went rigid. Instinctively, I tightened my grip on his sleeve, but he flinched away, letting me slide from his embrace. He took a deep breath, his hand stroking my hair as he planted a soft kiss on my forehead. His voice was calm, but his words were devastatingly cruel. “Sophia, you have nurses here to look after you.” “Christiane’s a young woman, all alone at night. She’ll be terrified, she won’t be able to sleep. The poor thing.” “I’ll just go for a bit. I’ll be back before you know it.” With that, he gently but firmly pulled his sleeve from my grasp and walked out without a backward glance. He never came back that night. Instead, a message appeared on my phone. He doesn’t have you in his heart! He doesn’t love you! He’s happiest when he’s with me! Why don’t you just disappear, you old hag! Attached was a video of the two of them, tangled in bedsheets, their bodies moving together. A wave of nausea and rage washed over me. Combined with the fever, the world swam before my eyes, and I nearly passed out. When I woke up the next morning, Christiane was standing by my bedside. She deliberately angled her neck to show off the fresh love bites, a smug, victorious smirk playing on her lips. “You have no idea how wild he is with me, Sophia. How much he craves me. I bet he’s never satisfied you like that, has he?” I was raised doted on by two families; I wasn’t one to take insults lying down. I grabbed the flower basket from the nightstand and hurled it at her. Just my luck, Lucas walked in at that exact moment. Christiane immediately collapsed to the floor, sobbing into his arms. “Lucas! I just came to see how Sophia was doing, but the moment she saw me, she went crazy and attacked me…” Before I could say a word, a sharp slap echoed through the room. My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging. “Sophia! When did you become so vicious?” Lucas roared, his eyes filled with disgust. “You’re a bigger disappointment than I could have ever imagined!” I stared at him, my heart shattering into a million pieces. It was the first time he had ever laid a hand on me. 3 After that, Lucas and Christiane were even more brazen, appearing everywhere together. Meanwhile, Christiane had secretly filmed me throwing the flower basket at her and posted it online. In an instant, the internet mob descended, branding me a psychotic, spoiled heiress. Even my own colleagues at the company started whispering behind my back. “Do you think Sophia’s really losing it?” “I heard she was obsessed with Mr. Kennedy for years. When he got together with Christiane, she just snapped.” It got so bad that one day, a self-proclaimed crusader for justice grabbed me on the street, yanking my hair and raining down blows. “It’s her! The rich bitch from the internet who bullied that poor girl! She’s a homewrecker!” At the word “homewrecker,” a crowd swarmed me, pinning me to the ground. Slaps landed on my face, one after another, until I was black and blue. Someone shouted they should strip me naked. A dozen hands clawed at me, their nails digging into my flesh. I clutched at the shredded remains of my dress, my pleas for help lost in the noise. No one listened. By the time the police finally arrived, I was barely conscious. They casually escorted me from the scene and dropped me off at the villa. Lucas took one look at my bruised and battered state, his brow furrowed not with concern, but with irritation. “Sophia, is this some new way to get my attention?” he asked coldly. “I’ve told you before, there’s nothing between me and Christiane. You need to calm down and think about what you’ve done.” Then, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone. A few weeks later, when Lucas and I returned to the family estate, the air was thick with contempt. My relatives looked at me with open disdain, whispering that I had brought shame upon both our families. Grandfather Kennedy had passed away years ago, but every time we came back, we paid our respects at his memorial. This time, however, Christiane was with us. Traditionally, only family members were allowed in the family crypt, but Lucas made an exception for her. When our relatives questioned his decision, Lucas defended her without hesitation. “Christiane may not be family, but she has more grace and respect than some people who call themselves high-society ladies. She genuinely respects my grandfather. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to pay her respects?” Every eye in the room turned to me. I saw it all: disgust, mockery, judgment. I felt like I was being crucified in public. I couldn’t bear it. I lowered my head and fled to the solitude of the crypt. Thinking of how much Grandfather Kennedy had adored me, my eyes started to burn. Just then, Christiane walked in. She shot me a contemptuous look, then glanced at the marble plaque with his name on it. Her voice was dripping with resentment. “Sophia, with a reputation like yours, you can’t possibly still think you’re going to marry into this family, can you?” she sneered. “If it wasn’t for that meddling old fool and his ridiculous engagement contract, I’d be Mrs. Kennedy right now!” Before I could react, she snatched the memorial urn from its pedestal and smashed it on the stone floor. The urn shattered, scattering ashes everywhere. I stared in horror, frozen for a moment before I lunged at her. “Are you insane?! That was the man Lucas and I respected most in the world!” “So what?” she spat, unafraid. “Not only am I getting this dead old man out of the crypt, I’m going to take everything that’s yours and kick you out of this family for good!” The commotion brought Lucas running. Christiane expertly threw herself to the ground, tears streaming down her face. “Lucas! I just thought Sophia’s bracelet was beautiful and asked to see it, and she… she threw grandfather’s urn at me! She said she was going to drive me out of the family…” SLAP! The sound of his hand connecting with my cheek was even louder this time. He looked at me with pure loathing. “Sophia, you are such a disappointment. After how much grandfather loved you… You were his choice to be the next lady of this house, and now you’ve desecrated his final resting place. You’ll be dealt with according to family law.” “It’s not what happened! Lucas, let me explain!” But he wasn’t listening. He had his men drag me down to the estate’s old, stone cellar. They took a riding crop to my back, the leather biting into my skin with each sharp crack. When I was covered in bleeding welts, lying in the cold, filthy water that pooled on the floor, he ordered them to stop. The pain was excruciating. I screamed until my throat was raw, but no one showed me an ounce of pity. Through the open cellar door, I could see my relatives looking down, shaking their heads. “She destroyed the old man’s ashes. She deserves this.” When I was on the verge of passing out, Lucas finally had them pull me up. For a split second, I saw a flicker of pain in his eyes, but it vanished the moment Christiane wrapped her arms around his, sobbing. “Oh, Sophia, I only wanted to look at your bracelet. How could you do that to grandfather? You’ve broken Lucas’s heart!” I glared at her, too weak to speak. Hearing Christiane mention the bracelet again, blaming it for the desecration of his grandfather’s ashes, Lucas’s fury reignited. He gestured, and the estate guards and his bodyguards swarmed me, pinning me to the ground. I knew instantly what he was going to do. “No! Please, don’t! Lucas, that was my grandmother’s! It’s the only thing I have left of her! It’s the most precious thing I own! Punish me again, lock me back in the cellar, just please don’t take my bracelet! I’m sorry, I was wrong!” I screamed and begged, but he was deaf to my pleas. He ignored my desperate struggles, knelt down, and ripped the emerald bracelet from my wrist himself. A sharp cry of pain tore from my lips. Lucas held the bracelet up, his eyes burning with hatred. “For this… for this worthless thing, you would dishonor the grandfather who adored you for so many years? Do you have a heart at all, Sophia?” “Today, I’m going to make you feel the same pain that I feel right now!” And with that, he hurled the bracelet against the stone floor. The emerald cracked into pieces. The combination of physical agony and soul-crushing heartbreak was too much. A final, desperate wail escaped my lips before I blacked out. 4 I woke up in the estate’s dog kennel. Everyone was convinced I was responsible for scattering Grandfather Kennedy’s ashes, and they refused to have me under the main roof. Lucas, unable to argue with the family elders, had put me here. Through the kennel door, I could hear Lucas and Christiane talking. She was pouting, her voice a childish whine. “Lucas, darling, why did you have to break that bracelet? It was such a shame, I really liked it…” “Enough!” Lucas snapped, his voice cold and sharp. “Know your place, Christiane. A piece like that is far too valuable for someone like you to wear. I punished Sophia because she was wrong. Don’t think for a second you can use this as an opportunity to take what’s hers.” He stormed off, leaving Christiane standing there alone, her face twisted with resentment. A sharp pain in my chest brought me back to reality. In my entire life, I had never been so humiliated. I forced my aching body to stand and stumbled toward the garage. I found my car, got in, and sped away from that place without a second thought. I never saw Christiane standing on the estate’s front steps, a cold, triumphant smile on her face as she watched me leave. At the same time, a Lamborghini roared out of the estate, hot on my tail. Rain was pouring from the sky. Heartbroken and furious, I drove. Lucas’s Lamborghini quickly caught up. He rolled down his window, shouting at me to pull over, but I ignored him. I slammed my foot on the accelerator, desperate to escape him. Suddenly, a barrier and a “ROAD CLOSED” sign appeared in my headlights. I slammed my foot on the brake. Nothing. The brakes were gone. Someone had tampered with them. Panic seized me. I watched, helpless, as my sports car crashed through the barrier and plunged into a deep construction pit. My last memory was the violent jolt of the airbag deploying, and a universe of pain. When I regained consciousness, Lucas was by my bedside. His chin was covered in dark stubble, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed with exhaustion. When he saw me awake, a look of profound relief washed over his face. He took my hand, about to speak, but I beat him to it. “Who are you?” He froze, his eyes darting to the doctor standing nearby. The doctor explained that I was likely suffering from amnesia due to the severe impact. So… Lucas hesitated, looking back at me. I asked him again. “Are you my boyfriend?” This time, his expression changed. The concern was gone, replaced by something unreadable. He gently took Christiane’s hand, who had been standing silently in the corner, and spoke to me in the detached tone one might use with a stranger. “You’re mistaken, young lady,” he said. “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m her boyfriend.” In that instant, a pain so sharp and visceral ripped through my chest that I thought I would suffocate. But I forced a smile, blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, and whispered, “Oh. I see. Do you think… do you think my boyfriend will come for me soon?” Lucas paused, a choked sound catching in his throat. “Yes,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “He will. I’m sure he will.” Then he grabbed Christiane’s hand and practically fled the room. The moment they were gone, I could no longer hold it back. I clutched the fabric over my heart and wept, the sobs silent but wracking my entire body.

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In my past life, I was a legal shark. After working myself to death, I was reborn—with my memories intact. While other toddlers made mud pies, I begged my dad for life insurance. While other kids rebelled, I dragged my family to a notary to secure my property rights. But my adoptive parents were painfully honest—even writing IOUs for borrowed sugar. For 18 years, my legal strategies gathered dust. Just as I embraced my comedic fate, a powerful family appeared, claiming I was their lost daughter. The impostor, Celeste, clung to the matriarch’s arm. At their mansion, they slid a severance agreement toward me. “Sign this for five million. Don’t get ideas.” Celeste fake-cried, “I’m sorry, Nina. They’re just protecting me…” As they watched with contempt, I calmly pulled out a voice recorder and a countersuit. “Severing ties is fine. First, pay 18 years of child support, emotional damages, and identity theft compensation—let’s call it 800 million. Oh, and I’ve already frozen the company’s assets. Until this lawsuit ends, you won’t touch a cent.” 1 “This is the final mediation before the hearing. Are you sure you want to proceed?” I leaned back in my chair, observing the family of three seated on the sofa across from me. No, a family of four. My so-called brother, Connor, was glaring at me with murder in his eyes. The man who had spoken was Mr. Sterling, the Delacourt family’s chief legal counsel. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone dripping with a condescending charity. “Ms. Lin, Mr. Delacourt is willing to increase the compensation to fifty million dollars and purchase a villa for your adoptive mother. This is our final, most sincere offer.” “All you have to do is drop the lawsuit and issue a public statement admitting this was all a misunderstanding.” I smiled. “Mr. Sterling, how many years have you been practicing law?” He blinked, caught off guard. “Fifteen.” “Then you must be familiar with the criminal code regarding felony child abandonment?” I slowly sat up straight, my gaze sweeping over the family, their expressions shifting. “When circumstances are heinous, resulting in serious injury or death, the sentence is no less than five years in prison.” “The day I was thrown in a dumpster, it was below freezing. If it weren’t for my adoptive parents, I would have been dead from hypothermia within twenty-four hours.” “Tell me, Mr. Sterling,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “Wouldn’t you consider that heinous?” The color drained from his face. The patriarch of the Delacourt family, my biological father, Julian Delacourt, finally spoke. “Is that a threat?” His voice was deep, heavy with the authority of a man used to being in charge. “It’s not a threat.” I took out my phone and played a recording. “Sign this, and five million dollars is yours. Don’t get any ideas about things that don’t belong to you.” It was the first thing my biological mother, Isabelle, had said to me. I hit pause. “This is evidence of your admitted attempt to sever our relationship with a paltry sum, a threat which caused me secondary emotional distress.” “As for the eight hundred million…” I glanced at my assistant, who immediately handed me a thick file. “This is a calculation of your family’s average annual income based on Delacourt Enterprises’ financial reports for the last eighteen years. By law, the child support you owe is the sum total of all living, educational, and medical expenses enjoyed by Celeste during the time I was missing.” “Add in emotional damages and identity appropriation compensation, and eight hundred million is already a steep discount.” “Oh, and by the way,” I said, waving another document, “this is the court order to freeze your assets. Until this lawsuit is settled, you won’t be moving a penny from your corporate accounts.” Julian Delacourt’s face turned thunderous. Beside him, Celeste was sobbing, her face a mess of tears. “Nina, why are you doing this? We’re family…” “Shut up.” My gaze turned to her, cold as ice. “Illegally occupying someone else’s identity for eighteen years for immense personal gain. You’ll be receiving a second lawsuit from me shortly.” Celeste’s crying stopped abruptly. She stared at me in disbelief. “You’re insane! A complete lunatic!” my brother, Connor, shouted, leaping to his feet and pointing a finger at me. “How could the Delacourt family produce someone as cold-blooded as you? Suing your own parents for money!” I met his furious gaze, my own expression perfectly calm. “You’re wrong.” “I’m not suing you for money.” “I’m suing you to teach you the meaning of the law.” 2 “Connor, sit down!” Julian barked, silencing his enraged son. But the look he gave me was just as venomous. “Let’s talk.” That was the language of the weaker party at a negotiation table. I gestured for him to proceed. Mr. Sterling cleared his throat, trying to regain control. “Ms. Lin, there’s no need to burn bridges. You’re a young woman with a long future ahead of you. It’s unwise to be so absolute.” I ignored him, my eyes fixed on Isabelle, my impeccably preserved mother. Since I had walked in, she’d been watching me with a complex mix of disappointment, disgust, and a sliver of fear. “Mrs. Delacourt, eighteen years ago today, you gave birth to me in a hospital.” Her body gave a slight, almost imperceptible flinch. “You experienced the joy of motherhood, while I was waiting to die in a dumpster.” “For eighteen years, Celeste wore princess dresses, attended the best international schools, and grew up surrounded by your love. Meanwhile, I wore hand-me-downs from the market and collected plastic bottles for a week to afford a few dollars for school supplies.” I paused, watching her eyes well up with tears. I felt nothing. “So, you’re hoping to make up for those eighteen years with tears?” “I…” Isabelle’s voice was choked. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you suffered so much…” “You didn’t know?” I laughed as if it were the funniest joke in the world. “You didn’t look for me out of guilt. You looked for me because of Celeste’s marriage prospects.” I pulled two photos from my file and tossed them on the table. One was of Celeste cozying up to a young, wealthy heir. The other was the heir’s medical report, highlighting a rare genetic disorder. “The Zhou family needed a healthy heiress to marry into their family and continue their precious bloodline. Unfortunately for you, Celeste’s medical exam didn’t pass. So you remembered me, your backup, didn’t you?” Julian’s pupils contracted. Isabelle’s sobs died in her throat. Connor’s face was a mask of shock. Even Mr. Sterling looked surprised. “How did you know?!” Connor blurted out. “Secrets have a way of coming out.” I leaned back, calmly adjusting my cuffs. “You thought my adoptive parents in that small town were simple country folk? Wrong. My father is a retired criminal detective, and my mother was an archivist. Your half-baked private investigations were like child’s play to me.” That was the first surprise I had in store for them. My adoptive parents were indeed humble, but their professional skills were my ace in the hole. “Now,” I said, my gaze landing on Julian. “Let’s talk about ‘sincerity.’ I don’t just want the money. I want a public, full-page apology in every major newspaper, admitting to the abandonment of your daughter and the deliberate confusion of your bloodline.” “Never!” Julian slammed his hand on the table, trembling with rage. “Then I’ll see you in court.” I stood up to leave. “Wait!” Julian stopped me, taking a deep breath to control his fury. “The apology is… negotiable. And the money… we can discuss it. But you must guarantee that this ends here.” I looked at him and smiled. “Mr. Delacourt, you still don’t get it.” “I’m the one in charge now.” 3 The Delacourts, as expected, fought back. The next day, the internet was flooded with stories about me. #Real-Life Viper: Heiress Returns Home, Demands $800 Million from Saviors# #Greed Personified: Poor Girl Sues Own Parents for Fortune# The articles painted me as a manipulative, bitter girl from the countryside, warped by poverty. They used a photo of me in a washed-out school uniform, eating at a cheap street stall. Juxtaposed with it was an elegant photo of Celeste in a couture gown, playing piano at a charity gala. The stark contrast immediately ignited the internet’s righteous fury. Is this woman insane? 800 million? Why doesn’t she just rob a bank? Her real parents come back to give her a life of luxury and she bites the hand that feeds her. What an ungrateful snake. I feel so bad for the fake daughter. Her identity was stolen and now she has to deal with this monster. Soon after, Celeste gave a video interview to a major news outlet. On camera, her eyes were red and swollen, her face pale. Her voice was as fragile as a feather. “I don’t blame my sister,” she whispered. “She… she must have had a very hard life. She’s just not thinking clearly.” “The money, the status… I don’t want any of it. I just want my sister to come home, so we can be a family…” She covered her face, breaking down into heart-wrenching sobs. Her performance of magnanimous victimhood won her the sympathy of the entire country. The hashtag #CelesteTheAngel trended at number one. My phone blew up with hateful, threatening messages. Red paint was thrown on my adoptive parents’ front door, with vicious words like “GET OUT OF THE CITY” scrawled across it. My mother’s blood pressure skyrocketed, leaving her bedridden. My father silently scrubbed the paint off the door, the veins on the back of his hands bulging. The Delacourts’ media blitz was swift and brutal. They thought that by turning me into a public enemy, they could force me to surrender. Connor called me, his voice dripping with triumphant glee. “See that, Nina? This is what happens when you cross the Delacourts!” “I suggest you drop the suit and apologize. Otherwise, I guarantee you and your pauper parents will never be able to show your faces in public again!” I listened to his tirade, feeling nothing but a cold calm. “Is that so?” I said. “We’ll see about that.” I hung up and dialed another number. “Hello, is this Ms. Zhang? This is Nina Lin. Yes, I’d like to hold a press conference. The location? Right in front of the Delacourt Enterprises headquarters. Time? Ten a.m. tomorrow. I have a gift for them. One they’ll never see coming.” 4 The Delacourts obviously heard about my plan. They probably assumed I was going to publicly surrender and beg for forgiveness. The day of the press conference, the plaza in front of the Delacourt Tower was a sea of reporters and news vans. Julian had even “graciously” sent company security to “protect” me. I stood at the makeshift podium, facing the flashing cameras. In the distance, behind the floor-to-ceiling windows of the tower, I could see their silhouettes. I knew they were watching, waiting for me to humiliate myself. “I know you’re all wondering why I am demanding eight hundred million dollars from my biological parents,” I began, getting straight to the point. “It’s because they owe me more than just eighteen years of child support.” “They owe me a life.” As I spoke, the large screen behind me lit up. It wasn’t a childhood photo or a family portrait. It was a faded police report. “Eighteen years ago, at City General Hospital, a female infant went missing three hours after birth. The report was filed by a nurse on duty.” “The police later found the infant in a dumpster in the alley behind the hospital, freezing and near death.” “That infant was me.” A wave of gasps went through the crowd. “And my biological mother, Isabelle Delacourt, despite knowing her child was missing, chose not to call the police. Instead, she and another new mother—Celeste’s biological mother—completed their discharge paperwork, and she went home with someone else’s child.” I pointed to the screen, where a second piece of evidence appeared: a hospital discharge form signed by Isabelle Delacourt. “What does this prove? It proves that from the very beginning, this was not a simple case of switched-at-birth. This was a premeditated swap and abandonment.” The crowd murmured in shock. The figures behind the glass tower window seemed to stir. “I know some of you will say this was all the other mother’s fault, that my biological parents were victims too. In that case, please see the next piece of evidence.” A new document appeared on the screen: a hospital record for Celeste from when she was ten years old. She’d had an emergency appendectomy and required a blood transfusion. The record clearly stated her blood type. “Julian Delacourt has type O blood. Isabelle Delacourt has type A. According to the laws of Mendelian genetics, it is impossible for them to have a child with type B blood.” “Which means, at the latest, the Delacourts have known for eight years that Celeste was not their biological daughter!” The crowd erupted. “But what did they do?” My voice rose, filled with the righteous anger of eighteen stolen years. “They did nothing! They didn’t call the police, they didn’t search for me. They chose to bury the secret, to continue enjoying the parental love that was rightfully mine, while I was left to grow up like a weed in some forgotten town!” “This is no longer a simple civil dispute!” I looked directly into the cameras, my voice ringing with clarity. “This is, by the definition of the criminal code, a case of malicious abandonment that has continued for eighteen years!” “I am standing here today not just to ask for money. I am standing here as a victim, to formally file a police report!” “I am demanding an investigation into the criminal liability of Julian and Isabelle Delacourt in this case!” As my last word echoed through the plaza, two uniformed police officers emerged from the crowd and walked purposefully toward the entrance of the Delacourt Tower. Every camera swiveled to follow them. I saw Isabelle’s form collapse, caught by a frantic Connor. And Julian… he just stood there, motionless. Even from this distance, I could feel the venom in his gaze. I met it without flinching. As of today, the nature of this war had changed. This was no longer a fight about money. This was a fight to the death, about crime and punishment. I, Nina Lin, a legal shark in my past life, a vengeful daughter in this one, was officially declaring war.

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After I retired, I had too much time on my hands, so I fell in love with knitting. My neighbor, Carol, gushed about a design I’d made and insisted on buying it for her daughter. I tried to refuse, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I let it go for the cost of the yarn. After that, it became a thing. Other neighbors would bring me yarn, asking me to knit sweaters for them. I’d only ever charge a ten-dollar fee for my time. It went on like this until the day Carol’s daughter, Jessie, came home from law school. She greeted me with a warm smile, holding three large baskets brimming with yarn. “Helen, I absolutely adore your sweaters! Could you please make me a few more?” Ten days later, she threw the finished sweaters on my floor. “Helen,” she said, her voice dripping with ice, “you wouldn’t want this little unlicensed business of yours to become a big legal problem, would you?” “And for selling defective goods? You’ll have to pay ten times the price back. Not just to me, but to all the neighbors.” 1 Carol was so thrilled to have her daughter back from law school that she spammed the neighborhood group chat with ten videos in a row. The shaky camera couldn’t hide her sheer excitement. A flood of thumbs-up emojis filled the chat, everyone congratulating Jessie on her achievement. Someone even commented how they wished they had a daughter like Jessie, someone to be proud of. After her public posts, Carol sent me a private voice message. “Helen, honey, have you finished that pattern I sent you? The temperature’s dropping, and my girl has nothing to wear.” I quickly pulled out the sweater I’d just finished and sent her a picture. It was a beautiful piece with a colorful star pattern, knitted from fine merino wool. The design was intricate and challenging, but the result was stunning. A moment after I sent the photo, another voice message came through. I pressed play, and a sweet, youthful voice filled the air. “Thank you so much, Helen! This is prettier than anything you could find in a boutique.” I rubbed the ache from my temples and replied with a couple of smiley faces. I’d barely put my phone down when a video call came in from my son, Alex. His eyes immediately spotted the leftover balls of yarn on my sofa. “Mom, how many times have I told you? Stop knitting for them,” he started, his voice a familiar mix of love and frustration. “We don’t need the money. Besides, you’re putting in all this work for practically nothing…” He went on, a gentle lecture from my boy who had just been promoted at his job in New York. He was managing a small company now, making a name for himself. “Mom, once you get things packed up, just come live with me. I can take care of you now.” I smiled and agreed, discreetly pushing the two large bags of yarn behind my back with my foot. The next morning, an insistent knock rattled my door. “Helen! Helen, open up! I’ve brought you some more business!” Carol was banging on my security door so hard it vibrated. When I opened it, I saw Jessie was with her, wearing the star-patterned sweater I’d finished just the day before. She was holding three overflowing baskets of yarn. “Helen, I’d like five more, exactly like this one,” Jessie said, pointing to the stars on her chest. I hesitated. “Jessie, that pattern is incredibly difficult. It takes a lot of time. Maybe you could pick another design?” Jessie’s face fell. She grabbed my arm, her voice turning into a playful whine. “Oh, please, Helen? Pretty please? I posted a picture of it online yesterday, and everyone went crazy for it!” Her sweet-talking left me flustered, and before I knew it, I’d agreed. “Alright, Jessie. But like we discussed, I’ll have to charge you for the labor. Let’s say fifty dollars a piece for this design.” A flicker of something crossed Jessie’s face, almost too fast to see, but her smile never wavered. “Oh, I heard all about your fees from my mom yesterday,” she said, her tone still light. “That’s not exactly cheap, is it?” A knot of discomfort tightened in my stomach, but I explained calmly. “Jessie, the simple patterns are just ten dollars, more of a thank-you than a fee. But one of these sweaters takes me two full days to make. Fifty dollars is already far less than you’d pay anywhere else.” Jessie just smiled wider, squeezing my hand apologetically. “I get it, I get it. A woman’s got to earn a living, right?” Her eyes scanned the room, landing on the stack of design charts in the corner of my desk. “Okay, it’s a deal then. I’ll come back in ten days to pick them up.” She quickly pulled out her phone and transferred the money—two hundred and fifty dollars, exactly. I took the payment and saw them out. That evening, Jessie joined our neighborhood group chat. It was a casual group where we’d share new knitting patterns and organize our morning Zumba classes in the park. Jessie chimed in right away, asking where the class was tomorrow, adding a few playful emojis and saying she wanted to join. I chuckled to myself. It was sweet that a young woman like her wanted to hang out with a bunch of old birds like us. I worked tirelessly, knitting day and night to get the sweaters done on time. The night before the deadline, just as I was getting ready for bed, my phone buzzed. It was a friend request on my secondary account, one I rarely used. The note attached read: Helen, we need to talk. It was from Jessie. I was confused. Why wouldn’t she just message my main account? The next second, I was pulled into a new group chat. The name of the group made my blood run cold: “Legal Action – Defective Goods Claim.” 2. Meanwhile, my main account remained silent. It slowly dawned on me that this secondary account was tied to a new SIM card I’d gotten with a phone plan. They probably didn’t know it was mine. But why was I in a legal action group? I hadn’t bought anything recently. Then, Jessie’s message appeared. It was a link to a spreadsheet, meticulously documenting every single sweater I had ever made for my neighbors. Names, photos of the items, the fee I’d charged—it was all there, clear as day. I hadn’t realized until that moment, but scrolling through the list, I saw I’d knitted hundreds of pieces over the past few years. Some were for the neighbors themselves, others they had given away as gifts. A quiet pride swelled in my chest. Their satisfaction had always been my greatest reward. Then, Jessie sent a voice note. The words she spoke shattered my world like a pane of glass. “Ladies, please feel free to add any items I may have missed to the spreadsheet. According to federal and state law, any person engaged in business activities is required to hold a valid business license. What Helen Miller has been doing is illegal. But don’t you worry. I’m a lawyer, and I will help you all get the justice you deserve.” Her voice was firm, ringing with self-righteousness. I scrolled up through the chat history. Most of it was Jessie, laying out her case. She had posted screenshots of her mother’s requests over the past few months, alongside screenshots from a wholesale website showing a similar item. “Look here. This same style of sweater sells online for ninety-nine dollars. But Helen Miller charged a hundred dollars for her labor fee on a more complex design.” “Ladies, we provide the yarn, we find the patterns. What gives her the right to charge such exorbitant fees?” “I know we all value being good neighbors, and it’s hard to say no to her. But I can’t stand by and watch you all get ripped off like this. Rest assured, as soon as I have all the evidence, I will be filing a lawsuit.” Along with her messages were several photos, zoomed in to show a loose thread on one sweater, a slight pucker at a shoulder seam, and a decorative patch that was beginning to peel. “I only noticed when I tried on my sweater a few days ago that there were already quality issues. And it’s not just this one; many of the older pieces have lost their shape. This proves she’s been careless and her work is shoddy. She doesn’t deserve our trust!” When no one immediately responded, Jessie posted a barrage of legal statutes. Operating without a business license. Illegal enterprise. Selling counterfeit and defective products. The words swam before my eyes, making my head spin. “Don’t worry, everyone,” she continued. “She will be held legally responsible. At the very least, she’ll have to pay back ten times the amount for every item.” That last sentence ignited the chat. “She’s right! The shoulder on that sweater I got last month bunched up, and Helen tried to blame me, saying I must have hung it wrong. If she’d made it properly, it wouldn’t have warped so easily!” “Jessie, you’re amazing. A true credit to your education.” “Yeah, not like Helen’s son. I hear he’s still just a nobody trying to make it in New York.” For every word of praise for Jessie, there was a barb aimed at me. The friendly faces I knew had twisted into masks of greed, all blinded by the promise of a payout. They started one-upping each other, boasting about who had ordered more sweaters and calculating how much compensation they were owed. Looking at the familiar profile pictures, a chill went down my spine. These were the same people who had begged me to knit for them, and I’d only ever charged them a pittance for my time. My work was meticulous, and my fees were a fraction of what any professional would charge. Knits are delicate; they’re affected by the yarn quality and how they’re washed. I had explained to every single one of them that these sweaters needed gentle care if they wanted them to last. Just then, a new message popped up. I recognized the sender—an old neighbor who had commissioned more than a dozen pieces from me over the years. “Jessie, honey, we don’t know much about the law. Are you sure she’ll have to pay?” Jessie responded with a winking emoji. “Don’t you worry. I have an ace up my sleeve.” She then circled several of the sweaters I’d made. “These designs are original creations from well-known brands. What Helen did is copyright infringement. If it comes to it, profiting from infringement could land her in jail.” “If she refuses to pay,” Jessie continued, “I’ll use this to sue her. I have experience helping designers fight copyright theft.” The group went silent again. After a long pause, a voice note appeared. “Jessie, isn’t that a bit much? Let’s just get her to pay us back. Jail seems too harsh.” Jessie didn’t respond for a moment. Then, she reposted the spreadsheet. “Take a look, everyone. This is a record of how much she’s scammed from you. In just two years, she’s made thousands of dollars from her ‘labor fees.’ If we don’t hold the threat of jail time over her head, why would she ever be willing to give that money back?” In the face of profit, years of neighborly friendship evaporated into thin air. 3. I switched back to my main account. It was quiet. A wave of sadness washed over me as I scrolled through photos of the sweaters I’d knitted over the years. My mother, God rest her soul, had taught me to knit, and I’d loved it ever since. But back when I was working, I only had time for small projects on the weekends. A few years ago, my husband passed away after a long illness. I had just retired, and suddenly my life was empty. No work, no partner. I spent my days wandering the house like a ghost. My son, Alex, had just graduated and taken a job in another state. As a young guy starting at the bottom, he was working constantly and rarely had time to visit. Worried I’d be lonely, he signed me up for a class at the local senior center without telling me. They offered all sorts of craft classes, and that’s how I rediscovered my passion for knitting. At first, I just made things for myself—a scarf here, a sweater there. Then Carol became my first “customer.” The first few times, I didn’t charge her anything, but she started bringing me more and more complex patterns. Soon, other neighbors wanted in. More and more people started asking, and I didn’t have the heart to say no. That’s when I decided to charge a small fee for my time. To my surprise, the requests didn’t stop; they multiplied. My days became filled with the click-clack of needles. It was a good thing, really. It kept my mind off my late husband. I looked over at the sofa, where five perfectly folded sweaters were stacked neatly. My heart felt like a block of ice. The next morning, Jessie was at my door. As I opened it, I caught the triumphant gleam in her eye before she could hide it. She took the sweaters from me, and then, without a word, dropped them onto the floor in front of me. The pale yellow wool instantly picked up a smudge of dust. She watched my reaction, a smirk playing on her lips, and pulled a folder from her bag. “Helen, you should take a look at this.” Inside were the “evidence” documents from the group chat, now professionally bound. Tucked behind them was a formal letter of demand from a law firm. “Your actions are in serious violation of the Fair Business Practices Act and other relevant statutes. According to these laws, any individual or entity engaging in commercial activities must possess a valid business license. Your operation has disrupted the normal market economy and constitutes illegal enterprise.” Jessie recited the text with the crisp, clear articulation of a seasoned lawyer. She was good; I had to give her that. “Furthermore, you cannot escape liability for selling defective products. I have multiple witnesses—your neighbors—who will testify that the items they received were of substandard quality.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Helen, you wouldn’t want this whole mess—operating an illegal business—to get any bigger, would you?” “So let’s make a deal. Ten times the original price. That goes for my orders, and for everyone else’s too!” She flipped to the last page of the folder, where a long, itemized list detailed my “illegal profits.” They had diligently recorded every penny I’d ever received. But they’d conveniently cropped the screenshots, cutting out the parts where they had pleaded with me, as a friend, to help them out. Honestly, a single sweater took me the better part of a day, and I charged a measly ten dollars for it. You pay more than that just to get a pair of pants hemmed. If my prices weren’t practically free, they never would have kept coming back. Jessie’s voice softened, turning syrupy sweet. “Helen, I understand you might be upset. But the law is the law. It’s our duty as citizens to abide by it.” She glanced around my living room. “Looking at your home, Helen, it doesn’t seem like coming up with ten thousand dollars would be a problem for you. Why make things ugly over such a small amount?”

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I’d never given the new intern a second thought. So when he pushed my buttons, I marched right up to my wife, the CEO, and slapped two documents on her desk in front of the entire company. A letter of resignation, and divorce papers. “Tell him,” I said, my voice cutting through the office silence. “You choose.” The next second, the woman who had always been fiercely, irrevocably mine, the woman I thought would move mountains for me, picked up a pen. Without a moment’s hesitation, she signed her name on the divorce papers. “He’s just a kid, he’s insecure,” she said, her voice cold. “I won’t indulge your temper tantrums, Julian. Not now.” The confident smirk on my face froze, then shattered. I thought the new kid was just a clueless rookie trying to get ahead. Reality just slapped me across the face. Turns out, I was the clueless one all along. … The entire office was dead silent. I couldn’t bring myself to look at my colleagues, at the faces I’d known for years. Their stares felt like physical blows, a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin, making my whole body ache with humiliation. I reached for the divorce papers on the desk, trying to appear calm, but my hand trembled uncontrollably. Ten years. Ten years married to Evelyn, and everyone at this company knew how much she loved me. They’d seen the late-night soups she brought to my desk, witnessed the fire in her eyes when she defended me in meetings, saw the way her gaze would soften and light up whenever she looked at me. Now, all those memories twisted into razors, slicing into my heart, leaving me breathless. I forced myself to look up, to meet her eyes, desperately searching for a trace of the woman I knew, trying to salvage a shred of my dignity. “Evelyn, stop it,” I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. “Everyone’s watching. Don’t make a scene.” Her gaze was like ice. There was no joke here, no game. “I’m not making a scene, Julian,” she said, her voice flat. “We’re done.” “Why?” The word scraped my throat, dry and raw. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifted slightly, her eyes moving past me to the back of the crowd, to where the new intern, Leo, had been standing in silence. The look she gave him was one I’d never seen before. It was a mixture of… indulgence? And… was that sympathy? Her eyes snapped back to me, her expression detached. “Like I said, he’s insecure.” “Julian, you only ever care about your pride, about winning and losing. Have you ever once stopped to consider how anyone else feels?” A kid? That man, a man in his early twenties, was a “kid” in her eyes, someone who needed protection? And I, her husband of ten years, the man who shared her bed and built this company with her, was now just some unreasonable tyrant throwing a tantrum? It was absurd. Utterly, laughably absurd. A toxic cocktail of betrayal and shame surged through me, burning away the last of my composure. I snatched the signed divorce papers from the desk and, in front of everyone, ripped them to shreds. “You’d humiliate me like this, in front of the entire company, for some pretty boy who just walked in the door?!” The paper fragments drifted to the floor like bitter snow. Evelyn watched me, her expression unreadable. When I was finished, she finally spoke, her voice still quiet but carrying the finality of a judge’s sentence. “My lawyer can have another copy sent to the house.” “Julian,” she repeated. “We’re done.” The second time she said it, the words hit like a physical blow. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. She didn’t even wait. She turned her back on me and walked straight toward him. Toward the intern. I watched as the young man, Leo, instinctively straightened his posture as she approached, his eyes holding a mixture of dependence and… was that a flicker of triumph? Evelyn stopped in front of him. She reached up and, with a gesture of practiced intimacy, gently straightened the collar of his shirt. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Don’t be scared.” In that instant, the last drop of blood drained from my face. The world went silent, replaced by a dull ringing in my ears. I was frozen, my body suddenly feeling hollowed out, devoid of all strength. The woman I was so certain would choose me, had just walked away and chosen another man, as naturally as breathing. All this time, I was the one who was out of my depth. I had lost. Utterly and completely. Evelyn turned to the gawking crowd, her composure absolute. “This company doesn’t care about seniority or personal connections,” she announced, her voice resonating with authority. “Every single employee is treated like family.” Her eyes darted to me, a clear warning in them. “And I will not tolerate anyone using their position to bully a new hire. I don’t care who you are.” Every word was a hammer blow to my pride, shattering my last illusion. Family? So that was her justification. Some noble, high-minded “company principle.” I was now officially cast as the villain, the petty executive “bullying a new hire,” the fool who tried to use a personal relationship to break the sacred “company rules.” The looks from my colleagues shifted. The initial shock and curiosity morphed into something else. Pity for the fallen executive was replaced by admiration for the “righteous CEO,” and a quiet contempt for my pathetic, self-inflicted humiliation. I could hear the whispers, just barely suppressed. “Wow, Julian really blew it this time…” “Seriously, threatening her with divorce? As if a woman like Evelyn would ever fall for that.” “He had it coming. He’s always been so arrogant. Finally met his match…” My face burned as if I’d been slapped, over and over again. I looked at Evelyn. She had expertly used the most professional means to uphold her company’s “integrity,” and in doing so, had used the cruelest means to publicly execute our marriage and my career here. After delivering her grand speech, she finally deigned to look at me again, her eyes filled with warning and impatience. She was used to being in control, used to the fawning respect of her subordinates. And she was used to me, always playing along, always making sure she looked good. It was our unspoken agreement. But as I looked past her, at the intern standing behind her with a smirk of victory on his face, I suddenly felt no desire to play along anymore. I nodded slowly. “Fine. I get it.” Evelyn nodded back, satisfied. “Good. You’ve been a profound disappointment today, Julian,” she said. “But since you understand your mistake, it’s not too late to fix this.” “All you have to do is get on your knees and apologize to Leo. Then we can put this whole thing…” Her words were cut off by a collective gasp from the crowd. I had snatched a water glass from a nearby desk and, with a flick of my wrist, flung its contents in her face. Her perfect makeup dissolved into streaks. Leo shrieked dramatically. “Julian! How could you do that to Evelyn?” I shot him a venomous look. “This is between my wife and me. When did you earn the right to butt in?” The sound of sharp intakes of breath filled the room. Even Evelyn stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. After years of compliance, she probably never imagined I would defy her so publicly. I looked straight at her, my voice low and dangerous. “Are you awake now?” Before she could answer, I turned my cold gaze on Leo. “Evelyn?” I repeated his familiar address. “How cozy. But as I recall, the company handbook is quite clear. All employees are to be addressed by their professional titles. No exceptions, not even for the CEO or Vice President.” I let my eyes sweep across the crowd, landing on the head of HR. “For a new intern to make such a mistake, does that mean HR training was inadequate? Or are there… some people… who can’t even remember the most basic company rules?” “If an employee is this incompetent,” I continued, my voice like steel, “according to company policy, shouldn’t they be terminated immediately?” The air in the room turned to ice. Evelyn’s face, smudged with running mascara, was a mask of fury. She looked at me as if I were a stranger, her eyes burning with the sting of challenged authority. The HR manager looked from me to Evelyn’s thunderous expression, his lips trembling, unable to speak. Finally, Evelyn found her voice. “Julian!” she roared. “Have you lost your mind?!” A humorless smile touched my lips. “I’m discussing company policy with you, Ms. Thorne.” I put a deliberate, mocking emphasis on her formal title, my eyes locked on Leo. “Are the rules written in black and white just for show? Or,” I paused, letting my gaze drift over Evelyn’s furious face, “is there a special exception for… special people?” Leo panicked, looking to Evelyn for help, his voice cracking. “Ms. Thorne, I… I didn’t mean to. I was just… I was worried about you…” I cut him off. “My wife. Needs you to worry about her?” “You just gave a speech about impartiality, about not playing favorites,” I said, turning the screw. “So please, enlighten us, Ms. Thorne. This intern, who can’t even remember the most basic company regulations, what should be done with him?” I had thrown the ball directly back into her court. She wanted to champion company rules? She wanted to be the picture of fairness? Fine. Let’s talk rules. Let’s talk fairness. Evelyn’s chest heaved. For a long moment, she just glared at me, before finally exploding. “Enough!” she yelled. “Everyone, get back to work! Julian, my office. Now.” I glanced at Leo, who was fussing over Evelyn, trying to dab at her face with a handkerchief. “No, thank you,” I said calmly. “The office is for business, not personal matters. Since you’ve already made your choice, Ms. Thorne, I respect it.” “I resign.” Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “We’ll talk about this at home tonight.” I didn’t wait for “tonight.” I went straight to HR and told them to process my termination. After the scene I’d just caused, no one dared get caught in the crossfire. They didn’t even bother checking with Evelyn; they just started the paperwork. I pulled out my phone and found an email from last month. It was a job offer from a rival company, Horizon Group, sent after I’d closed a big deal with them. I typed out a reply: I’m in. A moment later, my phone rang. The voice on the other end was ecstatic. “Julian! Excellent! I knew you’d come around. You’re a perfect fit for us.” “This is perfect timing, actually. We have a meeting tomorrow to finalize a partnership with your old company, Stellar Dynamics. I wasn’t entirely happy with their terms, but with you on board, we can consider any concessions a… parting gift to Ms. Thorne. I’ll schedule the signing for tomorrow. You know both sides, you can handle it. We’ll make it a combination farewell and welcome party.” He hung up quickly, as if afraid I’d change my mind. A second later, a message popped up on my screen. It was from Leo. It was a candid photo, slightly blurry, but the image was unmistakable. Evelyn, looking drunk, was pressed against Leo. They were kissing. I was about to close the app when my phone buzzed with an incoming call. Evelyn. I declined it. She called again. I declined it again. The phone stayed silent after that. It was always like this. Evelyn’s patience with me never lasted for more than three tries. And yet, on Leo’s first day, she had patiently explained the same simple task to him over a dozen times. I remembered it clearly. I’d gone to her office to discuss something. Through the glass wall, I saw her leaning over Leo’s desk, her finger tracing something on his monitor. I didn’t think much of it at first. But when I came out of my meeting, she was still there. Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Your username is your employee ID. The default password is the last six digits of your social. Remember to check the caps lock.” Leo looked completely lost. “I’m sorry, Ms. Thorne, I’m… I’m so stupid.” “It’s okay,” she had said, not a hint of impatience in her tone. “Take your time. I’ll explain it again.” She leaned in closer, practically holding his hand as she guided him. A flicker of unease had gone through me then, but I’d quickly dismissed it. He was a new intern; of course he needed extra help. Evelyn was a demanding boss, but she was also supportive. I’d even laughed at myself for being so petty. Now, that memory returned with a new, chilling clarity. A dozen times. For an intern who couldn’t even log into his own computer, she had spent so much time, repeated herself so many times, with a patience that bordered on abnormal. And me? I remembered our first year of marriage. The company had just upgraded its systems, and the new interface was complex. I got stuck on a process and casually asked her for help. She was engrossed in a contract, and without even looking up, she’d snapped, her voice sharp with irritation, “Read the manual, Julian. Don’t bother me with trivial things.” Trivial things. Yes, compared to her ambitions, her grand vision, most of my problems seemed to be “trivial things.” As the company grew, we each took charge of different divisions, and I learned to stop asking her for help with work. Not because I didn’t need it, but because I had subconsciously adapted. I’d gotten used to being self-sufficient, to handling everything on my own. I thought that was our dynamic, the way a power couple was supposed to operate. But it wasn’t that she lacked patience. Her patience, her gentleness, her endless reserves of understanding… they just weren’t for me. Leo’s helplessness and incompetence brought out her nurturing side, her desire to teach and protect. My strength and independence had just become a license for her to ignore me, to demand my unending compromise. My phone lit up again. Not a call, but a text from Evelyn. Julian, can you please stop this? Be mature. I’ve already sent Leo home. I’ll be back late. We need to talk. Look at that. Even now, after everything, in her eyes, I was the one “making a scene.” I was the one who needed to “be mature.” Ten years of marriage. Ten years of what I thought was understanding and partnership. It was all a delusion, a story I’d been telling myself. She had been walking in a different direction for a long time, and I was the fool still standing in the same place. I typed back. There’s nothing to talk about. County courthouse. 9 a.m. tomorrow. Be there.

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1. The moment the public apology went live, the comments section exploded. Within three minutes, it was already at 99+. A private message popped up from Liam, the junior I was forced to apologize to. His words dripped with scorn. “Sebastian, the only thing you have on me is luck. You just happened to meet her first. In what other way are you better than me?” “All I had to do was shed a few tears, and she immediately made you bow down and apologize.” “So what if you have a marriage contract? As long as I’m not happy, you two will never get married.” He followed it up with a screenshot, a blatant boast showing two first-class tickets to Paris. My fiancée was taking him on a trip to cheer him up. I was about to lock my phone when a new notification appeared. It was Liam, commenting publicly on the apology post: “Everyone, please don’t be so hard on Mr. Padel. It was my fault, too…” Less than a minute later, my fiancée replied directly to his comment. “Don’t take all the blame, Liam. This was clearly Sebastian’s fault from the beginning.” My colleagues piled on, accusing my apology of being insincere, its every word dripping with resentment and sarcasm towards Liam. Someone tagged me. I ignored it. A moment later, my phone began to ring. It was my fiancée, Isabella, calling to rake me over the coals. She called again. And again. Thinking of her boundless, unconditional defense of Liam, I calmly powered off my phone, silencing the incessant ringing. Isabella Padel and I had been engaged since we were children. The agreement was simple: upon our marriage, I would bring 5% of my family’s old company shares as a dowry, and in return, I would join the Padel family and their corporate empire. But ever since she brought her protégé from her alma mater, Liam, into the company, her world had begun to revolve around him. Whatever Liam wanted, Isabella delivered it to him on a silver platter. Even a project I had slaved over for months could be casually tossed his way as a gift to soothe his feelings. A few days later, Isabella came home in a rush. The moment she walked in, she ordered me to pack a few suitcases for her. She had a business trip. I remembered the Paris tickets Liam had sent me. “A business trip,” I said, my voice heavy with irony, “or a vacation?” She heard the edge in my tone and immediately assumed I was still sulking about the apology. Her brow furrowed. “It was your fault, Sebastian. You have no right to be angry. If I hadn’t stepped in to mediate, your own colleagues would have run you out of the company.” “This is a critical project,” she continued, softening slightly. “I have to go myself. Don’t worry, I’ll be back as soon as it’s over. It won’t delay the wedding.” Seeing my silence, she seemed to relax, thinking I had accepted her “greater good” reasoning. She changed the subject, asking what gift I wanted her to bring back. In the past, she always brought me a souvenir from her trips. I used to cherish them. Then I discovered by accident that they were all things she had first offered to Liam—gifts he had rejected or deemed unworthy. The memory soured my mood. “Whatever,” I said flatly. Sensing my lack of interest, she had the housekeeper finish her packing and turned to accept a gift box from Arthur, our butler. She held it out to me. “A reward. For your generosity with the shares.” I glanced inside. It was an expensive watch, a rare vintage piece. Except, I had seen this exact watch on Liam’s wrist just a few days ago. So, this was a fake. A cheap knock-off she was passing off as a reward to shut me up. She saw me smile and mistook it for pleasure. She moved to put it on my wrist. As her fingers reached for the watch, I flinched back, a reflex I couldn’t control. She froze, her expression turning awkward. “You… you don’t like it?” I caught the flicker of guilt in her eyes. After a long moment, I said one word: “Expensive.” She visibly relaxed, relieved. She was about to offer some hollow words of comfort when her phone buzzed with an urgent ring. A glance at the screen, and she quickly stepped out of the walk-in closet to answer. The moment she picked up, Liam’s whining voice drifted down the hall. “Bella, where are you? I’m getting impatient down here…” I casually tossed the watch into a drawer. Arthur, the butler, saw me and drew a sharp breath. “Sir, you’ve always treasured the mistress’s gifts. What’s changed?” Treasured them? I practically worshipped them, enshrined them like holy relics. But ever since Liam had entered our lives, Isabella had allowed him to rummage through my things, to take whatever caught his fancy from the gifts she’d given me. I had argued with her about it, and she’d called me selfish and petty before turning around and buying Liam something even better, even more expensive. Isabella ended her call and strode back in, grabbing her luggage from Arthur. “I have to go,” she said hurriedly. “Make sure you follow up on the custom wedding suits. Don’t let anything delay the ceremony.” She moved to hug me, but I instinctively took a step back. A confused look crossed her face. She started to say something, but the thought of Liam waiting outside seemed to win out. She awkwardly dropped her hands, grabbed her coat from the housekeeper, and rushed out the door. I stood by the window and watched as Liam gallantly opened the car door for her. She practically jumped inside, eager to be with him. That car. It was the first gift Isabella had ever given me. A classic sports car. I had kept it in the garage, pristine, never driving it for fear of damaging something so precious, a symbol of her affection. Then Liam saw it. And with a wave of her hand, Isabella gave it to him. “You don’t have a license anyway, Sebastian,” she had said. “You can’t use it. Liam lives far from the office; he could use a reliable car. This way, he’ll be more productive for the company. I’ll buy you a better one when you finally get around to taking your test.” I had said nothing, just watched as Liam took the keys and immediately coaxed her into going for a joyride with him. I had to smile at the memory. The truth was, I’d had my driver’s license for years. It was sitting in the drawer of my bedside table. She had just never cared enough to notice. As the car disappeared down the driveway, I pulled out my phone and made a call. “I need to cancel the order for the custom-made bridal shoes.” “Yes, I understand. I’ll cover any and all cancellation fees.” 2. They were meant to be my wedding gift to Isabella, a surprise to make her happy on our big day. But now, it was clear they would never be worn. The next day, I arrived at the office with my resignation letter in hand. The moment I walked in, I was met with hostile stares. I was used to it. I calmly walked to my desk. I could only imagine what new lies Liam had been spreading. He was constantly whispering about me to our colleagues. At first, I didn’t care, but the misunderstandings piled up until any attempt to defend myself was dismissed as a weak excuse. Eventually, I just stopped trying. While I was getting a cup of tea, my phone buzzed relentlessly. 99+ notifications. All from Liam. I didn’t have to open them to know what they were: a stream of photos documenting his blissful time with Isabella. The timestamp in the corner of each picture showed he was sending them around the clock. I’d never seen Isabella so patient, so engaged. In all our years together, she had never been like this with me. She had never laughed with such genuine, uninhibited joy. In every photo, she was radiant. It was a side of her I had never been allowed to see. I remembered the year I bought her a professional camera for her birthday. I’d secretly taken photography classes for months, wanting to capture her beauty. When I gave it to her, her face fell. “I’ve always hated having my picture taken,” she’d said, her voice cold. “As my fiancé, how could you not know that? Or is this some kind of power play?” “Stop pretending you know me, Sebastian. It’s disgusting.” She didn’t speak to me for a month after that. I had to work myself to the bone on two major projects to secure her promotion to Vice President before she would even look at me again. The difference between being loved and not being loved… it’s painfully obvious. When you love someone, you cherish everything they are, everything they do. I put my phone away and walked straight to HR to submit my resignation. When I returned to my desk to hand over my work, I realized there wasn’t much to hand over. Most of my projects had been stripped from me weeks ago, given to Liam as peace offerings. The handover took less than an hour. As I was packing my personal effects, the head of the project department stormed over, slamming a rejected bid proposal on my desk. “Sebastian! You were in charge of this bid! The client just called, furious. There are major errors in the proposal. I want an explanation, now!” The surrounding colleagues, already poisoned against me by Liam’s stories, saw their chance. This was their moment to play the hero. “How could you screw up such an important project? Do you have any idea how much this meant to Ms. Padel?” “I can’t believe they let him handle it. If Liam had been in charge, this never would have happened.” “You think his salary can even begin to cover this loss?” “Cover it? He couldn’t afford to. They should just fire him and be done with it.” I ignored their chatter and glanced at the proposal’s cover sheet. A cold smile touched my lips. “This wasn’t my project. It was Liam’s.” Kevin, one of Liam’s most devoted sycophants, scoffed. “Can’t even take responsibility for your own mistakes? Are you a man? We all know this was your project. Now you’re trying to pin it on Liam? Do you think we’re all blind?” The others murmured in agreement. Just then, an HR representative walked over. “Your resignation has been approved, Sebastian.” Kevin’s face twisted into a sneer. “Trying to run away now? It’s too late. You’d better figure out how you’re going to compensate the company and explain this to Ms. Padel.” “You’re a disease,” he spat. “The company should have cut you out long ago. If it wasn’t for Liam, always defending you, Ms. Padel would have thrown you out on the street ages ago.” His words lit a fire. The mob mentality took over. They decided I was a blight on the office and needed to be removed immediately. Within minutes, they had shoved all my belongings into a black trash bag and tossed it out the office door. Kevin stood over me, his arms crossed. “Well? Are you going to leave, or do we have to make you?” I looked at him, this pathetic, spineless yes-man, puffed up with borrowed power. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Twice. Then, leaving him and the others in a state of stunned silence, I walked out of the company for the last time. 3. A few days later, Liam sent me another barrage of photos. This time, it was a professional photoshoot. “By the way,” his message read, “you and Isabella have been together for so long. Have you ever had a professional portrait session? I’ve never seen a single photo of you two at her place. Don’t tell me you don’t even have one picture together… how pathetic.” I was about to block him when I accidentally opened one of the images. The theme of the photoshoot was a wedding. My vision darkened. So, the man Isabella intended to marry was Liam. It suddenly occurred to me that our own wedding was just around the corner, and we still hadn’t taken any engagement photos. I had brought it up with Isabella multiple times, but she always brushed me off, saying she was too busy with work. Her “work,” it turned out, was taking Liam on romantic getaways. My mother called just then, asking about the wedding preparations. “Sebastian, darling, you must double-check everything. We can’t have any mistakes. It would be an embarrassment to the Padel family.” “And if you need anything, you tell me. Our family may have lost its standing, but we will not be bullied by anyone.” An image of Isabella, radiant in a wedding gown and smiling at Liam, flashed through my mind. “Mom,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m not getting married.” She thought I was throwing another tantrum. “Sebastian, Isabella is a woman. Can’t you just be the bigger person? You’re about to walk down the aisle. You can’t do it with a sour look on your face.” Be the bigger person? How many times had I been the bigger person? How many times had I watched her sacrifice my work, my dignity, to appease Liam? How many times had I swallowed my pride when she took him on trips alone? I had told myself it would get better, that if I was just patient, she would come around. But she only pushed further, and now this. A wedding shoot with another man. This time, I was done being the bigger person. Sensing my silence, my mother gave me a few parting words of advice and hung up. A little while later, Arthur came to my room. The custom-tailored wedding suit and gown had arrived. He said Isabella had already gone to the boutique and was waiting for me. I was surprised. I hadn’t expected her back for at least another week. She never cut her trips short. Could it be that this wedding actually meant something to her? But if it did, why had she been completely absent from the planning, leaving everything to me? I scoffed at my own foolish hope, went to the garage, and drove to the bridal shop. As I approached the entrance, I heard raised voices. It was Liam and Isabella, arguing. “Why do you have to marry him?” Liam demanded. “You’ve been chained to that ridiculous contract your whole life! Are you going to let him ruin your future too?” “You love me! When you’re with me, you shine! You’re alive!” “I can’t bear to see you unhappy. If you go through with this wedding, I’ll… I’ll kill myself right in front of you!” Isabella was stunned into silence. Seeing her hesitation, Liam’s emotions boiled over. He grabbed a letter opener from the counter and dragged it across his wrist. Isabella screamed, lunging forward to snatch it away. She grabbed a swatch of fabric, pressing it against the bleeding cut. He shoved her away. “Don’t stop me! Let me die! At least then I won’t have to watch you suffer every day!” Terrified he would try again, she nodded frantically, agreeing to anything. Seeing her surrender, Liam’s face broke into a tearful, triumphant smile. She tried to take him to the hospital, but he refused. “I want you to announce it,” he said, pressing his advantage. “On your wedding day, in front of everyone. You will tell them that I am your groom, and that Sebastian is just some pathetic stalker who’s been obsessed with you. It’s the lesson he deserves.” Isabella looked at the blood soaking through the fabric, and she agreed. I turned and walked away from the shop. I pulled the simple silver ring from my finger—the one she had given me when we first got engaged—and tossed it into a curbside trash can. 4. When I got home, the sound of a cooking show was echoing from the kitchen. The living room was a disaster zone, ingredients strewn everywhere. In the kitchen, I found Isabella, flustered and surrounded by mess. She had been up all night, trying to learn how to make a restorative soup for her dear Liam. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Sebastian! You’re good at making soup, aren’t you? Come and teach me. I need to make something for Liam. Something to replenish his… energy.” The bright, eager look on her face was one I recognized. I had seen it once before, the day I agreed to sign over my 5% share in the family company. I never thought I’d see it again, especially not for another man. I glanced at the red, scalded marks on the back of her hand. “We have a chef for that,” I said coldly. “You don’t have to do it yourself.” “You don’t understand,” she cut me off, her eyes shining. “It means more when you make it yourself.” I looked into those bright eyes. I, too, had once poured my heart into making nourishing broths for her, ignoring the servants who whispered that I acted more like a maid than the master of the house. She had shown no gratitude then. She had mocked me, and once, she had even thrown a bowl of scalding soup at my legs, leaving a scar that never faded. I took an involuntary step back. She saw it as defiance. Her expression hardened instantly. “Are you still angry about the apology?” she snapped. “I already promised you, didn’t I? After the wedding, I’ll buy you any car you want.” “Besides, our wedding is in three days. I’ll make sure you’re the most envied man in the city.” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked up the stairs. Her temper flared. She grabbed the spatula she was holding and hurled it at me. It struck me squarely in the back. Later, I came downstairs to find Arthur carefully bandaging her arm. She had failed to make the soup and had only managed to burn herself badly in the process. She saw me and her face contorted with rage. “You’re nothing like Liam! Liam would never treat me this way!” she screamed. “He…” “Then cancel the wedding,” I said, my voice cutting through her tirade. “Since I’m not the one you want to marry anyway.” Isabella shot to her feet, aghast. The bandage slipped, revealing an arm covered in blisters. Tears welled in her eyes. “Sebastian, how dare you! Say that again!” I was momentarily stunned. I couldn’t believe she would go to such lengths for him. I took a deep breath. “We’re breaking up. The wedding is off. Do I need to repeat myself?” She stared at me, disbelief warring with contempt. “Is this a game to you, Sebastian?” she sneered. “You were the one who insisted on this wedding. Now you’re the one trying to call it off. Do you really think these pathetic threats will give you some kind of control over me? You’re dreaming.” I wasn’t going to argue. I packed a suitcase, walked out the door, and booked a flight out of the country for that night. Before I left, I prepared a video—a personal monologue—to be played at the wedding instead of a photo montage. I gave it to Arthur, my final gift to Isabella. He, thinking it was a romantic surprise, promised to play it on the big day. He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowed with concern. “Sir, that blow you took to your back… are you alright?” I paused, then managed a small smile. “I’m fine.” When Isabella got angry, she threw things. She never considered the consequences. Over the years, I’d gotten used to it. Besides, the pain from that little spatula was already gone. As I watched the other passengers board the plane, I sent one last voice message to Isabella. “Congratulations on your wedding, Isabella. You and Liam deserve each other. I hope you like my gift.” A red exclamation point appeared next to the message. Of course. She had blocked me long ago. The cabin announcement for takeoff began. As the plane lifted off the ground, I smiled at my dark phone screen and whispered, “Goodbye, Isabella.”

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1 Caleb Brady rejected his stepsister Seraphina in front of everyone—then asked me, the quiet scholarship student no one noticed. Sera shattered, and her madness soon turned toward me. Yet every time she attacked, Caleb pulled me behind him, a slow smile spreading as he watched her face pale. “She’s clean. She’s beautiful. You and her aren’t in the same league.” His voice dropped low. “Leave her alone—or you’ll regret it.” The students cheered. I felt a warmth in my chest, believing I’d found the best man alive. Until Sera cornered me in the hall, ripped my shirt open, and had her crony force a kiss on me while everyone filmed. Caleb snapped. He pulled me into his arms, then dragged Sera into a stairwell and slammed her against the wall, kissing her over and over. Muffled groans tangled with sharp breaths. “Is this my punishment or reward, brother? You tell me,” Sera’s voice purred through the door gap. “You won’t be my boyfriend? What should I do next time?” “Go on—warn me again.” “Don’t you dare say you love her. You’re the one who let me play psycho to punish her.” Her mocking laugh pierced me like ice. Cold rose from the floor, freezing me in place. All along, I was just a prop in their twisted game. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sera,” Caleb’s voice was strained. “I only let you pretend to be crazy so she’d depend on me more.” “You have no idea how soft she gets when she melts against me, all hurt and needing comfort.” Sera’s foot traced a slow path up his calf. “Flatter myself? Soft, you say?” “You’re such a bad liar, big brother. That’s not what you were saying last night, when you were holding me in Mom and Dad’s bed.” “Tell me, do you have to pop a pill to get it up for Chloe, too?” “Or was that just for me? A little something to earn your reward?” Her arms snaked around his neck, her laughter bright and sharp. The sound was followed by the wet noise of biting kisses and ragged breathing, punctuated by Sera’s coquettish murmurs. “Next time, I’ll leave your lips so swollen you won’t be able to go home,” Caleb growled, his voice thick with something that sounded dangerously like pleasure. “I know,” she cooed. “I’ll be sure to try even harder.” “See you tonight, brother.” Long after Sera’s footsteps faded away, I heard Caleb’s quiet echo. “See you tonight.” My fists clenched, a roaring sound filling my ears. A few minutes later, Caleb stepped out of the stairwell, his expression a perfect mask of concern. He wrapped his arms around me, just like he always did. But this time, I didn’t dissolve into tears. I didn’t beg for his help. I didn’t even return the embrace. He stroked my hair, his touch gentle. “My sweet girl, you’ve been hurt. But I’m here now.” “I just punished her for you. Don’t be angry anymore.” I looked up at him, my eyes landing on his lip—swollen and split, a tiny bead of blood welling at the corner. My public humiliation, my helpless, screaming breakdown… was just a “punishment” in his eyes. A trivial event. Worse, it was just an excuse for their twisted foreplay. Those beautiful, almond-shaped eyes had once captivated me completely. The day another boy tried to ask me out, Caleb had smoothly cut in. “Hey, good girl. Mind if I cut in line? I’ve got a confession to make, too.” His long, elegant fingers offered me a folded note. Inside, the handwriting was bold and sweeping, filling the page with passionate words. My face burned. I couldn’t speak. He was the one who laughed first. “You’re blushing already? How red are you going to get when we’re under the covers?” He had the face of a poet and the mouth of a sailor. In a daze, I nodded my consent. From that day on, he walked me to and from school. Every single day. Rain or shine. I felt a dizzying sense of vertigo. Were they the same person? Just like now. He was talking to me, but his gaze kept drifting in the direction Sera had disappeared. I pushed myself out of his arms. “Caleb, I’m telling a teacher.” No response. Instead, his voice came out choked with anguish, full of a desperate sincerity. “I truly love you.” My heart stuttered. I looked up, only to find him staring at Sera’s retreating back in the distance. A suffocating tightness squeezed my chest. I raised my voice, forcing the words out. “Caleb, I’m going to the principal. I deserve justice.” That finally snapped him back. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm. “I told you, I already punished her.” “She’s mentally ill. She’s pitiful enough as it is. Don’t hold it against her.” “Besides,” he added, his tone dismissive, “I trust you. It’s not that big of a deal.” The casual indifference in his eyes sent a chill down my spine. Not a big deal? Then what was? Oh, right. Seraphina’s happiness. That was what mattered. Caleb draped an arm over my shoulders, a hint of impatience in his gesture. “We’re practically family, anyway. Just let it go.” “Let’s get back to class.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, but the sharp tang was nothing compared to the agony ripping through my heart. As we walked, whispers and stifled giggles followed us like a cloud of flies. They were all pointing, all staring. Suddenly, someone shoved me hard, sending me stumbling into our classroom. A blizzard of photos rained down on me, their sharp edges kissing my skin like paper cuts before fluttering to the floor. They were all of me—my shirt torn, my face twisted in shock as that boy forced himself on me. “Surprise!” Sera appeared, holding another handful of even more explicit shots, scattering them over my head. “We’re all so curious, Chloe! Why don’t you give us a little performance right now?” “Performance!” “Performance!” “Performance!” The chant hammered into my skull. My entire body started to shake. Helplessly, my eyes found Caleb. Our gazes met for a split second before he looked away. “Shut up,” I screamed, grabbing the nearest textbook and hurling it at Sera. But Caleb’s hand shot out, his fingers closing around my wrist like a vice. “That’s enough. Everyone, disperse,” he commanded. “Class is starting.” As the crowd melted away, Sera shot me a triumphant smirk. She unhooked a lacy bra strap from under her shirt and casually looped it around Caleb’s wrist. Then she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me in a blatant challenge. “What is this supposed to be?” he grumbled, but he quickly pulled down his sleeve to cover the strap. My heart felt like it was bleeding, drop by painful drop. This was the same guy who thought my simple hair clip ruined his image, yet here he was, treasuring his stepsister’s underwear like a trophy. I sank into my seat, a numb automaton. The whispers around me grew louder. “Too bad for Caleb. Guess he only gets sloppy seconds.” “Seriously. I was late today, I missed everything. Someone send me the pics?” “She looks so innocent, but who knows how many guys she’s slept with behind his back.” The words were quiet, but they felt like needles stabbing into my back. I gripped my pen, but my hand was trembling too much to write. Suddenly, a hail of trash—half-eaten snacks, fruit peels, wadded-up napkins—pelted my head and shoulders. Someone even threw the contents of a small trash bag at me. I whipped around. Sera just hummed, looking bored. “What’s wrong, good girl? Why don’t you ask my brother for help?” “Give him a little kiss. He’d probably die for you,” she said, covering her mouth in a mock giggle. My voice was a choked sob as I reached out my hand. “Caleb.” He flinched away from my touch. His eyes were fixed on Sera’s back. “Go wash up,” he told me, his voice flat. “Tonight, I’ll lock her in the dark room. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” In the girls’ bathroom, I scrubbed frantically at my skin, trying to wash away the filth and humiliation. Through the crack of the stall next to me, I saw her. Sera, perched on his lap. “Don’t push it, Sera.” “She’s pure and clean. She’s not someone you can mess with.” Sera just giggled. “Is that so? But my dear, dear brother—” “Why did you pull away from her just now?” “Don’t even try to tell me you weren’t disgusted by her.” “Shut up,” Caleb hissed, his voice tight with rage. “I have a thing about germs.” “You think everyone’s like you, swapping partners like they’re changing clothes?” “It’s disgusting.” Sera was unfazed. “Brother, you’re not a very good liar.” “Does my lingerie smell nice? Is it satisfying, holding it while you sleep at night?” “I’ve been with so many men, but you still sneak into my room every night to kiss me, don’t you?” Caleb’s breathing grew heavy and ragged. “Shut up! That’s your punishment! For what you do to her.” “Tonight. The dark room.” “The dark room? Tonight, I want to be on top.” “And the sheets are getting old. The bed isn’t soft enough.” “I saw the maid outfit you hid in the closet. I want you to wear it for me tonight.” Caleb’s body went rigid. “If you dare touch her, I’ll double your punishment.” “In Mom and Dad’s bathtub this time? It’s nice and big in there.” Sera leaned in and pressed her lips to his. “Admit it, brother. You’re madly in love with me.” I stumbled backward, my hand flying to the wall to keep myself from collapsing. My nails scraped against the tile, leaving bloody streaks, but all I could feel was a hollowing ache inside me. My heart was emptying out, becoming a vast, cold cavern. A bitter smile twisted my lips. Caleb, oh, Caleb. What a true love you are. When I got back to the classroom, a girl grabbed me by the hair and shoved my head toward a trash can. “Thief! How dare you steal from me!” I struggled wildly. “I didn’t…” A series of sharp slaps rocked my head. “Still denying it? We found the necklace in your bag!” “You’re just a poor charity case! How could you ever afford something like that?” Pain exploded behind my eyes, and the world started to go gray. I reached out, grasping for something, anything. “What’s going on?” Caleb walked in, looking a bit disheveled. Sera stood behind him, a smug look on her face. A moment later, our teacher followed. After hearing the story, the teacher frowned at me. “Chloe, is this true?” I shook my head. “No.” “But the necklace was found in your possession.” “Sera told me yesterday she saw you acting suspiciously in the classroom after hours.” My heart seized. I whirled on Sera. “It was her! She’s the one who has it out for me!” “She’s doing this on purpose! She’s jealous of me and Caleb, so she framed me!” “She even had someone rip my clothes this morning!” The teacher looked conflicted, her gaze finally settling on Caleb. He looked at Sera, and a flicker of understanding crossed his face. He stepped in front of me. “Ma’am, Chloe told me yesterday how much she liked that necklace.” “She didn’t mean any harm. I’ll apologize on her behalf. Please, let’s just forgive her.” The teacher sighed, looking at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment. “Your scholarship is revoked. And I want a ten-thousand-word apology on my desk by tomorrow morning.” I stood there, frozen. A bone-deep chill spread through me. In this vibrant, lively school, I felt like a ghost. Caleb patted my shoulder. “It’s okay. So what if it’s revoked?” “It’s just a few thousand dollars. I’ll transfer you the money right now.” A second later, my phone buzzed with a notification from my bank. Sera shot him a glare. “Well, aren’t you someone’s little treasure?” “You better take good care of her. We wouldn’t want her turning into a little thief again, would we?” “Get back to your class,” Caleb snapped at her. He turned back to me and gently wiped a tear from my cheek. “Don’t be scared, sweet girl. I’m here.” I stood there like a wooden doll, unmoving. Sera was right. He was already hopelessly in love with her. And I was just the shield he used to deny it. I opened my phone, staring at a familiar contact. My thumb hovered over the words I had typed out, the most decisive words I’d ever written. Then I let the screen go dark. 2 Maybe it was guilt. For the next few days, Caleb stuck to my side like glue. But his mind was elsewhere. His thumb was always rubbing the jagged scar on his wrist. I knew the story behind it. I’d overheard it one day. Sera had been dating some guy, and Caleb had lost his mind with jealousy. He’d hunted the guy down and started a fight. But Sera had protected the other boy. In the ensuing chaos, she had been the one to shatter Caleb’s wrist. He should have hated her for it. But when she came to apologize, to gently clean the wound and apply medicine, he forgave her instantly. He even refused to change the dressing she’d put on, wearing it until it was gray and frayed. How ironic. When we first started dating, I’d worried about that scar. I’d gently touched it once, and he had recoiled violently, shoving my hand away. He’d rushed to the nearest sink and scrubbed his skin raw, as if terrified my touch had contaminated that sacred ground. Just like now, in the cafeteria. From across the room, Sera let out a small cry, and Caleb was on his feet in a second, rushing to her side. His face was a mask of panic, which quickly soured into annoyance when he realized it was just a prank. Sera wrapped her arms around his waist in front of everyone. “Brother, I ordered too much food. I can’t finish it.” “Can you help me? Please? Just eat the rest for me.” He grumbled and said no, but then he took her plate and finished every last bite, without even changing the fork. He even ate the fatty piece of pork she’d left, the one thing I knew he absolutely detested. If I had ever asked him to do something like that, he would have lectured me about how disgusting it was to eat someone else’s leftovers. It wasn’t the food that was disgusting. It was the person. I stared down at my own plate, my vision blurring. My phone buzzed. [I’m only going along with her because I’m afraid she’ll bully you. Eat up, my sweet girl.] How kind of him to find the time to string me along. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like a dull knife was being dragged over my skin, again and again, leaving me a mangled mess of flesh and blood. A wave of nausea hit me, and I ran to the bathroom, heaving until my stomach was empty. When it was time to go home that evening, Caleb still hadn’t noticed anything was wrong. He just muttered something about having to take care of something and left without me. My face was pale as I walked down the street alone. Suddenly, a bag was thrown over my head. I was dragged into a narrow, damp alley. Sera clapped her hands together, her voice sharp and gleeful. “Hit her hard. I’ll pay you double.” “Beat her until she’s half-dead. It’ll be more fun that way.” “Don’t hold back. I’m a certified psycho, remember? My brother will clean up any mess I make.” The sharp clicks of her heels echoed as she walked over and kicked me hard, several times. “Harder! You think you can mess with me? You overestimate yourself.” “Don’t you know who I am? I’m the princess of the Brady family.” “You’re so small and skinny. My brother says there’s nothing to grab onto. I don’t know what he sees in you.” A brick slammed into my collarbone with a sickening crack. A pained grunt escaped my lips. I was in so much agony. “Caleb…” I whispered his name, a desperate prayer. I still clung to the hope that he would appear like a savior and rescue me. The blows rained down, heavier and heavier. Finally, I stopped fighting back, collapsing onto the grimy pavement as darkness encroached. Through a haze of pain, I thought I heard familiar footsteps. He won’t leave me like this, I thought, a desperate flicker of hope igniting within me. He couldn’t. Not when I’m this broken. But the next voice I heard was Caleb’s, cold and detached. “Are you done venting? We can go now.” “You’ve been a little hard on her lately. She’s been crying in secret. Don’t go too far.” He sounded so indifferent, but Sera just melted against him, her voice a playful whine. “But it’s her fault for messing with me. I’m not done yet.” “That’s enough. Don’t think you can do whatever you want just because I’m here.” Sera’s voice turned demanding. “Then tell me you love me.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Tell me you love me, and I’ll stop.” A long silence stretched out. Just when I thought he wouldn’t answer, he did. “I love you.” “That’s more like it.” Sera snorted. “I knew you loved me most. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tipped me off that she was coming this way.” “If I hadn’t done this, you already had people lined up to take care of her, didn’t you?” “The only tough thing about you is your mouth… my sweet, dear brother.” She planted a series of loud, wet kisses on his face. Satisfied, she signaled for her goons to leave. Caleb stepped into her path, blocking her way. “Now, what about my reward?” “Three hours. Is that enough?” “Not enough. I want the whole night.” He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek before he leaned in and kissed her deeply. “You’re so greedy,” she murmured against his lips when they finally broke apart. She leaned against him, her body pliant. They stayed like that for a long time before finally leaving together. Caleb glanced back at the crumpled figure on the alley floor. A frown creased his brow for a moment. Then, without a second thought, he turned and walked away. I don’t know how much time passed. I managed to drag myself up against the rough brick wall. A stray dog trotted over and snatched my shoe. My hand was sticky with something warm and metallic-smelling. I couldn’t seem to draw a full breath for the pain. My phone lit up with a message that felt like a devil’s whisper. [Chloe, you shouldn’t have touched her.] My bloody fingerprints smeared across the screen as I clutched the phone, a wave of helplessness washing over me. The edges of my vision were growing darker. I remembered when we first got together. He held me close and promised, “Sweet girl, no one will ever bully you again. I’ll make you happy.” Even with his demanding schedule, he found time to write me poems. He once stood up in front of our entire class and read one aloud before leaning in to kiss the tip of my nose so gently. Now I realized it was all just a performance. Another way to provoke Sera. My collarbone was broken. The delay in getting treatment meant it would never heal properly. It was a twisted, ugly knot under my skin, like a maggot. I was out of school for a long time while I recovered. Caleb never came to see me. He’d send the occasional placating text, claiming he was busy. But he wasn’t busy. He was in the park just down the street. Kissing his stepsister. When I finally returned to school, the taunts were louder, the cruelty more blatant. They put glue on my chair, tore up my books. Someone spat in my water bottle. They’d hoot with laughter when they succeeded. Caleb was always there, standing on the sidelines with a cool, detached expression. His silence was a green light for all of it. Occasionally, he’d offer a few hollow words of comfort. But every time he did, Sera would retaliate with something even worse. Which would lead to another one of Caleb’s “punishments.” And I would fall deeper and deeper into the abyss. I couldn’t take it anymore. I dragged Sera up to the rooftop. She just crossed her arms, completely unfazed. “Well, well. The good girl finally snapped?” “How many times have you cried yourself to sleep?” “You did all of it on purpose.” My voice was tight, my chest aching. She just smiled, then reached out and pulled my collar aside, exposing my mangled collarbone. “Tsk, tsk. Look at that… so ugly. I wonder if brother will still be able to stomach kissing you now.” I grabbed the front of her shirt. “Sera!” “Chloe, stop it!” Caleb charged onto the roof, breathing heavily. He looked terrified. But his terror wasn’t for me. It was for her. I threw a small audio recorder at his feet. “Listen to it.” “They did it on purpose. They planned it all.” “I’m going to expose everything!” Caleb’s eyes widened. He was scared. Scared of how he was going to clean up Sera’s mess. “Sweet girl, come here.” “She’s sick. Let’s not stoop to her level.” “You’ve been in love with her all along, haven’t you!” “What? How could you think that?” “She’s disgusting. I’d never be interested in her. Sweet girl, are you feeling insecure?” Even now. Even now, he was still lying. “Then you release the recording. Right now.” His brow furrowed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s the Brady family name…” I pulled Sera back toward the edge of the roof. “I don’t care! Do it now! Post it!” “Don’t! Sweet girl, don’t move!” “Choose! Choose right now!” I was getting more and more frantic. He lunged forward. And pushed me off the roof. Maybe he didn’t mean to. Maybe, in his rush to grab Sera and pull her to safety, he just shoved me out of the way. By some miracle, I survived. When I came to, I heard their voices. “Sera, you have to stop,” Caleb was saying. “You’ve gone too far recently.” Sera scoffed. “No way. Why are you so concerned about her?” “She’s my girlfriend. Your future… sister-in-law.” “She is not!” Sera shrieked. She grabbed Caleb’s head and pulled him down for a bruising kiss. “Why do you call me disgusting?” she demanded. “I was young and stupid, someone tricked me. But now, you’re the only one I want, brother!” “You know you have feelings for me, too. Now let me sit on your lap.” Caleb turned his head away, silent. “What if she wakes up…” “I don’t care! I want to! You bastard brother!” He gave in. I clutched the bedsheet, tears sliding silently down my temples. The pain was sharp, drilling into my very bones. I didn’t dare open my eyes, didn’t dare face what was happening. A week later, I chose a time when I knew they’d be out and went home to get my things. From down the street, I could hear the sound of things smashing. The inside of our small apartment was destroyed. And my brother, my only family, was lying in a pool of his own blood. “Leo!” I screamed, rushing in and gathering him in my arms. Sera saw me. She didn’t even seem to care. She was on the phone with Caleb. “She’s back. Way to ruin the mood.” I screamed into the phone, my voice cracking. “Caleb, help! It’s my brother, he’s—” His voice on the other end was calm, unhurried. “Alright, sweet girl. Maybe you’ll learn your lesson this time.” “I’ve already taken care of everything. Don’t even think about calling the police or making a scene. It won’t do you any good.” Sera raised a triumphant eyebrow at me. “The good girl,” she purred. “Brother says… being with me is exciting. It’s interesting.” “And you? You’re just a toy to pass the time.” The ambulance arrived too late. My brother was dead. The day of his funeral, a cold rain fell from a gray sky. And I dialed a familiar number. “About what we discussed before… I’ll do it.”

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