Author: Momo Chan

“You think being their real daughter means anything?” Stella’s voice was a shard of glass, sharp enough to pierce my eardrums. I shot her a cold look, clutching my puppy, Buddy, a little tighter, and moved to pass her on the other side of the grand staircase. But just as I drew level with her, she let out a piercing shriek and, as if her balance had vanished, tumbled down the stairs. “Stella!” My brother Julian’s voice cracked through the air. He scrambled down the steps, gathering her into his arms. Stella clutched her head, tears streaking her face. “Julian, don’t blame Aria,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “It was my own fault, I was careless…” But her eyes darted toward me, glittering with triumph. Julian’s head snapped up, his gaze cutting into me like a knife. I opened my mouth to protest, to explain, but the words were trapped in my throat, choked by a knot of disbelief and despair. “Aria Paige!” His voice was glacial fury. “How could you be so heartless to your own sister? Just wait until I get back. You’ll pay for this.” With that, he swept Stella into his arms and rushed out the door. I stood frozen on the landing, a bitter storm raging inside me. Why? Why could they never see the truth? It wasn’t long before my father returned, flanked by two of the household staff. His face was a thundercloud, dark and menacing. “Take her outside,” he commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth. “She will kneel.” I rose silently and let them lead me out. The snow was coming down hard now, a swirling white blanket that settled on my shoulders and sent shivers wracking through my body. Buddy must have sensed my cold and loneliness. He pressed his small, warm body against my leg, a futile but touching attempt to share his warmth. I reached down and stroked his head, a wave of affection washing over me. But the warmth of that small gesture was quickly extinguished by the brutal reality of my situation. My parents were at the hospital with Stella, leaving me to kneel alone in the blizzard. I stared up at the endless cascade of snowflakes, my heart a hollow cavern of desolation. Stella was the daughter of our family’s chauffeur. Five years ago, he’d died in a car crash while protecting my father. Even though it was later discovered he’d been driving drunk, my father, in a grand gesture of “humanitarianism,” adopted his orphaned daughter. The first time I met her, she hid behind my father, peeking out at me with wide, curious eyes. “Aria,” my father had said with a smile, “from now on, this is your little sister, Stella. I want you to take good care of her.” I was ecstatic. “That’s wonderful! I finally have a sister!” I’d thrown my arms around her, never suspecting that this was the beginning of a nightmare. At first, Stella shadowed my every move, and I was happy to have a playmate. Until one day. I watched with my own eyes as she deliberately pushed her own music box off the edge of her desk. It shattered on the floor. I stared at her, stunned, but she had already spun around to face my older brothers, Alex and Julian. “Alex! Julian! Look what Aria did! She broke my music box!” They rushed in at the sound of her cry. Seeing the broken pieces on the floor and Stella’s tear-streaked face, they didn’t hesitate. “Aria! How could you do that to your sister?” “I didn’t! She pushed it herself!” I protested, but Julian cut me off. “You’re the older sister, Aria! You should be more mature!” I looked desperately to my mother, hoping she would see the truth. But she only had eyes for Stella, rushing to her side. “Oh, Stella, darling, don’t cry. Are you hurt? Let Mommy see…” “Mommy, that was my favorite music box,” Stella sobbed, burying her face in my mother’s embrace, her small body shaking with manufactured grief. “My daddy gave it to me for my birthday. When I looked at it, I felt like he was still with me. I took such good care of it, and I saw her… I saw Aria smash it!” My brothers gathered around her, cooing and comforting her. They looked like a perfect family, and I was on the outside, separated from them by an invisible wall. I stared at Stella as if seeing her for the first time. The girl who had always trailed behind me, calling me “big sister,” had finally shown her true colors. My mother’s gaze turned on me, hard and severe. “When did you become so cruel? I am so disappointed in you. Go to your room and think about what you’ve done.” Before I could utter another word, she shoved me into my room and locked the door. It was the first time she had ever treated me that way. At that moment, I felt like my world was collapsing. I didn’t realize it was only the beginning. In the years that followed, such “misunderstandings” became the norm, leaving me increasingly isolated in my own home. Slowly but surely, my parents and brothers began to dote on Stella, sometimes forgetting I even existed. I went from being the apple of their eye to a stone in their shoe. One day, Stella paraded in front of me in a custom-designed dress, her voice dripping with malice. “Mom and Dad had this made just for me. I’m going to take everything that’s yours, Aria.” She stared at me, waiting for a reaction. When my face remained impassive, her triumphant smirk soured into a scowl. “Do you still think you’re the princess of this house? Dream on. You’re not even worthy of being my servant!” She stormed off, leaving her poison hanging in the air. At first, I thought it was just a child’s fantasy, that my parents wouldn’t take her seriously. But I was wrong. They granted her every wish. One day, on the flimsy pretext that “Aria doesn’t want to go to school with me,” they transferred me to the worst high school in the city. They didn’t even consult me. By the time I found out, the paperwork was already done. I stormed into my father’s study to confront him. He just looked at me, his eyes cold and distant. In the reflection of his indifferent pupils, I was nothing but a hysterical clown. “Stop this madness,” he said flatly. “As if you deserve to be in the city’s best school.” As if you deserve it. Those words shattered me. He was the one who used to tell me I deserved the very best the world had to offer. I turned my tear-filled eyes on Stella. “This was you, wasn’t it? What did you do?” Before I could say more, my father’s hand swung through the air. The slap was so hard the world dissolved into a dull roar, the edges of my vision blurring. In the last moment before I blacked out, I saw Stella’s mocking smile and the look of utter disgust on my father’s face. My brothers? They wished I was dead. No matter how poorly Stella did in school, they would pull her into a hug and comfort her. “Our little princess already has a family that adores her. Even if you fail every test, we’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” But if my grades slipped even slightly, I was locked in the confinement room for a day and a night without food. When I was finally let out, my brothers would sneer, “You’re nothing like a Paige. You’re not as pretty as Stella, not as sweet as Stella. Why don’t you just die?” They had no idea what it was like in that tiny, three-square-meter room. It was torture. My sight was stolen by the absolute darkness, leaving me with only the faint sensations of touch and sound to confirm I still existed. The gnawing emptiness in my stomach eroded my sanity. I’d curl into a ball, hugging my belly as if that could stop the hunger. I tried to distract myself, but the darkness and starvation were twin blades, carving away at my body and my mind. In that suffocating space, there was nothing but despair. I would eventually break, clawing at the door, sobbing out apologies for crimes I didn’t commit, only to be met with even more brutal humiliation upon my release. My brothers would look at me as if I were something crawling out of a sewer. “Looks like we’ll have to do this more often,” they’d say with a cruel chuckle. “Seeing her like this is actually kind of fun.” On Stella’s birthday, they made me walk ten miles to buy her a cake. They had completely forgotten that it was my birthday, too. When I finally limped home, my feet raw and bleeding, clutching the cake box, I found them all gathered around Stella, singing “Happy Birthday.” A different, much more extravagant cake sat glowing in front of her. Of course. Stella didn’t need me to buy her a cake. It was just another way to torture me. “What took you so long?” Alex sneered as he and Julian approached. “We wouldn’t eat anything you touched anyway. It’s disgusting.” He knocked the cake from my hands, sending it splattering across the floor. He didn’t even try to hide his malice. “Too bad you didn’t get hit by a car on the way, huh? Hahahaha!” After they left, I knelt and dipped my finger into the ruined frosting on the floor, then brought it to my lips. So sweet. And yet, so bitter. Stella lived a life of effortless luxury. All she had to do was pout, and the world was handed to her on a silver platter. I accepted it. I knew that the unwanted have no right to ask for anything. But even that wasn’t enough for her. One morning at breakfast, Stella emerged from her room looking pale and unsteady. My mother rushed to her side. “Stella, darling, what’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” Stella collapsed into her arms. “Mommy, the light in my room is so bad. I can’t sleep at night.” Her eyes flickered to me. “Aria looks so well-rested. Her room must get wonderful sunlight.” She put on that innocent face again, the one that made it seem like the entire world should bend to her will. I looked at her, a cold laugh bubbling in my chest. That room? The room my parents had designed for me themselves, the one they swore would always be mine, even after I was married? She thought she could take that? But to my horror, my mother didn’t even glance at me. “Aria, pack your things. You’re giving your room to your sister.” My eyes widened in disbelief. “Mom, have you forgotten?” “Forgotten what?” she snapped, her patience gone. “Can’t you see your sister is unwell? Now hurry up and move out!” “You and Dad promised that room would always be mine! I’m not leaving!” I ran to the room and locked the door, as if that could keep my mother’s love from slipping away, too. I heard Stella’s choked sobs from the hallway. “Mommy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make Aria angry. Did I do something wrong?” “Oh, my sweet girl, of course you didn’t do anything wrong! Mommy will make her move. I won’t let my precious daughter suffer for a second!” But I was her daughter. Her real daughter. She used to call me her precious girl. Why had everything changed? A few minutes later, a key turned in the lock. Alex and Julian dragged me out and threw me into a dusty storage closet. “You had your chance to do this the easy way,” Alex grunted. “You should be grateful Stella even wants your room. From now on, you can sleep in here with the junk.” By the second year of Stella’s arrival, I had become utterly despised. I had four more years of this hell to endure. At first, I argued. But after suffering more and more humiliation from my own family, I learned to be silent. I hid my face behind a curtain of hair and sealed myself away in my own mind. I no longer had a place in this home. I was an intruder. The snow fell heavier. Kneeling in the freezing cold, I felt like a forgotten ship, foundering in an icy sea. Snowflakes landed on my eyebrows and shoulders, melting into a chilling dampness that seeped into my bones. I weakly raised a hand to push Buddy away. “Go on, Buddy. Go back inside. You’ll get frostbite.” But the little dog just whined, circling me anxiously and tugging at my shirt, trying to pull me back toward the house. I used the last of my strength to stroke his fur. “I’m sorry, Buddy. I’m just so tired. So very tired. This time… I don’t think I can hold on.” Meanwhile, Stella was lying in a warm hospital bed, surrounded by my family, showered with concern, the room filled with flowers and baskets of fruit. I don’t know how much time passed. My consciousness began to fade. In the haze, I saw a memory: me as a little girl, perched on my father’s shoulders under a soft sunset glow. My small hands were tangled in his hair, feeling completely safe and secure. “Ready for liftoff, my little bird?” he’d say, holding my legs steady. My mother would be watching from the sofa, her smile warm and gentle. My brothers would be building with blocks nearby, calling out, “Daddy, we want to give Aria a piggyback ride, too!” “Haha, you two are still too small,” my father would laugh, his voice full of love. “When you’re bigger, you can carry your sister all you want.” Every step he took was firm and steady, careful not to jostle his precious cargo. Why? How did it come to this? The memories of the past five years flashed through my mind, ending with my father’s disappointed glare and my brothers’ undisguised disgust. Finally, I closed my eyes. It’s better this way. When you’re dead, nothing can hurt anymore. A small smile touched my lips as I collapsed into the snow.

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1 Seven years after I was thrown out of my home, I ran into my sister in a nightclub. She was the VIP in the high-roller suite, dropping a fortune to celebrate her protégé’s birthday. I was one of the atmosphere models, paid to keep the party going. We didn’t exchange a single word the entire night. Not until I was offered five hundred dollars to down two bottles of brandy in a row. As I stood there, my face a ghostly white, she finally spoke, her lips a thin line, her voice dripping with ice. “You’d rather do this disgusting work than come home and apologize?” she asked, her voice low and sharp. “Nathan, you’ve really made something of yourself.” I just offered a weak, indifferent smile and held out my hand. “Five hundred dollars. Cash or Venmo?” Time had washed away the sharp edges of our old feud. I had no energy left to argue. But five hundred dollars was the exact amount I needed to pay the final installment on my urn. … The private room fell silent. Every eye was on me, a mixture of pity, amusement, and contempt. Someone snickered. My sister, Clarissa, her face flawlessly composed on the velvet sofa, instantly hardened. She was humiliated. Five hundred dollars. To people like her, it wasn’t even enough for breakfast. Yet here I was, her brother, debasing myself for it by chugging liquor. Her protégé, a smug young man named Leo, sneered at me. “Clarissa has been waiting for you to come home, and this is what you’re doing? Don’t you feel… dirty?” I glanced at him. “I’m earning my money honestly. It’s not like I’m sleeping with anyone. What’s dirty about that?” He laughed, a cold, dismissive sound. “Are you that desperate for cash? Fine. Drink two more bottles. I’ll add another five hundred.” The onlookers, sensing blood in the water, started to join in. “Yeah, drink up! If Leo’s adding five hundred, so will I!” “Count me in! I’ll throw in a grand!” I didn’t hesitate. I reached for another bottle. Just then, the door to the room swung open and the club manager bustled in, his face a mask of fawning concern. He pushed me aside and bowed slightly to my sister. “Ms. Sterling, is there a problem? Did this employee do something to offend you?” he groveled. “Please, don’t be angry. He’s new, if he…” “Are you going to drink it for him?” Clarissa’s cold voice cut him off. Her eyes narrowed. Sweat beaded on the manager’s forehead. He didn’t want to stand up for me, but he was terrified I’d drink myself to death on his watch. He forced a strained laugh. “That’s so much liquor, Ms. Sterling. No one could actually drink all that. It could be fatal.” “Then get out.” Clarissa’s brow furrowed with impatience. She pulled a thick stack of cash from her handbag—ten thousand dollars—and slammed it onto the manager’s chest. “Nathan isn’t leaving this room tonight. If you try to interfere again, you can kiss your club goodbye.” The manager fumbled with the money, his face breaking into a delirious grin. He stuffed the cash into his pocket, all concern for my well-being vanishing instantly. With a quick “thank you,” he was gone. All eyes were back on me. Clarissa’s lips curled into a sneer. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want the money anymore?” My face was a blank mask. I walked over, grabbed a bottle, and tipped it back. I’d already had two, and my stomach was twisting like a knife was buried in it. I drank this one slowly, which earned me a chorus of jeers from the crowd. Clarissa’s expression grew darker with every agonizing swallow. I finished the bottle and swayed, reaching for the next one. She shot up from the sofa and her hand clamped around my wrist like a vice. “Are you trying to kill yourself, Nathan?!” “I want the money.” I wrenched my arm free, grabbed the last bottle, and started to pour it down my throat. I had a plan. The lighting was dim. I’d pretend my hand was unsteady, let some of it spill. No one would notice. But I’d barely taken a sip when a hand cracked across my face. The sharp slap sent my head ringing. The bottle slipped from my grasp and shattered on the floor. Clarissa stood over me, her teeth clenched, her voice a furious hiss. “Have you no shame? Is money all that matters to you?!” “Stop it! You can drink yourself to death for all I care, but you won’t get a single cent from me!” The alcohol hit me then, a dizzying wave that made the world fracture into a kaleidoscope of colors. And a voice, a memory I had buried for seven long years, exploded in my ear. “You sold Mom’s heirloom for money? Did I not feed you? Did I not clothe you? Why don’t you sell yourself while you’re at it!” “Get out of my house! From this day forward, I don’t have a brother!” Seven years ago, Leo had set me up perfectly. He’d stolen our mother’s emerald bracelet from Clarissa’s room and sold it, then told her I was the one who did it. She was incandescent with rage. She made me kneel in the snow for three days and three nights, demanding to know where I’d sold it. But how could I know? I told her it was Leo, that he was trying to drive a wedge between us, that he was jealous of the bond we shared. She refused to believe me. Theft. Disrespect. Stubbornness. Three cardinal sins, each one a direct hit on her deepest values. Egged on by Leo’s crocodile tears, she confiscated all my money and threw me out onto the street. For the first six months, I did okay. I got a job in sales, enough to support myself with a little left over. But then everything changed. Clarissa made the one and only phone call she would make to me in seven years. Her first words were: “Aren’t you ready to come home and admit you were wrong? Just tell me where you sold the bracelet, and I’ll forgive you.” I was still running on pride and fury. “I told you it wasn’t me! Are you deaf? Ask your precious Leo! He’s the one who sold it!” She hung up. The next day, I was fired. She put the word out across the entire city: anyone who hired me was making an enemy of her. For the next six and a half years, I couldn’t find a single legitimate job. My only option was to work as an atmosphere model in places like this. It was like she was doing it all for show. She publicly announced that Leo was the sole heir to the Sterling corporation. She took him to interviews, galas, and auctions, showering him with lavish gifts, spending millions without a second thought. Their faces were constantly splashed across the financial news channels. And I watched from the shadows, drinking myself into stomach cancer just to survive. I spent the last few years seeing doctors, burning through every penny I had. I took out payday loans, but it was never enough. The experimental drugs were too expensive, and chemotherapy was a pipe dream. I tried calling her once to borrow money. I’d barely gotten the words out before she cut me off. “Money, money, money! Is that all you ever think about?” she’d spat. “Don’t even think about getting a dime from me until you come home and apologize. You can die in a gutter for all I care!” That was the phone call that extinguished the last flicker of hope. I was so tired. Truly. If she wanted me dead, then fine. I would die. At least then, the pain would stop. A month ago, I ordered myself an urn. I scraped together most of the cost, but I was still five hundred dollars short on the final payment. The owner called me almost every day, demanding the rest. I thought I would finally have it tonight. But Clarissa had given the manager ten thousand dollars without a thought, yet she wouldn’t spare five hundred for me. She swept out of the club with her entourage, leaving me to wretch my guts out in the bathroom. Only one thought echoed in my mind. Three bottles of brandy. All for nothing. My shift supervisor was smoking a cigarette nearby. “What the hell did you do to Ms. Sterling? She looked ready to kill someone when she left. What’s the deal between you two?” My stomach was on fire, my head spinning. I could barely open my eyes, clinging to the toilet to keep from falling in. “We don’t know each other,” I rasped. “Just enemies, I guess.” The next day, a phone call dragged me from a fitful sleep. It was the man from the urn shop. “Mr. Sterling, when are you going to pay the remaining balance? It’s five hundred dollars. Are you really going to drag this out for a month?” “If you can’t pay within three days, I’m selling it to someone else! And you’re not getting your deposit back!” My voice was a raw whisper. “Please, just give me a little more time. I get paid in two weeks, I can give it to you then…” “I can’t wait two weeks!” he snapped. “I’ve never seen anyone like you, dragging your feet over buying an urn. If you don’t have the money, why did you order such an expensive one in the first place?” I tried to say something else, but he had already hung up. My head was splitting. I called my manager, hoping to get an advance on my salary. His response was even more brutal. “Just calling to let you know, you don’t need to come in today. Or ever again.” “And don’t expect a final paycheck. Ms. Sterling gave the order. Our hands are tied.” A roar filled my ears. My voice was shrill with panic. “You can’t do that! That’s illegal! I’ll report you to the labor board!” The manager laughed. “Go ahead. Ms. Sterling said she’ll assume full responsibility for any consequences. Her legal team is the best in the country. If you want to walk into that buzzsaw, be my guest.” He hung up. A thick ball of rage and despair was lodged in my throat. My face was pale, and I could taste rust in my mouth. A sudden, violent cough, and a spray of crimson splattered onto my threadbare sheets. I stared at the bright red stain, and the tears I’d been holding back for so long finally broke free. After a long while, I mechanically wiped up the blood, then fumbled for my painkillers and swallowed them dry. When I was done, I had no strength left. I leaned against the bed and thought about the last seven years. I realized, with a sudden, chilling clarity, that every escape route, every chance I had, had been systematically destroyed by my own sister. Now, I couldn’t even work at the club. Eating was a problem, let alone paying for painkillers or an urn. All I wanted was a beautiful place to rest when I died. What was so wrong with that? I buried my face in my hands and sobbed until the afternoon, when a sliver of strength returned. Looking at my trembling hands, I made a decision. I was going home. I was going to ask Clarissa Sterling why. Why she had to do this to me. She and Leo were in the middle of dinner when I arrived. She glanced up at me, her voice flat. “So, you’re finally willing to come back?” “Why did you have the manager fire me?” I asked, my own voice just as devoid of emotion, ignoring her question completely. “Seven years. Haven’t you humiliated me enough?” She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “A little hardship is the only way you’ll learn that home is where you belong. Nathan, do you have any idea what people are saying about you out there? The only reason you haven’t heard the worst of it is because I’ve been suppressing the rumors. And you’re still not grateful?” Leo put down his fork, his tone oozing with false sympathy. “Clarissa, he just doesn’t understand how much you do for him. Look at him. He’s clearly blaming you.” “Shut up!” I lunged at him, my hand raised to strike. But in the next second, Clarissa’s arm shot out, blocking the blow. Her face was like stone. “Now you’re resorting to violence? I see you’ll never learn your lesson.” Her voice dropped, each word a frozen dagger. “Don’t test me, Nathan. I can make it so you can’t survive in this city.” My heart seized, as if caught in a brutal grip. Can’t survive? Isn’t that what she’d been doing for the past seven years? Destroying every job, extinguishing every flicker of hope, leaving me lower than a rat in the gutter, so broken I couldn’t even afford my own grave. I had enough. I was done with her threats. My control shattered. “I DID NOTHING WRONG!” I screamed, the words tearing from my throat. “Clarissa, if you won’t let me live, then fine! I’ll die! Is that what you want?” “I’ll go to hell! You can’t control me there, can you?” My words seemed to trigger something in her. Her face twisted with rage. “Even in death, you will forever be in my debt!” She shoved me. It wasn’t a hard push, but my body was weak. I stumbled backward, my lower back slamming against the sharp edge of the dining table. A white-hot pain exploded through me, and a cold sweat broke out all over my body. A flicker of regret crossed Clarissa’s face. She turned away. “Until Mom’s heirloom is returned, you don’t even have the right to die.” With that, she strode from the room. I was in too much pain to get up. Leo stood over me, his arms crossed. “Look at you, big brother. So pathetic.” “How about this? You get on your knees, you beg me, and maybe I’ll tell you who I sold that little trinket to. What do you say?” My eyes burned with a hatred so intense I wanted to rip him apart. But I knew I didn’t even have the strength to hit him. Seven years of humiliation. And I couldn’t even have a shred of dignity at the end. Clarissa’s words echoed in my head. “Until Mom’s heirloom is returned, you don’t even have the right to die!” “Even in death, you will forever be in my debt!” Fine. If I get the bracelet back, will you finally let me die in peace? I wiped the tears from my face and, with the last of my will, I knelt at Leo’s feet. I pressed my forehead to the cold floor. Once. Twice. Three times. “I’m begging you. Tell me where Mom’s bracelet is.” In the past, whenever he’d tricked me, I’d fought back with everything I had. But this time, I had nothing left. Leo suddenly looked bored. The fight had gone out of me, and it was no longer fun for him. He tossed a slip of paper onto the floor. “There’s the address. But good luck getting your hands on it, brother.” Numbly, I picked up the paper. I found a public bike and rode to the address, a pawn shop in a remote, run-down part of the city. When I explained why I was there, the owner said nothing, simply retrieved the emerald bracelet from a safe. Clearly, Leo had already arranged everything. I felt nothing. I just wanted to give the bracelet back to Clarissa, to sever our ties once and for all. But as I reached for it, the owner’s hand let go a fraction of a second too soon. With a sickening crack, the bracelet hit the floor and shattered into a dozen pieces. I froze, the color draining from my face. “Hey, kid! Why weren’t you more careful?” the owner exclaimed. “That’s not on me!” “Nathan!” Clarissa’s furious voice came from behind me. I whipped around and met Leo’s triumphant gaze. He had his arm linked through hers. “See, Clarissa? What did I tell you? He did it on purpose!” he said, his voice a pitch of faux-outrage. “He’d rather shatter Mom’s bracelet than give you the satisfaction. And you were actually thinking of forgiving him!” Clarissa didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes were glued to the glittering green fragments on the floor. She walked forward, her movements stiff and heavy. She knelt, and for a long moment, she just stared. Then, slowly, she began to pick up the pieces, her knuckles white as she clutched them in her palm. “It wasn’t me,” I whispered, a desperate panic rising in my chest. “He dropped it. And I never sold it in the first place…” At the sound of my voice, she shot to her feet and slapped me, hard. The force of the blow sent me sprawling to the ground. The pain in my stomach flared, my cheek burned, and involuntary tears streamed down my face. Her chest heaved, her face a terrifying mask of fury. “You still dare to make excuses? For seven years, I gave you a chance! I told myself, if you just come home, just tell me where Mom’s bracelet is, I’ll forgive you.” “But what did you do?” she screamed, losing her composure in a way I had never seen before. “Nathan, you don’t deserve to be a Sterling. And you certainly don’t deserve to be my brother!” Her words sent my heart plummeting into a black abyss. I felt a hot, metallic taste in my throat and swallowed hard, forcing the blood back down. My voice was a choked sob. “What if… what if I was really dying?” “Stop with the pity party,” she spat, her eyes filled with disgust. She was squeezing the broken emeralds so tightly that blood began to drip from her palm. “Even if you were to drop dead right now, I wouldn’t feel a thing.” “Okay.” I clenched my fists and shakily pushed myself to my feet. In that moment, something inside me settled. I was already dying. The feuds, the debts, the blame… none of it mattered anymore. If she wanted to believe I did it all, then fine. I did it. After I’m gone, I’ll be nothing but a box of ashes. None of this will have any meaning. I let out a bitter laugh and turned to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?” she yelled after me. “Will you not be happy until you’ve driven me to my grave?” I didn’t look back. My voice drifted over my shoulder. “You don’t have to die. I will.” … For the next two days, Clarissa didn’t contact me. She took the bracelet to a master jeweler, only to be told that no matter how it was repaired, it would never be the same. The flawed, patched-together result only fueled her rage. On the first day, she held a press conference and publicly disowned me. Her face was a cold, emotionless mask. “From this day forward, I will no longer be involved in Nathan Sterling’s affairs,” she announced to the stunned media. “Whatever job he takes, even if he sells his body, I will not interfere. I only ask that no one ever mention his name in my presence again. The sound of it makes me sick.” She was ruthless. My name was struck from the family registry that same day. On the second day, she took Leo to the family mausoleum. She had his surname legally changed to Sterling and formally acknowledged him as the heir. A concerned relative asked her, “Is this really necessary? Nathan is still your brother. What if something happens to him?” Clarissa’s lips were a thin, hard line. Her tone was mocking. “What could happen? I’ve spent seven years crushing him, and he’s still alive and kicking, isn’t he?” “He won’t die. He doesn’t have the guts. And he wouldn’t have the courage to face Mom.” Unfortunately for her, she was wrong again. Because I was right there beside her, in spirit form. I had been dead for two days. I drowned myself in the river near our old home. The pain, both physical and emotional, had become unbearable. Death was a release. But on the third day, something I never expected happened. Clarissa received a phone call from the owner of the urn shop. He was practically shouting into the phone. “Are you Nathan Sterling’s sister? He listed you as his emergency contact, so don’t try to deny it!” “Your brother ordered an urn from me, and he still hasn’t paid the final balance. Do you want it or not?”

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The day I found out I was pregnant, Alex crushed me in a hug, his eyes red-rimmed with joy. “Candy,” he swore, his voice thick with emotion, “I swear I’ll take care of you and the baby!” Everyone said Alex loved me more than life itself, that he was completely wrapped around my finger. That was until I saw the videos and photos his first love sent me. Intimate, tangled limbs and whispered words. I found Alex in the nursery, assembling the crib for our baby. I walked up to him, my voice steady. “Let’s not keep the baby.” I felt his body go rigid. I pressed on. “Alex, let’s get a divorce.” 1 The baby rattle in Alex’s hand slipped from his grasp, landing on the plush carpet with a soft, muffled thud. He looked up at me, disbelief washing over his face. “Candy.” He closed the distance between us, his hands finding mine. They were cold. “Are you kidding me?” He looked so earnest, as if I were the most precious thing in the world to him. So precious that I could feel the faint tremor in his hands. “This isn’t a funny joke,” he said, his voice low. “Candy, stop messing around.” He thought I was throwing a tantrum. A cold wave of despair washed over me. “I’m not kidding.” My voice was flat. I gently pulled my hands from his, pushing down the ache in my chest. “I’m dead serious.” “Alex.” I held out my phone, displaying the chat logs and all the photos the woman had sent me. I watched his expression freeze, the color draining from his face in an instant. He opened his mouth to explain, but I cut him off. “You told her you wanted her to have your baby. You told her that if it was a boy, you’d name him Vincent, and if it was a girl, Vivienne…” I was trying so hard to stay calm. I wanted this to end peacefully, with dignity. Just like we’d promised each other when we first got together, that if we ever had to part ways, it would be on good terms. But then I looked at his face and remembered him whispering to me in the heat of the moment, cupping my face in his hands, telling me how much he wanted a child. I remembered him holding me, his heart full of anticipation as he said, “Candy, if we have kids, let’s have a boy and a girl.” “We’ll call the boy Vincent.” “And the girl, Vivienne.” I didn’t understand the significance of the names back then. I’d asked him about it, pouting, but he just said he liked them and changed the subject. I didn’t push it. I thought they sounded nice, too. How ironic. I stared at him, my voice cold as I tore his lie apart. “It’s not because you thought Vincent and Vivienne were beautiful names. It’s because,” I could feel my whole body start to shake, my teeth chattering so hard my words came out trembling, “it’s because her name is Vivian.” “Your first love. The one you loved for years but never ended up with.” “It’s not like that!” Alex’s eyes blazed red as he tried to explain, but my control finally snapped. I interrupted him with a raw, guttural scream. “If you loved her that much, you should have just told me!” “I would have let you go!” “Did you think I’d cling to you? Did you!” In a blind rage, I grabbed a stuffed animal from the crib and hurled it at him. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around me, holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe, the world starting to go dark at the edges. I sank my teeth into his shoulder. I heard him grunt in pain, but he didn’t let go. His voice, when it came, was a choked sob. “It’s not like that!” “Candy!” “It’s not!” “I’m so sorry, Candy!” “I was wrong! I know I was wrong!” 2 Honestly, I truly wanted a divorce. I wanted us to part ways without this ugly, messy drama. But Alex called in the reinforcements. He summoned both our families. They crowded into our spacious living room, all our relatives and both sets of parents, sitting before me as if I were a criminal on trial. They were here to pass judgment. I watched Alex’s aunt look me up and down, her lip curled in a sneer. “Look at you, playing the housewife and still throwing a fit.” “Alex’s out there working himself to the bone for you, for that thing in your belly. And you, living a life of leisure at home, you have the nerve to have an attitude?” Alex’s mother chimed in, her tone softer but just as cutting. “Candy, dear, Alex’s not the cheating type. Why else would he have married you? He truly loves you. He wouldn’t have asked us all to come here and talk to you otherwise.” She took my mom’s hand, and my mom immediately turned on me. “Candy! You dare pull another stunt like this! Alex is one in a million, he doesn’t smoke or drink. What more could you possibly want!” My dad delivered the final verdict. “Don’t even think about it. As long as Alex doesn’t want a divorce, if you dare mention this again, I’ll break your legs!” The two families, united against a common enemy: me. I sat in the middle of the circle, listening as they took turns berating me. When they finally paused for breath, Alex spoke. “Candy, I have never, ever wanted to divorce you.” He took my hand. “I can explain. I can explain everything.” To prove his sincerity, he called Vivian right there, in front of everyone, and put her on speakerphone. He demanded she vouch for their “innocence.” “My wife is about to divorce me because of you!” he yelled into the phone. “You need to clear this up with her, right now!” Vivian sounded bored. “I was just messing with your wife. Can’t she take a joke? God, she’s psychotic.” Then her voice was directed at me. “So I dated your husband for a few years. Big deal. Everyone has a past. What, you expected him to be a blank slate? Are you so pure yourself?” Hearing her casual disdain, the emotions I’d been suppressing finally erupted. After the relentless assault from my family and Alex’s spinelessness, I snatched the phone from his hand. He seemed certain I wouldn’t dare do anything. I spoke directly to her. “If you were so innocent, you wouldn’t have added me on social media and sent me all that crap!” “Vivian, is it?” “If you think you’re so clean, then what do you call messing with a married man?” My voice trembled, but my words were firm. “Are you just naturally drawn to being the other woman, or is your own life so miserable you can’t stand to see anyone else happy?” Vivian shrieked. “What the hell did you just say to me!” “Alex! Are you just going to stand there and let your wife bully me like this? Are you just going to let her—” CRACK. The sound of a palm striking flesh echoed through the room. I clutched my stinging cheek, staring at Alex in disbelief. He stammered, panicked, “Candy, I didn’t mean to—” Through the phone, Vivian’s triumphant laughter rang out. “Got what you deserved, didn’t you.” “Let me tell you something, Candy. Alex is my little puppy. He comes when I call. And you know why I can say that? Because your husband gave me the confidence!” 3 “If you’ve got the guts,” she taunted, “tell your husband to come find me. Tell him to hit me.” “Hahaha, Candy, let me tell you, the only place your husband is good is in bed—” “Enough!” Alex violently ended the call and turned to me, his eyes wide with fear. But I just held my cheek and laughed, a hollow, broken sound. This wasn’t the first time I’d met Vivian. She had come to our home before she ever sent me that first message. She’d waltzed in like she owned the place, inspecting my home, my territory, before offering her verdict. “Hm. It’s just my style.” Vivian had been so sure of herself. “Candy, Alex didn’t let you have any say in the decor, did he?” I’d frozen, listening to her continue. “That’s because I love American-style decor. I told Alex that if we ever bought a house together, it had to be American style.” She walked over to the entryway and took down one of the matching keychains from the hook. I found my voice. “That’s incredibly rude.” Vivian just dangled the keychain in front of me. “This, too.” She pulled out a photo on her phone. In it, a much younger Alex, his face full of boyish happiness, was holding up the exact same keychain. “He made it for me.” Now, watching Alex’s red-rimmed eyes, his hand hovering in the air, too afraid to touch me, I found it all so laughable. So utterly pathetic. “Alex, why are you even pretending?” I asked him, my voice dripping with scorn. “If you love Vivian so much,” I met his gaze, “why did you have to drag me into this? Why did you have to ruin me?” I turned my head, looking at my parents, at all the silent, judgmental relatives. “So, you’re still not going to let me get a divorce?” “Are you all blind?” “Can’t you see it!” I screamed, the words tearing from my throat. “Can’t you see? His heart was never mine! It was always hers! It was never, ever mine!” The tears finally came, hot and fast, like pearls snapping off a string. I couldn’t wipe them away fast enough. I broke down completely, sobbing, until Alex grabbed my hands. “Candy,” he pleaded. “Hit me.” “Please, just hit me!” He started crying with me. “Just don’t divorce me!” “I don’t want a divorce!” He fell to his knees in front of me, his words choked by sobs. “I love you. I don’t want a divorce!” I thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse. But the sight of her son kneeling at my feet sent Alex’s mother into a rage. She surged forward and slapped me again, hard. “How dare you humiliate the son I’ve cherished my whole life!” she shrieked. Alex’s aunt grabbed a handful of my hair. “You’re nothing but a home-wrecking bitch! A curse! Women like you should just die!” I was being pulled and shoved from all sides, the searing pain from my scalp and the fire on my cheeks mixing with the soul-crushing agony Alex had inflicted on me. And through it all, my parents were still trying to mediate. “Candy, dear, what man doesn’t make mistakes?” “No man is faithful to just one woman his entire life. Candy, don’t be so stubborn.” My mom was crying now. “A divorced woman is damaged goods. If you really do this, who do you think will want you then?” My dad’s face was a mask of disapproval. “No one in our family has ever gotten a divorce. I won’t be the first to be shamed like this. If you’re so determined to leave him, you might as well be dead!” My parents’ words were all the justification Alex needed. He wrapped his arms around me, his tears soaking my shoulder. “Candy, I’ll stop talking to Vivian, okay? I’ll cut her off completely.” “Forgive me, Candy!” “I’m begging you!” 4 The voices swirled around me. Arguments, sobs, accusations, pleas. It was a suffocating whirlwind of noise, stealing the oxygen from my lungs. The weight of it all became unbearable until, finally, I snapped. “WHY?” I shrieked, a single, desperate word that contained all my pain. “JUST… WHY?” The chaos ended when I felt a warm gush of blood between my legs. I was rushed to the hospital. I spent a week there, hooked up to an IV, undergoing tests. I didn’t see Alex once. But I saw him constantly on Vivian’s social media feed. Alex, helping her pick out furniture and decor for her new house. Alex, in the kitchen with her, making her favorite steak dinner. Alex, taking a flower arrangement class with her. Their first creations held up to the camera, their smiles mirroring a photo from their teenage years. Vivian posted the two photos side-by-side with the caption: 【The ones you love when you’re young always find their way back to you.】 Alex had liked the post. I listened numbly as the doctor stood by my bed. “Ms. Davis,” she said gently. “Your pregnancy is very fragile. Your emotional state is critical. I really must advise you to get out, take a walk, try to relax.” I looked down at my phone. A new voice message from my mom. “Candy, Alex just bought your brother the new iPhone, the expensive one, over a thousand dollars. And you say he doesn’t love you? If he didn’t love you, why would he be so good to our family? You just focus on giving him a healthy baby boy, you hear me?” A new message from Alex’s mother. It was a photo of a fortune teller’s chart. “I had your fortune told. The master says the firstborn will be a son. Don’t you worry about a thing. You’re the only daughter-in-law our family will ever have.” And then, a new message from Alex. “Candy, I’ll be home tonight. I cut my business trip short.” My parents’ emotional neglect. My in-laws’ suffocating pressure. My husband’s pathetic lies. He thought that because he’d deleted Vivian’s contact in front of me, I wouldn’t see their sordid affair, wouldn’t know he was still deceiving me. I stared at his next message. “Candy, what do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll bring it to the hospital.” At the exact same moment, a message from Vivian popped up. “Alex already told me. He said he couldn’t bear to see me go through childbirth, so after you pop out that kid, he’s kicking you to the curb.” It was the final straw. My vision blurred. I could feel a grim, chilling smile spread across my face as I typed my reply to Alex. 【Alex.】 【I want those soup dumplings. From that little place you took me to on our first date.】 I’d never really been in a relationship before him, never been truly cherished. My parents’ love was like sand, most of it slipping through the cracks, leaving me with only a few grains. But that day, watching him sit across from me, carefully wiping down my bowl and chopsticks, placing a perfectly steamed dumpling in my dipping dish, and then looking up at me with that silly, wonderful grin… I think my heart just gave way. For the first time, I felt the urge to build a life with someone. Now, I waited. And waited. Midnight came and went. Alex never showed. Instead, I got another message from Vivian: “Just give us half an hour. Half an hour and we’ll be done.” “Then I’ll let him go.” The pain in my heart had faded to a dull, throbbing numbness. I sat on the ledge of the hospital rooftop, my legs dangling over the edge, and watched a familiar black Audi pull into the parking lot below. I dialed Alex’s number. I watched him get out of the car, rushing toward the hospital entrance as he answered my call. “Candy.” “Alex,” I said, my voice strangely calm. “Look up.” “Alex.” “Look up.” The wind whistled past my ears. He instinctively tilted his head back. His eyes found me, a fragile silhouette against the night sky, looking as if a single gust of wind could carry me away. He knew. Some primal part of him knew, and his heart seized in his chest. A raw, terrified shout ripped from his throat. “NO!” “CANDY, NO!” He scrambled, sprinting toward the hospital doors in a blind panic, but he was too late. An earth-shattering thud echoed from behind him, a sound that seemed to shatter his very soul, breaking him into a million pieces.

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1 To raise the astronomical sum for my son’s cancer treatment, I flew into a war zone. I went to the Middle East alone, risking my life to sign a hundred-million-dollar deal for my company. But the day I returned, I got a call from the hospital. My husband had stopped our son’s treatment. And the money, our son’s lifeline, he’d given all of it to his female secretary as a “bonus.” I couldn’t understand how Mikkal could just halt Leo’s chemotherapy. I stormed into the hospital room to find Mikkal sitting by the bed. Leo was lying there, his face as pale as a sheet of paper, so fragile he looked like he might shatter. “Mikkal, how could you do this!” Mikkal stood up, avoiding my eyes, his voice devoid of any warmth. “This disease of Leo’s… it’s a drain on money and energy. Each round of chemo costs hundreds of thousands, with no guarantee it will even work.” “The company is just starting to get back on its feet. We can’t let this drag it down.” A woman, Isla, was pressed against Mikkal’s side, one hand resting lightly on his arm. Her voice was as soft as water, but every word was a dagger. “Mikkal is just thinking long-term, Ava.” “There’s no point wasting time and money on a child with no hope.” I stared at Mikkal in disbelief, waiting for him to deny it, to say anything. But he was silent. He didn’t refute a single word. After a few seconds, he finally looked up, his tone so firm it sent a chill down my spine. “Isla understands the bigger picture better than you do. She’s a better partner for me.” “If you really can’t let go of Leo, then you can stay here and take care of him. Don’t worry about the company. I’ll send you money for living expenses every month.” “Don’t worry about it?” I repeated his words, the absurdity of it all hitting me like a physical blow. Why did he think I’d risked my life in a war-torn country? So he could take the credit I earned with my blood and sweat and use it to impress his new flame? So he could take my son’s life-saving money and hand it out as a bonus to another woman? I forced myself to stay calm, taking a step toward him. “When you say there’s no hope for Leo, is it because you truly believe he can’t be saved, or because you’ve already planned to cast us aside?” His pupils contracted, and he looked away again. “That’s not what I meant. The company is just in a difficult spot right now.” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “The advance on that hundred-million-dollar deal is already in the bank! You’re telling me you can’t afford a few hundred thousand for his chemo?” Leo must have woken up. He opened his weak eyes and looked at us, scared. My heart instantly softened, and the pain became almost unbearable. I went to his bedside and gently took his small, cold hand. “Daddy, I want to get better…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I want to live… I want to be with you and Mommy…” Mikkal’s face tightened, but his heart remained hard as stone. “The doctors said there’s no hope!” “Leo, sweetie, I know you’re in pain,” Isla cooed from the side, her sympathy utterly fake. “But Mikkal is just doing what’s best for you, for the family.” “Shut up!” I shoved her away. “This has nothing to do with you!” Isla stumbled back, shrinking behind Mikkal as her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Ava, I was just trying to help share your burden…” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Share my burden? Or share my husband and my son’s life-saving money?” Seeing Isla so “wronged,” Mikkal’s face darkened completely. “Ava, you’re becoming more and more unreasonable!” The tears finally fell. “We’ve been married for twelve years. I was with you when you had nothing. And this is how you treat me? Leo is your own son!” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were filled with nothing but ice. “I’ve said what I needed to say. If you want to take care of Leo, stay. If not, leave. I won’t force you. But stay out of the company’s business.” 2 News of the company’s celebration gala spread through the industry while I was in the hospital, giving Leo a sponge bath. They said Isla had become the new hero of Vance Corp, the woman of the hour. A few days later, a former colleague sent me a photo. Isla, sitting in my executive chair, her picture frame on my desk. All of my personal belongings had been tossed into a storage closet in the corner. The message read: “Ava, Isla has completely taken over your responsibilities. She said you should just focus on taking care of your son.” I stared at the photo of the office, so familiar yet now so jarringly foreign. All those late nights I’d spent working there, erased as if they’d never happened. But I didn’t have the energy to fight. Leo’s condition was unstable. He was in and out of critical care. One night, the light in the ICU stayed on all night as the doctor issued another critical condition notice. I sat outside the door, sleepless. Just as dawn broke, Isla arrived. She was wearing a champagne-colored evening gown, the hem trailing on the floor, her makeup flawless. It was the same one Mikkal had custom-made for me years ago, after we landed our first ten-million-dollar contract. He’d said he wanted me to always be his leading lady. Now, it was on Isla’s body, a dazzling, painful taunt. “Ava, Mikkal sent me to give you an update.” She sauntered over, her tone light and dismissive. “The company has decided to put me in charge of the energy project moving forward. I’ve already taken over all of your client contacts.” Just then, the ICU doors opened. Leo had just been pulled back from the brink of death. He was pale and so weak he could barely open his eyes. The moment he saw Isla, he flinched as if terrified, his small hand struggling to clutch the hem of my shirt. Isla, however, leaned down, reaching out as if to stroke his head. “Don’t be scared, little one. I don’t mean any harm.” I slapped her hand away. “Get out! You’re not welcome here!” Isla retracted her hand, the smile fading from her face. “Ava, don’t be so emotional. I’m just here to pass on Mikkal’s message.” “Besides, Leo’s illness… even if you keep treating it, there’s no guarantee of a good outcome. It might be better to just let go.” “Shut your mouth!” Isla just shrugged and said no more. As she turned to leave, her dress swept across the floor, leaving behind a cloying, suffocating cloud of perfume. I thought that was the worst they could do. I was wrong. Mikkal and Isla had a far more vicious plan in store. A few days later, I was served with a court summons. 3 Mikkal had conspired with Isla to forge evidence, accusing me of accepting bribes during my negotiations abroad. They weren’t just seeking legal action; they were trying to strip me of my visitation rights for Leo. The evidence was faked transaction records and so-called witness testimonies, all of it fabricated. I took the summons and went straight to the condo Mikkal had bought for Isla. When I pushed open the door, Isla was lounging on the sofa watching TV. Mikkal sat beside her, a glass of red wine in his hand. The decor was a mirror image of our old home. Even the paintings on the wall were the same. But that familiar comfort now felt like a nauseating betrayal. “Mikkal, why are you doing this to me?” He set down his wine, looking up at me as if I were a complete stranger. “I’m relaxed with Isla. She can give me the life I want.” He paused, his gaze softening as it fell on Isla’s stomach. “Including… a healthy child.” Isla nestled into his embrace, looking at me with triumph in her eyes. My heart sank into a frozen abyss. I couldn’t breathe. I stared at him, my voice hoarse. “You know that evidence is forged.” “So what if it is?” Mikkal said dismissively. “The court only looks at evidence. Who’s going to believe someone accused of bribery?” I was shaking with rage, but I couldn’t find the words to respond. This wasn’t the man who had once treated me with such tenderness. The man before me now saw only profit and his new love. Back at the hospital, Leo’s temperature spiked. He started convulsing. The doctors rushed in with a crash cart. “Mrs. Vance, your son’s condition has suddenly worsened. He needs a bone marrow transplant immediately!” the doctor told me urgently. “The surgery will cost a million dollars. You need to get the funds as soon as possible.” A million dollars. Right now, it felt like an insurmountable mountain. Left with no choice, my hands trembling, I dialed Mikkal’s number again. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. The background was noisy; I could faintly hear the thumping music of a bar and Isla’s laughter. “Mikkal, Leo is in critical condition! He needs a bone marrow transplant, it’s a million dollars!” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “Please, save him. He’s your son, too!” I sobbed, praying for a shred of compassion. But his voice came back, cold and distant. “I’m out with Isla. She just closed a huge deal for the company, and I’m not about to ruin her night. I’m not paying for Leo’s surgery. Give it up.”

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I custom-ordered the latest bionic boyfriend, Silas. Dr. Aris, his creator, said his biggest selling point was “absolute obedience to his designated owner.” But just two days after he arrived, Silas started experiencing intermittent memory loss, rebooting his system every two hours. I called Dr. Aris for a consultation. His response was firm. “That’s absolutely impossible. Once an android imprints on an owner, it’s against their core programming to defy a command. Of course, we offer a free replacement. The warranty covers it.” I was skeptical but decided to give Silas one more chance. Then, one night, I discovered his “flirtation mode” had an incredible five-hour runtime. Curious, I tried to reactivate it, only to get a system notification: “System Overload. Owner Command Required.” Suddenly, everything clicked. He had imprinted on another owner. An android that imprints on the wrong person is just a pile of scrap metal. A free replacement would be simple enough. … I stared at Silas’s control panel. “System Overload. Owner Command Required.” Wasn’t I his rightful owner? His chiseled abs were hot to the touch, the texture smoother and more flawless than human skin. I tried tapping the command five or six more times, but the same robotic voice droned on, grating on my nerves. I scrolled through the posts from other buyers on the app. They were all living a dream. [Five or six rounds a night is nothing. If I wasn’t the one getting tired, my android boyfriend could go for another three hundred.] [I almost got hit by a truck the other day, and my android saved my life! He’s my guardian angel!] My own post about my troubles, however, caused a commotion: [OMG! Don’t tell me your android gave its ‘owner key’ to another woman?] [It would have to develop some serious self-awareness to re-imprint. Wait, did you abuse it or something?] Abuse him? I’d spent a fortune on him. From the moment Silas arrived, I followed the instruction manual to the letter, completing the imprinting ceremony. Then I began the process of programming him to be the perfect boyfriend. But no matter what mode I set, it never lasted more than two hours. After that, he wouldn’t recognize me at all. When I had a high fever and ordered him to take me to the hospital, he froze. When we were almost in a car crash, the airbags deployed, and he was still frozen solid. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced. He really had found another owner. Just then, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Mia, the daughter of our old family estate’s housekeeper. “Clara,” she began, her voice dripping with false concern, “it was me. I felt so bad for Silas, I helped him… relieve the pressure for five hours. Blame me, don’t take it out on him.” I froze for a second before the reality of it hit me. Silas must have sensed my anger and sent out a distress signal to his real owner. “I don’t need you meddling in my affairs.” I was about to shut the door in her face when I glanced back at Silas. His amber eyes were filled with a raw disapproval I’d never seen before. “I hate it when you act like a spoiled princess, looking down on everyone,” he snapped. “Mia doesn’t owe you anything. You can treat me like a dog, but she’s a human being.” Hearing the resentment that had clearly been building for some time, I let out a surprised laugh. “If you despise me so much, why did you beg me to take you home in the first place?” When I was at the research institute, I’d been overwhelmed by the sheer number of models. It was Silas who had looked up at me with those puppy-dog eyes and knelt at my feet. “Please, take me home with you, mistress. I can do anything.” I’d given him a life of luxury, and this is how he repaid me—by wagging his tail for another woman. Silas swallowed nervously, but the defiance in his eyes remained. He shot me a cold glare before escorting Mia out of my apartment. The picture was painfully clear. I called Dr. Aris immediately. “Go ahead and process a replacement for me. You can schedule Silas for decommissioning.” “Three days. I guarantee you’ll be satisfied with the new model.” After I hung up, Silas walked back in. If his proprietary charging station wasn’t bolted to my wall, I’m sure he would have left with Mia for good. He rummaged around for a while before storming up to me, his face a mask of annoyance. “Where’s the oil? The high-grade joint lubricant you bought for me. It’s gone.” I had been worried that commercial lubricants would damage his synthetic skin, so I’d spent a small fortune on a premium oil at an auction. I had loved watching it gleam on his skin as he’d smiled with pleasure. But now… I pointed to the roaring fire in the fireplace. “I burned it.” He was about to be recycled anyway. He wouldn’t need such fine things. And I certainly didn’t want my new android using someone else’s leftovers. Silas stared, shocked into silence for a few seconds before storming upstairs to his charging station. In the middle of the night, I was shaken awake. Silas was standing over me in an apron, holding a plate of dumplings. For a fleeting moment, seeing the red glint in the corner of his eyes, my heart softened. I hesitantly took one and bit into it, only to spit it out immediately. “You don’t know I hate shrimp?” Silas’s breath hitched. I pulled up his control panel and understood instantly. His system was now filled with Mia’s profile. Allergies: Soy, Mango. Favorite Foods: Gluten, Shrimp Dumplings, Sweet and Sour Pork… Of course. I wasn’t his owner. Why would he remember what I liked? A heavy feeling settled in my chest. In a fit of anger, I ripped out his battery pack and locked him in the utility closet. It was, after all, where he was destined to end up. The next morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of a woman’s high-pitched, ecstatic cries. I followed the noise to find the door to the utility closet ajar. Inside, Silas was arched over Mia, his powerful back muscles flexing as he held her ankles, his lips moving up her leg, murmuring, “Mistress Mia.” His throat bobbed, and the tell-tale glyph that only appeared during peak arousal shimmered on his shoulder. It was something I had never been able to coax out of him, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I catered to him. But for his real owner, it appeared so easily. I didn’t hesitate. I slammed my fist on the closet door. Bang, bang, bang. A moment later, Mia appeared, her clothes in disarray, and had the audacity to question me. “Clara, how could you lock him in a closet? If you don’t want him, I’ll take him right now. Then he won’t have to suffer here anymore…” My parents had only let her live at the estate out of pity. I never realized that years of charity had fed such a greedy ambition. Seeing my own home defiled by these two, I was furious. “I bought him with my money. I’d rather sell him for scrap than give him to you.” At this, Silas’s expression twisted into something ugly. “Scrap?!” he roared. “You’d say something that vile just to insult Mia? I was serving her as her android. It wasn’t her fault!” I was speechless. Just as I was about to throw Mia out, she suddenly swayed and fell backward dramatically. The next second, a powerful force kicked me aside. Before I knew what was happening, I had landed in a massive bouquet of flowers Silas had prepared for Mia. I’m allergic to pollen. As Silas walked toward me, his eyes held a look of disgust I’d never seen before. “How could you hurt Mia? Have you forgotten the trauma you caused her growing up? You’ll make her depression flare up again!” With that, his body temperature automatically rose, and he knelt like a devout servant, gently warming Mia’s ankle with his hands. My breathing became more and more difficult. I nearly crushed the remote control in my hand. “Get… my inhaler.” Silas shot me a disdainful look and sneered. “Stop pretending. You always loved playing the victim to get sympathy. Mia reset my programming. I’ll never fall for your tricks again.” When he first came to live with me, he had done everything to make me happy. Even when his sensors detected I was faking an illness for attention, he would stay by my bedside, attentive and caring. How quickly he’d forgotten who his real owner was. I gave up on them and crawled upstairs to find my inhaler myself. When I came back down, Silas was showing off his eight-pack to Mia, and they were locked in a passionate kiss that went on and on. Now that I thought about it, no matter how I adjusted his settings before, our kisses never lasted more than three seconds. He had even lied and told me it was a bug from the development phase. Seeing me shakily descend the stairs, Mia wiped her mouth and covered it with a hand in mock surprise. “Oh, Clara, I had no idea you were allergic to pollen. It’s just that Silas insisted on buying me flowers. I only accepted to be polite.” She had grown up at the estate; she knew all my weaknesses. Every time I visited, she’d find a way to give me flowers, even sneaking floral pastries into my food. Seeing her smug expression, I was done being patient. I posted about the incident in the family group chat. Mia burst into tears instantly, and Silas’s protective instincts kicked in. “Clara, if you’re angry, take it out on me! Why do you have to drag Mia into this? Leave her alone! Even if you don’t like her, you can’t do this. Her mother will get in trouble. You’re being so childish!” He whispered comforting words to Mia, but the look he gave me was terrifyingly dark. It was clear he no longer knew his place. He was acting as if he were the man of the house. I sat calmly on the sofa and listened as the notification came through: Mia’s mother had been fired. “Clara, please don’t kick us out!” Mia wailed. “Even though you’re our employer, you can’t slander us like this…” Silas’s face grew uglier by the second. He looked like he was about to leave, but the thought of the custom charging station in my apartment must have given him pause. He shot me a cold look. “I won’t be back for the next couple of days. I’m going to stay with Mia and comfort her. I’ll come back when you’re ready to apologize to her personally.” He hesitated at the door, but I didn’t move. Because I no longer cared. Seeing my utter indifference, he stormed out with Mia in tow. The moment they were gone, I violently dismantled his charging station. Then I had an installer set up a new, more advanced model. Dr. Aris had told me the new android had an ultra-long standby time and would need more power than Silas, the three-second man. But as I waited for the delivery, a story exploded across the city’s social media. Trending everywhere were intimate videos of me trying to seduce Silas. The angle was crystal clear; it had been recorded by his automatic monitoring function. I scrolled through the comments, shaking with rage. “No way. Is the heiress of the Jiang family that desperate? Wearing that for an android?” “I can’t even look. I had no idea she was so shameless in private!”

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For my younger boyfriend’s birthday, I booked out the most luxurious hotel in the city to celebrate. But when they wheeled out the cake, the spot where “Happy Birthday” should have been was instead iced with the words, “Marry Me.” I thought it was his surprise proposal to me. I never imagined that the moment he saw it, he would violently flip the cake over. “Celeste, didn’t I promise I’d marry you when you turn forty? What is this? You bring out a cake like this in front of all my friends—are you trying to force my hand?” Seeing the fury twisting his features, a sudden sense of calm washed over me. I was finally free. If he was so against marrying me, then I supposed I could just find someone else. 1 The cake sailed through the air and splattered directly across my face. A wave of laughter erupted from the surrounding tables. Jeff’s little protégée, Amanda, was draped over his arm, laughing so hard she could barely stand. “Oh, ma’am, you look just like a sad, wet puppy.” I pulled a napkin from the dispenser and began wiping the cream from my cheeks. “Amanda, isn’t it? If I remember correctly, I’m only twelve years older than you. Calling me ‘ma’am’ seems a little rude, don’t you think?” Amanda was still giggling. “Sorry, Celeste. I guess I just assumed you were at least twenty years older.” “You should really get your eyes checked,” I said, my voice smooth as glass. “Because from where I’m standing, I actually look younger than you. All that time in the lab must be taking its toll. Stress does age a person.” Amanda’s smile tightened, though she tried to keep it in place. “Well, I guess that’s the difference. My face is all-natural. Not like yours, a masterpiece of science and scalpels.” I laughed, a light, airy sound. “I’m just grateful that at my age, I have the financial means to maintain my appearance. Not everyone will have that luxury when they get to be my age. You, for example.” That struck a nerve. “What’s that supposed to mean? Jeff, did you hear what she said to me?” The sliver of guilt Jeff might have felt for smashing a cake in my face vanished, replaced by irritation. He slammed his hand on the table. “Celeste, we’re talking about you trying to pressure me into marriage! Why are you attacking Amanda? She made a simple mistake with how she addressed you. Do you have to be so vicious?” “Don’t try to change the subject by dragging her into this,” he continued, his voice rising. “We need to deal with this stunt you pulled tonight!” “I didn’t pressure you! I didn’t change the words on the cake!” “You ordered the cake. You arranged for the hotel staff to bring it out. Who else could it have been?” “Then check the security cameras!” I shot back. “This hotel has cameras covering every public space. I guarantee we can find who did it.” At the mention of cameras, Amanda’s bravado faltered. “Jeff,” she mumbled, “it was me. I changed the message on the cake.” Jeff stared at her, shocked. “What? Amanda, why would you do that?” “I just… you and Celeste have been together for seven years. I thought I could give you a little push on your birthday,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears. “I had no idea you didn’t want to marry her at all. I’m so sorry, Jeff. I messed up.” Her performance was flawless. Jeff’s anger melted away, replaced by pure, unadulterated sympathy. “It’s not your fault,” he said softly, all his attention on his wronged little protégée. “You don’t know the whole situation.” He was so busy comforting her, he didn’t even glance at his girlfriend, standing there humiliated and covered in frosting. In that moment, I felt like a complete and utter fool. I turned without another word and walked out. 2 By the time I got home, there wasn’t a single call or text from Jeff. He probably hadn’t even noticed I was gone. Or if he had, he couldn’t be bothered. Jeff and I had been together for seven years. I was twenty-eight when I met him. He was eighteen, kneeling on the cold floor of a hospital, begging the doctors to save his dying father. The astronomical medical bills had crushed the boy who had just become a man. I was walking by, and he grabbed the hem of my coat. “Ma’am, please, help me,” he’d begged, his eyes full of desperation. “If you can lend me the money for my father’s surgery, I’ll do anything for you. I’ll be your slave.” Maybe it was his beautiful, desperate face. On a whim, I paid the thirty thousand dollars for his father’s medical fees. And just like that, he became my younger boyfriend. When we first started dating, he would hold me tight and whisper, “Celeste, I love you so much. I wish I could marry you right now, but I’m not even legal yet.” When he turned twenty-two, he said, “I haven’t graduated yet, and I don’t have a job lined up. Wait until I’m twenty-five and my career is stable. I swear I’ll marry you then.” Now he was twenty-five, with a stable career. And he said, “This is a critical time for my career. Just give me five more years. When you turn forty, I promise, I will marry you.” How many five years does a person get in a lifetime? A storm broke outside, the rain coming down so hard it blurred the world into a grey watercolor. My phone rang. It was Jeff. “Hey, where are you? It’s pouring out here. Can you come pick me up?” In our seven years together, it often felt like our roles were reversed. I shouldered all the responsibilities typically expected of a man, while he lived comfortably as my pampered partner. I braved the storm and drove to the hotel. When Jeff saw my car, he waved for me to get out. “I’ll drive,” he said. “I have to drop Amanda off first, and you don’t know the way to her place.” He slid into the driver’s seat. Before I could even get in, Amanda had slipped into the passenger seat beside him. “Celeste,” Jeff said, offering a weak smile, “how about I take Amanda home and then come back for you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He hit the gas, and the car sped away, leaving me standing alone in the hotel driveway, stunned into silence. An hour passed. Then another. No sign of Jeff. I finally broke down and called him. “How much longer until you come back for me?” “Amanda’s stomach is hurting really bad, so I took her to the hospital,” he said, his voice rushed. “She’s on an IV drip right now, and I can’t leave her. Just grab a cab and go home.” “How am I supposed to find a cab in this downpour?” “Then just buy an umbrella from a convenience store and walk. It’s not that far. Look, I have to go, Amanda’s in pain again.” He hung up. I stood there, watching the relentless rain, and felt a wave of bitter laughter bubble up inside me. It was at least an hour’s walk home, even on a clear day. By the time I stumbled through my front door, I was soaked to the bone. I rushed into a hot shower, but it was too late. A fever was already setting in. I called Jeff. “I’m running a fever. Can you pick up some fever reducers on your way back?” He just grunted an “uh-huh” and hung up. I collapsed into bed, drifting in and out of a hazy sleep. When I finally forced my eyes open, the clock read 3:00 AM. Jeff still wasn’t home. I tried his phone. It went straight to voicemail. 3 A dry, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips. I dragged myself out of bed and poured a glass of hot water. Back in the bedroom, I cranked up the heat, burrowed under two heavy comforters, and finally broke into a sweat. The shivering subsided. At nine in the morning, Jeff finally walked in. “God, I’m exhausted,” he mumbled, “I’m gonna crash for a bit.” He fell onto the bed and was asleep in seconds, not even sparing me a glance. “Where’s the medicine I asked you to bring?” Jeff stirred, blinking. “Oh, damn. Babe, I’m sorry. I was so exhausted from taking care of Amanda all night, I completely forgot. But you look fine today. I guess you’re feeling better, right?” He rolled over, and soon, the sound of his snoring filled the room. I looked at my calendar. There was a lucky day early next month. Perfect for a wedding. As dusk settled, Jeff finally woke up. “Celeste, you didn’t make dinner? I’m starving.” I was on the couch, watching TV, and didn’t respond. He finally seemed to realize I was angry and trotted over, nuzzling against me like a puppy. “Babe, come on. Yesterday was an emergency. Don’t be mad at me, okay?” He rubbed his head against my shoulder. “I’m so hungry. I could really go for some of your homemade pasta.” He only ever called me ‘babe’ when he’d done something wrong and wanted forgiveness. I pushed his head away, my eyes still fixed on the screen. “If you’re hungry, order takeout. I’m not obligated to cook for you.” Jeff sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll just go out and eat.” His patience for even pretending to soothe me had dwindled to about three minutes. After that, we lived like strangers, two roommates who just happened to share a bed. Two weeks later, Jeff came home with a crowd of his friends. “Celeste! Surprise! Today is our seven-year anniversary! I invited everyone over to celebrate with us!” I glanced at the people behind him. They were all his friends. I barely knew any of them. And of course, Amanda was there. “Celeste,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy, “I heard you’ve been giving Jeff the silent treatment ever since his birthday. I wanted to come today and clear the air. Jeff was just taking care of me that night because I had a sudden stomach flu. Nothing happened between us. He just sat by my bed all night.” I let out a soft chuckle. “You don’t have to protest so much. It only makes you sound more guilty.” Jeff’s face immediately darkened. “Celeste, stop picking on Amanda. You know you’re the only woman for me.” They had brought supplies for a barbecue and soon the apartment was filled with smoke and the smell of grilled meat. After they had eaten and drunk their fill, someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. Jeff lost the first round. Amanda’s eyes lit up. “Truth or Dare?” “Truth,” he said. “Okay, I’m gonna ask,” she chirped, her eyes darting mischievously towards me. “Jeff, you and Celeste have a ten-year age gap. Have you ever, even once, thought she was… old?” She leaned in, adding playfully, “You have to tell the truth! I’ll be mad if you don’t!” Jeff hesitated for a beat too long before finally sighing. “Yes.” The room exploded with laughter. Amanda howled, slapping his arm. “Wow, Jeff, you’re so honest! No wonder you called her an old crow! I thought you were just saying it because you were angry, but you really think she’s old!” My face flushed hot, as if I’d been slapped. My heart hammered against my ribs. “You called me an old crow?” 4 Amanda immediately covered her mouth with her hands. “Oops. Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” Jeff took a deep breath. “Celeste, that was just something I said in the heat of an argument.” Amanda jumped in to defend him. “Exactly! You can’t take things people say when they’re angry seriously.” She grinned. “Hey, maybe we should all call her an old crow a few times. You know, to desensitize her.” And then, led by her, they all started chanting, like a cruel joke. “Old crow! Old crow! Old crow!” Amanda’s voice was the loudest. Jeff just sat there, a weak smile on his face, making no move to stop them. In that instant, I felt like I had thrown seven years of my life away on a stray dog. I stood up, walked back to the bedroom in silence, and packed my bags. When I emerged, dragging my suitcase behind me, Jeff was still laughing with his friends. Amanda noticed me first. “Where are you going, Celeste? You’re not actually mad about a little joke, are you?” I looked at Jeff. He glanced over his shoulder at me, then turned back to his friends. “Just ignore her,” he said dismissively. “She’s too old to take a joke.” That was it. That was the final, definitive end to seven years of my life. The moment I was in the car, I dialed the number of my childhood friend, Kevin. “I’ve made my decision,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll accept your family’s marriage proposal. Set the date for the first of next month. If you have no objections, start planning the wedding.” There was a three-second pause on the other end. “Are you sure you want to marry me?” “If you don’t want to, I won’t force you.” “I do! I absolutely do!” he said, his voice suddenly full of energy. “Then it’s settled. No turning back!”

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I fell in love with the male lead on the very first day I woke up inside this book. It’s a classic high school romance novel. The male and female leads are destined for a sugary-sweet love story, and I? I’m just a background extra. I didn’t try to change the plot. I just studied. Like my life depended on it. I studied until my eyes bled just to get into the same AP classes as him. I studied until I clawed my way up the rankings to sit next to him. I studied until we both got into the same Ivy League university… In the end, the female lead showed up at my dorm, absolutely wasted, screaming at me for stealing her man. I scratched my head, genuinely confused. “What did I even do?” She was silent for a long time before she started sobbing and shrieking. “You studied like a psychopath!!” Me: “…” 1. On my first day in this world, I fell for Ethan Hayes. It wasn’t love at first sight; it was a long-term obsession. back when I was reading the book in the real world, I’d curl up under my blankets and scream about how perfect he was. The cold, aloof academic god. He hit every single one of my checkboxes. Seeing him in person? I didn’t stand a chance. But the situation was different now. I wasn’t a reader anymore. I was a stranger in his world. I could only watch from a distance as he and the female lead, Chloe, acted out their perfect romance. The sense of loss sat heavy in my chest, suffocating me. Back then, they weren’t together yet. Plenty of brave girls confessed to Ethan. Without exception, he rejected them all with an icy politeness. I realized my crush had to be buried deep. I was just a nobody. Broken family, average looks, zero confidence. I didn’t even get the standard “Transmigrator System” or cheat codes. I had nothing. So, I turned my frustration into motivation. I studied. Hard. Partly because it’s what you’re supposed to do in high school. Mostly because of my own selfish desire. I wanted to be closer to Ethan. I didn’t ask for much. Just being able to see him was enough. I became the girl who arrived at school first and left last, the one reading flashcards in the cafeteria line. During the sophomore year placement exams, I jumped two hundred spots in the ranking and finally made it into the Honors Class—the same class as Ethan and Chloe. The first day I walked in, Chloe ran over immediately. “Maya? Who are you looking for?” In the original book, I was a slacker. I was Chloe’s “plastic” friend—gossiping with her by day, jealous of her shine by night. I was too busy being a hater to study. That’s why she assumed I was lost. “I tested into this class,” I explained. “Huh?” She froze, then ran to the podium to check the roster. She came back, looking me up and down. “Wow. That’s a huge improvement.” I smiled shyly and took my seat. Ethan sat on the other side of the room. I pretended to look out the window, stealing a glance at him from the corner of my eye. Chloe seemed to be telling him about me. He didn’t look interested, but he did glance my way. I held my breath, forcibly shifting my gaze to my notebook. Close one. Almost made eye contact. 2. The atmosphere in the Honors Class was different. Here, I wasn’t a freak. Everyone studied during breaks; everyone formed groups to discuss calculus problems. I stabilized my grades, ranking near the top. I followed Ethan and Chloe to the same prestigious high school. Based on entrance exam scores, I barely scraped into the same homeroom as Ethan. He was number one. I was third from the bottom. Chloe, however, fell into a regular class. The author separated them to create drama. Chloe would meet the Second Male Lead, Jax, in her new class, sparking jealousy and angst. None of that concerned me. I just studied. For two years, Ethan and I had zero interaction, aside from being classmates. We were the kind of people who passed each other in the hall without even nodding. He genuinely didn’t care. I was faking it. My heart would hammer against my ribs every time I saw him, but I kept my face paralyzed. Good job, Maya, I told myself. Since I was buried in books, my fake friendship with Chloe faded. By the time middle school ended, she’d basically forgotten me. But in high school, she suddenly became friendly again. She said I was studying myself into an early grave and needed to relax. Once, she invited me to hang out with her and Ethan. Did I want to go? No. I’d rather do practice sets. But she insisted. I figured I could just watch them and review my wrong answers in my head. When we got to the location, my brain short-circuited. It was the theme park. According to the plot, this was where they would have their first kiss. It was the start of their official relationship. My mind was a mess. I don’t remember what I ate or did. When night fell, the park lit up with dreamlike lights. Chloe dragged Ethan to watch the fireworks. I trailed twenty paces behind, getting jostled by the crowd. Under the exploding fireworks, they confessed. Chloe stood on her tiptoes and shyly kissed Ethan. It was too beautiful. I couldn’t watch. I looked down in panic, tears falling onto my vocabulary cards. I fled. I texted Chloe a lie about my curfew and ran. She didn’t reply. They had already forgotten me. While they held hands, young and resolute, I, the third wheel, ran home wiping my eyes. In my empty house, I broke down and sobbed. I’m sorry. I really couldn’t pretend anymore. But even while gasping for air, I pulled out a workbook and forced myself to solve equations. Unrequited love is torture, especially when you have nothing else. My only advantage was that I had lived a life before. I knew education was power. And I knew not to destroy myself over a love that had no future. 3. Ethan and Chloe were officially a couple. They were starting their decade-long romance saga. Sure, they would fight, break up, and make up. But the book said: Ethan never stopped loving Chloe, and Chloe’s heart always belonged to Ethan. A beautiful sentence for them. A sentence of execution for me. I wasn’t the only one suffering. Jax, the bad boy Second Lead, was losing his mind. After the leads got together, Jax would cause all sorts of trouble because he couldn’t have Chloe. Originally, I was supposed to be his henchman in causing drama. But honestly, I was more worried about my midterm grades. When the teacher beamed and told me I ranked second in the grade, I finally felt a little better. From bottom of the class to second place. My effort wasn’t wasted. Seating was assigned by rank. Ethan was immovable at number one. I was assigned the seat right next to him. Desk mates! In any other romance novel, this is where the magic happens. In reality? Nothing happened. We sat inches apart, but we didn’t speak for days. He was naturally cold. I was terrified of exposing my feelings. The only sentence he spoke to me was: “Mara, your water bottle is leaking.” I wiped up the water and couldn’t help correcting him. “My name is Maya…” Ha. He didn’t even know my name. We coexisted in silence until Chloe stormed in and started an argument with Ethan right in front of me. She asked why he didn’t tell her he was sitting next to me. Ethan frowned, genuinely confused. “Is that important?” Since the start of the semester, he’d had several desk mates. But Chloe seemed specifically threatened by me. She looked at me, then at him, and ran off crying without saying another word. Maybe it was because I was someone she knew. Imagine your boyfriend sitting next to your ex-friend and not mentioning it. It probably felt like a betrayal. After lunch, I went to find Chloe to apologize. “Chloe…” I called her name, but she acted like I was invisible, laughing with her new friends. “Omg, I watched that movie you mentioned, I almost died laughing…” I stood there awkwardly for two seconds and decided not to push my luck. I barely knew Chloe anymore. Bringing up the seating chart would just make it weird. As for Ethan, he and I were truly strangers. He would explain it to her. Thinking about drama was exhausting. I stopped caring. Two days later, someone blocked my path on the way home. “You’re Maya, right?” It was Jax. I had my headphones in, listening to an English lecture, so I didn’t hear him at first. I walked right past him. He jumped in front of me, furious, and yanked my headphones off. “…” I frowned. “Can I help you?” My face probably looked like stone. Jax faltered for a second before finding his “tough guy” expression. “Listen to me!” He snarled, “I don’t like Ethan, but I will not allow you to hurt Chloe or ruin their relationship.” What a weird thing to say. I processed it for a moment. “How am I ruining their relationship?” “Stop acting. You’re shameless,” Jax crossed his arms. “You’re the one seducing Ethan, aren’t you? Hmph. You’ve got guts, but you can’t compare to a single hair on Chloe’s head.” Me? Seducing Ethan? How did I miss such a major life event? “Do you have evidence?” I asked. “Of course!” He said self-righteously. “The evidence is that you’re sitting next to him!” “…Do you not know seats are assigned by GPA?” I thought for a second. “Oh, you mean I should fail my exams on purpose so I don’t have to sit next to him?” “Exactly.” Jax smiled, satisfied that I understood. Usually, I ignore people like him. But he was rude, speaking nonsense, and insulting my academic integrity. That’s my red line. “Unfortunately,” I sneered, “I’m not like you. I didn’t buy my way into this school. I don’t treat my education like a joke.” Jax was a rich kid, forced in by his parents. He believed money could solve everything. He had the capital to play games with life. I didn’t. Sitting next to Ethan was nice. But even if he wasn’t there, I deserved that seat. I deserved to sit in his seat. Jax was enraged and threatened to make me pay. In the book, that was his character. Impulsive, but not evil. He was lashing out because he couldn’t have the girl he loved. I didn’t take him seriously. Until the next monthly exam. I was caught cheating. 4. Midway through the math exam, I was dragged out. The proctor said they received an anonymous tip that I had brought notes in. Like a magician, he pulled a slip of translucent paper from my hoodie pocket. It was covered in microscopic text—formulas and key concepts for the test. “Maya! I thought you were an honest, hardworking student! How could you do this?” “This isn’t just irresponsible to yourself; it brings shame to your family and this class!” “You came in with average grades and shot up to the top. Did you use these tricks back then, too?” I stood in the faculty office. Teachers took turns lecturing me, heartbroken and angry. They questioned my character. They questioned my past achievements. I denied it, which only made them angrier. Denial meant no remorse. Punishment doubled. I replayed the morning. Before the exam, I left my hoodie on my chair to go to the bathroom. That’s when someone must have slipped the note in and reported me. It had to be Jax, or someone he hired. It was a low tactic, but effective. Who cheats on a high school monthly exam with a physical note in 2024? I had no proof. I told them it was likely related to the person who reported me. They said they had to protect the whistleblower’s identity. So, I took the fall. A school-wide citation. [Honors Class Student Maya (ID xxxx) caught cheating during monthly exams.] The bold text scrolled across the LED board in the main lobby. Every student who walked in saw it. Naturally, I was ostracized. No one wanted to be in my group for projects. No one partnered with me in PE. During cleaning duty, I was assigned to sweep the outdoor grounds alone. “Cheat Sheet Maya, stay away from us.” They made exaggerated faces of disgust. Luckily. I wasn’t really sixteen. This framed me, but it couldn’t break me. I endured it. When the results came out, my score was voided. I was moved to the corner of the classroom, the “shame seat.” A different girl took the seat next to Ethan. She was smart and openly liked him. She brought him water after basketball. She pretended to fall asleep on his shoulder during study hall. Chloe didn’t care. She would just link arms with Ethan later, making the new girl cry. Jax didn’t bully the new girl. He just leaned against the back door, watching me with glee. He mouthed a single word at me: Deserved. … Reading the book, I never realized Jax was this childish. I was being isolated, and he was getting off on it. Did it actually affect me? No. I studied. I ate. In PE, when no one would partner with me, I snuck back to the classroom to finish a practice test. I finished the last calculus problem and realized someone was standing next to me. It was Ethan. I didn’t know how long he’d been there. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at my paper. He was holding a basketball under one arm. He must have come back to grab it. He stood so close. For me, it was close enough. I could smell the faint, clean scent of soap on him. For some reason, neither of us spoke. The classroom was silent. I could hear my own heartbeat. A wave of indescribable sadness washed over me. I didn’t want to speak. I didn’t want to move. I wanted time to freeze. But I was scared. I was scared that if this silence lasted another second, the atmosphere would become ambiguous. I broke the silence. “What’s wrong?” “Um…” He paused. “You missed a step in the derivation.” Which step? Can you teach me? That’s what I should have said. There was an empty chair right next to me. If I asked, maybe he would sit down. Maybe he would explain the complex equation to me. Instead, I calmly picked up my phone and opened an app to scan the question. “Oh. I’ll just check Chegg.” “Okay.” Ethan turned and left. I posted the question on the app, crying internally. My stupid mouth. I’m hopeless.

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Chapter 1 I casually liked a wedding photo my old college roommate posted on Instagram. A second later, she sent a voice message. “Who are you? Why did you hack this account? I’m calling the police!” I was confused, so I FaceTimed her. But the moment the call connected and she saw my face, she screamed and hung up immediately. When I called back, she sent a text: Aren’t you dead? You died last year. Hearing that, I felt like I was losing my mind. I dialed her again. It took forever for her to pick up. I had to perform a series of ridiculous facial gymnastics—puffing my cheeks, winking, sticking out my tongue—until my face cramped before she finally believed me. “You’re really Hannah? You’re alive?” She told me she had cried when she heard the news of my death, sending a bunch of emotional messages to my “abandoned” account. I scrolled back through our chat history. Sure enough, there were messages from over a year ago. Back then, I was in labor with my daughter, Lily. I didn’t have time to check my phone. After that, I became a full-time stay-at-home mom, revolving my entire life around my baby. I dropped off the social radar completely. But saying I was dead? That was insane. Who jokes about that? I demanded an apology. She claimed she was innocent, saying she only repeated what she’d heard. To prove it, she sent me a screenshot of an old social media post. It was a black-and-white photo of me, photoshopped to look like a memorial portrait, complete with a date of death and a solemn caption announcing my passing. No wonder no one had visited or invited me anywhere for the past year. They all thought I was six feet under. My blood boiled. I immediately took the screenshot and tried to mass message my friends, ready to announce my resurrection to the world. But when I hit send, I froze. Every single message failed. “You are not friends with this user.” I had been kicked out of every group chat. Blocked by everyone except this one roommate. I messaged her back, demanding to know who started this rumor. After a long pause, she sent a voice note. “Hannah… I heard it from Sarah. Do you remember her?” Sarah? She was in our department at college, though not in our major. I remembered her because she was close with my husband, Mark. One of his “bros,” a female friend who hung around him constantly. Once Mark and I started dating seriously, she faded into the background. After graduation, I hadn’t heard a whisper about her. I pressed for answers. “Why would she say I died?” My roommate sent an ellipsis, then replied: “I don’t know the details. Last year, around this time, Sarah posted that announcement. She said you died from postpartum depression. A lot of our classmates commented, comforting her, saying how loyal she was for holding an online memorial for you.” My hands started to shake. “Show me the post.” “She deleted it ages ago. Said it was too painful to look at. Hannah, did you seriously not know about this?” Know? How could I know? My life for the past year had been diapers, feeding, soothing crying fits, and making baby food. I collapsed into bed every night, exhausted. I didn’t even have time to watch TV, let alone stalk people on social media. And I wasn’t even friends with Sarah on any platform. I asked my roommate for Sarah’s contact info and sent a friend request. Thirty minutes passed. Silence. I tried again. Rejected. The fire in my chest was raging now. I called my roommate. “She won’t add me. Send me her number.” Her voice trembled. “Hannah, something feels off. Please, calm down.” “I’ve been dead for a year! How am I supposed to be calm?” She was silent for a moment, then texted me a number. I punched the digits into my phone, my finger hovering over the call button. Then I stopped. Something wasn’t right. Why would Sarah lie about my death? She and Mark were close. Did Mark know about this? Chapter 2 I stared at the number for a long time, but I didn’t press call. Instead, I scrolled through my contacts until I found another name: Rachel. Rachel was the legal counsel at my old company. We had worked together often. In my panic, she was the only person I could think of who knew the law and might help me. I took a deep breath and dialed. “Rachel, hi. It’s Hannah.” A cheerful voice answered. “Hannah! Long time no see. What’s up?” I tried to keep my voice steady as I explained the situation. I asked her what I should do. Rachel listened, silent for a few seconds, before her tone turned serious. “First, you need to post a clarification immediately. Let everyone know you’re alive. Set the record straight.” “Then, you need to find out exactly who is spreading this and why.” She paused. “But Hannah, I have to be honest with you. Defamation cases are hard to win, especially if you haven’t suffered significant financial loss. In your case, the most you might get is an apology and maybe a small settlement for emotional distress.” My heart sank. “So I just let her tell everyone I’m dead?” “Of course not. First, preserve the evidence. Screenshots, chat logs, everything. Then confirm who is behind this.” After hanging up, my palms were sweating. The anger was still there, but Rachel’s advice had grounded me. Sarah was my college acquaintance, and Mark’s friend. Maybe there was a misunderstanding. I didn’t want to blow things up if I didn’t have to. I decided to call Mark first. He picked up immediately. “What’s wrong, Hannah? Is Lily crying again?” I told him everything. I expected him to be furious on my behalf. Instead, he sounded indifferent. “It’s probably just a prank. If that’s it, I’m hanging up. I’m busy at work.” I couldn’t believe it. “It’s not a prank! The screenshot is dated last June, right after I had Lily. The person who posted it is Sarah. Do you remember her?” Mark paused. “Sarah? There must be a mistake. Or maybe she got hacked. Don’t overthink it. It’s not a big deal.” “Someone is telling the world I’m dead, and you think it’s ‘not a big deal’?” He sighed, impatient. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, why bother with stupid rumors? People will realize it’s fake eventually.” “I’m going to clarify it right now. I’m posting on social media.” “Don’t,” he said quickly. “Posting about death is bad luck. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I have to go.” He hung up before I could say another word. I was furious. I called him back, screaming, but he maintained his dismissive attitude and then stopped answering my calls altogether. Fine. If you won’t help, I don’t care about playing nice anymore. I typed out a furious post, attaching the screenshot, declaring I was very much alive. I hit ‘Post.’ Almost instantly, a notification popped up on my screen: [Your account has been logged in on another device. You have been logged out.] I froze. My phone had been in my hand the whole time. Who had my login? Chapter 3 My first thought was that I’d been hacked. But logging into my account required a verification code. Unless… I opened my text messages and scrolled back. Buried in a sea of spam and notifications, I found it. A verification code sent a year ago. I remembered that time. Mark had borrowed my phone, claiming he needed to help a friend with some online promotion or game. Was it Mark? I looked closer at my message history. Something was wrong. There were gaps in the dates. Messages had been deleted. I checked my cloud backup and compared the logs. Sure enough, chunks of history were missing. I called Mark immediately. He let it ring for a long time before answering, annoyance dripping from his voice. “What now? I’m working.” “Did you log into my social media account?” “What? Are you crazy? Why would I do that?” “Someone just kicked me off my account. Who else could it be but you?” His tone shifted, becoming aggressive. “You’re insane. I’m busting my ass at work, and you’re sitting at home inventing conspiracies. Did staying home with the kid rot your brain?” “Mark, I—” “Enough! I’m done arguing with you. Post whatever you want, just stop blaming me for everything. Bye.” Before he hung up, I heard a faint sound in the background. A woman’s laugh. Soft, mocking. “Wait, I just heard—” The line went dead. I sat on the couch, clutching my phone, a chill spreading through my bones. Mark didn’t come home until 1 AM. He saw me sitting in the dark living room and paused. “Still up?” I watched him take off his shoes. “Why so late tonight?” “Project deadline. Had to push through.” He took off his jacket and headed for the bathroom. “Mark,” I said. “Do you really remember Sarah?” He stopped, his back to me. “Why bring her up again? Haven’t talked to her in years.” “She’s the one saying I’m dead. Don’t you think that’s weird?” He frowned, turning around. “I told you, it’s a prank or a hack. Stop obsessing.” “Then why was I logged out of my account the second I tried to clarify things?” His voice rose. “I told you, it wasn’t me! God, you’re impossible lately. Paranoid about everything.” He slammed the bathroom door. The shower turned on. Before he came back, I replayed the recording of our call. I wasn’t imagining it. I heard a woman. Mark was hiding something. I walked softly to the bathroom door. Through the frosted glass, I saw his silhouette moving. His phone was on the coffee table, face down. I knew his passcode. It was our anniversary. I had never checked his phone before. I believed in trust. But trust was shattered now. I took a deep breath and unlocked it. His texts seemed normal. Work groups, colleagues. I searched his contacts for “Sarah.” Nothing. Then I opened his payment apps. Venmo, PayPal, banking. My breath hitched. Starting from last year, there were consistent transfers to the same user. Small amounts. $520. $1314. $888. Numbers that meant “I love you” or “forever” in internet slang. The most recent one was three days ago. $2000. Note: “Buy something nice to eat.” Another app showed larger transfers to a user verified as “*arah.” $5,000. $20,000. The most recent was last month. $20,000. Note: “For renovations.” The total was over ten thousand dollars. Mark gave me a strict allowance for household expenses, always complaining that his bonuses were cut. But he was using our joint savings to fund another woman. Chapter 4 My hands trembled as I took screenshots and sent them to my own secret email. Then I noticed something else. An app that looked like a calculator. It was a vault app. I tried his passcode. Incorrect. The water stopped running. I quickly put the phone back and sat next to Lily’s crib, my heart pounding like a drum. Mark walked out, towel-drying his hair. “You look pale. Sick?” “Just tired.” He grunted, picked up his phone, swiped through it casually, and went to the balcony to smoke. I watched his back, feeling like I was looking at a stranger. I didn’t sleep that night. When Mark’s breathing deepened into sleep, I took his phone again. I tried the calculator vault again. I guessed Sarah’s birthday—I remembered it from a party in college. It opened. Inside was a hidden photo album. I clicked it, and my world froze. Hundreds of photos of the two of them. Intimate. Loving. One photo was dated last year, around the time I gave birth. Sarah was sitting on a bay window, her belly swollen with pregnancy. The caption Mark wrote: Waiting for our little treasure to grow up. While I was weak and bleeding, recovering from birthing his daughter, he was sending money to another woman, planning a future with another child. I bit my lip until I tasted blood to keep from screaming. Hannah, don’t panic. Rachel’s voice echoed in my head. Preserve evidence. I used my own phone to take high-resolution photos of everything on his screen. Then I found something even darker. In his cloud backup, there was a medical report. I skipped to the conclusion: [Hepatic lesion, approx 3.5×4.2cm. Highly suspicious for Hepatocellular Carcinoma. Biopsy recommended.] Liver cancer. Based on the date, he had known for at least three months. For three months, he acted normal, came home, ate dinner, and never said a word. A terrifying realization hit me. This wasn’t just an affair. He was funneling our money to secure a future for Sarah and their child. And my “death”? It was to clear the path for them. I put the phone back gently and lay down beside him. He slept soundly, one arm draped over my waist. A gesture that used to make me feel safe now made me want to vomit. Rachel said defamation was hard to prove. But hiding assets during a marriage? That was a different story. And with his illness… A plan began to form in my mind.

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“Comp time? We’ll talk about it later.” Director King didn’t even look up as she signed the document and handed it back to me. I stood rooted to the spot. “Why are you still here?” She finally glanced up. “Director King, I’ve applied for comp time 17 times,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “17 times, and not a single one has been approved.” “Young people need to gain more experience,” she smiled dismissively. “Let’s wait until the project goes live.” Wait until the project goes live. She said the exact same thing last year when the previous project launched. I looked down at my phone. The overtime record from last night hadn’t cleared yet. Three years. 3,000 hours. “Fine,” I nodded and turned to leave. At the door, I paused. “Director King, 3,000 hours for zero days off.” I didn’t look back. “I’ll remember this.” 1. Working until 2 AM wasn’t anything new. I stared at the lines of code on my screen, my eyes burning. My desk lamp was the only light left in the office; the city outside was already asleep. Ding. My phone lit up. A Slack message. From Director King: [Update the presentation deck for tomorrow morning. Swap in the latest data.] Sending messages at 2 AM? She was definitely asleep by now. I ignored it and went back to the code. I built this financial settlement system from scratch—frontend, backend, database, all of it. In three years, no one else had touched a single line of code. Not because they didn’t want to learn, but because they couldn’t. The company had fifty-some employees, but the tech department was just me. The rest were operations or sales. This system handled the entire company’s financial flow. One glitch, and everything would grind to a halt. So I couldn’t leave. At least, that’s what they thought. At 3:30 AM, I finally fixed the last bug. Shutdown. Lock up. Head downstairs. The office building was empty, the security guard dozing off at the front desk. Seeing me, he lifted a heavy eyelid. “Late again, Sue?” “Yeah.” “Your company really hustles.” I didn’t reply and pushed through the doors. Hustle? My salary was $3,000 a month, unchanged for three years. 3,000 hours of overtime, zero comp days. Last month, I asked for vacation time, and Director King said, “Project’s too busy, maybe next time.” It was always “next time.” By the time I got home, it was nearly 4 AM. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. A thought suddenly popped into my head: What would happen if I left? No one to maintain the system. Financial data goes haywire. The company stops functioning. Director King would panic. That woman who never gave me the time of day would panic. I rolled over and closed my eyes. Forget it. Sleep first. The next morning at 9 AM, I arrived at the office on time. Or rather, I arrived on time, sleep-deprived. As soon as I sat down, Slack pinged. [@Sue, is the presentation updated?] I opened PowerPoint and swapped the data. Finished in ten minutes, sent. Five minutes later, Director King replied: [This chart isn’t clear enough. Change it.] I remade the chart. Another five minutes: [Too dark. Lighter.] Changed the color. [Font is too small.] Changed the font. [Actually, the first version was better. Change it back.] I took a deep breath. Changed it back. I was used to this. In my three years as a developer, I’ve revised no fewer than 500 presentations. Not because I’m good at PowerPoint, but because the company doesn’t have anyone dedicated to it. Well, they did, but she quit. The last admin girl lasted three months before resigning. Her reason? “Can’t handle the overtime.” Director King ranted in the office for half an hour: “Young people these days just can’t handle hardship.” I listened silently. Can’t handle hardship? She left every day at 6 PM sharp. Never worked overtime. Never replied to messages on weekends because she “needed family time.” And me? Three years without a single full weekend off. “Sue.” My coworker Lee leaned over, whispering. “What?” “Heard bonuses are coming out this month.” “Yeah.” “How much do you think we’ll get?” I shrugged. “No idea.” Lee sighed. “I asked around, seems pretty low. Last time, Old Zhang in sales—top performer—only got $4,000.” $4,000. A year of work, thousands of overtime hours, top performance… for a $4,000 bonus. That was this company. “Tell me,” Lee looked at me, “what are we even doing here?” I didn’t answer. What were we doing here? I wanted to know too. 2 PM, all-hands meeting. The conference room was small, fifty people crammed in, the air stifling. Director King stood at the front, my PowerPoint projected on the screen. “This quarter, our financial settlement system has been stable, boosting efficiency by 30%,” she boasted. “This is the result of our entire team’s hard work.” Entire team. I wrote that system alone. “Especially with this latest upgrade, we’ve solved the data latency issues. Client feedback has been excellent.” I spent two weeks of consecutive overtime on that upgrade. I even wrote the client feedback email. “I led the team on this project,” Director King looked out at the room. “Of course, on the execution side, Sue contributed too.” Contributed too. My fists clenched. After the meeting, Director King walked over and patted my shoulder. “Sue, good work.” “Thanks.” “Keep it up.” She smiled and walked away. Lee sidled up. “Didn’t you build that system by yourself?” “Yeah.” “Then why did King say it was her team…” “She’s the boss,” I cut him off. “It’s normal.” Lee opened his mouth but said nothing. Normal. In this company, everything was normal. No overtime pay? Normal. Comp time denied? Normal. Credit stolen? Normal. Staring at Director King’s back, I remembered last night’s thought. What would happen if I left? Maybe it was time to seriously consider that question. 2. Three days later, a problem cropped up in finance. “Sue, come here for a second.” Zhou, the finance supervisor, stood at my desk, looking grim. “What’s wrong, Zhou?” “The data in the system doesn’t match,” she lowered her voice. “Last month’s accounts receivable is short $24,000.” I frowned. “Short?” “Yes. Come take a look, see if it’s a bug.” I went to the finance office, reviewed the data for twenty minutes, and found the issue wasn’t the system. “Zhou, this isn’t a bug,” I pointed at the screen. “This entry was manually deleted.” “Manually deleted?” Zhou blinked. “By who?” I pulled up the operation logs. The user account was clearly listed. It was Director King’s account. “This…” Zhou glanced at me, speechless. I stayed silent too. Director King using her account to delete a $24,000 receivable entry… we both knew what that implied. “Sue,” Zhou took a deep breath. “Don’t mention this to anyone.” “I know.” “I’ll go talk to King.” She left. I sat in the finance office, staring at the log entry, feelings churning. $24,000. Maybe it was for accounting purposes, maybe something else. None of my business. But I knew one thing: this company’s waters were deeper than I thought. That evening, while working overtime, Lee leaned over again. “Sue, did you hear?” “Hear what?” “Director King is getting promoted to VP.” I stopped typing. “When?” “Just the last couple of days. Rumor has it the boss is very happy with the financial system project.” The financial system I built. The one she took credit for. “Any benefit for us if she gets promoted?” I asked. Lee shook his head. “Don’t know. But…” he lowered his voice, “heard VP starts at $100k a year.” $100k. I made $36,000 a year. She stole my credit and tripled her salary. “Alright, got it,” I turned back to my screen. “Get back to work.” Lee left. I stared at the monitor, mind blank. Three years. I gave the best three years of my youth to this company. Late nights, overtime, solving problem after problem. I thought hard work would pay off. The result? Someone else took the payoff. I opened a job search site and started updating my resume. Three years of dev experience, proficient in Java and Python, independently developed a full financial settlement system. I should be able to find something. I clicked “Submit.” The next morning, as soon as I arrived, HR Linda found me. “Sue, Director King wants to see you.” I nodded and walked into her office. She sat behind her desk, smiling. “Sue, have a seat.” I sat down. “What’s up, Director?” “Nothing major,” she flipped through a file. “Just wanted to check in. How’s work lately? Any difficulties?” I paused. She had never asked how my work was going. “Fine,” I said. “No difficulties.” “Good,” she put down the file and looked at me. “Sue, you’ve been here three years, right?” “Yes.” “Three years, performance has been solid,” she smiled. “The company sees that.” Sees that. I didn’t speak. “I discussed it with the boss,” she continued. “Once this quarter’s rush is over, we’ll bump your salary up a level.” A raise? My heart fluttered slightly. “How much?” “$100.” $100. $100 a month. Three years of overtime, stolen credit, denied time off… for $100 a month? “Well? Happy?” Director King smiled. I took a deep breath, suppressing the anger. “Director, I want to apply for comp time.” Her smile froze. “Comp time?” “Yes. I haven’t taken a day off in three years. I want a few days.” “Well…” she frowned. “We’re busy with the project right now. Not a good time.” “When is the project not busy?” “Give it a few months, wait until this quarter ends.” “You said that last quarter.” Her expression darkened. “Sue, what’s with the attitude?” I stayed silent. “Young people need to learn to endure hardship,” she stood up. “We’ve all been there. Look at everyone else, who’s constantly asking for time off?” Everyone else? Everyone else got overtime pay. Everyone else got comp time approved. Everyone else didn’t work until 2 AM every night. Only me. “Fine,” I stood up. “Understood.” “Don’t be upset,” she switched back to a smile. “Once this is over, I’ll treat you to dinner.” I didn’t respond and walked out. Back at my desk, Lee asked, “How’d it go?” “Raised $100.” “Only $100?” Lee’s eyes widened. “Your system is worth way more than that! Only $100?” “And,” I added, “comp time denied again.” “Denied?” Lee paused. “So what are you going to do?” I looked at the freshly updated resume on my screen and hit refresh. “Find a new company.” 3. Two weeks later, I got my first interview invite. It was an internet company, much larger than my current one. The position was Tech Lead, offering $80k a year. Double my current salary. I called in sick for a day to interview. The interviewer was the Tech Director, around thirty-five, black-framed glasses, seemed easygoing. “Sue, right?” He flipped through my resume. “Independently developed a full financial system in three years?” “Yes.” “Talk me through the architecture.” I explained the frontend, backend, database design, and interface logic. He nodded along. “Impressive,” he looked at me. “Any questions?” “Is there a lot of overtime?” He laughed. “Honestly, yes, when it’s busy. But normally, we leave at 6 PM sharp, weekends off. Overtime is paid, and you get comp time every month.” Comp time every month. Four words that sounded like a foreign language. “As for compensation,” he continued, “we can offer $90k annually, plus 15 days of PTO. How does that sound?” $90k. 15 days PTO. I took a deep breath. “That works.” “Great. HR will process the offer, we’ll be in touch soon.” Interview over, I walked out of the building and stood on the street, dazed. $90k. 2.5 times my current salary. 15 days PTO. More than I’d had in three years combined. So in a normal company, employees leave on time. They take vacations. They work with dignity. I’d spent three years in that place, almost convinced the whole world was like that. Time to go. Back at the office, it was already 4 PM. As soon as I walked in, HR Linda intercepted me. “Sue, Director King wants you.” Again. I walked into her office. King sat there, face stormy. “Sue, where were you today?” “Doctor’s appointment.” “Doctor?” She sneered. “All day?” “Yes.” “Do you think I believe that?” I didn’t answer. She stood up, walking up to me. “Let me tell you, Sue, you better behave. The company needs people right now, if you dare…” “Dare what?” I interrupted. “Dare to quit?” She froze. “Director King,” I looked at her. “I’ve been here three years. Over 3,000 hours of overtime, zero comp days. You took credit for all my work. My reward? A $100 raise.” “You…” “Do you think,” I smiled, “there’s anything I wouldn’t dare to do?” Her face went pale. “Are you threatening me?” “Not a threat,” I turned to leave. “Just stating facts.” “Stop right there!” she yelled. “Sue, if you quit, I’ll make sure you never work in this industry again!” I stopped. “Make sure I never work again?” I turned back, looking at her. “Then I’ll make sure you can’t stay at this company.” The door closed behind me. Back at my desk, Lee stared at me, shocked. “Sue, did you… argue with Director King?” “No,” I said. “Just spoke some truth.” “And she…” “She said she’d blacklist me from the industry.” Lee gasped. “What will you do?” I opened my computer, exported my attendance records, and saved them to a USB drive. “Saving anything useful,” I said. “Might need it later.” Watching me, Lee suddenly said, “Sue, are you leaving?” I didn’t answer. He sighed. “You should have left ages ago. This place is a dead end.” That night at home, I received the offer email. Black and white: $90k salary, start date in one month. I stared at the email, feeling strangely calm. Three years. I was finally leaving that hellhole. But before I left, I had work to do. I opened my laptop and started organizing evidence. Slack clock-in records: 3 years, 1,095 days of overtime. Comp time requests: 17 applications, 0 approvals. Pay stubs: $3,000 a month, never a cent of overtime pay. And the employment contract. I dug out the contract, flipping to the “Working Hours” page. Black and white: Standard working hours, 8 hours a day, 40 hours a week. Not “flexible working hours.” HR lied. I organized all the evidence into an encrypted folder. Might need it later. No. Will need it later. 4. The next day, I went to work as usual. On the surface, nothing changed. I still worked late, still revised endless PowerPoints, still answered 2 AM messages. But my mindset was completely different. Because I knew, in one month, it would all be over. Tuesday afternoon, a newbie arrived. An intern recruited by King, fresh out of college, looking clean-cut and naive. “This is Zhang,” King introduced him. “He’ll be learning from you.” Learning? I glanced at King; her eyes darted away. She wanted Zhang to take over the system. “Sure,” I said. “No problem.” Over the next few days, I “taught” Zhang. Of course, I only taught the basics. Core architecture, critical code, operational logic? Didn’t say a word. Not because I’m petty, but because you can’t learn that in a few days. Three years of accumulation isn’t something an intern can just pick up. Zhang was diligent, taking notes, asking questions. “Sue,” he asked one day, “how long did it take you to build this?” “Three years.” “Three years?” His eyes widened. “Just you?” “Yep.” “Then… if you’re not here, who maintains it?” I smiled. “What do you think?” He paused, silent. A week later, I got the onboarding notification from the new company. Start date: the 15th of next month. Meaning I had to resign by the 15th of this month. Three weeks left. Time to resign. But first, one last confirmation. I found Zhou in finance. “Zhou, quick question.” “What’s up?” “Did I get any overtime pay for the last three years?” Zhou paused, checking her computer. “Your pay stubs… show no overtime pay.” “Why?” “HR said you signed a flexible hours contract.” “I signed a standard hours contract.” Zhou looked at me, silent. “Zhou, I want to check my contract on file.” “Where’s your copy?” “I have it,” I pulled it out of my bag. “But I want to confirm the company’s copy matches mine.” Zhou hesitated, then checked the archives. Both contracts were identical. Standard working hours. “This…” Zhou stared at the contract, face changing. “So HR saying flexible hours…” “Was a lie,” I put away the contract. “The company stole three years of overtime pay from me.” Zhou opened her mouth but said nothing. I stood up. “Thanks, Zhou.” Walking out of finance, I felt calm. Three years, 3,000 hours. By law, the company owed me at least $30,000. Time to settle the bill. That night, King messaged me again. [Revise tomorrow’s meeting PPT again.] I looked at the message and didn’t reply. The old me would have opened the laptop instantly, staying up all night. The new me just wanted to laugh. Three weeks, and I’m gone. Revise it yourself. I turned off my phone and went to sleep. The next day, King exploded in the office. “Sue! Why didn’t you reply last night!” “I was asleep.” “Asleep? Do you know how important today’s meeting is?” “I revised the PPT,” I handed her a USB drive. “Finished it half an hour ago.” She froze, taking the drive. “…Next time, pay attention.” “Okay.” I returned to my desk. Lee whispered, “You’ve got guts lately.” “Really?” I smiled. “Maybe because I’m leaving soon.” “Really leaving?” “Really.” Lee paused. “Actually… I’m looking too.” I patted his shoulder. “Leave early. This place is a dead end.”

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On the day I was fired, the HR manager blocked my path and pointed at the laptop on my desk. “That’s company property. Leave it.” I laughed in her face and slammed a receipt onto the desk from my drawer. “Read it and weep. $5,000. My name on the bill.” With that, in front of the entire office, I packed it up and walked out. Thirty minutes later, the police showed up at my apartment. The company had reported me for embezzlement. I showed the cops my proof. The way the officer looked at the HR manager was like he was looking at an idiot. By the next morning, the entire tech park knew. My ex-employer, in an attempt to steal a laptop, had crowned themselves “The pettiest company of the year.” 1 After the police left, the office was dead silent. That silence was louder than any scream. It pierced the eardrums. Everyone’s eyes were fixed like spotlights on HR Manager Karen’s face, which shifted from red to green, then finally to a ghostly white. She stood frozen, like a cheap wax figure about to melt. I held my cardboard box—containing three years of my youth and a $5,000 MacBook Pro—and walked step by step through the solidified air. I didn’t look back. I didn’t say goodbye. The last shred of dignity between me and this company had shattered the moment they called the cops. The elevator doors slowly closed, cutting off the complex gazes behind me. In the mirrored wall of the elevator, a woman with black-framed glasses and a blank expression stared back. That was me. Lena Hart. Back in my rental apartment, I threw the box into a corner and didn’t give it another glance. The tension in my body snapped, and a wave of exhaustion drowned me. I collapsed onto the sofa, unwilling to move or think. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my best friend, asking if I was okay. I replied, “Fired. Don’t worry,” and turned on Airplane Mode. I needed silence. I needed to process this absurdity. I was woken up the next day by my phone vibrating against the table. Turning off Airplane Mode, hundreds of messages flooded in. Cautious condolences from former colleagues. Gossip links from friends at other companies. Our company’s name, paired with the headline “Called Cops to Steal Laptop,” had exploded across the tech park’s newsletters and anonymous forums like Blind. The comment sections were a carnival of schadenfreude. “LMAO, CEO Wang’s stinginess finally went viral.” “RIP to the HR manager. Her KPI is definitely in the negatives now. Failed to save the boss money and gifted him a PR disaster instead.” “Don’t feel bad for her. That HR is trash. She’s the grim reaper of layoffs. They call her ‘Killer Karen’.” “Am I the only one curious about the specs of a $5k laptop? That girl is a legend!” I looked at the screen, but I didn’t feel the thrill of revenge I expected. I felt empty, even a little sad. A company reduced to gaining fame this way… how pathetic. And I was the protagonist of this farce. I clicked a link to a Medium article about the tech park. The article was vivid, describing yesterday afternoon’s events in detail. Although my name was hidden, phrases like “Hardcore vs. HR,” “Slapping the Receipt,” and “Police Certified” made me a legend in the park. The light from the phone screen illuminated my expressionless face. I guessed CEO Wang’s office must be lively right now. Sure enough, in the afternoon, a former colleague who was still there secretly messaged me. “Lena, Wang lost it. He smashed a mug in his office.” “Karen got chewed out so bad her eyes are swollen from crying.” “Wang said in the meeting that this incident is too damaging and we absolutely cannot let it go.” I stared at the text and tapped the screen. “What does he want to do?” “I don’t know, but he told Karen to find out who leaked this. He also said he’s going to teach you a ‘lesson’ so this kind of behavior doesn’t spread.” A lesson? Bad behavior? Reading those words, a chill shot from my feet to my skull. They made the mistake. They embarrassed themselves. And in the end, I was the one in the wrong? I didn’t reply. Putting down the phone, I opened LinkedIn and started updating my resume. Life goes on. I needed a job. I sent applications to several companies I’d been eyeing for a while. With my resume and project experience, getting an interview shouldn’t have been hard. However, the whole afternoon passed. Silence. No response. Just the cold “Application Submitted” status. An ominous feeling crept into my heart. That night, I checked a job app and saw that a company I applied to just that morning had changed my status to “Not Suitable.” That was too fast. Abnormally fast. Normally, HR screening takes at least a day or two. It felt like my name had been set as a keyword to be automatically rejected. I turned off my phone. The room was pitch black. The city lights outside cast mottled shadows on the ceiling through the blinds, like an invisible net. CEO Wang’s words, “teach you a lesson,” echoed in my ears. Anger, like a vine growing in the dark, wrapped tightly around my heart. I understood. The real war was just beginning. 2 For the next few days, I lived in a bizarre loop. Apply, rejected. Apply, rejected. Even the headhunters who used to blow up my phone seemed to have evaporated. No updates, no DMs. My carefully polished resume was like trash thrown into the internet void, unable to secure even a single interview. The entire industry seemed to have slammed the door in my face. It felt like drowning in deep water, struggling but unable to reach the surface. Suffocation came from all sides. I knew Wang’s “lesson” had arrived. He was using the network he’d built over decades to weave a massive net, aiming to blacklist me completely. I wasn’t going to accept this. I picked a small startup with a business model I liked and applied again. Surprisingly, I got an interview call the next day. I walked into that office building with the reverence of a pilgrim. The interview went smoothly. From the department head to the partners, everyone showed great interest in my skills and past projects. During the final round, the partner closed my file and looked at me with regret. “Ms. Hart, we really value your abilities.” “But… we might not be able to extend an offer.” My heart sank. “Can you tell me why?” My voice was calm, ripple-free. The partner hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Regarding your previous employer… during the background check, we heard some unfavorable things.” “They said you have… sticky fingers. Issues with professional ethics. That you were fired for embezzlement of company property.” Boom. Something in my brain snapped. Blood rushed to my head. So that was the crime they pinned on me. How vicious. How precise. For a professional, this was a death sentence. “I suggest,” the partner said, looking at me with sympathy, “you handle these rumors. Otherwise, it will be very difficult for you in this industry.” I stood up and bowed deeply. “Thank you for telling me this.” Walking out of the building, the noon sun stung my eyes. Standing on the busy street, I felt like a wandering ghost. Anger, humiliation, helplessness… emotions churned inside me, threatening to tear me apart. CEO Wang. Karen. You didn’t just want to cut off my retreat. You wanted to destroy me. I took out my phone, knuckles white from gripping it so hard. I called a friend who worked as a headhunter. “Do me a favor. Find out exactly what CEO Wang from InnovateTech is saying about me.” My friend got back to me quickly. It was worse than I imagined. In Wang’s mouth, I was a malicious, petty thief who was caught red-handed and fired. The $5,000 laptop became company property I schemed to steal. The police incident was twisted into me throwing a tantrum and seeking revenge out of shame. He even embellished, claiming I formed cliques and had a terrible attitude at work. “Lena, this guy is a piece of work,” my friend said indignantly. “He’s trying to bury you.” I hung up, chest heaving. Peaceful resolution? Non-existent. When pushed to the edge of a cliff with no way back, I only had two choices: jump, or push them off. I went home and closed the curtains. darkness swallowed the room. I sat in the dark for a long time until my eyes adjusted. Then, I opened that $5,000 MacBook Pro. The desktop wallpaper was a minimalist design I made myself. I opened a heavily encrypted folder. Inside was every trace of my three years at that company. Every overtime record, clocked to the minute. Recordings of every meeting where Wang promised big bonuses or gaslit the staff. Every email asking me to do personal chores outside my job description. Every unpaid expense report. Every detail of withheld bonuses. I am a hoarder of digital receipts. I save everything. I never believe verbal promises. Only black and white. I thought I’d never need these. They were just a security blanket for my anxiety. Now, they were my only weapon. I organized the files, categorizing and naming them one by one. Each file was a puzzle piece. When put together, they would reveal the ugly, greedy, mean face behind Wang’s mask of “We are a family.” By the time I finished, it was dark. I stared at the dense folders on the screen, my eyes cold and determined. Wang, you think you can use your power to define who I am. I will use the evidence you left behind to show the world what you are. You started this war. But I will decide how it ends. 3 These alone weren’t enough. These proofs would only show that Wang was a bad boss, giving me an edge in a labor dispute. But they couldn’t destroy the empire he was so proud of. They couldn’t wash away the mud he threw at me. I needed a sharper sword. One that could pierce his armor and strike his vitals. I thought of someone. Jason. The company’s former tech lead, a straight-shooting engineer. He was fired a month before me. The reason? “Insubordination.” The real reason was laughably absurd. Wang’s wife got a new iPhone and couldn’t transfer her data. Wang naturally ordered Jason to go to his house and help. Jason was in the middle of solving a critical bug and replied, “I’m not your personal butler. This is work hours.” The next day, Karen called Jason into her office, and he was packing his bags by noon. He was one of the few people in the company who dared to stand up to Wang. I knew he wouldn’t be happy about it. I found Jason’s contact and sent a message. “Free? Let’s talk.” Jason replied instantly. “Free. Send address.” We met at a noisy BBQ joint. The sizzling meat and loud chatter provided perfect cover. Jason looked the same—plaid shirt, messy hair, but bright eyes. He walked over with two beers and set them on the table. “Heard about what happened. It’s all over the tech park.” He opened a bottle and handed it to me. “Badass.” I clinked my bottle against his and took a big gulp of cold beer. “Same to you,” I said. Jason smiled, a bit self-deprecatingly. “I was just being reckless. You, you have guts and brains.” “What’s the situation now?” he asked. I told him everything—the rejected applications, the blacklisting. When I finished, Jason slammed his skewer onto the table. “That old bastard! He’s not human!” His anger was real and direct. I knew I found the right person. “I don’t want to let this go,” I said, looking him in the eye. “He wants me dead. I want to show him who falls first.” Jason’s eyes lit up. It was the excitement of finding a worthy ally, the thrill of finally releasing pent-up rage. “Count me in!” he said without hesitation. “I’ve wanted to screw him over for ages!” “What do you need me to do?” “I need a breach point,” I said. “Something that will hurt him to the bone. Labor disputes are just mosquito bites to him.” Jason fell silent. He spun his beer bottle, thinking. The smell of smoke and grilled meat filled the air. After a while, he looked up, voice lowered. “I might… have something.” My heart skipped a beat. “What is it?” “Do you know which company makes the core software we use for our business?” I shook my head. I was in marketing; I didn’t know much about the tech stack. “It’s the flagship product of ‘Starlight Tech.’ An enterprise license costs $130,000 market price.” “Our company,” Jason smirked coldly, “uses a pirated version.” I froze. I knew Wang was cheap with employee benefits and salaries. I never thought he’d be bold enough to pirate the core tools the company relied on to survive. “How do you know?” I asked. “Because I was the one who installed and maintained it,” Jason said sarcastically. “When Wang told me to find a cracked version, I warned him. Commercial use carries high risk. If caught, the fines are astronomical.” “Guess what he said?” “He said, ‘Risk is a cost. We’re a small company, we need to control costs. If nobody talks, who will know?’” “If nobody talks, who will know?” I repeated the phrase, finding it incredibly ironic. “When he fired me, I kept an ace up my sleeve.” Jason leaned in. “I backed up everything on my computer related to the server using the pirated software—backend logs, IP addresses, version info. Everything.” “It’s a complete chain of evidence.” “If we hand this to Starlight Tech’s legal department…” Jason didn’t finish. But I understood. My breathing quickened. This wasn’t a sword. It was a battle axe. An axe capable of splitting the fortress of InnovateTech wide open. “Okay,” my voice trembled with excitement. “We start there.” The two of us clinked beer bottles in the noisy restaurant. The crisp sound of glass was the horn signaling our charge. The Avengers were assembled. 4 Jason and I moved fast and quietly. Like underground operatives, we communicated only via encrypted apps. Jason sent me the evidence backup via encrypted email. It was a massive zip file. Server logs, startup records of the cracked software, internal IPs using it, detailed version info. The evidence was more detailed than I could have imagined. Jason was a tech god. His backups even included timestamps that couldn’t be tampered with, ready for court. Looking at these files, I could picture Wang’s smug face. He thought he saved $130,000. He didn’t know the employee he kicked to the curb had planted a time bomb. My job was to light the fuse. I didn’t go to the police or a government agency. The process was too slow, and it might alert the enemy. I wanted InnovateTech to be judged by its “victim.” I spent a whole day writing an anonymous whistleblower letter in a tone so calm it bordered on cruel. I added no personal emotion. I simply stated objectively and in detail how InnovateTech had been using pirated “Starlight” software for commercial profit on a large scale for years. I attached Jason’s technical evidence chain. Finally, I wrote: “Your intellectual property is being ruthlessly trampled and stolen. The thief is using your hard work to make a fortune. As a loyal user of Starlight software, I cannot tolerate this.” After writing it, I read it through. Every word was ice-cold. Then, using a new, untraceable email address, I sent the letter and attachments to Starlight Tech’s public legal email. To be safe, I burned everything onto a CD and mailed it anonymously to Starlight’s CEO from a remote mailbox. After that, I deleted all records and local files. As if nothing happened. Then, the wait. Every day was torture. I refreshed Starlight’s website and industry news constantly. Jason was even more nervous, messaging me every hour. I told him to be patient. Sharks always come when they smell blood. Two weeks later, on a calm Wednesday afternoon. Jason sent me a photo. It showed several people in black suits standing at InnovateTech’s reception desk. They radiated power. The leader wore a pin on his lapel. The Starlight Tech logo. Jason’s caption: “They’re here.” My heart jumped into my throat. He sent another photo. It was Wang, bowing and scraping with a fake smile, ushering them into the conference room. Jason started a text commentary. “They showed a court order and a lawyer’s letter.” “They’re checking the servers now.” “Wang’s face is green.” “Tech team is being questioned. I bet they can’t delete the logs I left.” “Hahaha, Wang is making calls. He looks like his dad died.” I watched the messages, palms sweating. Nervous, but sickeningly excited. An hour later. Jason sent the final message. “Caught red-handed. The lawyer announced on the spot they’re suing InnovateTech. Damages… $3 million.” Three million dollars. I exhaled a long breath. For a company with tight cash flow like InnovateTech, this was a death blow. Wang, you saved $130,000. Now you pay $3 million. I wonder what your calculating brain thinks of that math. That night, Starlight Tech released an official statement. It was harsh, naming InnovateTech for infringement and vowing to pursue legal responsibility to the end. It caused a huge stir. This spread much further than my laptop incident. This involved an industry giant. Before, InnovateTech was a joke in the park. Now, it was a cautionary tale for the whole industry. I could almost hear the sound of Wang’s carefully maintained “dignity” shattering. Crisp and pleasant. This was just the appetizer. The main course was yet to come.

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