Author: Momo Chan

My job was office provisioning, specifically the daily afternoon pick-me-up. The budget? Five dollars per person. To maintain the company’s image of sophistication and generosity, I hunted down coupons, negotiated bulk discounts, and leveraged every deal I could find, somehow making that five dollars feel like fifty. Then, the bomb dropped. Veronica Jensen, the Director of Operations, sent a message to the company’s five-hundred-person Slack channel, tearing into the artisanal boba tea I’d purchased. She called it “unhealthy,” an “unauthorized, no-name brand,” and—the thinly veiled accusation that hit hardest—she publicly suggested I was taking kickbacks, ordering me to write a formal letter of self-criticism. The entire office’s gaze shifted, their expression curdling with suspicion. I laughed, but only in my head. You give me a Dollar Store budget and expect a Fifth Avenue experience? Fine. Don’t blame me when I give you the bulk-buy, bottom-shelf reality. 1 At three-fifteen that afternoon, the office was permeated with the sweet, creamy scent of tea. “Anya, this boba is incredible! Where did you even find this place?” “Seriously, the taro is so velvety. One hundred times better than those big chains!” I watched the satisfied smiles of my colleagues, and the tight knot in my stomach finally eased. I’d practically worn out the soles of my shoes tracking down this new, independent tea shop near the office. Its decor was small-batch and artisan, but the ingredients were premium. I’d charmed and haggled with the owner, securing a massive internal discount in exchange for guaranteed, large-volume, long-term business. Seeing everyone so happy made all the effort feel worthwhile. Amidst the chorus of praise, my phone screen flashed. The company-wide Slack channel. I clicked it open, still smiling. The next second, the blood drained from my face. The message was from Veronica Jensen. @Anya. Regarding the procurement for today’s afternoon perk, I have several serious concerns. First, the sugar content of this tea does not align with the company’s commitment to employee wellness. Second, why was an obscure, non-standard vendor chosen over established, hygienic, and brand-appropriate chains? The choice of vendors must reflect the professional image of this company. Anya, please prepare a detailed statement addressing these issues, including whether there were any unauthorized procurement processes or—most seriously—any misappropriation of company funds. I expect it on my desk by 9 AM tomorrow. Misappropriation of funds? The phrase echoed in the sudden, deafening silence of the office. My colleagues, who moments ago were raving about the creamy taro, were now hunched over their keyboards, fingers flying across the keys in a sudden, fake frenzy of work. Veronica’s words were a poison dart. She hadn’t said kickbacks directly, but “improper protocols” and “misappropriation” were enough to paint a vivid picture. She was publicly assassinating my character in front of five hundred people. The replies were already piling up beneath hers. Is that Anya from Admin? She always seemed so sweet, but wow… Over a few cups of coffee? Seriously? The whispers started immediately, coming from every corner of the cubicle farm. I couldn’t make out the specifics, but I felt the weight of their scrutiny—the suspicion, the judgment, and the subtle, cold contempt—pricking my back. I thought of the months of hustling. The endless energy spent trying to maintain a precarious balance: the company’s pathetic budget versus its lofty demands for “image.” The Five-Dollar Rule. For months, it had never changed. I chose that small artisanal vendor precisely because independent owners were more willing to negotiate outside of corporate price sheets. How else could I buy anything beyond a cheap soda at that price? Six months ago, when I inherited this ridiculous task, the outgoing HR rep handed me a ledger. The budget was highlighted in bold red: $5.00 per person/per day. Five dollars. For the first month, I spent every night running mental calculations on what five dollars could possibly buy. I sweet-talked the manager at the corner bakery, leveraging the promise of our large, stable corporate account for an “employee-only” discount. My phone was loaded with every delivery and coupon app imaginable, and I set a dozen different daily alarms for “Flash Sales” and “Limited-Time Bulk Offers.” I was constantly fronting money myself to meet minimum order requirements for discounts. I had been scrimping and hustling, turning a starvation budget into a genuine perk. All that effort, all the personal money I had fronted, the sheer, exhausting mental energy, had been reduced to three insults in one message: low quality, unhealthy, and corrupt. The same colleagues who had called me “Queen Anya” and praised the treats as “better than Google’s” were probably now in their private chats debating how much money I had managed to skim. Veronica’s personal message popped up. Anya, don’t forget to write the self-criticism. You’ll be delivering it to the entire staff at the morning meeting. I took a deep breath, pulled up my procurement logs for the day, and marched to her office. Veronica was lounging back in her leather chair, wearing a sheet mask and looking utterly relaxed. She didn’t even lift her chin when I knocked. “Is the statement written?” she asked, her voice muffled. “Director Jensen.” I laid the folder on her desk, trying to keep my voice even. “Regarding the concerns in the chat, I’d like to explain. This vendor has all the necessary health and operating permits, and the sugar levels are customizable.” “I chose them because they were the only vendor willing to supply us within the mandated budget. All the ‘established brands’ exceed the five-dollar limit by two or three times. I simply couldn’t negotiate them down.” I finished, my chest heaving slightly. She picked up the folder, flipped through a few pages, and tossed it back onto the desk. She leaned back, folding her hands over her stomach. “Anya, you’re missing the point.” “The company pays you to solve problems, not tell me how difficult they are. Everything you’ve just said is an excuse.” I raised my voice, unable to help it. “The budget is the problem! I’ve done everything I could within the constraint. All the records are here—” Veronica cut me off, her tone sharp with impatience. “That is your failure! Are you questioning the company budget?” I stood my ground. “I am stating a fact.” Her voice became thin and grating. “When the budget is insufficient, you find a solution, not lower the standard! As an Administrator, failing to secure resources is professional negligence!” “The entire company is talking about how Admin is buying low-grade junk food. Do you know the damage this causes to our reputation?” “Per policy, you will forfeit this month’s entire performance bonus, plus a fine of three hundred dollars.” My head buzzed. Three hundred dollars. I was planning to ask for an advance for my mother’s surgery next month. Veronica’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile. She leisurely picked up her water tumbler. “Of course, the company is not without compassion.” “You have two options. One: you present a deeply remorseful public apology at the morning meeting, admit your error, and the matter is closed. Two: you go to accounting and pay the fine immediately.” I looked at her face—smug, victorious—and my hands and feet went ice cold. I couldn’t speak a word. The next morning, I stood at the front of the conference room, clutching that single sheet of paper. Veronica stood beside me, arms crossed, radiating triumph. I took a breath and began to read. “To our leadership and esteemed colleagues, good morning.” “I am here to offer a deep apology for the serious oversight in my work concerning the recent afternoon perk procurement…” With every word I spoke, I felt the hundreds of eyes on me—some pitying, some judging, many simply enjoying the spectacle. As I walked down the aisle, I heard the murmurs. “See? I told you she was taking kickbacks. Why else apologize?” “It’s disgusting. For a few dollars, she ruined her reputation.” “She looked so put-together, you never know who these people really are.” The same people who had called me “Queen Anya” were now judging how much I’d stolen. Back at my desk, I opened my phone, my expression blank. I deleted every item from my saved carts—the artisan yogurts, the craft coffee pods, the specialty pastries. It was three o’clock. Time for the company’s reliable afternoon perk. I appeared right on schedule. My assistant and I wheeled in two flat carts. They were heavy, but the contents were stark. My colleagues looked up, a blend of curiosity and anticipation in their eyes. After yesterday’s drama, they were waiting to see what the newly shamed “kickback girl” would offer up. We opened the boxes and began distributing the items. In moments, every desk held the same exact items: a single bottle of plain bottled water and a small, sealed packet of store-brand chocolate chip cookies. The kind you could find at any gas station. The office plunged into a weird, tense silence. Everyone stared at the generic water and the cheap crackers. A young woman broke the silence, her voice hesitant. “Anya? Is… is this it for today?” I nodded, offering a perfect, professional smile. “Yes.” I gestured to the clear branding on the bottle and the packet. “Strictly adhering to Director Jensen’s directives. It’s purified water—zero sugar, zero calories, perfectly healthy.” “And it’s all major, reputable brands. Absolutely top-tier image. Fully compliant with the five-dollar budget.” After a beat of shock, the low, angry buzz began. The quiet murmurs quickly swelled into open complaining. “Seriously? This is insulting!” “We have a water cooler! Why would I want this?” “I’d rather have that ‘unhealthy’ boba tea again,” another colleague muttered, sounding genuinely upset. “I have no flavor in my mouth! How am I supposed to work all afternoon?” The complaints grew louder, losing all restraint. The noise quickly reached Veronica’s office. She burst out, her face a mask of thunder. She strode right up to my cubicle, pointing a furious finger at the water and cookies. “Anya! What is the meaning of this? Is this some kind of passive resistance?!” “The company tasked you with the afternoon perk, and this is what you call a perk?” I sat quietly at my desk. “Director Jensen, I am strictly executing your requirements.” I pointed to the two bulk boxes. “Each bottle of water cost $1.50. Each packet of cookies cost $3.50. Total: $5.00.” “The water is purified—perfectly healthy. The cookies are chocolate—energy boosting. Both are nationwide, known brands—very reputable.” I paused, emphasizing the final point. “Fully compliant with the budget.” Veronica choked on her anger, her face turning crimson because she knew every word was true. Her rage overwhelmed her logic. “This is childish! You’re throwing a temper tantrum!” “You’re deliberately making everyone miserable!” I didn’t argue. I just softly repeated my core truth. “I am simply following company policy.” Veronica’s accusation echoed through the office. But then, the murmurings shifted again. This time, they were not aimed at me. “Wait, $5.00?” “The budget is only five dollars?” Someone whispered, shocked. “No way. We were getting boba and specialty coffee before that.” “The artisanal snacks… was Anya footing the bill for all of that?” The murmuring colleagues fell silent. A complex mix of shame and dawning realization washed over their faces. Some were discreetly calculating the cost of their previous treats; others avoided my eyes. They were finally realizing the absurdity of a five-dollar-per-person budget. They realized the “employee benefit” they had enjoyed was not corporate generosity. They were finally connecting the dots between their beloved $30 lattes and my disgraced reputation. It turns out, I thought, a cold satisfaction settling in my gut, I was not the fool here.

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I’ve always been a human lucky charm, a walking four-leaf clover. I once bought a soda bottle and won a new car. My company, Apex Solutions, depended on the bid numbers I calculated to secure a 100% win rate, pulling us back from the brink of bankruptcy to become the third-largest firm in the city. The trouble started when a lottery ticket I’d absentmindedly bought on a business trip won three thousand dollars. The new Head of Finance demanded I turn over the entire amount. I explained that I had purchased the ticket with my own money. She flew into a rage. “The employment contract stipulates that all financial gains created by an employee during working hours belong to the company!” “If you won three million dollars on your own time, that’s your business. But winning three dollars during your official business trip? That’s company property!” Too tired to argue, I called my fiancé, Owen Grant, the company CEO. But Owen actually sided with her. “Sasha has a point,” he said, his voice flat. “If the company hadn’t paid for your business trip, you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to win in the first place!” Sasha Bell, the new finance head, looked even more smug. “I’m docking the three thousand dollar prize from your paycheck,” she announced with chilling finality. “And I’m adding a thirty-thousand-dollar fine for attempted embezzlement of company funds! Let this be a lesson to you.” I clenched the ticket in my hand. I didn’t argue again. A week later, Apex Solutions was gearing up for the biggest annual bid—the Dyson Group contract. Every set of eyes in the office landed on me. I offered a small, cool smile. “My apologies,” I said, my voice cutting through the anticipation. “I’ve quit. I am no longer obligated to fill out the bid submission.” 1 “Did you hear what Owen said?” Sasha asked, her arms crossed tight over her chest. “He specifically put me in charge of rooting out corporate corruption. You still think you can pocket company money? Dream on!” I ignored her, turning to leave. But Sasha lunged forward, snatching my handbag off my arm. Jealousy flashed in her eyes. “Where do you think you’re going? There’s no way you can afford a bag this expensive! I bet this was another perk from a ‘win’ on a business trip. Everything gets confiscated!” I fought down the surge of anger. “This bag was a gift,” I stated clearly. “It has nothing to do with any prize money.” Sasha rolled her eyes. “A gift? Or the payout for sleeping with some old man on the road?” She clicked her tongue dismissively. “Tsk, you really put in the effort, didn’t you? I always wondered why you were flying all over the country. Turns out you just had business everywhere—selling yourself for a commission!” A buzz of low chatter erupted among the surrounding colleagues. “No wonder Anya always came back claiming to have ‘won’ something,” one whispered. “Now it makes sense. It wasn’t a prize; it was a payout for services rendered!” Sasha’s eyes narrowed with a cunning glint. “What is it, Anya? Was it a sleeping-with-a-sugar-daddy bonus? Or was it acquired during business hours on a company trip?” Sensing my fury, a colleague stepped in to mediate. “Anya, just admit it was a prize. It’s only a bag. It’s not worth ruining your reputation over.” “Yeah, come on! Just let it be confiscated. Watch yourself next time.” Rage boiled up inside me. I raised my hand and pointed a cold finger at the person who spoke. “Your shoes? Bought during the business trip to Phoenix in December.” I moved my gaze to another. “You bought a whole gaming console on your trip last month.” “And you,” I looked straight at a guy named Ken, who had been the loudest agitator. “You were bragging about it. Your wife got pregnant after visiting you on a trip. Congratulations! She ‘won’ a baby on company time!” “So, according to your logic, shouldn’t all these things be surrendered to the company as well?” The crowd fell silent, their faces flushed. I walked up to Sasha. “If they didn’t have to turn over their purchases, or their good fortune, what right do you have to demand mine?” Sasha, completely losing face, slammed my bag onto the floor. The strap immediately snapped. “Oops, Anya! Why didn’t you catch it?” I was past the point of tolerance. I reached for my phone, ready to call the police. But someone snatched it away and smashed it to the ground. “Enough! How long are you going to keep this up?!” Owen emerged from his office, his face dark, to stop the escalating scene. “Anya, I’m warning you, don’t push it. You’re threatening to call the police on a colleague now?!” “Right now, you will apologize to Sasha Bell!” Sasha, instantly shedding her bravado, put on a weepy face. “Anya, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to break it. I’ll pay for it, I promise.” Owen put a protective arm around Sasha, soothing her with quiet words. When he turned to me, his eyes held only disgust. “It’s just a handbag! Stop making such a huge deal out of nothing!” I took a deep breath, forcing the emotion back down. “It was an anniversary gift from my fiancé.” Owen finally registered the ruined designer bag on the floor and paused, a flicker of surprise in his expression. I managed a tight, bitter smile. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s just a bag. Who cares? Anyway, I’ve decided to break off the engagement.” 2 I picked up the mangled bag, tossed it into the nearest office trash can, and walked away. That evening, Owen called me countless times. I answered once and gave him the short, definitive version: We were over. He begged, he reasoned, all to no avail. Finally, he hung up with a chilling threat, telling me I’d regret this. The next morning, I arrived at my desk right on time. An algorithm-pushed video popped up on my phone. Sasha was giggling into the camera. “Hey, fam! Your corporate newbie here took down a corrupt, slick old-timer today who tried to pocket company funds!” “This jaded old hag thought she could hide three grand in public money just because I’m new in finance. I shut her down hard and gave her a much-needed education.” “Haha, she even tried to call the CEO to complain. Too bad the CEO has my back. She was so mad! He even called me later and praised me for doing the right thing, saying I’m getting a bonus!” The comments section exploded. “Get her, girl! These corporate lifers need to be kept in check! The company is lucky to have you!” “Three grand? If this blogger didn’t expose her, who knows how much she’s stolen before. Instant justice! My chest feels clear and my day is made.” Sasha’s completely twisted version of events garnered widespread cheers. Scrolling down, I saw familiar IDs among the likes—some of the same colleagues who had asked me to ‘bless’ their contracts just yesterday. I looked at the stack of contracts piled on my desk. I swept them aside with a single movement. Perfect. In the past, my colleagues never hesitated to ask me for help. I always said yes. They seemed to have forgotten that this was a favor between colleagues, not an official part of my job description. I smirked internally. They call me a slick old-timer? Fine. I will adhere to the labor contract so strictly that I will not work a single extra minute. The travel expenses? They can fight over those themselves. I composed myself. The minute the clock hit 5:00 PM, I packed up to leave. I hadn’t made it to the door before a chorus of voices called out. “Anya! Did you finish reviewing my contract? Why didn’t you bring it to me?” “Yeah, mine too! I need that right now!” Sasha rushed over, her voice rising to a shout. “All these people are working late, waiting for you to review their documents, and you’re trying to sneak out?!” “If you don’t want to work, just go ahead and resign!” Resigning was out of the question. I was the one who pulled this company back from collapse. The board rewarded me with 5% of the company’s Restricted Stock Units (RSUs), vesting over three years. I needed to last just two more weeks to claim them. There was no way I was quitting. And as long as I followed the rules, they couldn’t fire me without cause. The stock was valued at almost five million dollars. I’d collect that money and then walk. I turned back, pointed to the clock on the wall, and raised an eyebrow. “Sneaking out? No, I’m leaving precisely when my workday ends, just as you so sternly suggested I do.” Sasha’s face turned an ugly shade of green. “You won’t get away with that attitude! I’ll tell Owen!” I had nothing to fear. Everything I did was strictly by the book. “Go right ahead.” 3 I ignored Sasha’s shouting and walked out. The next morning, I arrived at my cubicle. My next-door colleague stared at me as if I were a ghost. “The meeting in Atlanta? The contract signing? Why aren’t you with the team?” I spoke calmly. “Why would I be? It’s not my account.” The colleague offered a weak smile. They’d grown too used to having their free, human lucky charm on speed-dial. It was time for them to try winning a contract based on their own actual merit. A moment later, Sasha slammed a file folder onto my desk. “Anya, are you insane?! Why didn’t you go to Atlanta?” “Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve caused the company?!” Seeing her reaction, I understood. They hadn’t closed the deal on their own. I replied without rushing. “Their flight was at 8 AM. My shift starts at 9 AM. I couldn’t make it.” Sasha gnashed her teeth in fury. “You couldn’t leave early?! That project in Atlanta has been a long-term partnership. You just ruined a high-value client relationship! This is gross dereliction of duty!” I looked at her with feigned surprise. “It wasn’t my working hours. Why would I go?” “I suggest you check the labor contract again. ‘Accompanying colleagues to contract negotiations’ is not listed under my job responsibilities.” “Besides,” I added, leaning in slightly, “closing deals depends on skill. I’m just someone who only manages to collect a few travel perks and win minor prizes. I’d only be in the way.” Sasha’s chest heaved. At that moment, someone rushed in and whispered in her ear. Sasha’s expression became complicated. She glared at me and issued a cold warning. “Reyes Dynamics is here to sign a contract, and they specifically asked for you!” “I’m telling you, this is your only chance to redeem yourself! You better be cooperative!” I nodded. “Relax. Everything will be done according to company policy.” If the company scheduled a task for me during working hours, I was certainly not going to decline. I entered the conference room. Everyone turned toward me, ready for my presentation. I placed the file on the table and spoke without preamble. “Everyone, please go home. The contract we previously negotiated is null and void.”

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I was on a business trip when I spontaneously bought a scratch-off lottery ticket at a client event. I hit the second-tier prize: ten thousand dollars. The next day, back at the office, my boss demanded I hand over the winnings. “You were on company time, conducting company business. Every cent of your travel and lodging was reimbursed by the firm. That ten thousand dollars is, by definition, company property!” I was startled, but I pulled up the transaction record for the scratch-off. “On this trip, I negotiated a deal that will profit the firm by tens of millions. I won that money on my personal luck, after working hours. How is that company property?” Marcus Stone slammed his hand on the desk, his voice a roar. “Sienna White, are you completely insane? If the company hadn’t sent you on that trip, you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to win! You’re trying to pocket firm money! That kind of greed is repulsive!” “If Madison hadn’t told me you were trying to keep this a secret, I would have been completely in the dark!” “From now on, you are barred from all projects involving expense accounts! People like you—you’re a liability. Who knows how many kickbacks you’ve been taking behind my back?” “You will return the firm’s appropriated funds today, or I’ll call the police and have you arrested!” Through the glass of the office door, I inadvertently locked eyes with Madison. The chilling, knowing look she’d given me when I refused to split the prize with her the other day flashed into my mind. I didn’t utter a word. I simply looked down at the tiny sports camera still clipped to my collar. It was what I used to record the open contract negotiations. After all, as a corporate counsel… I knew exactly how to enforce my rights. 1 “Mr. Stone.” “You are stating that I must give the firm the ten thousand dollars I won on the scratch-off, correct?” “And if I don’t transfer it today, I’ll be fired?” “What else did you expect?” He let out a short, dismissive laugh, gazing at me with arrogant triumph. “You won’t just lose your job. What you’ve done is embezzlement. I’ll press charges, sue for damages, and watch you rot in jail for a decade or more!” I raised my head, ensuring Marcus’s obese figure was perfectly framed in the camera lens. I let out a slow, deliberate sigh. “You’re right. I can’t afford that consequence.” “I’ll transfer the ten thousand right now.” Marcus was momentarily stunned. He clearly hadn’t anticipated the ‘hard-ass’ lawyer would fold so quickly. A crisp, mechanical female voice announced the transaction confirmation. The confusion vanished from his face, replaced by a satisfied grin. He raised an eyebrow in approval. “That’s the right call. It’s not worth ruining your entire career over ten thousand dollars.” “The law and the Employee Handbook aren’t just suggestions, Sienna. I’m doing this for your own good. If this went to court, you’d have nowhere to turn.” “It’s good to step back when you’ve made a mistake. The company is, and always will be, your home.” I nodded. I turned and walked out of the office. As soon as I was out of Marcus’s line of sight, I quickly unclipped the sports camera and tucked it into my pocket. I made sure to screenshot the transfer confirmation. During the transaction, Marcus had specifically required me to include the memo: “Return of Company Funds.” Looking at those four words, a cold laugh echoed in my head. Marcus must have forgotten that I’d been the firm’s counsel for ten years. I personally drafted every labor contract and every single clause in the company’s policies and procedures. No one was more familiar with the rules than I was, and no one was better at leveraging them. If my boss was going to stoop to this level, then, starting now, I was going to show him. He was about to feel the crushing weight of the rules he built, used to drag him straight to hell. I returned to my desk, my face impassive. Madison, who sat opposite me, quickly lowered her head, then, when she thought I wasn’t looking, darted into Marcus’s office. Moments later, my phone vibrated. I saw the message and my heart sank. A wave of nausea hit me. [@ALL-STAFF: Emergency All-Hands meeting in the main conference room in three minutes to address Sienna White’s misappropriation of firm funds.] I hadn’t been wrong. Demanding the scratch-off prize was just the bait. Marcus’s real goal was to completely humiliate me, to tarnish my reputation so thoroughly I would never be able to hold my head up in the firm again. In the conference room, Marcus’s face was dark, his gaze intentionally lingering on me for an extended moment. “The firm has reached a decision regarding Sienna White’s violation of policy and private appropriation of firm funds.” “One: Her monthly salary will be reduced to three thousand dollars.” “Two: Her position will be changed from Legal Manager to Assistant.” “The vacant Legal Manager position will be temporarily filled by Madison.” The room was instantly filled with murmurs and whispers, every syllable drilling clearly into my ears. “Are you kidding? Traveling twenty days a month for a three-thousand-dollar paycheck? My intern salary is higher than that!” “Demoted from manager to assistant—I’d be too embarrassed to even show my face here…” “Embezzlement is basically being a thief. Why isn’t Marcus calling the cops?” I clenched my fists tight, remaining completely silent. Marcus had repeatedly and not-so-subtly hinted that my salary was too high and that I wasn’t as “committed” as Madison. The demotion and pay cut. He was trying to force me to quit voluntarily. Seeing my silence, Marcus slammed a document onto the table in front of me. “The company pays for your travel, your meals, your lodging—not so you can use business trips as an excuse to fleece the firm!” “I pay for your full, undivided commitment!” The collective stare of my colleagues was like a whip lashing across my face. I suppressed my rage and looked up. My gaze skimmed past Marcus. And landed on Madison’s smug, triumphant expression. “I accept the firm’s disciplinary actions. I am happy to yield the manager position to a more capable individual.” My peers in the industry made at least three times my salary. I’d had plenty of headhunters calling over the years. But I wasn’t motivated by money. Because I had been with Marcus since the startup days, I had never considered leaving. Besides working until midnight every day, I personally proofread and produced dozens of contracts daily. Madison, on the other hand, was completely incompetent, a placeholder. She didn’t even understand the basics of labor law. She had only been fast-tracked to a full-time position after this business trip. I was curious to see how she would hold onto that manager title. After the meeting, I completed the full handover of my duties in less than ten minutes. Then, in one clean sweep, I highlighted every backup file on my computer and hit the delete key. From this moment on, I was a mere assistant making $3,000 a month. Anything more than the bare minimum was a loss for me. At 5:30 PM, I shut down my computer on the dot. The instant my rear lifted off the chair, I heard Madison’s shrill, passive-aggressive voice. “Leaving already, Ten-K Thief?” “Are you too ashamed to stay, or are you rushing home to… well, whatever it is you do now?” “I suggest you stick around and put in some overtime. You’re thirty, you’re just an assistant now. Relying on stealing from the firm will land you in jail eventually!” I offered her a slight smile. “Manager Madison, I perform work commensurate with my pay. The Employee Handbook states that the workday ends at 5:30 PM. Since the firm doesn’t offer overtime pay, I can’t be expected to give away my labor for free.” “My tasks are complete. I wouldn’t want to drain the firm’s electricity.” I turned and walked straight into the elevator without looking back. Madison’s raging insults behind me nearly pierced my eardrums. Less than thirty seconds later, my phone blew up with over a hundred notifications. Madison was furiously messaging Marcus in the work group chat, complaining about my “early departure.” Marcus, enraged, started cursing me out in the chat. The other colleagues chimed in with their vile comments. The entire exchange was a cesspool. Sitting in my car with the heat on, I coldly recorded every single message. They didn’t know it, but every piece of filth they spewed in that chat… was a catalyst accelerating their own corporate demise. I played dead in the group. Marcus, utterly livid, vowed to teach this “disobedient animal” a lesson. So, the next morning. When I clocked in right at the last minute. My desk was gone. Following the gleeful, knowing glances of my colleagues, I spotted a large black trash bag next to the restroom. I strode over to it, only to find a few of my possessions. My lunch break blanket had been shredded. My tablet, used for signing electronic contracts, had been folded at a ninety-degree angle, the screen shattered. Several of my professional suit jackets were covered in muddy footprints. Madison tossed a plastic chair at me. She pointed to the security camera directly above my head. “Marcus said we have a thief, so we need extra vigilance. This is your new workstation. He feels safer with you sitting right here.” “Since we recovered the stolen firm property, maybe this will teach you a lesson! Don’t act like a petty thief again! If you even think about company funds or assets, I, the Legal Manager, will be the first to prosecute you!” I was beyond fury. I nearly laughed from the absurdity. The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “Company property? Madison, are you insane? From my personal laptop and tablet down to my keyboard and blanket—not a single item belongs to the firm!” “What are you, a sewer rat? Only capable of doing despicable things behind people’s backs?” “My property here is easily worth six figures. Unless you return it to me in its original state, I’m calling the police right now!” Madison’s eyes widened. She raised her hand to strike me. “You little bitch! I’m the manager! How dare you speak to me like that?” “Six figures? The thief is making threats! I’ll shut your mouth for you!” The colleagues swarmed forward. They looked like they were trying to break up the fight. In reality, they used the chaos to shove me down, “accidentally” stepping on me as I fell. Madison shrieked, shoving her phone camera right into my face. “Everyone look! This is the thief who stole firm funds and appropriated company property! This gambler exposed her true colors on the business trip, buying lottery tickets right in front of the clients!” She grabbed a handful of my hair while I was struggling to stand, forcing my head back into a humiliating position. “I’m going to make you famous across the entire internet, Ten-K Thief!” The taste of blood filled my mouth. I held my phone tight against my chest. I glanced down, ensuring the recording was still active. I tried to reach the emergency alert button on my smartwatch with my right hand. Suddenly, a searing pain shot through my wrist. The watch was violently ripped off. It shattered on the floor. Marcus’s voice boomed from above me. “Sienna White, instigating a brawl! That’s a five hundred dollar deduction from your salary this month!” I looked up in shock. He glared down at me, letting out a cold snort. “You disagree? Fine. I’m canceling your annual bonus entirely!” I couldn’t believe my ears. Every contract I had handled maximized the firm’s profits. This year alone, I had generated at least fifty million in extra revenue. I calculated my bonus would be no less than $200,000. And he was canceling it with a single, throwaway sentence? On what grounds?! But before I could speak, Marcus and Madison turned and walked away. The colleagues made no effort to hide their smug, snickering faces, pointing fingers at me. I was the joke of the entire firm. Humiliation flooded my heart. I scrambled up, wiping the blood from my lip. I rushed into a restroom stall. Pulling my laptop from my bag, I swiftly logged into the firm’s security system. The movement was automatic, seamless. Madison had been too busy basking in her newfound authority these past two days. She hadn’t bothered to update the system’s permissions—so my access was still fully intact. These videos were my ultimate nuclear weapon. I watched coldly as the footage showed my colleagues’ coordinated ‘accidents.’ The hatred in my heart intensified. I pulled out my phone and called the hospital. “Hello, I need to schedule an injury evaluation. I require the documentation for a Level One Felony Assault.” When I returned to the office that afternoon. As expected, I had been cancelled online. Madison had posted the video of the assault to social media. In half an hour. The views had surpassed one hundred thousand. [Looks professional, but she’s a thief? Those designer clothes are probably stolen too!] [I guess women can be gamblers too. Did she get addicted somewhere seedy?] [Poor company! This woman has been doxxed. She was a high-paid legal manager, handling seven-figure projects daily. Think of the kickbacks she must have taken!] It took me zero seconds to guess that the doxxing was Marcus and Madison’s handiwork. I was about to go educate Madison on defamation law. The next second, a brand-new Employee Handbook was slapped down in front of me. I looked up and met Madison’s deeply unhappy expression. “Marcus is sending you on a business trip.” “There was a minor error in the Eastwood Dynamics contract—I wrote a decimal point in the wrong place. You go over there, talk to them about pretending they didn’t see it, and swap in this new version.” Her tone was casual, as if she were talking about a simple math mistake. I shook my head. “I won’t go. As an assistant, business travel is outside my job description.” She pointed at me, incensed. “Negotiation is your strength, isn’t it? Why refuse?” “Since when does an assistant refuse the manager’s orders?” “Haven’t you learned your lesson online yet? Fine, I’ll send that video to your parents, your family!” A triumphant smirk played on her lips. “Also, Marcus personally drafted the New Employee Handbook.” “If you refuse to go, you will be fined five thousand dollars and required to write a ten-thousand-word essay to be read out loud at the morning meeting for a full week!” My personnel file was in Madison’s office. She must have illegally copied my family’s contact information. My mother’s health was fragile. If Madison sent her that video… I had no choice but to agree. Seeing my silence, Madison scoffed. “Smart girl. Remember to adhere to this New Employee Handbook!” “Your cell phone must be reachable twenty-four hours a day while traveling. Three minutes of disconnection will be counted as a no-show.” “Hotel standard is fifty dollars, meal standard is twenty, client entertainment is fifty dollars, and travel will only reimburse for coach train tickets…” With every item she read, a gasp rippled through the surrounding colleagues. I remained completely silent, only looking at her with cold eyes.

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I said yes to Declan’s proposal. After the wedding, I stopped interfering with any of his and Maisie’s boundary-crossing behavior. I could even manage a polite smile when Maisie fed him a bite of her appetizer at my birthday dinner. Facing the knowing glances and sly teasing from our friends, I responded with cool composure. “Oh, that? They’ve been attached at the hip since kindergarten, practically grew up in the same sandbox. I’m completely used to it.” But Declan’s face clouded over, and he slammed his chopsticks down. 1 Clatter— “Get out!” Declan’s jaw was tight, his face a furious mask. The entire private room fell into a stunned silence. The guests exchanged glances, then slowly began to rise. “Dec, no matter how upset you are that your wife is trying to passively-aggressively shame me, you can’t ruin her own birthday party—” “You too. Go.” Maisie hadn’t expected him to shout at her. She froze for a moment, her eyes instantly welling up, and then she bolted from the room. Once the door closed behind the last retreating figure, I let out a slow sigh. “What’s wrong? Did the scallops Maisie picked out for you not taste right?” Declan’s gaze was practically on fire, his chest heaving as he stared me down. “Savannah, do you have to be like this?” “Like what?” “You’re doing this deliberately! This whole act of faux-calm, this sickening indifference, this calculated show of being the ‘bigger person’—it’s all to torture me!” I turned my head away, my expression perfectly neutral, tinged with a delicate confusion. “But Declan, isn’t this exactly what you always wanted?” “You said I was too jealous and demanded that I stop interfering with you and Maisie. I did. I even did better than you asked. So what exactly are you unhappy about now?” He surged to his feet, leaning in, his presence suffocating. “You know that’s not what I meant!” “You’re seething inside right now, and you’re only pretending to be detached to deliberately piss me off. But do you have any idea how much you’re humiliating me in front of my friends?” “They’re all talking behind my back, saying you’re just pretending to be agreeable, that you have no real feeling for me. Isn’t that exactly what you wanted them to think?!” I couldn’t help but let a corner of my mouth curl up. Declan’s friends, at least, were proving to be smarter than him. “Think whatever you like. Every action and word that leaves my mouth is completely sincere. If you refuse to believe me, there’s truly nothing I can do.” I stood up, ready to leave. Declan grabbed my arm, pulling me roughly back against the wall. He buried his face in the curls near my neck, his voice softening, muffled and thick with an aggrieved plea. “Sav, I know I shouldn’t have brought her to your birthday dinner. I’m sorry. I know I screwed up. Please, stop being mad at me, okay?” I had a moment of pure disorientation. I’m three years older than Declan. The first time we met at a charity gala, he’d used that exact soft, boyish inflection. “I’m Declan Beaumont! You’re the most beautiful woman here, can I please have your number?” Back then, Declan was all golden, easy-going youth. Years later, he rarely used that pleading tone, but when he was in trouble, he still resorted to this sort of petulant supplication. “Fine.” Seeing me relent, he immediately brightened, the earlier unpleasantness forgotten. “Great! Let’s ditch this place and go somewhere else. We still have time for us, just the two of us, to celebrate before midnight—” His words were cut short by a frantic ringtone. He glanced at it, pressed ignore, but the screen immediately lit up again. Declan’s eyes narrowed. He swallowed his apology and spoke without hesitation. “The office. There’s a crisis with the new European project. I have to go back. You go home and wait for me, alright?” Then, without looking back, he was gone. My hand went up to the spot on my neck where his head had rested, my eyes fixed and unfocused on the closed door. A moment later, I reached into my bag, pulled out a wet wipe, and expressionlessly rubbed the skin clean. I won’t be waiting anymore, Declan. 2 I didn’t go home. I called a car service straight to the airport. I shut off my phone the moment I boarded, sleeping through the flight until we landed in London. The instant I powered on my phone, dozens of missed calls and frantic texts from Declan flooded the screen. [You’re not home? Why aren’t you answering?] [Why the hell are you flying to Europe in the middle of the night? Is this some pathetic runaway ploy again?] [You have sixty seconds to text me back! Or I swear, I’m filing for divorce!] Before I could finish reading the rest, his call came through. “Savannah, there’s a limit to how dramatic you can be! Just walking out without a word—were you trying to give me a heart attack?” I gathered the hair the stiff airport breeze had whipped across my face. “I told you last week, Declan. I had a business trip to the UK to close a multinational partnership deal.” The person on the other end paused, then stammered defensively. “D-did you? I don’t recall that at all.” “I did mention it. But you were busy texting Maisie, and you told me to ‘handle it yourself.’” A long, painful silence followed. After a full minute, all he could manage was a stiff: “I have to go. Talk later.” I ended the call and instinctively lit a cigarette. In the final two seconds before he hung up, I’d heard Maisie’s clear, high-pitched voice in the background. I smiled, completely unbothered. If this had happened before we were married, I probably would have already been buying a ticket back home to confront him. In the three years we dated, Maisie was a constant, ubiquitous ghost. She was even there when Declan successfully asked me out. We celebrated that evening as a trio. Maisie ran over from across the restaurant, instantly draping her arm over Declan’s shoulder. “Oh, don’t mind me, Sav! Dec and I have known each other since we were in diapers. It’s his big day, of course I had to crash it!” Declan frowned and shrugged her hand off his shoulder. “When are you going to stop throwing yourself at people every time you see them?” I felt a slight prickle of discomfort then, but honestly, I didn’t give it much thought. It was only later that similar instances piled up. Our dates were always a party of three. Even on special holidays like Valentine’s Day, or our anniversary, Declan would have a gift for her. “Maisie’s all alone, Sav. If I forget about her too, she’ll truly be left with no one.” That was Declan’s most frequent explanation. It was weak, but back then, I was still so infatuated that I tolerated it. 3 The moment I couldn’t tolerate it anymore was on Declan’s first birthday after we started dating. I leased an entire rooftop garden, spent a fortune on decor, and had custom sports car—the one he’d been obsessed with for months—shipped from Europe and displayed on a rotating platform in the center of the room. I invited all his friends. I was so excited, imagining his face when he saw the surprise, a genuine smile pulling at my lips at the thought. But that night, Declan never showed up. As the party was winding down, his friend Rhys came over to me. “Savannah, look, the truth is… Dec never spends his birthday with us.” I was stunned. “Then how does he spend it? Why didn’t any of you tell me when I invited you?” Rhys hesitated, finally sighing heavily. “Look, promise you won’t tell him I said this.” “He spends every single birthday alone with Maisie. They’re probably at her apartment right now. We didn’t tell you because… we all assumed you had worked something out with him this year. We didn’t realize…” That’s why every time I called them that day, their first reaction had been shock, followed by asking if Declan knew I was throwing him a party. In that instant, I realized I was the punchline of a very expensive joke. I drove straight to Maisie’s apartment complex. Declan’s luxury sedan was haphazardly parked outside. An hour after I arrived, the light in Maisie’s window finally flickered off. I got out of my car and waited for Declan to emerge. But for a full twenty minutes, no one came downstairs. I got back into my car, a self-deprecating laugh catching in my throat as tears slid down my cheeks. I chain-smoked until the first hint of morning light broke over the skyline. When Declan finally came down, he looked tired, hungover, but his expression held a certain unmistakable, deep-set contentment. He froze when he saw me, then immediately scowled. “Savannah? Why are you here?” “Was your birthday not satisfying enough for you?” I fought to keep my voice steady, but it was hoarse and cracking. “Don’t make a scene here. Let’s just go home and talk.” He reached for my hand, his expression unnatural, but I snatched mine away. “A scene? Declan, we’re done. I want a breakup.” I stared into his eyes, speaking slowly and deliberately. He instantly grew irritated. “Are you serious? Over something so minor? It’s always been a tradition that Maisie celebrates my birthday alone with me. Besides, you didn’t give me enough warning about your party!” “It is serious! I told you about this party a month ago! You didn’t care enough to remember, you ignored my calls and texts all day yesterday, and you spent the entire night with another woman! An entire night! And you call that minor?” It was the first time I’d ever screamed, completely losing my composure in front of Declan. “Savannah, can you stop being so completely irrational? Maisie and I are siblings, practically. There’s nothing going on between us. If there was, it would have happened ages ago. You’re blowing this up.” “She is nothing more than a little sister to me, the kid next door. Why do you constantly insist on competing with her?” Tears streamed down my face, uncontrolled, but he just stood there, watching me fall apart. My body was trembling with sobs, yet he remained completely untouched. “A brother, a sister, a best friend—what is she to you, really?” “No sister monopolizes her brother’s birthday! And no brother ditches his girlfriend for every little, insignificant thing his ‘sister’ asks of him!” That was our first real fight. It was loud, messy, and devastating. He accused me of lacking trust and overreacting. I accused him of perpetually prioritizing Maisie and completely disregarding my feelings. The end of the argument came when he pulled out a diamond ring and said: “Sav, I really, truly messed up. I promise I’ll change. Just forgive me, please.” I was weak. I forgave him, thinking the solemn promise of marriage would finally make him draw a line. I won’t deny that the moment he proposed, I was happy. I thought the commitment of marriage would finally force him to discipline himself. Instead, it only gave him the license to hurt me with even greater abandon. The cigarette butt burned my fingertip, the small, sharp pain dragging me back to the cold, gray reality of the British morning. I stubbed out the cigarette. The English sky was always so heavy and vast, lending the world an air of cold loneliness. 4 At the celebratory dinner for the deal I’d secured, Declan showed up, clutching a massive bouquet of garishly red roses. “Savannah, congratulations on landing the account.” He was dressed impeccably, and his timing was perfect. A smattering of polite, professional applause and congratulatory murmurs rose around us. I smiled gently, taking the roses. I feigned a soft reprimand. “You’re terrible, showing up all this way without a warning.” “Well, I wanted to surprise you, didn’t I?” He clearly approved of my composed reaction. He tried to take my hand, but another pair of hands reached past me and slipped firmly into the crook of his arm. I didn’t need to look to know who they belonged to. “This is rich! You two are out here wining and dining, and you didn’t invite me? Good thing I followed you all the way over here!” Maisie’s voice was bright and loud, carrying her signature, spoiled charm. She was wearing a pure white cocktail dress tonight, and standing next to Declan in his sharp suit, they looked, to the untrained eye, inexplicably perfect together. Declan stiffened, trying to gently extricate his arm, but she clung to him tighter. The ambient chatter in the room evaporated instantly. Everyone was subtly watching my reaction, some with undisguised schadenfreude. My smile never wavered. In fact, it grew softer as I looked at Maisie. “Goodness, Maisie, you should have traveled with your brother! It must have been so lonely and dangerous to fly here by yourself.” Maisie faltered, clearly thrown off by my total lack of anger. I turned back to Declan, pushing the roses into his chest. “Since Maisie is here, you can spend some time entertaining her. I need to go over a few final details with Mr. James, the channel partner.” “Maisie, the desserts here are exquisite, and I remember you love French pastries. Have Dec treat you to a few, okay?” With a nod to the surrounding guests, I left the couple, gliding naturally toward the main table. Mr. James, the head of the largest European distribution chain. The primary purpose of this celebration was to solidify our connection with him. I had been trying to figure out how to elegantly ditch Declan, but Maisie’s sudden appearance had, accidentally, done the work for me. “Sue, your husband and his… friend, they are most entertaining.” James offered a low-voiced, accented tease. I raised my champagne flute and tapped it lightly against his, utterly unruffled. “It’s a minor distraction, nothing important. Let’s focus on the important work. Regarding next quarter’s projected logistics…” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Declan trying to pull away from Maisie and follow me, but she had him completely trapped. 5 The look Maisie shot me was one of triumphant, smug defiance. I was entirely unmoved. My only concern was that they would make a scene and embarrass me, so I signaled my assistant to keep a discreet watch nearby. The partnership with James was too crucial to be jeopardized by those two children. The celebration wrapped up, and I made preparations to head straight back to the airport. “Savannah, I flew all this way to see you, and now you’ve said maybe five words to me, and you’re leaving me again?” Declan caught up to me at the hotel entrance, his voice thick with clear annoyance and a subtle, petulant whine. Maisie was still plastered to his side, gazing at me with a haughty, dismissive air. I stopped, my smile still perfectly polished. “Declan, the second I closed the deal, I booked the next flight home. I have an essential board meeting to chair. You know how it is. I have to deliver these results if I want to outmaneuver my useless brothers and earn my place at The Harrington Group.” “So just let me go home today, hmm? Be good.” That patronizing line was one Declan had used to placate me countless times. He faltered, his brow furrowing deeper. “How important can one meeting be? Is it more important than me? I’m already here. I checked the schedule and booked the same flight as you. Can’t you postpone by a day?” 6 “Your wife is a big shot now, Dec. Everyone knows she’s practically eclipsed her older brother at The Harrington Group.” Maisie tossed the comment out carelessly, though her eyes were sharp with mockery. “We’re just two rich kids playing around, Dec. We shouldn’t waste her time when she’s doing such important things.” I nodded approvingly. “Maisie, you’re becoming so much more mature. Declan, you really should take a few notes from her.” I reached into my handbag and produced a key card, slipping it into Declan’s hand. “By the way, this was the suite I booked. I don’t need it now. It’s a two-bedroom. You two can take it.” Declan stared blankly at the card, his voice a stiff croak. “You… you want me to share a room with another woman?” “Why not? It’s not like you haven’t before. You’re brother and sister, darling. Relax. I trust you both implicitly.” “I’m really out of time. I need to leave now. Maisie, thank you for taking care of your brother for me.” Before he could react, I turned, opened the car door, and drove away. In the rearview mirror, I watched Declan standing rooted to the pavement, the key card clutched in his hand, his face a pale, horrified mask as he stared at the retreating car. I rolled down the window and lit a cigarette, the faint minty tobacco scent filling the car. I put the choice in your hands, Declan. Let’s see what you do with it.

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The new A-list actor, Asher Flynn, publicly called me out, slamming me for being shameless and chasing clout. The trending topics exploded for three days straight. My DMs were flooded with mock funeral wreaths sent by his fans. I was being cyberbullied to the point of wanting to delete all my accounts and quit the industry. I was just about to find my online boyfriend to cry to. But before I could even type, he sent me a screenshot, followed by a whiny, self-pitying voice note. “Babe, some D-list actress is trying to score points with me! I’m furious!” My hands trembled as I clicked on the screenshot. There, in stark white text, was Asher Flynn’s comment tearing me down: “@Rowan—stay in your lane. You’re sickening to look at.” Wait. No. The gentle, attentive online boyfriend who tucked me in every night… Was actually the A-list actor, Asher Flynn? This relationship just hit a dead end. 1 Asher’s messages kept flooding in. “Babe, why aren’t you answering me?” “Did you see that trending topic, too? Don’t believe it for a second. I have absolutely nothing to do with that Rowan girl.” “Her profile picture is clearly a rip-off of yours, a cheap knock-off. Ugly people always try too hard.” “If my manager hadn’t stopped me, I would’ve sent two more tweets to knock some sense into her.” My fingertips went numb looking at the relentless stream of messages. Ten minutes ago, I was sobbing hysterically because of Asher’s tweet. He said I was desperate for attention, that I was calculating, and that just seeing me made his stomach turn. The entire internet was laughing at me; his fans had cursed my ancestors. I had even drafted my retirement statement, planning to move back home and sell artisan coffee from a food truck. And now, the man who caused all this mess was using a pink-and-blue teddy bear couple’s avatar and texting me, begging for affection. “Babe?” He sent another voice note, his voice deep, gravelly, and laced with a pathetic neediness. “Don’t be mad, I only slammed her to prove my loyalty to you.” Proving his loyalty by tearing me to shreds? I took a deep breath, my fingers shaking as I typed: I’m not angry. Asher replied instantly: “Thank God! You scared me. I thought you misunderstood that I had something going on with that flop. That kind of woman? I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.” “…” I looked at my reflection in the mirror—eyes red, hair a mess. “Babe, I have to film a reality show tomorrow. It’s going to be busy, so I won’t be able to reply right away.” “And that Rowan girl is apparently going to be there, too. Seriously bad luck. Don’t worry, babe, I promise to stay miles away from her tomorrow. She won’t get a single drop of my limelight!” Asher sent another heads-up. But tomorrow? Wasn’t that the day we were both scheduled to be on The Ultimate Challenge? I had held onto a sliver of hope, thinking I might use the show as a chance to explain things to him, or maybe just apologize for the ‘clout-chasing’ accusation. Now, it looked like I was walking into a firing squad. If he ever found out that the ‘Babe’ he cooed to every night… was Rowan, the actress he publicly despised. The image was too awful to contemplate. He would likely feel betrayed, and his disgust for me would only intensify. Okay, you do your thing. I hit send, then flipped my phone face down on the table. My manager, Brenda, pushed the door open, her face etched with worry. “Rowan, are you still going to the set tomorrow? Asher Flynn’s team is putting out feelers—he doesn’t want any interaction with you. And the network will definitely play this up for ratings.” I gave a bitter laugh. “The contract breach fee is three hundred grand. Can I afford that?” Brenda sighed. “Right. Just keep a low profile tomorrow. Try to avoid him. Don’t give him any more ammunition.” I doubted I could avoid him. “Brenda,” I suddenly asked, “if… and I mean if… I wanted to quit, could I pay the termination fee in installments?” Brenda’s eyes widened. “Are you crazy? Because of this? Hey, being a villain is still being famous!” I didn’t answer. This wasn’t about being famous, even if it was infamous. This was about total, public humiliation. If my identity was revealed tomorrow, my career in Hollywood was over. Worse, Asher’s fans might actually tear me to shreds. I picked up my phone again and tapped on Asher’s profile. That pink-and-blue teddy bear avatar suddenly felt like a punch to the gut. I had to end it. But before the breakup, I needed to survive tomorrow’s show. I could not let him recognize me. As long as I denied everything, he would never know his ‘Babe’ was me. With a resolved mind, I locked down all my social media accounts and changed my profile picture to a solid black square. Asher sent a stream of question marks: “Babe, why the new picture?” I replied: I’m in a bad mood. I’ve gone dark. He sent a ‘big hug’ GIF: “Who upset you? Tell me, I’ll go rip them a new one!” I stared at the screen and forced a smile. It was you who upset me. Weren’t you cruel enough already? 2 On the set of the reality show. I huddled in a corner, trying to shrink into invisibility. Asher Flynn walked in, the center of attention. He looked impossibly handsome in a black outdoor jacket, the kind of man you couldn’t tear your eyes from. But the air pressure around him was freezing. His face clearly screamed, “Do not approach.” He walked right past me without stopping, not even sparing me a side-glance. Sierra, the current “It Girl” and another female guest—and, in Asher’s fans’ minds, the only acceptable girlfriend—smiled sweetly at the sight of him. “Asher, long time no see,” Sierra greeted him with a sugary voice, naturally shifting closer to him. Asher gave a noncommittal grunt. His attitude wasn’t exactly warm, but he didn’t push her away either. Sierra then turned to me, her face plastered with an impenetrable fake smile. “Oh, look, isn’t this Rowan? After yesterday’s blow-up, I honestly thought you’d be too embarrassed to show up today.” Her voice was just loud enough for everyone around to hear. All eyes instantly pivoted to me. I clenched the hem of my jacket. “I signed a contract. Of course, I’m here.” “Right. Well, this might be your last time on a high-profile show like this,” Sierra said, covering her mouth with a delicate laugh. “You have to seize the chance to get as much screen time as possible.” I didn’t take the bait. The less I said, the better. Asher suddenly spoke up. “What’s with the small talk? Can we be professional?” Sierra instantly nodded submissively. “Asher’s right. Let’s run through the notes.” She shot me a smug, victorious look. I looked down, pretending to read the script. But I couldn’t process a single word. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I sneakily pulled it out. A text from Asher. “Babe, I’m here. That Rowan girl is here too, of course. Annoying.” “She tried to talk to me just now, but I totally ignored her.” “You can’t give people like that an inch. They just take advantage.” I was speechless. Wait! When did I try to talk to him? He was the one who walked past me! Did this man have two separate personalities? High-and-mighty movie star in real life, petty, gossipy boyfriend in our texts? I took a deep, steadying breath and replied: Mhm, you did the right thing. Asher shot back instantly: “I know, right? I have to keep my virtue safe. Besides you, I don’t want anything to do with anyone else.” Reading that, my heart ached with a complicated mix of emotions. If you ignored the reality, he was truly the perfect boyfriend. But reality was staring me right in the face. The director yelled into a megaphone: “Places, everyone! We’re going live! The first segment is drawing lots for teams!” My heart dropped. Please, please, not with Asher Flynn. Please, no. But Murphy’s Law never fails. When I pulled a red ball from the box, Asher was holding a red ball, too. A dead silence fell over the stage. The live comments were probably in a frenzy. Sierra’s smile froze, quickly replaced by a pitying look directed at Asher. “Asher, looks like you got the short straw.” Asher stared at the red ball in his hand, his brows tightly knitted. He didn’t even look at me. He just raised his hand and asked the director, “Can we redraw?” The director awkwardly wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Mr. Flynn, we’re live… those are the rules.” Asher let out a cold laugh and tossed the red ball onto the table. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” I stood there, so mortified I didn’t know where to put my hands. Sierra sidled up to me and lowered her voice. “Rowan, if you had an ounce of self-respect, you’d ask to drop out. Don’t drag Asher down.” I looked up at her, my eyes filled with false hope. “Drop out? Will you cover the breach fee?” Sierra choked on her words, then glared at me fiercely. “Clingy.” The light in my eyes dimmed. Sigh. The teams were set; there was no changing it. Asher walked up to me, looking down. It was the first time he had truly looked me in the eye today. Those beautiful eyes were devoid of warmth, filled instead with pure aversion. “Rowan, right?” “Don’t even think about pulling any stunts in this team. I won’t fall for it.” “And, stay away from me.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me with only his cold back. I stood rooted, watching him go, the image of my “perfect boyfriend” shattering piece by piece. The phone in my pocket vibrated again. “Babe, I’m so angry! I’m teamed up with that disaster!” “I definitely didn’t check my horoscope today!” “I swear I’m not helping her in the game. I’m going to let her look like a fool on her own!” Reading those two texts, I suddenly felt too drained to reply. Asher Flynn. You’re truly something else. Since you hate me this much, I don’t need to hold onto any more fantasies about you. As soon as this show is over, we’re done. 3 The game was a “three-legged race” through an obstacle course. The game required extreme coordination and physical contact. The producers were clearly doing this on purpose. A staff member came over with a strap to tie one of my legs to one of Asher’s. Asher took a step back, a look of complete revulsion on his face. “Can’t we do something else?” “Mr. Flynn, these are the rules…” the staff member stammered. Asher frustratingly ran a hand through his hair but finally extended his leg. “Don’t tie it too tight,” he said sharply. The staff member’s hands were shaking, and he tied the strap loosely. I moved my leg close. Before I could even brush his pant leg, he flinched back as if he’d been electrocuted. “Don’t crowd me.” I stared at him. Dude, it’s a three-legged race. How are we supposed to run if we’re not close? The live chat was probably having a field day. LOL, the A-lister’s entire body is screaming NO. Can Rowan please back up? Don’t touch our king! Asher Flynn: Back the F* Off!** The race started. The other teams were calling out rhythms and charging forward smoothly. Sierra’s team was perfectly coordinated and already far ahead. Only our team was a total mess. Asher would step with his left foot, and I would step with my right. He walked too fast, and I couldn’t keep up. Before we’d gone two steps, I stumbled and nearly fell. I instinctively reached for his arm to catch my balance. The instant my hand touched his sleeve, he ruthlessly shrugged me off. “Don’t touch me.” With that jerk, I lost my center of gravity and went crashing to the ground. My knee smacked hard against the concrete. The pain shot through me. Due to the strap, Asher was pulled off balance momentarily, but he quickly steadied himself. He looked down at me. He didn’t offer a hand. Instead, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Can you manage this or not? Don’t force it if you can’t.” His voice was dripping with contempt. I lay on the ground, my knee throbbing, tears stinging my eyes. The humiliation was overwhelming. The man who texted me, “Babe, if you scrape a tiny bit of skin I’d be heartbroken,” was standing right there, watching me fall, and his only concern was that I would slow him down. Sierra crossed the finish line, looked back, and dramatically shouted, “Oh my God, Rowan, why did you fall? Were you trying to get Asher to carry you?” A chorus of chuckles erupted around us. I gritted my teeth, pushed myself up, and stood without his help. The skin on my knee was broken. Asher glanced at the wound. His frown deepened, but he still didn’t move. “Can you still walk?” he asked. “Yes,” I snapped back. “Then hurry up. Don’t waste any more time.” The rest of the course was pure torture. He completely ignored my pace, only focusing on his own forward momentum. I was dragged, stumbling and nearly falling with every step. I felt like I was walking on broken glass. We finally crawled to the finish line. Unsurprisingly, we came in dead last. The moment the strap came off, Asher leaped two feet away from me. Then, in front of everyone, he pulled out an antiseptic wipe and meticulously, carefully, scrubbed the sleeve of his jacket where I had touched it. He then tossed the wipe into a nearby trash can. The gesture wasn’t physically harmful, but the insult was maximum. I stood there, staring at the trash can, my heart completely hollow. Sierra came over and handed Asher a water bottle. “Asher, that must have been rough. It’s hard carrying dead weight.” Asher took a long drink, said nothing, but his silence was confirmation enough. Sierra turned to me, her smile triumphant. “Rowan, don’t feel too bad. The gap in skill is obvious. It’s totally normal that Asher couldn’t carry you.” I ignored her and turned to find a staff member for a bandage. My phone vibrated again. I hid in the corner to check it. “Babe, we lost.” “That Rowan girl is as clumsy as a wild boar. She can’t walk straight, and she kept trying to pull on me.” “She almost made me fall. She’s a total jinx.” “But don’t worry, I didn’t touch her once the whole time. My loyalty is absolute!” Reading those words, a wave of nausea hit me. Sickening. It was truly sickening. I shoved the phone back into my pocket. I didn’t want to look at it again. The host walked onto the stage with a note card. “Alright, the results are in! The last-place team must now face the forfeit!” The crowd cheered. Everyone was waiting to see how Asher would humiliate me next. The host’s eyes bounced between Asher and me, finally landing on Asher. “Mr. Flynn, according to the rules, the losing team must play ‘Truth or Dare’.” Asher casually adjusted his cuff. “I’ll take the Dare.” The host grinned widely. “Wonderful! The Dare is…” “You must call the person you’ve contacted most recently in your phone book—of the opposite sex—on speaker, and say, ‘I love you!’”

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The force of the yank against the back of my uniform shirt made the strap of my bra snap back against my skin, the sharp sting almost making me cry out. “Pink today, huh?” Jaxson Riley’s voice, thick with a lazy sort of amusement, drifted from the desk behind me. Trevor, his shadow, immediately chimed in. “Jax is really dedicated, man. Checking your bra color every day!” A wave of suppressed, snickering laughter washed over the nearby desks. I gripped the pen in my hand, my back ramrod straight. Suddenly, a torrent of text flashed across my vision: 【OMG Jax is so smooth! Bad Boy exterior but totally a softie!】 【What is this, a high school sweet romance trope?! He teases you because he loooves you~】 【Girl, turn around and look! I bet his ears are bright red!】 I closed my eyes. These bizarre “Comments,” this digital Overlay, had started appearing about a month ago, and only I could see them. They consistently packaged Jaxson’s petty cruelty as “awkward affection” and romanticized straight-up harassment as “flirty banter.” Sweetness my ass. 1 The dismissal bell rang. I whirled around. Jaxson was leaning back in his chair, watching me with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His ear tips, sure enough, were faintly flushed. The Overlay went ballistic: 【Red! Red! His ears are red! Told you!】 【Pure-hearted School Bully x Cold Academic Girl—I could ship this forever!】 【Stop being so cold, lead female! He likes you!】 “Jaxson Riley,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “Touch me again, and I’m reporting you to the Dean’s office for sexual harassment.” The classroom fell instantly silent. The smirk froze on Jaxson’s face. Trevor was the first to jump up. “Skylar Sloane, are you crazy? Jax was just messing with you, can’t you tell?” “‘Messing with me’ by yanking my underwear strap?” I stood up, looking down at Jaxson. “Why don’t you go home and yank your own father’s briefs off, and see if he can ‘joke around’ with you so calmly?” The Overlay exploded: 【OMG the female lead is savage… but I’m kinda into it?】 【Don’t be like that, Jax just doesn’t know how to express himself!】 【Isn’t this how all campus novels start? The male lead bullies the girl because he cares!】 Jaxson shoved his chair back and stood up. He was a head taller than me, and his shadow fell over me. “Skylar Sloane, say that again?” “I said,” I enunciated slowly, “that your behavior constitutes sexual harassment. Do you need me to pull up the penal code and give you a lesson?” The Geometry teacher hadn’t left yet and looked over at the commotion. “What’s all the noise? Jaxson, get back to your seat.” Jaxson glared at me, a vicious fire in his eyes, before storming out and slamming the door. As Trevor chased after him, he tossed a parting shot. “Skylar, you are seriously ungrateful.” The Comments were awash in regret: 【Oh no, the female lead is making her path too narrow.】 【Ugh, Jax finally showed special interest in someone.】 【Am I the only one who thinks the male lead’s actions were kind of over the line? Waiting for the ‘chasing the wife to the crematorium’ arc~】 I sat back down. Hannah, my desk mate, whispered, “Skylar, why provoke him? Jaxson’s family…” “His family is rich and powerful, so he gets to harass anyone he wants?” I finished her sentence. “Does that mean the law is just a suggestion?” Hannah didn’t reply, but her eyes held a pitying expression that screamed, You are so naive. I knew all about Jaxson’s background. His father was a prominent member of the Board of Trustees, and his mother was a well-known local entrepreneur. That’s why he swaggered through the halls. Teachers turned a blind eye; classmates either sucked up to him or hid. Except for me—the transfer student who didn’t understand the “rules.” 2 The final bell chimed, and I grabbed my backpack, hurrying downstairs. In the bike racks, my old, beat-up mountain bike was lying on its side. Both tires were slashed, and all the air was gone. A Post-it note was stuck to the handlebars. The handwriting was bold and arrogant: “Wear that white blouse tomorrow. I like it.” There was no signature, but I didn’t need one. That particular white blouse was slightly sheer—enough to vaguely outline the shape and color of my bra. I hadn’t worn it since the day Jaxson loudly discussed my lingerie with his friends. 【OMG Jax is so dominant! He definitely wants to see you in white!】 【The method is a bit extreme, but this is standard procedure for a school bully novel.】 【Female lead, don’t be mad. He just wants to get your attention~】 I pinched the Post-it note between my fingers and took a deep breath. Fine, Jaxson Riley. You want to play games? “Skylar, do you need help?” Liam, the class president, walked up, pushing his bike. He frowned when he saw mine. “This is…” “Obviously intentional.” I showed him the Post-it. “Evidence.” Liam’s face was grave. “That’s Jaxson’s handwriting. I’ll go with you to the Dean of Students.” “Don’t bother,” I tucked the note into my bag. “I’ll handle this myself.” Liam looked doubtful. “Skylar, you can’t just let this go—” “I don’t plan to let it go.” I smiled at him. “But I have my own way.” The Overlay devolved into argument: 【The second male lead has appeared! Gentle Class President x Cool Academic Girl is also ship-worthy!】 【No way, I’m still rooting for Jax. That clumsy affection is so much more real.】 【Real? This is harassment, people. Can the Comments please get a moral compass?】 The next day, I wore a black T-shirt. Jaxson’s mood was visibly foul from first period. During the mid-morning break, he cornered me at the stairwell landing. “I told you to wear the white blouse. Didn’t you see the note? Do I need to help you change?” His voice was low and laced with threat. “I told you to stop harassing me. Did you listen?” I countered. Jaxson let out a dry, irritated laugh. “Skylar Sloane, do you really think I wouldn’t dare do anything to you?” “You would dare,” I nodded. “Just like you dared to slash my tires, dared to grab my clothes in class, and dared to let your flunkies spread vile rumors about me. You dare to do everything, because you’re Jaxson Riley, the Board member’s son.” He hadn’t expected me to be so direct; he froze for a second. 【Female lead is so bossy! Love her!】 【Jax is stunned, LOL. No one’s ever talked to him like that.】 【She’s playing hard to get, right? It has to be.】 Jaxson took a step closer. I could smell a faint hint of tobacco smoke mixed with his cologne. “Since you know that, stop pissing me off. I’ve been patient enough with you.” “Your patience is a semester of harassment?” I laughed. “Jaxson, maybe you should see a therapist? Your perception is severely skewed.” His eyes turned instantly cold. Just then, the PA system crackled, signaling the start of the break. I sidestepped him and walked past, dropping my voice. “By the way, your custom motocross bike is in the back of the shed, right?” Jaxson grabbed my wrist, his fingers tightening. “You touched my bike?” To Jaxson, that bike was probably second only to his father. “Why would I dare?” I yanked my hand away. “Just reminding you that the campus surveillance system was recently upgraded. High-definition.” I genuinely wouldn’t dare—that custom bike was worth a small fortune. I couldn’t afford to replace it. It was just an empty threat. He stared at me for several seconds, then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. “Skylar Sloane, you’re more interesting than I thought.” 【Here it comes! ‘Woman, you have successfully attracted my attention!’】 【Classic line, late but delivered!】 【I bet five bucks, next chapter Jax starts the ‘True Love’ route.】 I walked onto the track without looking back. 3 Jaxson’s “pursuit” intensified. My homework assignments would frequently “disappear,” only to be found in his desk, covered in ridiculous doodles. At lunch, he and Trevor would bring their trays and sit directly across from me. Trevor would loudly announce, “Jax saved you a spot, aren’t you touched?” During Physics lab, he would “accidentally” knock over my equipment, then pretend to help me clean up, his fingers deliberately brushing the back of my hand. 【Jax is so childish, LOL. Like an elementary school kid who teases the one he likes.】 【The way he looks at the female lead is different—that focused intensity.】 【When is the female lead going to realize his feelings? I’m dying here!】 I noticed a pattern: the Comments only appeared when Jaxson was actively doing something to me. I never saw them otherwise. It was as if an invisible audience was watching this “Bad Boy Sweetheart Drama” through a screen, and I was the heroine who was supposed to follow the script. To hell with the script. Wednesday afternoon was school-wide cleanup. Hannah and I were wiping down the classroom windows; Jaxson’s group was responsible for the hallway. He passed by, carrying a bucket, and “accidentally” sloshed a wave of dirty water right onto me. My skirt instantly became soaked, clinging to my body. It wasn’t cold in October, but the sticky feeling, combined with the stares from everyone around me, made my whole body prickle with raw shame. Trevor let out a wolf whistle. 【Wet T-shirt play! Jax knows how to have fun!】 【Seriously though, isn’t that going too far…?】 【Don’t worry, there’ll be a jacket-over-the-shoulders scene! Waiting for Jax’s boyfriend moment!】 Jaxson did indeed take off his jacket and started walking toward me. I didn’t wait for him to get close. I grabbed the nearest bucket—one we had just filled with clean water—and hurled it at him and Trevor. WHOOSH! Both of them were instantly drenched. The entire class fell silent. The Overlay stalled for a beat, then erupted: 【HOLY CRAP THE FEMALE LEAD FIGHTS BACK!】 【Jax’s shocked face is making my year.】 【Wait, this isn’t right! She’s supposed to shyly accept the jacket and have a moment of emotional connection!】 【The female lead’s reaction is a bit much.】 【Where did the heroic rescue scene go?】 【What heroic rescue? The male lead threw the water!】 Jaxson wiped the water from his face, his eyes dangerous. “Skylar Sloane, are you looking for a fight?” “Self-defense,” I set the empty bucket down. “Jaxson, this is the last time. If you touch me again, it won’t be as simple as throwing water.” “What are you going to do?” He smiled, a cold, empty expression. “Tell the teachers? They can’t touch me.” “I won’t tell the teachers,” I smiled back. “I’ll call the police. Sexual harassment, criminal property damage, assault. That’s enough to file charges. Do you want to find out whether your dad’s connections are stronger, or if the police department’s paperwork is faster?” Hannah tugged at my sleeve. “Skylar, stop talking…” Jaxson stared at me, water dripping from his hair. His expression was complex: anger, shock, and something else I couldn’t read. Finally, he sneered. “Fine. You win.” He spun around and walked away. Trevor shot me a venomous look and followed. 【The female lead went too far. Jax is going to be seriously mad now.】 【To be honest, calling the police is a good move.】 【But this is a campus novel! Calling the cops ruins the fun!】 【To the previous poster: in real life, you call the police when you’re bullied, no matter the ‘genre’!】 That afternoon after school, my bike tire was flat again. But this time, a hundred-dollar bill was clipped to the handlebars, along with a note: “Repair money.” No apology, just a patronizing compensation. I donated the money to the stray cat rescue box by the school gate. Then, I posted the photo of the damaged bike, the note, and the previous vandalized note and bike on the school’s anonymous online forum, with the caption: “Is this how the school’s ‘untouchables’ bully regular people?” The post immediately caught fire. Though I hadn’t named names, everyone who saw it knew who I meant. The accusations were mostly anonymous: 「Ugh, but what can you do against that little tyrant?」 「I accidentally bumped into him last month and he kicked me. I was hospitalized for a week. They’re still targeting me. Are poor people just trash?」 「I got it worse. I just made eye contact with him in the hall, and one of his goons slapped me. Said I ‘contaminated the master’s gaze’！」 「My mom bought me new shoes, and they burned several holes in them with cigarettes!」 「I want to transfer, but my parents won’t let me. I’m miserable!」 … I recorded and saved all the comments. The post lasted less than an hour before it was deleted by an admin.

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The first time, my father-in-law, Walter, was sixty and needed a heart transplant. He was matched with my son’s heart. The entire family descended on me, pleading, cajoling me to have another child so Leo’s heart could be “spared.” I refused. And Leo, my son, was taken—snatched from the street right before his college entrance exam. I raced to the hospital like a lunatic, but I was too late. Leo’s heart was already gone. Walter, my father-in-law, got five more years because of it. I called the police, but my mother-in-law, Beatrice, swore my son had been a willing, dutiful boy who voluntarily donated his heart to his grandfather. My husband, Owen, spat at me, “How could I have married such a cold-hearted woman! A father’s debt is greater than the sky! You wanted me to watch my own father die!” Grief tore through me until, finally, my own heart gave out that summer. I died of cardiac arrest. I opened my eyes again and found myself back at the eve of Leo’s college entrance exam. The first thing I did was call my parents, the Petersons, to personally drive and stand guard over him during the test. But even this time, Walter got a new heart. 1 The second I knew Leo was safely at the testing center, my phone buzzed. It was Owen, his voice frantic with excitement. “Get to the hospital! Quick! Dad’s surgery was a success!” My heart lurched—a painful, sickening spasm. I rushed to the hospital and paused just outside the partially closed door of the private recovery suite, hearing Beatrice’s voice, sharp and triumphant. “A young boy’s heart is the best, you know. Just look at him—already bouncing back.” “Trading one child’s life for my old man’s, it was worth it!” Tessa, my sister-in-law, chimed in, her voice annoyingly saccharine. “Absolutely! The doctor said with a new heart, he’d get five more years, but honestly, I think he’ll live another twenty, easy.” Beatrice chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound that grated on my nerves. How? Leo was safe. He was taking his test. Where had Walter’s new heart come from this time? Grant, my brother-in-law, quickly jumped in, eager for praise. “It was hard, today being the SATs and all. I nearly didn’t catch the kid.” He paused, a strange note in his voice. “The kid… he seemed a little heavier than I remember Leo being.” My eyes darted to the room next door, the same room from the previous life, where a lifeless form lay covered with a white sheet. But whose child was under that sheet now? I slammed the door open, the sound echoing through the sterile hallway. “Whose heart did you take this time?” I roared. They all looked at me as if I were a madwoman, not a shred of guilt on their faces. Beatrice glared, her voice low and menacing. “What is all the noise for? Your father-in-law just had surgery! He cannot be stressed!” Owen stumbled toward me, his eyes red-rimmed. “Honey, don’t be so upset… At least Dad is better now. You should be happy.” I threw off his hand, a storm of pure, incandescent rage rising in my chest. “Happy? You traded a teenager’s life for an old man’s! Did you even ask the parents of that child?” I lunged forward, grabbing Grant by the collar of his scrubs. “Tell me who you kidnapped!” Grant’s face went white. “It was… it was…” “Enough!” Beatrice barked, stepping in. “Look at the disgrace of a wife you married, Owen! Filial piety comes first! She’s saying your father’s life isn’t worth one of these useless children!” Owen, stung by his mother’s words, turned his anger on me. “If you want to have a meltdown, go home! So what if it was Leo’s heart? He’s my son. I had him. I am his father’s son! What’s wrong with taking his heart for my father? If it wasn’t for my father, Leo wouldn’t exist!” I froze. A sudden, cold realization washed over me. They still believed the heart belonged to Leo. Tessa, always the ‘helpful’ one, offered a smarmy look of sympathy. “Olivia, Owen is right. A child can be replaced. Dad is the only one we have.” She leaned in, a malicious glint in her eye. “Besides, your Leo wasn’t a good student. He wasn’t going to amount to much anyway.” I lunged, grabbing a handful of her hair, making her yelp. “You’re a mother! How can you be so cruel?” I shook her head hard. “If you’re so devoted to family, why didn’t you offer your son’s heart? Huh? That child was barely a teen! He was about to take his college entrance exam! How could you do it?” Tessa roughly shoved me away, smoothing down her designer top, completely unfazed. “My Zach’s scores are in the top one hundred nationally. He’s going to an Ivy League school and will bring honor to the family. Your son is a nobody, barely scraping C’s.” “So, yes. Your son’s heart was far cheaper than mine.” I stared at her, my eyes wide with disbelief. In their eyes, a life—a vibrant, breathing, teenage boy—was a commodity to be valued based on a GPA. Was there any shred of humanity left in this family? Beatrice looked at me with open disgust. “Leo is lazy, and he has no manners. You, his mother, failed to raise him right. Now you have the nerve to attack your sister-in-law!” “A useless mother gives birth to a useless son. He deserved to have his heart taken for my husband!” Their words were like blades, tearing at my chest. The pain was so intense I could barely stand. This was how they saw me. This was how they saw my son. My chest constricted, my breath catching in shallow, painful gasps. Owen rushed over to steady me. “Just calm down, Olivia. Stop making a scene.” “Dad needs to rest after his surgery. If you keep causing a scene, how am I supposed to live in this family?” He lowered his voice. “I promise, I’ll find a way to make it up to you… what happened to Leo.” I looked up at him, tears blurring my vision, and asked the same devastating question I’d asked in my previous life. “Leo was your flesh and blood. Did you truly have the heart to let him die?” 2 Owen’s eyes were bloodshot, and a flicker of agony crossed his face. “Honey, of course, I didn’t want him to die. He’s our son.” “But this is my father,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t let him die. I had no choice but to sacrifice our boy. Don’t blame me, Olivia. Filial duty is the highest virtue. I had to do it.” I laughed, a dry, bitter sound that held no humor. Despair had finally and completely set in. “No choice? You could have taken your own heart! What kind of sacrifice is that?” I screamed, the question ragged and desperate. Beatrice stepped up and slapped me across the face. “How dare you tell my son to die! A vicious woman like you—your son’s death is your own fault! Karma! He deserved it!” I trembled with a fury that consumed me. I looked at each of them. Not one showed a hint of remorse. They looked triumphant. I couldn’t understand, in this life or the last, how they could be so cold-blooded about a stolen life. My mind zeroed in on the unknown child, the innocent victim. I wheeled around and moved toward the closed door of the room next to Walter’s, desperate to see the boy and contact his parents. Before my hand could touch the doorknob, Owen grabbed me and yanked me backward. I crashed hard against the wall, a bruise blooming instantly on my arm. “Don’t stop me! I have to see that boy!” Owen clutched me, pulling me into his chest. “Honey, Leo is dead… Don’t disturb him. Just let him rest.” “It was just a child. We’re young, we can have another baby.” A searing, needle-sharp pain pierced my heart. A child of sixteen. The years of love, care, and sacrifice poured into him. Gone. And he could dismiss it with such a casual, callous phrase. I reached for my phone, ready to call the police. “You kidnapped a minor and forcibly took his heart! You are criminals! I will make sure you face the punishment you deserve!” Before I could dial, Owen ripped the phone from my hand and smashed it on the floor. “Are you finished, Olivia? Is this really necessary? It was a grandson donating a heart to his grandfather—a family matter. Do we really need to involve the police?” Grant looked terrified. He was the one who had physically brought the boy in. “Sister-in-law, we’re family. If you do this, how can we face each other at Thanksgiving, or Christmas? Besides, a woman should stay home and listen to her husband. Calling the police is a man’s job.” I sneered. Family. I gave their son a hundred dollars every Christmas, and in sixteen years, Leo had never received a single dollar from them. In their eyes, I was always an outsider, and my son was just a piece of property to be sacrificed at will. “Who wants to be your family? I’m calling the police!” 3 A flicker of fear crossed their faces, but it was fleeting. Beatrice was the first to regain her composure, pointing a furious finger at me. “Leo voluntarily donated his heart to his grandfather! The police can’t do anything!” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a single, crumpled piece of paper—a handwritten consent form—and shoved it in my face. “Look! Leo wrote this himself! It’s signed!” I stared at Owen in disbelief. Leo’s earliest writing was taught by him. The signature was definitely Owen’s attempt to forge the boy’s childhood script. In my first life, I believed Owen had been as blindsided as I was, only learning after the fact. I never imagined he had conspired with them from the very beginning, hiding the entire monstrous plan from me. Leo trusted his father above all else. How could he? I took a deep breath, fighting the choking bitterness, and snatched the paper. I tore it into a dozen tiny pieces. Beatrice gasped and clutched her chest, her trembling finger pointing at me. “You… you wicked, treasonous woman! How did our family ever marry you!” Owen frantically supported his mother. “Mom, don’t worry. I’ll just write out another consent form later.” I gave a dry, cold laugh. “You haven’t spent ten minutes with your son in the last ten years, have you, Owen?” “Didn’t you notice his handwriting changed after he hit high school? That forgery is five years old.” Owen stared at me, his face shocked, his voice shaking. “W-what are you talking about?” Seizing the moment of confusion, I broke free and darted to the door of the other room. It was empty. They followed me immediately, Owen grabbing me from behind. “Olivia, stop! Let the boy go! Let him rest!” I wrenched myself free and screamed at them. “Where is the body? Where is the child?” It was then I noticed Tessa, who had been conspicuously absent for the last few minutes. I walked up to her and shoved her hard on the shoulder. “Tell me! Did you take him? Where is he?” Tessa rubbed her shoulder against the wall, tears welling up in her eyes. “I… I thought Leo deserved to finally rest. I just sent him to the crematory.” My mind went instantly blank, a ringing silence in my ears. Owen suddenly rushed to shield Tessa, his face etched with pure annoyance and impatience. “Stop it, Olivia! Why are you always so aggressive! Tessa is delicate! If you hurt her, we’d have to pay who knows how much in medical bills!” The word ‘pay’ lit up Grant’s eyes. He immediately exposed Tessa’s shoulder for all to see. “See, Sister-in-law! You’ve broken my wife’s shoulder!” “Ten thousand dollars! Pay us ten thousand, and we won’t press charges!” My eyes widened in shock. “Ten thousand? Are you serious? You can’t be! It wouldn’t cost ten thousand even if it were really broken!” Beatrice stepped forward, shielding her younger son as always. “You will pay the ten thousand today! Otherwise, I’ll tell my son to divorce you!” For decades, they had invented excuses to demand money from me. In my first life, I tolerated it all for the sake of peace. But I realized, too late, that no amount of kindness would save my son. My face was contorted with fury. I ground out the words between clenched teeth. “Absolutely not!” “You killed a child! I should be suing you! How dare you ask for money! Mark my words, there is karma! You will pay!” Suddenly, Walter, who had been resting with his eyes closed, began to cough violently, clutching his new heart. His hand trembled as he pointed a finger at me. “Get that bitch out of here now!” 4 Beatrice immediately started wailing, beating her thigh dramatically. “Oh, the misery! This unfilial daughter-in-law is trying to kill my old man!” Owen grabbed me and shoved me away. I stumbled, knocking over a glass vase on a nearby table. Shards of glass sliced into my palm, and blood gushed out. No one looked at the cut. They all clustered around Walter’s bed, anxiously watching his breathing. Beatrice, seeing Walter struggling, grabbed my collar and slapped me hard, four or five times in quick succession. “You wicked, rebellious tramp! If you’ve made my husband sick, I’ll tell my son to divorce you!” My cheek was swelling, but my eyes were colder than ice. Owen feigned concern, pulling his mother back a little. “Mom, stop. I won’t divorce Olivia.” I smiled inwardly. Right. He made five thousand a month. I made twenty thousand, and I owned the penthouse condo free and clear. He’d never leave. Grant gave Walter a few sips of water until his breathing calmed. Walter looked at me, his eyes full of malice. “The Reed family has treated you well, and you want to watch me die just for the sake of one child, do you? My son marrying you was a curse!” I smirked. He had been pretending to sleep the whole time. In the previous life, I was subservient until my son’s death ripped the veil from my eyes. This time, I would not only keep Leo alive but make them pay for every sin. I crossed my arms, my eyes icy. “What if the dead child… wasn’t Leo?” Grant shrieked. “What nonsense are you talking about? I was the one who brought the boy in! How could it not be Leo!” Beatrice suddenly looked panicked, a sheen of cold sweat on her forehead. She pulled Grant aside and whispered urgently, “If it’s not Leo, and his parents find out, we’ll all go to prison!” I heard every word. Grant’s mind raced, and he looked around frantically. “Quick! Gag the bitch! The kid is already cremated! As long as she doesn’t talk, no one will ever know!” Owen, without hesitation, helped Grant tie my hands and feet and shoved a dirty rag into my mouth. I stared at the three of them, a chill creeping up my spine. Beatrice stepped up, a triumphant smirk on her face. She raised her hand and delivered a powerful slap to my left cheek. My left ear rang violently, and a warm fluid trickled out. “Bitch! I knew you looked down on us the day you married in!” she hissed. “So what if your parents are teachers? What makes you so superior? With a daughter like you, your parents must be just as rotten!” My face turned purple. My parents! They had been honored as “Outstanding Educators” for a decade! I couldn’t allow this vile woman to slander them. Rage gave me strength. I lunged forward, slamming my head into Beatrice’s stomach and knocking her to the floor. Beatrice held her stomach and theatrically wailed. “Help! Daughter-in-law is attacking her mother-in-law! Is there no justice in this world?” Seeing their mother on the floor, Owen and Grant descended on me, kicking me repeatedly. I screamed, muffled by the rag. The incision from my tumor surgery last month burst open. The beating lasted half an hour until they were exhausted, collapsing into chairs, panting. I was on the brink of passing out, the last ember of warmth in my heart extinguished. Grant looked at my bruised, bleeding body and, still breathing heavily, said, “She’s still fighting. Maybe… we should just take her to the crematory too.” “She dies, no one knows about the heart, and all her money and that fancy house from her parents? All yours.” I looked at Owen. He looked back, his eyes hesitant, calculating. My heart hammered against my ribs, an ice pick of fear stabbing through me. Every cell in my body was screaming. Just as Owen opened his mouth, ready to agree—Ready to kill me for the house—a knock came at the door. They hid me quickly in a utility closet and hesitantly opened the door. Outside stood two men from the local funeral home. They were holding an urn and a file. “We have the remains and the official cremation report for you.” Grant took the report, flipped it open, and read the name. His face drained of color. He couldn’t speak.

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I was the slow one. The one who never quite caught up. The day my sister came to pick me up from school, she was dragged into an alley, brutalized, and murdered. I was the only witness. Mom and Dad gripped my neck, their eyes red and blazing. “Tell us! You saw him, didn’t you? Say it out loud!” I opened my mouth, but the sound was trapped behind my teeth. In a fit of rage, they threw me out of the house. Unable to care for myself, I ended up on the streets—begging, scavenging for garbage, sleeping under the city bridges. Until the day a man in a black suit found me. He said he was my sister’s fiancé. Dean. He crouched down, looking straight into my eyes, his voice barely a whisper: “I can take you to a place where we can replay the moment you saw that day.” “But the cost is your life.” My grimy hand clenched the stained fabric of my sleeve. I nodded hard. “I’ll do it.” What was there to fear about death? I was afraid of forgetting… forgetting whose face my sister saw last. 1 The light of the high-powered broadcast lamps was blinding, aimed directly at my face as I lay on the Memory Retrieval Stand. The auditorium below was packed. Cameras, like dull black eyes, stared at me. They said this entire process was being live-streamed to the world. Dean, the man who called himself my sister’s love, stood beside me, his expression unreadable. “It’s not too late to back out.” I shook my head. Just then, a commotion erupted at the entrance. I looked up and saw Mom and Dad rushing in. The moment Mom saw me, tears streamed down her face, but the words that followed were like shards of glass: “You heartless thing! Your sister was so good to you, buying you candy, picking you up from school… and she died such a horrific death…” “You clearly saw the killer, so why didn’t you speak up?!” Dad’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse: “We raised you for this long. Even if you were slow, we never once resented you!” “But you? Is this how you repay your sister?” A wave of hushed chatter swept through the audience. The cameras swiveled toward my parents. Mom was crying so hard she could barely stand: “You were always jealous of your sister, weren’t you?” “Jealous because she was smart, because she was beautiful, because everyone loved her…” “But did you know, she never once looked down on you, her slow little sister!” “She didn’t even have to pick you up that day! She did it because she worried about you, worried the other kids would pick on you…” Mom’s voice rose to a shriek: “She died because of you! Do you even realize that?!” I stared blankly at their hysterical faces, and my eyes slowly filled with tears. So… they really did hate me that much. In everyone’s eyes, I was the reason Soph died. Dean’s hand pressed lightly on my shoulder. He murmured, “Your sister… she wouldn’t blame you.” I turned my head and looked at him, asking softly, “If I go through with the Memory Retrieval, the person who hurt my sister will be caught, won’t they?” Dean was silent for a moment, then nodded: “Yes. Live, globally broadcast evidence. Everyone will see the truth of that day.” “Then let’s start.” Dean looked at me again. “But it’s going to hurt a lot.” He gestured to the center of the stand, where a long, thick silver probe stood upright. “See that needle? It’s going to pierce your skull and enter your cerebral cortex to read your memory.” “The deeper the memory, the deeper it goes.” “You need to pull the very deepest layers—the scene of the crime. So… it will go very, very deep.” I froze for two seconds, then my gaze drifted back to my parents, still crying and cursing below the stage. Then I smiled faintly. “I’m not afraid of pain.” Dean’s brow furrowed. “If catching the killer is the only way to help my sister,” “And if it means Mom and Dad can forgive me… I don’t care how much it hurts.” Dean was silent for a long time. Finally, he looked at the doctor in the white coat and nodded: “Proceed.” The doctor stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over me before turning to Dean: “Mr. Dean, once the Memory Retrieval process begins, it cannot be stopped.” “The neural extraction is irreversible. Upon completion, the patient will suffer catastrophic brain damage resulting in brain death.” He paused. “Should we inform the patient’s family of the risks beforehand?” I spoke immediately: “No! Don’t!” My voice was quiet, yet firm and absolute. Everyone looked at me. I met Dean’s gaze, my eyes unwavering: “Please don’t tell them yet… okay?” Below the stage, Mom was still weeping; Dad’s face was dark with anger, staring up at the platform. Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed once. “…All right.” Two nurses approached, helping me lie down on the cold metal stand. My body was secured with restraints—at the wrists, ankles, and across the chest and abdomen. Finally, a metal halo was clamped around my forehead. A nurse approached with a syringe, injecting a cold liquid into my vein. The world began to blur. Above me, the long silver probe slowly descended, its needle-tip perfectly aligned with the center of my forehead. The next moment, Mom’s horrified voice suddenly cut through the air: “Stop, hold on!” 2 My eyes snapped open, a flicker of hope igniting in my chest. Mom, was she worried about me? The very next second, her cold voice returned: “Doctor, please make absolutely certain that you retrieve the events of that day.” “If it means getting the truth, you don’t need to worry about her body.” Dad chimed in: “That’s right, money is no object. We’ll pay extra if you guarantee you can catch the killer who murdered Soph!” A sharp, stabbing pain twisted in my heart, and tears spilled out, uncontrollable. After hearing their words, Dean’s gaze darkened, a flash of pity crossing his eyes. The retrieval continued. The silver probe pierced my forehead and entered my skull. The drilling pain was excruciating; my entire body convulsed. I bit down hard on my teeth. I could feel warm blood trickling out, seeping into my ears, matting my hair. The first memory appeared on the main screen. The image shook violently, like a scene viewed through tears. A gray sky, black funeral streamers, and Soph’s portrait displayed in the center of the wake. I was kneeling on the floor. The room was full of people, everyone dressed in black. Mom was draped over Soph’s casket, her sobs tearing through the air. Dad stood beside her, his eyes swollen, his body shaking uncontrollably. Suddenly, Mom spun around and rushed towards me, clutching my shoulders until her fingers dug deep into my flesh: “Lucy, tell me! What happened that day?” “You saw it, didn’t you? Tell Mommy, who killed your sister…” Her fingernails nearly punctured my skin. Her voice was sharp and grating: “Say it! Just tell us!” I looked up, tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry… I really can’t remember…” Mom’s voice spiked: “How can you not remember?! Your sister died right in front of you!” She suddenly grabbed my hair and slammed my head down onto the floor. “Thud!” My forehead hit the tile hard. “Bow to your sister! Apologize to her!” Another blow. “We’ve been so good to you, how can you do this to your sister?!” “Thud!” A spot of bright red blood stained the tile. “How could you forget? How could you forget!” In the image, my forehead was a bloody mess, my eyes wide, the pupils reflecting my sister’s funeral photo. Blood flowed down my temples, mixing with tears, dripping onto the floor. I didn’t struggle. I just let Mom force my head down, bowing it to the ground, over and over. Everyone in the room watched. No one stepped in to stop her. I knelt at my sister’s wake for an entire day and night. The day after Soph’s burial, Mom tossed a large, bundled sack at my feet. “Lucy,” she pointed toward the door, “Get out!” “When you remember what happened that day, then you can come back.” “If you never remember, never come home.” “I don’t have a daughter like you.” I froze, staring numbly at the sack, then looking up at Mom. “Mom…” “Don’t call me Mom!” she screamed, “I don’t have a daughter like you!” Dad walked over, silently grabbed my arm, and dragged me toward the exit. I finally registered what was happening and cried out, latching onto Mom’s leg: “Mom, I’m sorry… I’ll try to remember…” “Please don’t send me away… Mom…” “I’m scared…” Dad pried my fingers off her leg, one by one. He was so strong; my fingers ached with the force. The front door opened. I was shoved outside. The sack landed at my feet. “Slam—” The heavy door shut in my face. I knelt on the ground, pounding hard on the wood: “Mom… Dad…” “I’m sorry… I’m really sorry…” There was no response from inside. After a very long time, exhausted from crying, I picked up the sack. Dragging my bleeding forehead, I stumbled down the stairs, one step at a time. As I walked out of the apartment building, I looked back at the fourth-floor window. The curtains were tightly drawn. The screen went dark. The auditorium was utterly silent. Suddenly, Dad’s furious voice exploded: “What is this?! This is not what we came here to see!!” Mom shrieked as well: “We need the truth about Soph’s murder!! What happened in that alley?!” “Continue! Keep going deeper!” A murmur of discussion arose in the audience. Dean looked at the screen, then at me, lying pale and still on the stand, his lips moving wordlessly. The doctor sighed, his voice echoing over the microphone: “First layer of memory extraction complete. As the memory deepens, the pain the patient experiences will continually escalate.” “The nervous system is undergoing extreme stress, which may lead to extraction interruption or…” His sentence was cut short by Dad: “Continue. Any price is acceptable as long as the killer is caught.” Mom covered her face, weeping: “We just want the truth!” 3 The doctor looked at Dean. Dean stood silent for a long time, his knuckles white where he gripped the railing. “…Continue.” The doctor operated the control panel. The silver probe, once again, began to drill slowly toward the deeper layers. “Agh—!!!” I couldn’t stop the scream that ripped from my throat. My mind felt like a red-hot iron rod was being plunged in and twisted. My whole body began to convulse violently. Sweat instantly soaked my thin clothes; veins bulged on my forehead. The screen lit up again. This time, the image showed me cornered by a group of boys. “Look, it’s Lucy the slowpoke!” “Hey, little dummy, playing in the dirt again?” As they spoke, they picked up small pebbles and trash from the ground and tossed them at me. I looked up, staring at them blankly. “Look at her, she can’t even cry! Definitely a dummy!” “Let’s bury her in the sand pit?” “Yeah!” Amidst the jeering, a dirty hand suddenly grabbed my arm and yanked hard. I lost my balance and tumbled into the deep sandbox. “Bury her!” “Yeah! Bury the dummy!” Several pairs of hands held me down amidst the excited shouts. Heavy sand began to pour onto my head and body. It was heavy, pressing the air out of my lungs. The sand rose past my waist, moving up toward my chest. I was going to be buried alive. I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t scream. Just as the sand was about to cover my shoulders— “What are you doing?! Get away from my sister!!” A clear voice rang out. It was Soph! Soph, with her high ponytail, stood by the edge of the pit, hands on her hips. The sunlight hit her just right; she seemed to glow. “You’re bullying my sister?” Soph’s voice was fierce. “Want me to tell the principal?” The boys hesitated for a moment and let go of me. “Sophia, your sister is a dummy anyway…” “Say that again?” Soph took a step forward, her eyes wide and round. “My sister is not a dummy! She just… she just processes things a little slower!” “She’s kinder than all of you put together!” Intimidated by her presence, the boys mumbled excuses and ran away. Soph rushed over, clawed the sand away, and pulled me up. Her eyes were full of worry: “Luce, are you okay? Are you hurt?” I shook my head, but tears started to fall anyway. “Don’t cry, don’t cry.” Soph pulled me into a hug, gently patting my back. “It’s okay, Luce, Soph is here.” “If anyone bullies you again, you tell me right away.” “I’ll protect you, okay?” In the memory, I buried my head in Soph’s shoulder, sobbing softly. Soph smelled like clean soap. Her hands were so warm. Below the stage. Mom was slumped in her chair, weeping. “Soph… my Soph was always so good…” “She was kind to everyone… especially her slow little sister…” Dad’s eyes were also red, his voice choked with emotion: “Soph was responsible from a young age, always looking out for her sister…” Dean stared at the screen, his eyes fixed, filled with a deep, aching remembrance of his fiancée. The next second, Mom suddenly turned, glaring at me on the platform, her voice cracking: “Lucy! Look! Look how good your sister was to you!” “How could you… how could you forget how she died?!” Dad pointed at me, his face ravaged with grief and anger: “Lucy, what happened that day? Your sister loved you so much, why won’t you just say it?!” “Did you really see something… that you’re refusing to tell us?” I lay on the Retrieval Stand, listening to their demands. Tears slid down my temples. I want to say it, too. Mom and Dad. I want to know what happened that day. I want to know who killed Soph. But I… I really can’t remember. Deep inside my brain, a sharp, sudden pain erupted. The silver probe began to release electrical currents. “Mmph…” I arched violently, and a mouthful of blood sprayed from my throat. 4 “Blood pressure plummeting! Massive neural shock!” The doctor’s alarmed cries were drowned out by my parents’ increasingly frantic screams: “Don’t worry about that! The picture! We need the scene from the alley! Continue! Go on!” Dean suddenly lunged forward, slamming his fist onto the edge of the control console: “I want the truth just as much as you, but can’t you see she’s dying?!” “I don’t care!” Mom’s eyes were scarlet. “She owes this to Soph! Her life’s only purpose now is this moment!” The red haze in my vision intensified, but the pain made my hearing unnaturally sharp. Amidst the chaos, the probe in my brain twisted violently again. “Agh—!” A new wave of agonizing pain exploded. The screen flickered violently, then lit up with a blinding white flash. This time, the scene was from the days after my parents threw me out. I was cornered in an abandoned construction site by a few trashy young men. There were broken bricks on the ground, and the air was thick with dust. “Hey, little dummy, heard your folks ditched you?” The leader, a skinny guy with yellow hair, poked my shoulder with a stick. “Guess if we rough you up, nobody cares, huh?” I pressed myself against the damp wall, shaking, but clutching a sharp piece of broken brick in my hand. “Got a nasty glare, don’t you?” Another one stepped up and slapped me across the face. The sting was immediate and searing. But clearer than the pain were the fragments of my parents’ whispered words echoing in my mind— “She needs to suffer a little, then she’ll be afraid, then she’ll try harder to remember…” “Soph can’t have died in vain… this is to force her…” The memory clips flashed back. Mom secretly slipping cash to the thugs in the alley; Dad whispering into the phone, “Give her a good scare, make her taste a little hardship.” So, the people who had stolen my food, slammed me to the ground, and even tried to tear my clothes off… They had all been arranged by Mom and Dad. My heart shattered completely at that moment. “Agh—!” I suddenly let out a scream, clutching the jagged brick, and lunged wildly at the men. They seemed stunned by my unexpected resistance. They wrestled me to the ground and started smashing rocks onto my head. The screen image shook violently, mixed with crude curses and the sounds of impacts. Not until I was covered in blood, lying motionless on the ground, did the thugs curse and walk away. My vision slowly blurred. A pair of polished leather shoes stopped right in front of my sight line. It was Dean. He looked down at me, his eyes complex and hard to read. “Lucy, do you want revenge for your sister?” I opened my mouth, but only bloody foam came out. “I know a way to pull the images you saw that day… out of your mind.” He paused. “But the process is incredibly painful. And, you will…” Before Dean could finish, the screen image switched again. Finally, it was the scene in the alley that day. I had my backpack on. Soph was standing across the street, waving and smiling at me. She was wearing a new dress today; she looked beautiful. My eyes lit up, and I started to run across. Just as I stepped onto the crosswalk and reached my sister’s side— A tall figure, wearing a black mask and a baseball cap, lunged out of the side alley like a phantom. He clapped a hand over Soph’s mouth and brutally dragged her into the dark, narrow side street. Soph’s startled cry was muffled. Her eyes were wide with terror as she desperately kicked her legs. I was stunned, instinctively rushing forward, trying to grab her hand. The attacker didn’t even look back. He just swung his leg and delivered a vicious kick to my stomach. “Thwack!” I flew backward, my head slamming hard against the sidewalk. A blinding pain and vertigo instantly overwhelmed me, and warm liquid began to spread from the back of my skull. My vision began to swim and blur. No sound could escape my throat. But I fought to keep my eyes wide open, staring into the depths of the alley. In the dim light, Soph was pinned to the ground. She struggled wildly, her fingers grasping uselessly at the air. The attacker seemed enraged by her resistance. He suddenly raised his hand— In that fraction of a second, Soph lunged upward and grabbed— “Rrrrip—” The black mask was ripped clean off his face! The faint light from the alley streetlamp illuminated the face that was suddenly exposed.

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I flew to Metropolis for Owen’s birthday. I wanted to surprise him. Pushing the apartment door open, I stepped into a noisy, chaotic, takeout-fueled party. The awkward silence that followed my arrival was deafening. Everyone left shortly after, the good cheer evaporated. We started fighting. He accused me of making a scene in front of his friends, of deliberately embarrassing him. I was defensive, trying to explain the sheer exhaustion of flying back and forth every other weekend. He cut me off, cold and impatient: “You didn’t have to come. No one forced you to make it so hard on yourself.” Later, he got his wish. But then he panicked: “Willow, why aren’t you coming to see me anymore?” 1 The day before Owen’s birthday, I called him. My voice was filled with manufactured regret as I told him I had continuous rehearsals for the upcoming winter gala and wouldn’t be able to make it to Metropolis. He was gentle, saying he understood. The next afternoon, the moment our department’s main rehearsal wrapped, I rushed to the airport. Of course I had lied. Since elementary school, I had been by Owen’s side for every single one of his birthdays. How could I skip this year? I was just trying to tease him a little, to make the surprise even better. An hour and a half later, I landed in Metropolis, then took a nearly two-hour taxi ride to the apartment he rented near the university. I took out my key, slipped it into the lock, and quietly opened the door. The vision I had of Owen sitting alone, maybe having a simple dinner, vanished. Instead, the tiny living room was packed. Ten or so people were crammed around the coffee table, a feast of takeout containers and beer bottles spread out before them. The air was thick with loud chatter and sudden, dead silence the moment I appeared. Everyone turned, staring at me with a look of collective surprise. Owen was the first to react. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t even stand up to greet me. His expression was a strange mix of shock, confusion, and a flicker of unmistakable annoyance. But there was absolutely zero joy. I saw it clear as day. Mindful that his friends were watching, I forced myself to maintain a semblance of composure. I smiled brightly and held up the cake box in my hand. “Happy Birthday! I came to celebrate with you.” “You told me you were tied up with rehearsal,” he said, his tone flat. I was barely holding the fake smile in place, swallowing back a sudden surge of tears. “Could you please take this? And my bag?” A look of self-reproach crossed his face, and he finally scrambled to his feet, taking the cake and my small carry-on bag. Someone laughed, trying to cut the tension. “Owen, is this the famous girlfriend? No wonder you’ve been hiding her—she’s a knockout! If I had a girlfriend like that, I’d keep her secret too!” Next to the speaker, a girl’s face noticeably darkened. A moment later, she recovered, offering me a wide, bright smile. “He’s right, Owen. It’s a shame your girlfriend is an artist and doesn’t exactly speak our language, but we’re not scary, Willow. Next time, feel free to join us!” The tone was patronizing, dripping with superiority. I looked at the girl, who was clearly not my friend. She wore rimless glasses and was conventionally pretty, possessing an intense, scholarly air. Her eyes held a kind of intellectual arrogance that seemed ill-suited to her age. The spot right next to her was empty. It was where Owen had been sitting. Ten people around one small coffee table meant they had been practically pressed together. I could easily picture the scene just before I walked in. Suddenly, my eyes were drawn to her feet. Unlike everyone else, who wore house slippers—some even the disposable hotel kind—this girl was in thick wool socks. Her socked feet were resting on a square, crocheted trivet. It had a red and green geometric pattern, the stitching tight and perfectly even. It was the one I had made. 2 I usually kept that trivet tucked away, only bringing it out when I was staging food photos for my social media. Noticing me staring at her feet, the girl nervously shifted on the mat. “Oh, I mentioned my feet were a little cold just on the rug, so Owen grabbed this for me to put down,” the girl said, her voice sounding a little too careful. “Is this yours? I’m sorry, I used it without permission.” I walked straight up to her and held out my hand. “Give it to me.” “Huh?” Her face went blank. “The mat. Hand it over.” “Oh.” She pulled the trivet from under her feet and handed it to me. I took the small piece of handiwork and walked over to the garbage can, dropping it in. “It’s not for wiping your feet on,” I stated coolly. Her expression immediately crumbled into one of wounded innocence. She pursed her lips, looking wronged and yet determined to be the bigger person. Owen walked over and grabbed my arm, pulling me back slightly. “Willow. You crossed a line.” “I crossed a line?” I yanked my arm away. “Owen, are you out of your mind?” Seeing that we were about to have a full-blown row, the others quickly got up. “Right, well, since the girlfriend is here, we’ll take off. Happy birthday, Owen!” They made their quick, silent exit, putting on their shoes and closing the door behind them. The girl, Serena, shot a final, tearful look at Owen on her way out. When we were finally alone in the apartment, Owen turned on me, his eyes cold. “Satisfied? You drove everyone off.” “You’re mad that I crashed your party? That your girlfriend showed up on your birthday?” Owen pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead—his tell for maximum frustration. “I didn’t say you shouldn’t come, I just—” He took a deep breath. “Willow, those are my lab colleagues. You showed up and gave everyone the cold shoulder. You made me look like an absolute fool.” “How am I supposed to face them tomorrow?” I laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Is it them, or is it her you’re worried about facing?” A flash of raw anger crossed his features. “What are you talking about? Serena is just a colleague.” “Serena?” I was genuinely surprised. “That’s Serena?” The Serena. The one whose name had been popping up in every phone call, every casual conversation with Owen for months? “There’s a new girl in the lab, Serena.” “I got paired with Serena today. Hope she doesn’t tank my project.” “Serena is pretty useless, but she owns up to her mistakes so quickly, it’s hard to stay mad at her.” “Serena brought me a coffee this morning. Does she think I’m that easily bribed?” “Serena said she wanted to take me out for lunch—” 3 At first, I hadn’t thought anything of it. But when the “Serena content” in his conversations exceeded any normal threshold, I started to get wary. “Are you developing a crush on that Serena?” I’d asked him once over the phone. He’d laughed, open and easy. “Me? Like Serena? Are you kidding?” “Willow, I have you. The perfect girlfriend. Why would I even look at anyone else?” That had calmed my fears, somewhat. But my gut still hadn’t relaxed. After that conversation, Owen stopped mentioning her name entirely. I assumed their project had ended, their paths had diverged. I slowly started to forget about Serena. But I was wrong. It wasn’t that their paths had diverged; it was that they were no longer intersecting in front of me. Who knew how far things had progressed behind my back? Owen, oblivious to my mounting fury, grew more aggressive. He pointed to the trash can. “You threw that mat in front of Serena. You publicly shamed her, practically called her beneath you. Don’t you think that’s incredibly venomous?” Venomous. I never thought Owen would use that word against me. Especially not to defend another woman. He was heartbroken that I had made Serena uncomfortable. I’m not a naturally expressive person, and in moments of extreme rage, I tend to become dangerously calm. “Owen, I spent countless late nights crocheting that trivet. It was a painstaking project, used to prop up dishes for food photos. And you handed it to another woman to wipe her feet on.” “I—” He sputtered, on shaky ground. “I didn’t know it was that important.” “You didn’t know? I staged photos with that mat right in front of you a dozen times! I told you the whole story about learning to crochet, about how I messed up a stitch and had to unravel the entire thing and start over. I told you all of that!” My voice finally cracked, emotions spilling out. Owen slumped into his familiar pose of weary frustration. “My head is full of experimental data every day! I don’t have the mental space to catalog your arts and crafts projects!” “Yes, you’re busy!” I snapped, cutting him off. “Your experiments are paramount, and my life is just a quaint little footnote! Maybe we shouldn’t talk at all anymore. Since anything I say just goes in one ear and out the other.” “Willow, don’t be dramatic!” I laughed, a hollow sound. “I’m dramatic? Owen, do you think you’re the only person in the world who’s busy? That what you do is intellectually superior? You’re a brilliant grad student at a prestigious university, and I’m just a dancer. So I’m inferior to you, is that it?” “I never said that.” He denied it instantly. “You didn’t use the words, but your actions screamed it. You stopped bringing me to your group events because I don’t share your esoteric conversations.” Guilt flickered in Owen’s eyes, but he still wouldn’t admit it. “You’re overthinking everything.” “Then why did you stop? When we first started dating, you were so excited to introduce me to your roommates. We ate dinner together, went out, did things. Then it was less and less. And then never at all. You started keeping your plans secret!” Owen sighed, attempting patience. “They like to play those intense escape rooms and murder mystery games. You always complained that you couldn’t follow along.” “I was pretending to complain! You made me feel like an idiot! You think I’m not smart enough. I don’t care what your friends thought; I only wanted you to pay attention to me. You were my boyfriend! But you were embarrassed, weren’t you? You decided your girlfriend was a liability.” “I was not!” “You were! Why else did you stop bringing me around? Why did you give up the easy path of staying at Riverwood for grad school just to move a thousand miles away to Metropolis U?” “Metropolis U is objectively better than Riverwood U! Is it wrong for me to pursue the best academic path? And why are you digging up old history? Let’s stick to the issue at hand!” 4 “Fine. Let’s stick to the issue at hand. Today is your birthday. I’ve been rehearsing until midnight for the last two weeks, just so I could clear my schedule and fly here to be with you. You are not the only one who is exhausted. I’ve been running from one rehearsal to the next, preparing for my graduation showcase. Even bathroom breaks are a sprint.” “You moved to Metropolis six months ago, and I, out of respect for your workload, have flown out here every two weeks to see you. Do you think this constant travel is easy for me? Don’t you think your girlfriend is working hard, too?” “You have never once shown an ounce of gratitude or empathy for how much effort this takes.” I laid out the simple, crushing facts of my life. “You didn’t have to come. No one forced you to make it so hard on yourself.” His voice was flat, empty of feeling. “Excuse me?” I stared at him in disbelief. “I told you months ago you don’t have to constantly fly here. We’ll be reunited when you move to a dance company in Metropolis. You wouldn’t listen, you insisted on coming this often.” He was radiating impatience. The world went silent. In that moment, I understood the meaning of a cold heart. Before every trip, I’d rearrange my classes and my life. An hour on the subway to the airport, a ninety-minute flight, another long taxi. Was it tiring? Yes. But the sheer joy of seeing him always eclipsed the fatigue. After two short days, I would repeat the exhausting journey in reverse. I had foolishly believed he, if not grateful for my sacrifice, at least looked forward to our time together. I was wrong. He didn’t share my anticipation. In fact, our monthly meetings were a burden, an irritation that chipped away at his patience. If I had known this, why would I have put myself through all of that? “Okay.” After a long stretch of silence, I finally spoke. “What?” He looked confused, not following. I clarified: “I won’t be coming anymore.” A look of visible relief washed over him. “I’ve been telling you, we’ll be together in six months. This constant travel is unnecessary.” I managed a dry laugh and nodded. When I picked up my suitcase, he frowned. “Where are you going?” “Back to Riverwood.” “It’s the middle of the night. Leave tomorrow morning.” He offered a grudging kindness. “I have rehearsal tomorrow morning. I took time off, but now I realize I don’t need the extra day. There’s a late-night train; I can still catch it.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me into a tight hug, his voice dropping into a husky, familiar purr near my ear. “Why don’t you just stay the night? I’ll drive you to the airport in the morning?” I pushed him away, my face expressionless. “No, thank you.” Perhaps my rejection wounded his pride. On the way to the train station, Owen didn’t say a word to me. He sat stiffly, head bowed, furiously tapping on his phone. Who he was texting, I could only imagine. When we arrived, he silently pulled my suitcase from the trunk. I took it, and as I turned to walk away, he called out. “Serena and I are completely innocent, but she’s worried this misunderstanding will affect our working relationship. She insists on explaining herself. I just sent you her contact. Add her.” 5 Sitting on the high-speed train, I accepted the new contact request. It was nearly two in the morning, but she replied instantly. “Hi Willow, this is Serena. I’m so sorry about the mat today, Owen just handed it to me and put it down under my feet, I honestly didn’t realize it wasn’t meant for that.” “Please don’t be mad at him. Boys can be so clumsy and thoughtless about things like that.” “But while he might be thoughtless in life, he’s truly brilliant in his studies, and he’s been such a mentor to me.” “Once I messed up some key data, and he took the blame entirely, taking the full force of the professor’s frustration.” “Overall, Owen is talented and responsible—a rare and wonderful boyfriend. It would be a crime if I were the reason you two had a misunderstanding.” I didn’t reply, letting her stream of passive-aggressive apologies wash over me. But the next message wiped the look of mild amusement off my face. It was a photo of a box of Artisan Salted Caramel Tartlets. Immediately following, there was a money transfer. “These are a specialty from your area, right? I tried one at Owen’s place a while ago and loved them, so I asked him if he could bring me some sometime. I had no idea he was getting me a fresh box every week! He refused to take any money. Please, transfer this to him for me. I hate feeling like I’m taking advantage.” The memory flashed into my mind. Three months ago, Owen had called me, his voice a rare mix of longing and a hint of a plea. “I didn’t realize it when I lived in Riverwood, but I’ve developed an obsession with those Salted Caramel Tartlets.” “Tartlets?” I’d been confused. “Didn’t I bring you two boxes last time I visited?” “I shared them all with the lab,” he’d said, a sheepish laugh in the receiver. “I miss them now. I even dream of them at night.” “Should I ship some?” “Thanks, Willow. You’re the best.” From then on, he had asked me to send them regularly. Worried they wouldn’t be fresh if I shipped too many at once, I’d made a habit of stopping by the bakery every week to send him a fresh box. It turned out I wasn’t buying them for him at all. They were gifts for Serena. I felt like a complete fool. Without a second thought, I tapped the screen and accepted the money transfer. I bought the tartlets, and I spent the money. I had no reason to feel embarrassed. Serena, probably not expecting me to actually take the cash, fell silent. After a long pause, I blocked her number. Back at school, I went straight to my department head the next morning. She had always encouraged me to join the local Riverwood Dance Company, a suggestion I had previously dismissed because of Owen. “Professor, I’ve decided I want to audition for the Riverwood Dance Company. Could I ask you for some guidance?” Her face lit up with surprise. “You finally came to your senses!” 6 I’ve always been a homebody. Even in college, which was still in the state, I’d run home whenever possible. Metropolis held no special allure for me. The only reason I had grit my teeth and resolved to follow Owen—auditioning for a dance company there after graduation—was that he was going to grad school there and planning to apply for research work after. Now, I realized my efforts and sacrifices were meaningless. My presence, my future, meant nothing to him. If he didn’t anticipate our meetings, and he didn’t look forward to our future, why was I bending over backward? I might not be an academic star like Owen, but I was successful in my own right. I’d been dancing since childhood, praised for both my talent and work ethic. I’d been accepted to the Riverwood Dance Conservatory with the top score in my class. I was my professor’s favorite. She strongly recommended the Riverwood Dance Company, where she had spent ten years of her career. She said the opportunities were abundant, the network was strong, and the potential for growth was huge. I was incredibly tempted. With my professor’s guidance and my talent, joining the RDC meant a bright, secure future. Crucially, it meant being close to home. I could see my parents every week, have dinner with them, and drink my dad’s special soup. I didn’t have grand ambitions; this was my vision of a good life. But for Owen, I had been willing to give it all up. When we first started college, Owen had planned to stay at Riverwood for grad school. But in our final year, he’d changed his mind, suddenly obsessed with Metropolis U. We fought about it. Owen had lashed out, accusing me of holding him back. He claimed that he could have gone to a better college in Metropolis years ago, but he’d stayed at Riverwood for me. “My professors and friends say I’m underachieving here. Willow, are you going to hold me back a second time?” His voice had been sharp with accusation. I was shocked into submission. Simple and naive, I took his accusation to heart, believing I really had damaged his future. I apologized and gave him my full support. He was a year ahead of me, and I promised him: “I’ll graduate next year and follow you to Metropolis. I’ll audition for a company there, and we’ll settle down.” Looking back, I was laughably stupid. In high school, Owen had talked constantly about Riverwood University. It was his parents’ alma mater; he’d called it his dream. When he got his acceptance letter, he said his dream had come true. How had that history been rewritten into, “I only stayed for you”? After meeting with my professor to discuss the RDC requirements, I stepped out of her office just as my phone rang. It was Owen. He started right in with his grievance. “You took her money?” “Yes, I did.” I didn’t back down.

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The day I finally agreed to start treatment, Rhys’s sister told me the truth. Paige hadn’t been assaulted by my brother, Dean, the way they claimed. It had all been a calculated stage play, orchestrated with Daphne, Rhys’s childhood sweetheart. “Daphne is my best friend. She’s been in love with my brother forever, and she begged me to help her drive you away.” “That’s why I did it. I’m sorry.” I clenched my hands so hard my nails dug crescent moons into my palms. A game? Because of this “game,” my only family, my brother Dean, was forcibly institutionalized. And the very next day, he was reported as having “fallen accidentally” to his death. And for three years, Rhys had subjected me to a slow, brutal torture, a path that led me to this room, where I had just been diagnosed with terminal gastric cancer. I stared at the messages on my phone, a tear sliding down my face that was already curved into a strange, hollow smile. “Doctor, I apologize. I’ve decided not to go through with the chemotherapy.” Dean was the only soul I had left in the world, and he died because of me. Now that the lie had shattered, it was time to join him… 1 Paige, Rhys’s sister, had tracked me down at the clinic. She found me on the day I finally agreed to continue treatment. She confessed that no, she had not been assaulted by Dean. It was a scheme she and Rhys’s lifelong obsession, Daphne, had cooked up together. “Daphne’s been obsessed with my brother for years. She was terrified you’d stay in the ‘wife’ position forever, so she begged me to help her.” Paige’s voice was soft, but the words sliced into me like shards of glass. “I only wanted to help my friend. I never thought it would go this far. I’m so sorry.” I squeezed my hands tight, the sharp edges of my nails biting into the flesh. A game. But my brother had been dragged away to a psychiatric ward by Rhys. The day after, the news came: he had “accidentally fallen” to his death. And I? Rhys had kept me by his side for three years, a leash around my neck, torturing me until my body broke down and developed incurable gastric cancer. I laughed, the sound catching in my throat, and the tears finally began to fall. “Doctor, I apologize, but I’m not going to do the chemo.” Dean was all I had. And he died because I existed. Now that the truth was exposed, there was nothing left to anchor me here. It was time to go. The doctor rushed out of the exam room after me, his voice sharp with urgency. “Your condition isn’t hopeless! Stick with the chemotherapy and you have a fifty percent chance of recovery. Don’t give up!” I shook my head and kept walking. Fifty percent. What did it matter? I hadn’t wanted to live for a long time. After Dean’s death, the only thing that kept me breathing was the twisted impulse to “atone” for the crime I thought we’d committed. Now I knew there was no crime. For three years, everyone had whispered that I was nothing more than Rhys’s dog. Every night, he forced me to kneel for two full hours before I was allowed to rest. My knees were a landscape of scarred, raw, then healed, then raw again flesh. Rhys never left me alone. He dragged me everywhere to pour drinks for his clients, allowing those greasy, powerful men—men like Mr. Price—to grope me, to touch me however they wished. I’d always been allergic to alcohol. One glass, and my skin would erupt in hives, my breathing strained. He was never moved. Time and again, I was rushed to the emergency room to have my stomach pumped. I’d barely recover before he’d drag me out by the throat. “It hurts, doesn’t it? That’s the pain your brother inflicted on my sister. You need to pay it back tenfold!” …He would take me forcibly, too. Over and over, tearing away my last shreds of dignity when I was most broken, most resistant. In three years of marriage, I had been pregnant nine times. But as soon as the test confirmed the pregnancy, he would drag me to the hospital for an immediate termination. The ninth time, the doctor looked at my deathly pale face and sighed. “My dear, if you keep this up, forget about having children. You’ll be lucky to live past thirty.” Rhys had been standing right there, a cold sneer on his face. “Whether she lives or dies is up to me.” My body was a wreck now, a fragile thing that a gust of wind could shatter. So, when the gastric cancer diagnosis came, all I felt was a profound sense of relief. Just then, Rhys’s name flashed on my screen. “Get to the hotel, now. A big deal is on the line…” I hung up before he could finish the sentence. I flagged down a cab and headed straight to Dean’s gravesite. On the ride, memories of Rhys flooded my mind. When we first met, he had been good to me. He told me he had been raised by only his sister, so he felt a natural pull to look out for me. In the winter, he’d tuck my freezing hands into the warmth of his pocket. He drove across half the city just to buy a small snack I’d mentioned offhandedly. I was moved, and naturally, I accepted his confession. But after we got together, I learned how wealthy his family was. At the time, I felt shame. I wasn’t just an orphan raised only by my brother; Dean had developed a mental illness, severe and unpredictable, after years of being tormented by local bullies while trying to protect me. I didn’t want to be a burden on Rhys. After discussing it with Dean, I made the heartbreaking decision to break up with him. But that night, Rhys knelt outside my dorm building. He stayed there, soaking wet, all night. He texted me: Rowan, I will only ever love you. If you leave me, I honestly won’t survive. In the end, I gave in. I ignored Dean’s frantic warnings and stayed with him. Now, all that was left was regret. At the cemetery, I knelt, gently tracing the outline of Dean’s face on the photo affixed to the tombstone. The tears welled up again. “Dean, I came to see you.” “Were you missing me? Don’t worry. A week from now, I’ll be here to stay.” I sniffled, my voice thick with emotion. “You were right, Dean. Rhys wasn’t the one for me. I should have listened and stayed away. Then you wouldn’t have…” A fierce cough cut off my words. A coppery sweetness welled up in my throat. I raised a hand to wipe my mouth. There was bright red blood on my palm. “See, Dean? I’m fading fast now, too. We’ll be reunited soon.” “And then, we’ll never be separated again, okay?” I sat beside the tombstone, murmuring stories to him. I cried for a long time until I had no tears left. The sky suddenly darkened, and a heavy rain began to fall. I didn’t move. I leaned against Dean’s grave, closed my eyes, and let the rainwater wash over me. My consciousness began to blur, and a searing cramp twisted my stomach. I curled into a ball on the ground, shaking uncontrollably. Just as I was about to pass out, I heard footsteps. It was Rhys. He stood over me, holding a black umbrella. His brows were tightly furrowed, and a flicker of distress—barely perceptible—crossed his eyes. It was immediately replaced by revulsion. “You think hiding here will stop me from finding you?” His voice was ice-cold. “Rowan, who are you putting on this pathetic show for?” He reached down and yanked me up. “Get up and come with me! If we miss this deal, can you afford the loss?” My face remained blank. “I told you, I won’t listen to you anymore, Rhys.” “Your sister confessed. She was never harmed by my bro—” “Shut up!” My words were cut off by his furious roar. His eyes turned vicious. “You have the audacity to mention my sister? You and your brother owe her a debt you can never repay!” “Until you’re dead, you will stay right here, by my side, being my dog and paying for your sin!” A mocking smile stretched across my lips. “Rhys, you hate me that much?” Hate me enough to wish for my death… Don’t worry. I’m dying. You won’t have to wait long. The pain in my stomach intensified violently. My vision went black, and I completely lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a hotel bed. Rhys saw I was awake and sneered. “Finally awake. I thought you were planning to keep faking it.” He thought I was faking my collapse. I closed my eyes, too weak to respond. But Rhys stood up, came to the bedside, and pinched my jaw. “Don’t play dead. Mr. Price is waiting next door. Get going.” I shook my head, about to refuse. He grabbed my arm and dragged me up, forcing me step by step toward the adjoining suite. Mr. Price sat at the head of the table. His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Rhys, you finally brought her in.” He immediately reached out, wrapped an arm around my waist, and let his hand wander across my back. “Mrs. Blackwood, you didn’t get enough to drink last time, did you?” He grabbed a bottle of liquor and poured a full glass. “Come on, drink this with your ‘buddy’ Price, and the project is a sure thing.” The pungent smell of the alcohol shot into my nostrils. My stomach heaved, and I retched violently. “What’s this? The wife isn’t giving me face?” Mr. Price’s face darkened. Rhys stood nearby, his eyes cold as steel. “Drink it.” I had no choice. I took the glass and tilted my head back, forcing the liquor down. The alcohol burned, making me tremble. Mr. Price roared with laughter and poured another. “Good girl. That’s the spirit! Another one!” Glass after glass. The pain in my stomach was agonizing; I could barely sit upright. Suddenly, Rhys frowned and strode over, snatching the glass from Mr. Price’s hand. “That’s enough, Mr. Price. We’ll call it a night.” Mr. Price was stunned, then laughed. “Oh? Is Rhys getting protective?” Rhys didn’t reply. After seeing Mr. Price out, his gaze dropped to my ashen face. A flicker of something—a panic I couldn’t place—crossed his eyes. “What is wrong with you?” He finally thought I wasn’t faking. Just then, the door to the suite burst open again. “Rhys, I’ve been looking all over for you.” Daphne walked in and headed straight for the couch, sitting down beside me. When she thought no one was looking, she viciously pinched my arm. The sharp, sudden pain cleared my head slightly. “Rowan, honey, what’s wrong?” Daphne asked, feigning concern. “You looked so ill a moment ago, but now you’re better? Were you trying to get out of drinking?” Rhys’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t push me further. Daphne, not missing a beat, linked her arm through Rhys’s. “Rhys, didn’t you promise to take me dress shopping today? For the wedding?” I froze. My mind went blank. Daphne turned to me, her eyes glittering with triumph. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Rhys and I are getting married.” “We were always meant for an alliance, you know. You’re not mad, are you?” I said nothing. After a moment, a thin smile touched my lips. “Congratulations. I wish you both a happy marriage.” My voice was perfectly calm. Rhys’s face immediately fell. “Rowan, I don’t need your hollow well-wishes.” “Don’t think that once I divorce you, you’ll be free. You will stay by our side for the rest of your life. You will continue to atone.” Daphne gave a light laugh, then took my hand, her tone falsely intimate. “Rowan, you have been married once; you have experience.” “Why don’t you come wedding dress shopping with me right now? Help me pick one out?” This time, I didn’t refuse. At the bridal boutique, Daphne excitedly tried on gown after gown. When she emerged in a stunning mermaid silhouette, a flash of pure wonder crossed Rhys’s eyes. He walked over and embraced her from behind. “You’re beautiful.” They were sickeningly intimate, yet I felt no ripple of emotion. Daphne turned to me, smiling as she waved me closer. “Rowan, come over here and take a few pictures for us.” She handed me a camera. “Take lots, for memories.” I took the camera and mechanically pressed the shutter button, my face devoid of emotion. I was a robot. My utter lack of reaction seemed to infuriate Rhys. He frowned, his lips tightening. “Come here.” “Kneel down. Help Daphne put on the wedding shoes.” I remained standing. I didn’t move. “Did you not hear me?” His eyes instantly hardened. He reached out and shoved me. I stumbled and fell hard to the floor. Before I could catch my breath, Daphne laughed and tossed a pair of scarlet red heels in front of me. “Rowan, come on. See if they fit, will you?” I was completely drained of strength, lying on the floor, unable to speak. Daphne saw my state, then simply lifted her foot and placed it firmly on my back. The sharp pain forced a moan from my lips. “Rowan, why aren’t you moving?” Her voice was laced with malice. “Do you need me to beg?” I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried to push her away, to scramble to my feet. But Rhys was faster. He kicked me hard in the chest. Thud. I crashed back onto the ground. A sharp, searing pain exploded in my ribcage. I struggled to breathe. “Stay put,” Rhys warned, his voice low. “Don’t embarrass me here.” Daphne then bent down, picked up the heels, and tried them on herself. “It’s okay, Rhys. I’ll do it myself. Rowan must be exhausted.” Rhys glanced at me, then said nothing else. I don’t know how much time passed. They finally finished selecting the dress and shoes. Rhys looked down at me. “Get up. Come back with us.” I slowly picked myself up, swaying slightly. I followed them out of the boutique. We returned to the Blackwood estate. It used to be the home Rhys and I shared as husband and wife. Now, it was his and Daphne’s home. Daphne was spoiled like a princess and never had to lift a finger. I, however, had become their servant. I had to personally cook every meal. And I had to kneel while serving them dinner. Daphne seemed to relish the feeling. She constantly kissed and held Rhys in front of me. I, meanwhile, remained utterly impassive, clearing their plates. Soon, their wedding day arrived. Rhys dragged me out of bed early and took me to the hotel. The venue was magnificent. Rhys led me to the entrance of the grand ballroom, his eyes colder than ever. “When Daphne walks down the aisle later, you’ll lie on the floor.” “She will step over you on her way in.” I snapped my head up, staring at him, utterly incredulous. “What? You won’t do it?” Rhys scoffed. “Rowan, don’t you forget, you and your brother owe the Blackwood family a debt that lasts forever.” “Serving as a human stepping stone is getting off easy.” He turned and left to meet his bride. I walked to the backstage waiting area, my body numb. The pain in my stomach was a grinding, constant agony. My head began to swim. I don’t know how long I waited. I heard the strains of the wedding march begin. I knew they were starting the final rehearsal. Suddenly, the room spun. I felt myself slipping away. Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and dialed Rhys’s number. I couldn’t explain why I did it. Maybe a final, desperate thread of hope remained. But when the call connected, it wasn’t Rhys’s voice that answered. It was Daphne’s. “What? Still trying to win Rhys’s sympathy?” “I suggest you behave. My wedding with Rhys is about to officially begin. Don’t ruin this for me.” My world tilted, and I blacked out completely. At the same moment, at the ballroom entrance rehearsal, Rhys was holding Daphne’s hand, ready to walk in. He instinctively glanced at the designated spot ahead. It was empty. Where is that woman? He frowned, a sudden, inexplicable feeling of dread rising in his chest. He called his assistant over. “Where is Rowan? Go get her.” The assistant ran off, searching frantically. He returned moments later, his face white as a sheet. “Mr. Blackwood, sir, something is wrong!” “Ms. Cross collapsed backstage. There’s blood everywhere. She… she has no vital signs.”

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