Author: Momo Chan

When I dumped Chase, he asked me why. “Because you never say ‘no’ to the girls chasing you.” He looked at me in disbelief. “That’s it?” I nodded. “That’s it.” 1 Chase was born with God-tier genetics. Back in kindergarten, whenever we played house, he was the groom. And there were always a dozen girls fighting to be his bride. In high school, even the baggy gym uniforms and the mandatory short haircuts couldn’t hide it. If anything, the lack of styling just proved his face was flawless. There are about 180 school days in a year. For 180 days, his locker was stuffed with love notes. The other 185 days were quiet only because school was out. If he so much as whispered “I’m thirsty” on the football field, a dozen bottles of Gatorade and water would magically appear in front of him. Even after he had a girlfriend—me—he wasn’t technically single anymore, but the girls kept throwing themselves at him. And Chase? He never rejected them. Free breakfast, homemade cookies, gifts—he took it all. If a girl asked for his Snap or number, he gave it. At first, I thought he was just being a gentleman. You know, trying not to embarrass them publicly. Until I realized he was interacting with them on Instagram, replying to their stories. He’d do all the “little favors” they whined about—carrying their bags, opening water bottles, even tying their shoes. It felt like I was in a polyamorous relationship without my consent. Like I was sharing a boyfriend. I thought maybe he just didn’t get it. I told him those were things you only do for your girlfriend. And what did Chase say? “It’s just a kind gesture.” “I was just helping out, it’s not a big deal.” Then he gaslit me: “June, don’t be so cold. Why do you have to be so toxic like everyone else?” Was I the toxic one? I didn’t know the answer then. Maybe I wasn’t wrong, and Chase wasn’t wrong. Maybe we just weren’t reading the same book. So, the day after graduation, I asked to break up. 2 Chase froze. A flicker of disbelief crossed his eyes. “You’re dumping me over that?” “Yes,” I answered firmly. Chase stared at me for three solid seconds before letting out a cocky laugh. “Babe, if you’re jealous, just say you’re jealous. Don’t joke about breaking up.” I understood why he didn’t believe me. Everyone thought I must have saved a country in my past life to grow up next door to Chase Sterling. And that I’d won the Powerball when we finally got together. I remember the day it happened. We were clearing out a mountain of love letters from his locker. He looked at me with genuine curiosity and asked: “So many people are chasing me. What about you?” “June, do you want to confess your feelings to me, too?” Chase was confident. He didn’t ask if I liked him. He asked if I wanted the honor of confessing. A lot of girls liked him. I was one of them. But back then, I hadn’t planned on confessing. Yet, when he asked, I looked at his face and, like I was possessed, I nodded. Chase smiled, his eyes crinkling in that way that made stars explode in my stomach. Dazzling. Blinding. “Cool. I guess I’ll marry you someday. My mom likes you anyway.” I looked like a good girl, soft-spoken and well-behaved. Adults loved me. Chase’s mom, Mrs. Sterling, practically considered me a daughter. Everyone said I was the luckiest girl alive. So, nobody believed I was serious about the breakup. They thought I was throwing a tantrum, playing hard to get. Chase’s best friend leaned in, grinning. “Yo, Chase, since the wifey is acting up, why don’t you send me the contact for that hottie you added yesterday?” Hearing that, Chase was even more convinced I was just jealous. He pulled out his phone and AirDropped the contact to his buddy, showing me the screen as he did it. “Happy now?” I didn’t answer his question. instead, I asked, “What’s her name?” “Ivy,” Chase said without thinking. “Ivy Summers.” I smiled. “And that is exactly why we’re breaking up.” The air went still. After a long pause, Chase scoffed, a sneer curling his lip. “Fine. Break up.” “June, don’t you come crawling back crying.” 3 News of our breakup hit the group chats like a bomb. Girls were practically lining up to shoot their shot, hoping to be the rebound. My phone blew up too. Some asking for tea, some warning me not to be a crazy ex, some even asking if I was selling any of Chase’s stuff. It was so ridiculous I didn’t reply to a single DM. I didn’t expect someone to actually show up at my gated community. I didn’t see Chase, but I ran right into her. She was gorgeous. Pale skin, stunning face, legs that went on for days. She was wearing a tiny crop top and skirt combo that screamed “I’m the main character.” “Hey,” she called out. “I’m Ivy. Can I get your WeChat or number?” Ivy was an art student. I’d only heard her name, never seen her in person. “Sorry, I don’t add strangers.” Ivy clicked her tongue impatiently. “Then take me inside to find Chase.” I ignored her completely. I walked through the security gate without looking back, leaving her shouting behind me. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher messaged us to come to school to finalize our college lists. Chase sat right in front of me. As soon as the teacher stepped out, his desk was swarmed. “Chase, which city are you going to?” “Chase, what school did you pick?” “Chase, I’ll go wherever you go. Be my boyfriend?” Three or four girls were practically sitting on his lap. He spun his pen, looking bored. “NYU. Stern School of Business.” Suddenly, a hand reached over and snatched the form off my desk. “Oh wow, June. Copying Chase’s application? How desperate.” Ivy was there. She smirked. ” saying you want to break up, but your actions scream ‘clinger.’ You really are a piece of work.” I snatched my paper back. “This has been my dream school since freshman year. It fits my scores perfectly.” “Why shouldn’t I apply?” Chase and I matching colleges wasn’t about romance. Our fathers were in the same industry. The path our parents paved for us was identical. Real life isn’t a Netflix drama. We don’t have to flee to opposite ends of the country just because we broke up. I’m a city girl. I like the East Coast pace. I wasn’t going to change my future for a boy. Ivy didn’t buy it. “Excuses. There are tons of good schools. You just can’t let go. You want to stay close so you can win him back.” I looked at Chase. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, watching Ivy berate me with a lazy expression. It gave me a flashback to two years ago. We had just started dating. A girl who was obsessed with him stormed into our classroom and grabbed me by the collar. “June, did you sleep with him?!” she screamed. “Did you trap him into dating you?!” The malice was suffocating. I was shaking with rage. Chase was sitting in the back row, head resting on his arms, watching the scene like it was a show. Back then, I didn’t see the red flag. I thought, She’s crazy, he shouldn’t get involved with a psycho. My friend Harper was the one who jumped in and pulled the girl off me. When it was all over, Chase finally walked up, patted my head, and said, “Don’t be mad. She’s just jealous of you.” “Let’s just be happy. Don’t give her a chance.” I finally realized the truth. Chase might have loved me, but he loved the drama more. He loved watching girls fight over him. He enjoyed it then, and he was enjoying it now. I snapped back to reality and ignored Ivy. instead, I looked at Chase. “We broke up. Please change your application.” If boundaries needed to be drawn, I wasn’t going to be the one derailing my life. 4 Ivy reacted first, eyes lighting up. “Chase! You can switch to USC! We can be in LA together…” Chase acted like he didn’t hear her. He grabbed my arm as I turned to leave. “June, nobody waits forever.” “You’re just emotional right now. You’re going to regret this.” His arrogance was astounding. He was convinced I wouldn’t actually leave. Or that if I did, I’d realize nobody compared to him and come running back. Ivy bit her lip, jealous of the attention. “I think in a relationship, you have to accept a person’s flaws,” she interjected, pivoting to lecture me. “June, you like Chase for his face, so you have to accept the attention that comes with it.” “Instead of being insecure and jealous, maybe work on yourself?” The crowd around us started nodding. “Yeah, that’s the price of dating a 10.” “She’s so insecure. Acting like he cheated or something.” “Ivy’s right. If you can’t handle the heat, get out of the kitchen.” The loudest voices were strangers—Ivy’s friends, no doubt. She played the reasonable peacekeeper; they played the attack dogs. I shook Chase’s hand off. I pulled out my phone and dropped a video into the class group chat. The footage was shaky. It was in a dimly lit club booth. Chase stood up, pulling a girl in a waitress uniform into his arms. “She’s my girl. I’ll drink for her.” He downed three shots, then walked out with his arm around her. The camera zoomed in on the girl in his arms. Ivy. Looking like a damsel in distress. Chase frowned, looking annoyed. “She was being harassed. I said that to save her. What’s the problem?” “I was doing a good deed. Helping a classmate. Is that a crime now?” Ivy jumped in immediately. “If Chase hadn’t been there, who knows what would have happened to me that night…” “That was the first time we hung out privately. I wanted to repay him for saving me, so I asked for his number.” “June, you using this video to shame us? Your mind is so twisted!” This happened right before finals. Ivy was an art student, already accepted, so she was working at a club. After Chase played hero, he came home with alcohol poisoning and severe stomach pain. His parents were out of town. I took him to the ER. I sat with him all night while he got an IV. I brought him porridge for a week. And what did I get? Chase’s gaslighting and Ivy’s accusations. I could have screamed. I could have listed everything I did for him. But suddenly, I just felt… bored. We weren’t on the same path anymore. There was no point in arguing. “Chase.” I looked at him and smiled, feeling a weight lift off my chest. “We broke up.” “Who you hang out with, what you do, whether it’s right or wrong… it has nothing to do with me anymore.”

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Chapter 1 I deliberately swapped my smartphone for a busted old Nokia brick that couldn’t connect to the internet, let alone Apple Pay. I wasn’t panicking. But Tiffany, our high school Prom Queen, was losing her mind. In my past life, right after finals, Tiffany used my phone to drain my accounts of millions. She treated the whole class to a graduation trip, leading them on a psychotic shopping spree the second we hit the tourist traps. She maxed out my cards and left me ten million dollars in debt. When I confronted her, threatening to get lawyers involved, she flipped the script. She put on her best victim face and cried to the whole class. “Savannah, just because you got scammed, you can’t frame me! You’re trying to pin this massive debt on me? You want to ruin my life forever?” She sobbed fake tears, and the class turned on me instantly. “You’re just stupid for not watching your wallet. Trying to frame Tiffany? You’re shameless.” “Tiffany is an angel. You’re trash.” While we were arguing on the edge of a scenic cliff, they shoved me. I fell. I died. And the whole class testified it was an accident. That I slipped. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day Tiffany offered to pay for the graduation trip. I felt the Nokia in my pocket and smiled. “Graduation trip? Let’s go.” “Yes! School’s out! Let’s all go to Dubai to celebrate!” Hearing Tiffany’s familiar, high-pitched voice, I realized I had been reborn. The phantom pain of my bones shattering at the bottom of that cliff still lingered, making me tremble. I looked around at the familiar faces. Nobody responded to Tiffany at first. I knew what they were worried about. They were broke high schoolers. They couldn’t afford a trip to Dubai. But then Tiffany dropped the bomb that made the room explode. “It’s on me. I’m covering round-trip flights and all expenses for everyone.” Boom. Suddenly, she was a goddess. The room erupted in applause. The ass-kissing began immediately. “Omg, Tiffany, you’re the GOAT!” “Tiffany is literally Santa Claus. Thank you so much!” Everyone was screaming. Tiffany’s vanity was being fed like a hungry beast; she was beaming. I stood there, stone-faced. In my last life, it happened exactly like this. Just before boarding the plane, Tiffany borrowed my phone, claiming hers was dead and she needed to call her parents. I didn’t think twice. But once we landed and the spending started, my phone went crazy. Transaction notifications blew up my screen. I couldn’t stop it. I watched my inheritance burn until I was in debt. Later, a tech guy told me my phone had been infected with a keylogger virus. Only Tiffany had touched my phone. When I confronted her, she gaslit the hell out of me. “Savannah, I invited you out of pity! Now you’re framing me?” The class sided with her. They smashed my phone to destroy the evidence. They pushed me off a cliff. They lied to the police. Because it was a foreign country with no cameras on that cliff, the case went cold. They even told my parents I committed suicide because I was broke. My family is the richest in the state. Ten million was nothing to me. But my parents didn’t know that—they believed the lie and died of broken hearts. I clenched my fists. I looked at these demons in human skin and smiled. “Sounds great. Thanks for the charity, Tiffany.” Tiffany linked her arm with mine, acting like we were besties. “No problem! We’re classmates. You have to come, Savannah.” She needed her cash cow. “Don’t worry,” I said, my smile not reaching my eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I had to go. I had to watch her burn. That night, the group chat was buzzing. Tiffany was reminding everyone to bring their passports. “Don’t be late, guys!” “We won’t! We’re packing right now!” I stayed silent, lurking like a ghost, monitoring their every move. The next morning at the airport, I showed up last, just barely making the cutoff. My laziness pissed everyone off. “Why did Tiffany even invite her? She’s such a buzzkill.” “Tiffany is just too nice. She doesn’t want anyone left out.” “Some people have zero self-awareness.” One guy yelled at me, “Hey! Can you hustle? Making everyone wait… you think you’re the main character? You don’t have the money to act this entitled.” I was about to clap back when Tiffany rushed over to save her piggy bank. “Guys, chill! Savannah is just shy. You’re making her uncomfortable.” “She should stay home if she’s shy! You spoil her too much, Tiff.” “Someone needs to apologize.” Chapter 2 Tiffany looked at me with fake concern. “Savannah, maybe just apologize to the group? So we can move on?” I scoffed. “Why? I’m not apologizing. I’m going home.” I turned to leave. Panic flashed in Tiffany’s eyes. She grabbed me. “No, no! It’s fine! I’ll apologize for you!” She turned to the group, acting the martyr. “Sorry guys! I apologize on Savannah’s behalf. Please, do it for me?” “Ugh, Tiffany, you’re a saint.” “Fine, but only because you asked.” Tiffany wiped her imaginary sweat. “Okay, let’s go! Boarding time, ladies and gentlemen!” She herded us toward the gate. Just as we were about to board—the moment of truth. Tiffany looked distressed. “Savannah, my phone just died. Can I borrow yours? I need to call my parents and tell them I’m leaving.” Here we go. The classic move. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the Nokia brick. “Sorry, Tiff. I forgot to charge my smartphone last night. I’m using my grandma’s emergency burner. It’s got like 2% battery and no signal in here.” Tiffany’s face dropped. It was glorious. She gritted her teeth. “Oh… okay.” She didn’t talk to me for the entire flight. I put on my eye mask and slept like a baby. When we landed in Dubai, Tiffany was back to her fake cheerful self. “Savannah! I booked the rooms. To save money, we’re pairing up. You’re with me!” “Also, I made an itinerary. We leave early tomorrow, so I’ll make sure you’re up.” She wanted to keep me close. She was planning to steal the phone while I slept. I glared at her. “Fine.” The peanut gallery chimed in again. “What is her problem? Freeloading off Tiffany and still giving attitude.” “Trashy behavior.” “If I were Tiffany, I’d leave her in the desert.” Their insults were loud and clear. I snapped. “Are you done running your mouths? Do I need to sew your lips shut?” “Oh, you wanna go?” “Trash!” They wanted to fight, but Tiffany jumped in again. “Stop! Everyone stop! We’re here to have fun!” I could see them whispering, plotting to “teach me a lesson” later. But I’m paranoid now. I don’t go anywhere alone. They couldn’t touch me. So they switched to the silent treatment. Isolating me. Perfect. I treated them like air. Chapter 3 The next morning, Tiffany rallied the troops. “Breakfast first, then we hit the mall! Buy whatever you want, it’s on me!” “Yasss! Queen Tiffany!” The worship was real. Their smiles were disgusting. “Savannah, sit with me.” Tiffany was sticking to me like glue. “Okay.” After eating, Tiffany led us to the most expensive shopping district. She hired a local guide to take us to the luxury flagship stores. The moment we walked in, the greed on everyone’s faces was palpable. They didn’t care about the architecture or the culture. They just wanted free Gucci. Tiffany waved her hand like a billionaire. “Shop away! Grab whatever catches your eye.” She glanced at me, her eyes saying, It’s your money anyway. I smirked back. Let the games begin. Tiffany shadowed me through the store. She was piling jewelry on herself, looking at me. “Savannah, you’re not getting anything?” I shook my head. “Too flashy. Not my style. I’m gonna look over there.” “Wait!” She panicked. “Stay here! Help me pick something out!” A second later, she tried again. “Savannah, seriously, can I borrow your phone? I need to tell my parents we landed safely. Strict household, you know?” I looked around. The class was piling up boxes of luxury goods. I smiled and pulled out the Nokia. “Here.” Tiffany stared at the plastic brick like it was a bomb. “What the f*ck? You’re still using this piece of junk? How do you even FaceTime?” I shrugged. “I’m broke. This is durable. Deal with it. Or borrow someone else’s.” “Borrow my ass!” She snapped. She was losing her cool. Her scream attracted the whole class. “Who uses a burner phone in 2025?” “Omg, she’s so broke it’s embarrassing.” “If it wasn’t for Tiffany, she’d never leave her trailer park.” They thought roasting me would make Tiffany happy. But Tiffany was holding her head, looking like she was about to have a stroke. “Shut up!” Tiffany screamed. “Shut the hell up! If you keep talking, return your stuff and get out!” The class went silent. They’d never seen the “angel” rage before. Just then, the store manager approached, smiling that polite, customer-service smile. “Miss, your group has reached the purchase limit for holding items. Would you like to settle the bill before continuing?” Chapter 4 Tiffany froze. She tried to play it cool, channeling her inner Karen. “What’s the rush? You think I can’t afford it? We’re still shopping. Are you trying to kick us out? Do you know who I am?” The manager, terrified of losing a whale, bowed. “I apologize profusely! Please, to make up for my rudeness, everything today is 20% off. Please, continue.” Tiffany let out a breath she was holding. She shot a smug look at the group. “That’s better.” The manager ushered them back into the VIP lounge. Tiffany was sweating. I could see the gears turning in her head. She was screwed. I watched her pretend to browse. She started putting things back on the shelves surreptitiously. She whispered to the group. “Hey guys… I think this stuff is fake.” The classmates paused. “What? No way. This is a flagship store.” Tiffany nodded seriously. “Trust me. It’s knockoffs. Put it back. I’ll take you to the real high-end district later.” The classmates were gullible. They started putting things down. The manager noticed. “Is something wrong?” Tiffany stayed silent, face red. But her “friends”—the loudmouths—betrayed her instantly. “The lady said your stuff is fake!” “How dare you sell us dupes!” The manager was furious. “I swear on my life, if there is a single fake item here, I will eat it!” He slapped the authenticity certificates on the table. The classmates believed the paper. “Tiffany! It’s real! Can we get the stuff back?” Tiffany was shaking. She couldn’t speak. I stepped forward. “No, you can’t. Because she has no money.” Silence. Then chaos. “Tiffany, tell her she’s lying!” “You’re rich, right? You promised!” Tiffany looked like she wanted to vomit. A few of the guys got aggressive. “Yo, are you pranking us? You dragged us to Dubai for this?” “Did you act rich just to clout chase?” Tiffany stayed silent. “Damn, she’s broke. Let’s bounce. This is embarrassing.” The guys started to leave. Tiffany’s minions—the pick-me girls—panicked. They blocked the exit. “Wait! Let Tiffany explain!” “Maybe her bank froze her account because she’s spending too much! It happens to rich people!” I almost laughed out loud. They were digging her grave for me. Tiffany’s eyes went wide with pure hatred toward her “friends.” But she had to play along. “Yes! That’s it! My card got flagged for suspicious activity!” She squeezed out a few tears. The class softened immediately. “Oh, see? Just a misunderstanding.” “Poor Tiffany.” I watched them comfort her, suppressing a laugh.

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A month before I died, I hired an undertaker online. The reviews said he was a pro—full-service, handled everything. From corpse cleanup to the final shovel of dirt, it was the perfect “one-stop shop” for someone like me, who had no one to collect my body. But when we met, my luck ran out. The undertaker was my ex-boyfriend, the one I dumped five years ago. Enemies on sight. He took one look at me in the hospital bed and waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t care who you are. I’m not burying you.” I scrambled out of bed to block the door before he could leave. “It’s a misunderstanding! I booked it for my grandma!” He stared at me, face like a thundercloud, hesitated for a solid minute, then finally snatched the credit card from my hand with a frown. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He took the money. He signed the contract. When I die, he can’t back out now. 1 I was lying in the hospital bed, waiting to die, when old Mrs. Zhou in the next bed nudged me. “Add this guy on WeChat,” she whispered conspiratorially. “He’s amazing.” “He handled my husband’s funeral. From picking up the body to the burial, he does everything. Even throws in the burial shoes and shroud for free.” “Don’t underestimate a good send-off,” she added. “Get it right, and you’ll have good karma in the next life.” Everyone in our ward was waiting to die. But I was the youngest. When I first arrived, the uncles and aunties pitied me. “So young,” they’d say. “You shouldn’t be here.” But as time passed, they realized I wasn’t sad. So, death became just another topic of conversation. I thought about it and added the contact Mrs. Zhou recommended. I wasn’t counting on karma for the next life. But for this one? Yeah, I needed help. My parents were gone. My grandma had been bedridden for years—she couldn’t even get out of bed, let alone bury me. Funerals are complicated. I tried to plan it myself, but I just didn’t have the energy. I was dying, and I hadn’t even bought an urn. I had some savings left. A full-service package seemed like the way to go. I sent the friend request. Ten minutes later, no response. Finally, a message popped up. Not in the chat, but in the friend request verification box: “What for?” 2 I blinked, double-checking I had the right person. I typed back, explaining I needed a full funeral package. This time, it took him thirty minutes to reply. “?” Still didn’t accept my request. I frowned. I showed my phone to Mrs. Zhou. “Does he not add strangers?” She looked confused. “That’s weird. In his line of work, he adds strangers all the time.” She grabbed her own phone and sent a voice message. “He’s probably just busy. Let me book him for you.” I was getting sleepier by the day. I thanked her and drifted off. I slept fitfully until evening. Snores from the uncles filled the room. I checked my phone—almost 8 PM. Guess he wasn’t coming. My nose felt hot. I touched it—blood. I woke up instantly, grabbing tissues from the nightstand and stumbling to the bathroom. It wasn’t the first time. I was used to it. Apply pressure. Plug with cotton balls. Wait. After a few rounds of soaked cotton, the bleeding stopped. I washed the blood off my hands and neck in the mirror. The ward was quiet. No one saw. Good. If they saw, they’d feel bad for me. And when they felt bad, I felt bad. I leaned against the sink, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Tomorrow, I needed to ask the doctor about discharge. Grandma was alone at home. With whatever time I had left, I wanted to be with her. Once the vertigo faded, I opened the bathroom door. Knock, knock. The doctor’s rounds. I opened the ward door without looking, turning back toward my bed, using the wall for support. But no footsteps followed. I stopped and looked back. A man stood in the doorway. The room was dim, lit only by the nightlight. Maybe it was the shadows, maybe my vision was failing. I couldn’t see his face clearly. 3 I rubbed my eyes. He stood still. Only his eyes moved—cold, disgusted, indifferent—scanning my face. Maybe I was sicker than I thought. I was hallucinating Liam. He looked at me just like he did five years ago. Calm. Detached. Back then, I said, “Let’s break up.” He said, “Okay.” Flat. No emotion. The silence was suffocating. After a while, I realized it wasn’t a hallucination. There were other patients in the room, after all. My palms started sweating. Why did I feel guilty? I forced a smile. “What a… coincidence. Who are you looking for?” My eyes burned. Thank god for the dim lighting. He probably couldn’t see my tears. Five years ago, breaking up hurt. But I never imagined our reunion would be on my deathbed. The indifference on his face vanished, replaced by a flat, professional mask. “Someone booked a funeral service. I’m here to sign the contract.” I froze. Right. Mrs. Zhou’s recommendation. “You… you’re Liam?” Liam stared at me. He didn’t speak. But his eyes screamed: Is this a joke? My brain really was rotting. How slow could I be? Liam hadn’t even changed his WeChat profile picture. It was still the Patrick Star I chose for him years ago. Mrs. Zhou had told me, “This is Liam, the funeral guy.” But I didn’t connect the dots until now. The awkwardness was thick enough to choke on. I stammered, “Sorry… I booked it. I forgot. And… I didn’t know it was you.” Liam let out a cold laugh. “I’m surprised you’re not too good for my services now.” He turned to leave. I pushed off the wall and chased him. “You’re already here! Just sign the contract!” I only had a month. Finding someone else would be a hassle. I didn’t have the energy. Liam probably thought I booked him on purpose. That I was shameless. He stopped at the door, turning back. The hate in his eyes was undisguised now. “Ms. Lin, you flatter me. But unfortunately…” He paused, his voice dropping. “I’ll bury anyone. But I won’t bury you.” 4 That stung. Even dying, I was getting rejected. It hurt more than I expected. I looked down at the contract in his hand. My brain was mush. I babbled, “Business is business. You can’t pick and choose customers.” I couldn’t look up. I didn’t want to see his face. Silence stretched on. Finally, he took the bank card I was holding out. “Don’t contact me for anything other than funeral arrangements,” he said coldly. He turned to leave. I remembered he still hadn’t accepted my friend request. I opened my mouth to call him back. Black spots danced in my vision. I reached out to steady myself and accidentally grabbed his hand. His hand was cold. Or maybe I was burning up again. I noticed a ring on his left ring finger. Five years ago, three months after we broke up, he posted his new girlfriend on social media. Married? Engaged? It wouldn’t be surprising. I felt… something. I didn’t know what. I let go of his hand like it burned me. He seemed to flinch. When he looked back, his face was dark with disgust. “Sorry,” I apologized quickly. “Um… accept the request? So we can coordinate later.” Liam scoffed. “No need. Just pass messages through her.” He meant Mrs. Zhou. I couldn’t speak. I watched him walk away. He wiped the hand I touched on his suit jacket. I bit my lip and looked away. It was just a touch. Was I that disgusting?

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I was the “It Girl”—the white moonlight—for the heirs of the city’s top four dynasties before I went abroad. They were supposed to be waiting for my return, fighting over who got to put a ring on my finger. But the moment I stepped off the plane, rows of floating text—like a glitched Twitch chat—scrolled across my vision: 【LMAO. The side character actually thinks those trust fund babies are still gonna simp for her?】 【She has no idea. While she was gone, they found a dupe—a poor girl who looks just like her. But joke’s on them, they all caught feelings for the substitute!】 【Now the evil ex is gonna try to bully the heroine, the guys will see her true colors, bankrupted her family, and leave her in the gutter.】 【And then? It’s happily ever after for our女主 (Female Lead) and her harem! Spicy scenes incoming!】 I watched with my own eyes as they left my welcome-back party early, one by one, rushing off to comfort another girl. So, I decided to ghost them all. 1 I pieced together the current situation in Sea City from the floating comments. Six months ago, they met the heroine, Lily, working as a waitress at a high-end club. Poor, pure, tough but fragile, and bearing a striking resemblance to me. She caught their attention instantly. For the past six months, these guys had been circling Lily, fighting and scheming over her, just like they used to do with me. They even had a group chat. It used to be called [Waiting for Serena’s Return]. Now, the topic was exclusively the new girl. I came back without telling anyone. When they found out, they scrambled to throw a welcome dinner. I wore a custom emerald silk dress, watching them walk in with gifts. The four princes of Sea City. Different personalities, but all cut from the same cloth: young, handsome, polished, and expensive. Money really is the best skincare. “Serena…” “Sis…” Different greetings, but all of them were polite. Too polite. Well-behaved. The chat scrolled past my eyes: 【They used to stick to her like glue. Now they’re keeping their distance.】 【They literally said in the group chat they don’t want Lily to get jealous, so they gotta stay away from the evil ex!】 【Yesss! I live for this double standard!】 I was skeptical at first, but seeing their distant attitudes, I realized the comments were telling the truth. 2 Not even halfway through the meal, Leo—usually the wild, impulsive one—kept checking his phone. The others followed suit, whispering among themselves. Leo’s anxiety was written all over his face. I excused myself to the restroom. As soon as I got there, the text floated by: 【OMG! The heroine is working the night shift and they’re worried she’s gonna get harassed by that creep from last time! They can’t sit still!】 【They’re planning their escape! Pure love wins!】 【Tsk tsk, the side character is pathetic. But hey, that’s what happens when you’re just a plot device.】 I returned to the private room. “Serena, my dad just texted. Family emergency. Gotta bounce,” Leo said, standing up with zero hesitation. “I have something to take care of, too,” Silas, the gloomy, isolated one, said coldly as he stood up. Ford, the CEO type, buttoned his jacket calmly. “You guys drank. I’ll drive you.” Just like that, three of them left. Fast. Like they were escaping a fire. I looked at Felix, who was still sitting there, elegantly cutting his steak. “You’re not going?” He smirked, looking up at me. “Someone has to stay and take you home.” Felix. The fox. The hardest one to read. 【LOL. Does she think Felix stayed because he cares?】 【Too bad, sis. All four of them are obsessed with the new girl.】 【He’s just staying to do damage control. They don’t want the evil ex to find out and target the heroine yet.】 【They literally drew straws in the group chat. Felix lost, so he had to stay. The other three owe him big time. Haha!】 【Kind Substitute defeats Evil White Moonlight. This plot slaps!】 3 Felix drove me back to my penthouse. At the door, I turned to him. “Thanks. You should head back.” Felix smiled, leaning against the frame. “Not gonna invite me in for water, sister?” I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d be in a rush to leave.” His smile deepened, his eyes searching mine. “Why would you think that? Do you know something?” Tsk. Always the sharpest one. I poured him water. He sat down, his eyes scanning my figure. “You look good in that dress.” “Thanks.” I sat on the opposite sofa, leaning back lazily. Felix swirled the glass in his hand. “You don’t believe Leo’s excuse, do you? Aren’t you curious where they really went?” I glanced at him. “Are you trying to tell me something?” He put down the glass and moved to sit next to me, leaning in close, his voice low. “Do you want to know?” 【AHHH! Why is Felix so close to her? Is he gonna cheat on the heroine mentally?!】 【Relax. This is a harem novel. The ex is just a stepping stone. They all have a transition period. They’ll struggle, but eventually, the heroine’s purity wins. Then they trample the ex. That’s the satisfaction!】 I scooted away. “Forget it. It’s late. You should go.” Felix looked at me, a bitter smile touching his lips. “You really don’t care about us at all, do you?” I shrugged. “It’s your business. I have no right to pry.” His phone rang. He answered it on speaker, right in front of me. “Felix, did you drop Serena off yet?” Leo’s voice boomed from the phone. “Yeah,” Felix replied casually. “Thank god we got here in time. Lily almost got harassed again. We took her out to get her mind off it. She asked if you were coming. Hmph, you’re always the quiet one, but she asks about you the most. Stop playing hard to get, it’s working too well.” Leo sounded jealous. Felix looked up at me. Seeing my indifferent expression, his eyes darkened slightly. “Sure. I’m coming.” Before he left, he turned at the door. “Three years abroad. Now that we aren’t revolving around you anymore… do you feel a sense of loss?” I smiled. “Everyone is independent. You guys weren’t with me for those three years anyway.” 4 I met the legendary heroine, Lily, sooner than I expected. It was at a birthday party for the Chen family heiress. I had just returned, so the invites were piling up. We were in a VIP suite at a high-end club. Lily walked in wearing a server’s uniform, carrying a tray of drinks. “Hey, isn’t that the girl the four princes are fighting over? Still working as a waitress?” “She said she wants to earn money with her own two hands. Refused to be a canary in a gilded cage.” “Tsk, that attitude is exactly why the guys like her.” “Look at her eyes. She really does look like Serena. But Serena is back now, and the guys seem… indifferent? Is the copy replacing the original?” “Serena is old news. Too high maintenance. This girl is true love.” The whispers weren’t quiet. In this circle, people love to watch a queen fall. I looked at Lily calmly. She stood out among the staff—fresh-faced, delicate. Then, the drama started. As Lily brought drinks to my table, she stumbled over nothing. The tray tipped, and champagne splashed toward me. I dodged quickly, but some of it still hit the hem of my dress. “Ah! Miss Su! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault…” She dropped to the floor in a panic, grabbing napkins, trying to wipe my skirt while practically bowing. I was about to step back and tell her it was fine, but a voice roared across the room. “Serena! Don’t you dare bully Lily!” Leo stormed over, glaring at me. He pulled Lily up and shielded her behind his back. “Serena, just because you’re a rich heiress doesn’t mean you can humiliate a working girl! Is this what you learned abroad? Disrespect?” The room went silent. People looked at me with scorn—the abandoned ex being petty. 【OMG! Possessive protective boyfriend mode ACTIVATED!】 【The ex is starting her villain arc! The guys are gonna hate her now!】 “Leo, stop, don’t be like that. It was my clumsiness. Miss Su has every right to be mad,” Lily said, voice trembling, acting the saint. It only added fuel to the fire. “Serena, I didn’t think you’d become this petty—” “Leo!” I cut him off, my voice cold. “I haven’t said a single word from start to finish. Are you hallucinating, or are you just looking for a fight?” Leo froze, his mouth hanging open. The sudden shift in my demeanor stunned him. 5 “Miss Su, it’s all my mistake. You can scold me all you want, but please don’t be mad at Leo. He’s just worried about me.” Lily played the victim card again, looking ready to cry. My opinion of her shifted. I thought she was a naive white lotus, but this? This was low-tier manipulation. “Serena, Lily isn’t like you. She wasn’t born into money. She works hard for her life. Just because we treat her well doesn’t mean you can target her and try to get her fired,” Leo insisted stubbornly. I pressed my lips together. “I was born rich because I won the genetic lottery, just like you were born lucky enough to stand here and bark at me without consequences.” “But I don’t owe anyone anything. My morals don’t allow for your blind accusations. From the moment she spilled the drink, I haven’t uttered a syllable. You jumped to conclusions and pinned a crime on me. That is your mistake.” “If I wanted to make a scene about the dress, that is my right as a customer. If I choose not to, that is my generosity. Neither has anything to do with who you like. Nobody gets to slander me. Do you understand?” He blinked, a flash of panic crossing his eyes as he looked at me. 【Wait… the evil ex is kinda making sense? She literally didn’t say anything before Leo started yelling.】 【Who cares about logic? She wanted to bully her. Leo just stopped it preemptively. Just because the female lead has a strong backer doesn’t make the ex innocent!】 【Exactly! Look how pitiful Lily looks. Serena is so hateful!】 I rolled my eyes at the broken moral compass of the chat. The birthday girl, Chloe, stepped in laughing. “Okay, okay, everyone cool off. It’s my birthday, give me some face.” Leo dragged Lily away. At the door, Ford and Silas were waiting. They swept their gaze over me, cold and distant, then left with Leo and Lily. Later that night, I had my driver drop me off by the lake near my complex. I needed to walk off the alcohol. That’s when I saw Silas sitting alone by the water, looking like a depressed statue. 【Poor Silas. Lily likes Leo the most right now. He can only sulk by the lake.】 【Silas has been paranoid and gloomy since childhood. He’s not gonna jump, is he?】 【If he hadn’t met the ex back in the day, he would have offed himself already. Now he’s over her, but he fell for the heroine, and he has to share her.】 【Depression arc incoming…】

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In the dead of night, high up in the Rockies, my flashlight beam swept over five lifeless bodies inside the SUV. My hands trembling, I dialed 911. My voice was hoarse, shaking as I spoke. “Hello? I’m on the mountain pass… Highway 550. Everyone in my car… they’re all dead.” The dispatcher responded immediately. “Sir, please state your exact location. Help is on the way.” My voice felt like a frozen stone hitting the pavement—hard, cold, emotionless. “I’m at the scenic turnout about five miles east of the summit. The license plate is CO-318X. Five people inside are dead.” “I am the only one left alive.” 1. It took over an hour for the piercing wail of sirens to shatter the silence of the desolate wilderness. I was huddled behind a boulder about fifty feet from the car, wrapped in a mud-stained windbreaker, clutching a dead power bank like a lifeline. The coroner, state troopers, and local detectives arrived almost simultaneously. There were six of us on this road trip through the mountains. Now, five corpses were frozen in twisted, unnatural positions, held in place by seatbelts and stiff limbs. Jessica, our team leader, had her head slumped against the steering wheel, forehead resting on the horn that made no sound. Chloe, in the passenger seat, had her mouth half-open as if screaming, eyes bulging in terror, staring into the dark. In the back, Ashley, Morgan, and our photographer, Hannah, were contorted—some curled up, some leaning back. Their expressions were frozen masks of agony or confusion. There were no obvious external wounds. It was as if life had been ripped out of them in a split second. I couldn’t look anymore. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat. My face was ghost-white. A cop wrapped in a heavy duty jacket shone his flashlight in my face. “You’re saying you guys celebrated yesterday? Had a few drinks, planned to hit the city today? You fell asleep, and when you woke up, they were like this?” I shivered violently, nodding. “Yes.” “What time did you fall asleep?” I tried to dig through my frozen brain. “Around ten, maybe? Just after we crossed the pass. I was exhausted.” “What was the last thing you saw?” “Hannah was taking photos of the stars. Jess was driving. Morgan and Ashley were talking about the route. Chloe… Chloe looked like she had altitude sickness. She was just closing her eyes.” The officer’s gaze was sharp as a knife, pinning me down. “They’re all dead. Why are you fine?” I looked at him, blank and confused. Yeah. Why are they dead, and I’m alive? I stood on that 12,000-foot ridge with them. I drank the same whiskey. I was just as tired. But they were dead. And I was breathing. Seeing my silence, the officer’s voice softened, but the suspicion remained. “Anything else you can tell us?” I hesitated, whispering, “One thing… I don’t know if I was hallucinating. After I fell asleep, I thought I heard someone calling my name… saying it was cold. So cold.” “Did you wake up then?” I stared blankly and shook my head. Fear had wiped my memory. I didn’t remember waking up, seeing the bodies, or getting out of the car. When I came to, I was already on the phone with 911. Seeing how weak I was, they stopped questioning me and put me in the back of a warm cruiser. Dawn broke. Through the window, I watched the forensics team working. “Preliminary assessment: Cause of death is complex,” a medical examiner said, taking off his outer gloves. His voice was muffled by the wind. “Highly suspect acute altitude sickness triggering cardiac arrest or cerebral edema. Possible overlay of carbon monoxide poisoning or flash hypothermia.” “Because of individual differences, some might have passed out instantly, others might have suffered. Time of death is concentrated between 1 AM and 3 AM.” Listening to this, the lead detective—Detective Miller—turned his head. His eyes locked onto me. “You were in the car. Same altitude, same temperature.” I nodded, my throat tight. Miller stared at me, scrutinizing. But he didn’t press that point. He switched angles. “Are you sure you slept from 10 PM straight through? You didn’t wake up once? You noticed nothing?” I rubbed my pounding temples. “I don’t think so. The altitude hit me hard. I took some meds and was out cold.” Miller narrowed his eyes, thoughtful. “Detective,” the ME called out. “The car wasn’t airtight, windows were cracked. But the bodies… they’re mostly peaceful, or frozen in sudden pain. No signs of a struggle consistent with violent asphyxiation.” “Like they died in their sleep?” Miller lowered his voice. The ME nodded. “Here’s the weird part. The doors.” “All four doors and the trunk were locked from the inside. Central locking engaged. Keys in the ignition, engine off. Windows rolled up tight except for a sliver on the passenger side.” “So,” Miller looked around at the jagged cliffs, “when this happened, the car was a steel coffin locked from the inside.” “No forced entry. Nobody got out.” I hugged the wool blanket tighter, my knuckles turning white. The “steel coffin” metaphor made me feel like I was suffocating. Why did they lock the doors? Usually, when parked, you don’t lock up like that so people can hop out to use the bathroom. “We’ll check for mechanical failure,” the ME said. “Carbon monoxide leak from the heater is possible, but unlikely. We’re leaning towards environmental causes.” Miller closed his notebook and looked at me again. “Was anyone sick during the trip? Before you got in the car?” I paused. “Chloe had bad altitude sickness. She threw up at the summit and slept most of the time. Jess mentioned chest pains while driving, but she said it was an old issue.” A tech officer walked up. “Detective, the dashcam SD card is missing.” “Slot’s empty. We searched the car. It’s gone.” Miller’s sharp gaze snapped back to me. “You know about the dashcam? Where’s the card?” I shook my head, looking lost. “I was in the back seat, squeezed in the corner. I didn’t pay attention. I just slept.” “What about before the trip? Who checked the gear?” “Usually Jess or Hannah. Hannah’s the photographer, she handles the tech.” Miller stared at me. No malice, just crushing pressure. “It’s strange, Ethan. You wake up, everyone’s dead. You noticed nothing for hours. You don’t know where the SD card is.” “It seems the only thing you know is that you’re alive. Everything else is a blank.” I looked at him with fearful, innocent eyes. “Detective… the altitude meds knocked me out. I don’t drive. I really don’t know where the card is…” Miller stopped the questioning. The bodies were transported. There was a mountain of work to do. I was taken to a temporary holding room at the local ranger station. The heater was blasting, but I couldn’t feel the warmth. Hours later, Miller returned. He placed a DSLR camera on the table in front of me. It was Hannah’s baby—she never let it out of her sight. Now it was splattered with mud. “Listen to this.” He hit play, his eyes glued to my face, hunting for a micro-expression. The audio from the internal mic was fuzzy, full of static and wind noise, but the voices were clear enough to cut glass. First, violent coughing and dry heaving. Then, Jess’s hoarse screaming. “Shit… can’t breathe… open the window! Open the damn window!” The sound of fists pounding against the door panels. Then Ashley’s voice, high-pitched with terror: “I can’t! It’s jammed! Central lock isn’t responding! Jess! Jess, what’s wrong with you?!” Morgan screaming, crying: “She’s having a heart attack! She’s seizing! Hannah! Phone! No signal! Help us!” In the chaos, heavy breathing and the clicking of camera buttons. Hannah was trying to use the camera as a light source… or to record something. In the background, a faint moan from Chloe: “Cold… so cold…” And then, in the final ten seconds of the recording, amidst the dying gasps and despair, Hannah’s voice erupted. A final, hysterical scream using the last of her strength: “ETHAN! WAKE UP!!! WAKE THE FUCK UP!!! LOOK WHAT YOU DID!!!” 2. Click. The recording ended. Dead silence filled the room, save for the crackling of the wood stove. My mind went blank. Hannah’s final, cursed scream replayed in my head like a bomb blast. “I don’t know… I was asleep… I swear I didn’t hear anything!” “Hannah’s camera was on, sitting on her lap. That recording starts at 1:33 AM and ends at 1:46 AM.” Miller leaned forward, his presence looming over me like a mountain. “In the recording, in their final moments, they were screaming your name.” “Especially Hannah. She was convinced you knew what was happening. She believed this was your doing. Explain that.” “I don’t know!” I snapped my head up, my voice shrill with panic I didn’t realize I had. “I was asleep! I woke up and they were dead! I don’t know why she said that! I didn’t do anything! She was yelling at me to wake up too, right?” Miller saw my agitation and softened his tone, though his eyes remained cold. “Okay. Let’s try this. You said you heard someone calling your name in a dream. Tell me about that.” I slumped back in the chair, drained. “I felt… tugging. Shaking. Someone telling me to wake up… It was loud, chaotic. I felt sick. My consciousness was fading in and out. It felt like a nightmare.” Miller picked up the camera, his voice terrifyingly low. “Did it ever occur to you that it wasn’t a dream?” “That they were desperately begging you to wake up, and you… you just didn’t respond?” A chill crawled up my spine. The blurred images from my “dream” suddenly sharpened into high definition. I could see Jess’s twisted face pressed against the steering wheel. Chloe’s pale, bloodless skin. Hannah raising her camera in the dark, pointing it at me with rage and accusation… “Why didn’t you wake up?” Miller’s voice was an ice pick. “They drank the same booze. They had the same sickness. They all woke up. Only you slept like the dead.” “Even with altitude sickness, you weren’t in a coma—otherwise you’d be a corpse right now from hypoxia. So why, when they were screaming and shaking you, were you the only one oblivious to mass death?” Yeah. Why couldn’t I wake up? Why am I the only one breathing? What happened during those lost hours? Terror flooded my brain. My heart raced. “How was your relationship with them?” Miller pivoted again. I took a deep breath, trying to find calm. “We met online. A hiking group. It was fine. Jess was the leader, experienced. Hannah loved photos. Ashley and Morgan were social. Chloe was weak but nice.” “Any conflict? Even small ones?” I hesitated. “Yesterday at the checkpoint… my ID photo had an issue. We got held up for twenty minutes. Jess was annoyed. She called me ‘dead weight.’ It was awkward, but it blew over.” “And the others?” “Ashley smoothed it over. Morgan stayed quiet. Hannah played with her camera. Chloe was sick, sleeping.” “Did they exclude you?” He pressed harder. “Collective bullying?” I went silent. Memories I’d suppressed bubbled up. My suggestions on the route ignored. Getting food last. Standing on the far edge of every group photo. Yeah. I guess that’s exclusion. Miller saw my silence. He pulled out an evidence bag containing Hannah’s phone. He opened WeChat and pulled up a group chat named “Suicide Squad 318.” There was a message sent at 12:15 AM. Jess: Stay sharp. Once we cross the pass, we’re good. I’ll drive the second leg. Let that Twig sleep till he rots. Can’t count on a wimp like him for anything. Useless dead weight. Replies followed: Ashley: K. Morgan: Copy that. Hannah: Yep. Ten minutes later, they entered the death zone. Half an hour later, the recording started. I stared at the words “Twig,” “rot,” and “dead weight.” My blood ran cold. To the leader, I was just trash. My face darkened, lips pressed into a thin white line. Miller slid a tablet across the table. “Did you know there were two group chats?” I looked up, confused. “There’s the ‘All Hands’ group with you in it for splitting bills. And then there’s this one.” Miller tapped the screen. “This is where they roasted you. Planned around you. Are you telling me you felt none of that hostility?” The screen’s glow illuminated my stunned face. Of course I felt it. In Litang, when the hostel was full, Ashley typed: “Having a guy is annoying. Should we handle him like the last one? His watch looks expensive…” When I lagged behind due to the altitude, I heard Jess whisper to Hannah: “If he keeps slowing us down, we ditch him at the next stop…” I didn’t know exactly what they meant, but the malice in their eyes? That was real. “Ethan, were you angry at them?” Miller put the tablet away, watching me. “Yes,” I rasped. “Did you ever, for a split second, wish something bad would happen to them? Or that this trip would end? Even in an extreme way?” His question cut straight to the bone. I looked up, meeting his gaze. “I resented how they treated me, but I didn’t hurt them! Just because you can’t find the killer doesn’t mean you can frame me!” “But I have evidence that you’re lying,” Miller sneered. He slid a photo across the table. It was from Hannah’s camera—the picnic at Ranwu Lake. I was sitting on a rock at the far edge, wrapped in my jacket, looking spacey. No smile. The others were crowded around the mat. Jess with a bottle, Hannah throwing up a peace sign, Ashley and Morgan fighting over a cookie. Chloe was wrapped in a blanket, sleeping. They were a warm, tight circle. I was background noise. “You said you fell asleep at 10 PM. The timestamp on this photo is 11:15 PM. You were awake. You were with them.” “Ethan, you’ve been lying from the start. You are the killer.” 3. I stared at myself in the photo, my pupils dilating in disbelief. I looked up at Miller, trembling. “Detective, how can you suspect me? I’m a survivor, but I’m also a victim! Just because of a photo? That’s slander! Do you know how traumatizing this is?” “I said I probably slept around ten. I didn’t say exactly! My brain was foggy! And look at me—I’m skinny, I’m sick. How could I kill five fitness-obsessed women who all outweigh me?” Miller stared dead at me. “Yeah. It does seem unlikely.” Suddenly, the ME walked in and handed a freshly printed report to Miller. “Her time of death doesn’t match the others.” He circled Chloe’s name with a heavy red pen. I sat up straight as if pricked by a needle, eyeing the report. Miller caught my reaction. “Explain.” The ME opened the file, voice raspy. “Rectal temp, rigor mortis, corneal clouding… everything is different. She died significantly later than the other four.” “Given the environment, we estimate she survived nearly two hours longer than the rest.” Silence filled the room. “Also,” the ME continued, “She didn’t have altitude sickness. Blood oxygen, organs… normal. She wasn’t sick. She couldn’t have been comatose.” Every eye in the room turned to me. My blood froze. “Impossible! Chloe was sick the whole time! She was huddled in that blanket!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “The photo! Look at the photo! She looks terrible!” “True, she looks weak in the photo,” Miller admitted, glancing at it again. The ME was firm. “Physiology doesn’t lie. She was healthy. And she died of cyanide poisoning. It was murder.” Miller looked back at me. “Is it possible Chloe was acting?” A chill shot up my spine. Chloe was faking it? Why? “So… Chloe is the real killer?” I asked, voice trembling. “But why spare me?” Miller smiled, a cold, humorless thing. “Exactly. Why spare you? She didn’t even spare herself.” “Ethan, did you know these people before?” “No! Just internet strangers! I never thought this would happen…” My mind was a blender. “Did you know Chloe had a grudge against anyone?” I thought hard. “Jess stole Chloe’s boyfriend a while back. But Chloe said it was fine. She said, ‘It’s just a man, let Jess have him.’” A terrifying thought bloomed in my mind. “Are you saying… Chloe killed the other four for revenge, then committed suicide out of guilt?” Miller nodded slowly. “That’s a valid theory.” “But I found something interesting, Ethan. The bodies were twisted, yes. But their hands… they were all arranged in a specific gesture. A gesture of atonement. Who were they apologizing to?” “I… I don’t know! I swear!” My voice shattered. “I didn’t see any gestures! I was scared out of my mind! I ran! I hid!” I babbled, trying to use chaos to mask my panic. “Ethan!” Miller’s voice boomed like thunder. “Look at me! Answer the question! What does that gesture mean? Who did they wrong?!” His shout broke me. I shuddered violently. Under the crushing pressure, a desperate cry tore from my throat: “I don’t know! Maybe they found a conscience! Maybe right before they died, they realized they were wrong! Wrong about what they did to my brother…” I clamped my hand over my mouth. My eyes widened to the point of pain. FUCK. I screamed internally. I blew it. The silence in the interrogation room was heavier than gravity. It’s over. The thought drowned me like icy water. Three years of planning. The stalking. The calculation. The perfect escape. Ruined by one slip of the tongue? Miller didn’t pounce on the mention of my brother. Instead, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a clear evidence bag. My eyes, filled with dread, locked onto it. Inside lay a photo. Small, edges worn. A color print. A man standing on a hillside covered in wildflowers. White casual wear. Smiling. Pure. Like sunlight. Evan. My brother. My only blood. How is that here? I hid it… Terror spiked. I grabbed the muddy backpack I’d been clutching this whole time. The secret compartment. Sewn between the waterproofing and the lining at the very bottom. I put it there myself before we left! How did they find it? Why is it in a police bag? Miller spoke. “Ethan. You hid this photo very well. Waterproof material. Double stitched.” Slowly, deliberately, he flipped the bag over. The back of the photo was now facing me. No date. No name. Just four words written in red marker. Blood for Blood. BOOM. My mind exploded. The mask was gone. “We ran a check. Your brother joined a hiking group three years ago. Same route. Coincidentally… he was teamed up with these exact five women.” “He went missing. Never found. Ethan… don’t you think that’s too much of a coincidence?” “AHHHH!!!” A scream, inhuman and raw, tore out of my chest. I launched myself out of the chair, diving for the table, clawing for the bag. My eyes were bleeding red. Tears, snot, saliva—I was a mess. “Give him back! Give him back to me!!” I roared, scrabbling at the plastic. Miller was ready. He swept the bag behind him and pinned me down by the shoulders. “Get off me! Give me my brother!” I struggled like a trapped animal. Miller barely held me. “You don’t get to touch him! You’re not worthy! He’s clean… he’s pure… he shouldn’t hear this!” “Don’t talk about this in front of him! Don’t dirty his ears!” “They deserved to die! They were animals! No, worse than animals!” “They destroyed him!!” 4. I sobbed hysterically, body convulsing with grief and rage. “Those monsters! My brother was nineteen! He just graduated high school! He was kind! At 15,000 feet, in Death Valley, he was starving, but he gave his last half of a compression biscuit to Hannah because she was crying about being hungry!” “He gave his only oxygen tank to Morgan because she faked dizziness! And he had a splitting headache! He gave his sleeping bag to Jess because she was cold! He slept in a thin jacket in the corner at below-zero temps! And what did he get?!” My voice cracked, filled with venom. “What did he get?! Those wolves in human skin! They saw he was weak! They saw he couldn’t fight back! They… they…” The pain choked me. I gasped for air. “They drugged him… They used him to keep warm… in that freezing car! My brother bled out… he died with his eyes open!” “He didn’t understand! He gave them everything! Why… why did they do that to him?!” I glared at Miller, hatred radiating off me. “And then? Once they were fed and warm? They took his valuables. They smashed his face in with a rock so he couldn’t be identified!” “They threw him… like garbage… off the deepest cliff in Death Valley!!” I curled into a ball, digging my nails into the table. “I looked for him. For three months! I climbed every rock under that cliff! I only found… I only found pieces of his backpack… and…” I choked. “And a piece of his skull.” I hammered my chest, wailing. “They didn’t even leave me a body to bury! They wouldn’t even let me hug him one last time!!” My screams dissolved into uncontrollable sobbing. I slumped in the chair, broken. A hollow shell filled with sorrow. The room was silent. Miller loosened his grip. His eyes held shock, and maybe a sliver of pity. Blood for Blood. The motive was clear. “So you killed them?” I looked up through blurry eyes. “I said they deserved to die. I didn’t kill them… I hadn’t made my move yet. They just died! It was karma!” “I have nothing to hide now. I planned to kill them… but I don’t know why they died early.” “Ethan.” Miller’s voice changed. The interrogation tone was gone. It was eerily calm. I looked at him. He pulled out another item. A phone. Screen shattered. Covered in mud and dried brown stains. Heavy-duty outdoor case. Chloe’s phone. My pupils shrank to pinpricks. Impossible! I got rid of it! I remembered prying it from her stiff dead fingers and chucking it into the abyss! How is it here?!

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There was always a bottle of pesticide sitting on our dining table. Paraquat. A restricted herbicide. One sip, and your lungs turn to stone; you suffocate while fully conscious. There is no antidote. My parents would often slam that bottle down in front of me: “If you don’t study hard, you have no future! Are you trying to kill us?” “If you drop out of the top three in your class next exam, your mom and I are splitting this bottle right here!” They tightened the screws, day by day, until the day the SAT scores came out. I was the Valedictorian. Top fifty in the state. And I had a full-ride acceptance letter to an Ivy League university in my hand. That night, the Paraquat on the table was replaced by a bottle of cheap whiskey. Under the dim, flickering bulb of our kitchen, my dad drank half the bottle with a look of immense relief. He even dipped his chopsticks in the booze and fed a few drops to my paralyzed mother. “My girl made it,” they kept muttering, over and over. “My girl is going to be somebody.” I was drowning in the joy of finally escaping this hellhole. I didn’t know Dad had spiked the whiskey with the Paraquat. 1 The hospital hallway was a blur of noise and antiseptic smells. Someone patted my shoulder, eyes full of pity, telling me “sorry for your loss.” But I was still stuck in a state of paralyzed shock. Just the night before, the acceptance letter had arrived. The heavy, cream-colored envelope. It was my golden ticket, the only way I could imagine escaping this suffocating house. For as long as I could remember, my parents were the extreme version of “tiger parents,” but twisted by poverty and tragedy. They were nobodies outside, trampled by society, but at home, they were tyrants. When I was in fifth grade, a sedan hit my mom while she was riding her scooter. The rear wheel crushed her spine. She was paralyzed from the waist down instantly. She stayed in the hospital for three months. No improvement. The doctor hinted that if we didn’t have deep pockets, we should just go home. It was pointless. In the end, we ran out of money. My dad and a few of his construction buddies carried her home on a stretcher. The neighbors pitied me. They thought my mom was coming home to die. She didn’t die. But even though she couldn’t walk or feel her legs, her voice was louder than ever. She would scream at me: “Chloe! Turn me over!” “Chloe! Water!” “Chloe! Carry me to the toilet!” Our neighbor, Mrs. Miller, used to be Mom’s friend back when they worked at the textile mill. But Mrs. Miller’s husband went into sales and made some money. After Mom’s accident, Mrs. Miller loved to visit. She always brought her son, Brian. And she loved to brag. “My Brian won first place in the math league again. I’m telling you, this kid is going places!” “My husband says degrees are everything these days. Look at your Chloe’s grades… she’s not college material. Maybe she should just stay home and take care of you. Save your husband from working himself to death like a dog.” Everyone knew Mrs. Miller’s husband was never home and probably had a second family, but she projected her insecurities onto us. That day, Brian sat on our worn-out sofa eating McNuggets, dropping crumbs everywhere. I didn’t dare talk back to the adults, but the malice inside me was bubbling over. I looked at Brian and mouthed, Fat ass. Tiny dick. Brian had never seen such a vicious look on a girl. He started bawling. Mrs. Miller grabbed him and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. After that, Mom stopped asking me for water during the day. She wouldn’t drink a drop, even if I put the cup to her cracked lips. She refused to use the bathroom until Dad came home from the construction site at night, exhausted and covered in dust, to carry her. That was when their demands on me became singular. Study. Only study. It was singular, and it was suffocating. The summer before middle school, a group of college grads came to my dad’s site. While my dad broke his back in the heat, they stood in the air-conditioned trailer holding blueprints, pointing fingers. That night, Dad drank two shots and spat on the floor, cursing his fate. The next day, I brought home a mediocre report card. I tried to hide it until bedtime. Dad looked at me. A sound like grinding gears came from his throat. He walked out and came back with a bottle of Paraquat. In the sweltering heat of a mid-Atlantic summer, sweat dripped from his dark, sun-baked skin onto the table. He said: “If you don’t get into a top university, your mom and I will drink this right in front of you.” Mom, lying in the dark bedroom, yelled out: “That’s right! If you don’t study, if you lose to that fat kid next door, you can just watch your parents die!” Suddenly, a voice cut through my memory. “Chloe? Do you have any idea why your parents committed suicide?” I wiped the fog from my eyes. It was a policewoman. Why? Why did they do it? I had the acceptance letter. They were proud. Mom had even said, just hours ago, that when I made money, I had to buy her a condo with an elevator so she could see the sun again. She even threatened to drag her useless legs to my campus and make a scene if I wasn’t filial. Parents like that… they don’t just kill themselves. 2 “Chloe, think carefully. What happened in the last few days?” the policewoman asked gently. What happened? I sank into my memories. After the SAT scores came out, relatives we hadn’t seen in years suddenly appeared like vultures. My dad’s two sisters—Aunt Sarah and Aunt Helen—showed up with fruit baskets and red envelopes. “Brother, look at you! So poor, yet you raised such a genius,” Aunt Sarah beamed. Aunt Helen shoved an envelope into my hands. “Chloe is so smart. Ivy League, huh? It really is the Chen family genes. Brother, you were always the smart one.” Then, the pivot. Aunt Helen’s boss, the CEO of Vance Corp, had a son failing high school. Since I was the local Valedictorian, she asked if I could tutor him over the summer. My dad, a man beaten down by life, rubbed his hands nervously. We already had plans. My homeroom teacher knew our situation and got me a gig at a legit tutoring center. They were paying $50 an hour because of my scores. If I worked all summer, I could buy Mom a wheelchair, pay my freshman fees, and maybe get a smartphone. But Mom swept a lamp off the nightstand. Crash. “Helen! Don’t think I don’t know you!” she screamed from the bedroom. “You’re trying to sell my daughter for favors! I wouldn’t have lost my factory job if your mother hadn’t forced me to sign that layoff paperwork to ‘save the family’! I wouldn’t have been on that scooter! You sucked my blood then, and now you want to suck my daughter’s blood?!” “Get out!” Aunt Helen looked embarrassed, mumbling about how the Vance family pays well, but she wouldn’t give a number. Dad stood up, his face dark. “Leave!” They left, heels clicking angrily. But Aunt Helen’s husband was on the verge of being laid off. He needed to suck up to the boss. And then, Vance Corp announced a PR stunt: They would gift a condo to the top scholar in the district. Me. Aunt Sarah’s son was getting married, and his fiancée demanded a house. Aunt Helen leaked the news to Aunt Sarah. The sisters started tagging-teaming us. Two days ago, Aunt Sarah came back with her son and pregnant future daughter-in-law. They knelt at our door, begging to “borrow” the condo. “Brother! My grandson is coming! You can’t leave us to die!” “Uncle, please,” the girl sobbed. While they wailed outside, the FedEx guy delivered my acceptance letter. Aunt Sarah lost it. She pounded on the door. “Chloe will have a degree! She’ll have money! Helen told me the Vance kid will pay $100 an hour for tutoring! Help your family!” Inside, silence. Outside, chaos. Then, Aunt Sarah lowered her voice to a vicious hiss through the crack in the door: “Don’t think I don’t know what your Chloe did that night…” Dad exploded. He threw a plate of peanuts at the door. That night, we sat in the dark to save electricity. Dad smoked his cheap cigarettes, a silhouette of despair. “So…” the policewoman murmured, taking notes. “You suspect your aunts pressured them into suicide?” 3 Click. A camera shutter went off in the hallway. The policewoman jumped up. “No photos! Who let the press in?” She chased the reporter out, but the story was already spinning. A moment later, her phone rang. I overheard her. “What? Someone smashed Sarah and Helen’s windows?” The aunts had gone into hiding. When the police called Aunt Helen, she screamed over the phone. “It’s not my fault! Have you seen their house? That pesticide bottle was always on the table! It’s a miracle they didn’t drink it sooner!” “Guardian? Me? Hell no! Chloe is 18. In the old days, she’d have two kids by now. She doesn’t need a guardian!” I had heard those exact words before. A few days after the scores came out, I was walking home from a tutoring session. I had $100 in my pocket and a frozen durian fruit a parent had given me. It smelled awful, but it was expensive. I wanted my parents to taste it. Aunt Helen intercepted me downstairs. “Chloe,” she smiled, her wrinkles bunching up. “That tutoring gig with the Vance boy? I talked them up. $200 an hour.” $200? I hesitated. “It’s at my house. I’ll pick you up. It’s safe.” She looked down at the frozen fruit in my hand with disgust. “You do this, and you can buy fresh fruit for your parents. Not this frozen garbage.” I don’t know if it was the money or the shame of the fruit, but I went with her. I walked into the bedroom at Aunt Helen’s house. Inside, a boy with bleached blond hair grinned at me. The door locked behind me. That summer night was a blur of neon lights and pain. Like being torn apart by wild dogs. When I woke up, Aunt Helen stuffed five $100 bills into my pocket. “I got you an extra hundred. Keep your mouth shut.” She looked at my pale face and shrugged. “You’re 18. You’d have to face this stuff eventually. He’s rich. You should count yourself lucky. In the old days, girls your age were already mothers.” Back in the present, the policewoman returned with a medical report. She looked troubled. “Chloe… did you know your father had pancreatic cancer? Late stage.” 4 The local news cycle shifted fast. First, it was “Greedy Aunts Drive Genius’s Parents to Suicide.” Then, it became “Selfless Love: Dying Father and Paralyzed Mother Sacrifice Themselves to Not Burden Daughter.” The photo on the screen was old. Dad looked young and strong; Mom was sitting next to him, smiling shyly. Comments flooded in. 【Omg, tears. The dad knew he had cancer and didn’t want to drag his daughter down.】 【This is true parental love. They drank the poison so she could fly free.】 【Am I the only one worried about the girl? She’s barely 18 and totally alone.】 Soon, Vance Corp contacted the school. They wanted to go through with the condo donation and cover my tuition. But I had to show up to the ceremony. My teacher sounded nervous. “Chloe, the money is significant. What do you think?” I was silent for a long time. “I’ll go.” The police issued a statement: Suicide. The stone in my chest settled. That night, I sat on the hard wooden bed where Mom used to lie. The memory of that muddy night came back. I had run home from Aunt Helen’s house. Mom was in a rage. “Where were you?! Out whoring with Brian next door?!” I tried to turn her over. Her bedsores smelled like rot. It was the smell of poverty, a reminder that I couldn’t fight the rich. “Are you deaf?!” She screamed. I cleaned her up. “Mrs. Miller is a bitch! She doesn’t want you to study!” “Chloe, listen to me…” Suddenly, she stopped. Her withered hand grabbed my arm like a claw. “Chloe.” “What is that on your neck?” Dad came home and found Mom trying to slap me, dragging herself half off the bed. He rushed over. “What are you doing?!” Mom was gasping for air, tears streaming down her face. “Ask her! Ask your daughter what she did! Oh god…” They interrogated me. Who was it? I didn’t dare say. But Mom’s tears were hot on my hand. The landline rang. I walked past the urns on the table, past the empty pesticide bottle. It was Aunt Helen. Her voice was hushed, frantic. “Chloe, tell me. Where is Jared Vance? His mother is looking for him. He’s missing! Tell me where he is!”

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When I woke up in this body, the story was already wrapping up. The heroine, after enduring a gauntlet of hardships, had become an A-list movie star and was living her happily-ever-after with the CEO male lead. Meanwhile, the vicious villainess—who tried to ruin the heroine but failed miserably—had reaped what she sowed. She lost her reputation, her purity, and wound up pregnant. That villainess? Yeah, that’s me now. 1 By the time I realized I was pregnant, I was already four months along. I stood under the flickering yellow light of a cramped bathroom, my fingers trembling as they traced the slight curve of my belly. The woman in the mirror looked like a ghost—dark circles carved under her eyes, lips cracked and pale. It had been three days since I transmigrated here. In my old life, I was an orphan. I never knew what family felt like. Now? I was Kaia Yates, the resident “Mean Girl” of a romance novel, and I was apparently expecting. According to the memories flooding my brain, the original Kaia had tried to frame her stepsister—the heroine, Faye Yates—one too many times. Her final scheme backfired spectacularly. She ended up in a trap of her own making, slept with a stranger, got exposed by the paparazzi, and was completely canceled. Ding. My phone buzzed. A bank notification. Available Balance: $1,527.68. That was every cent Kaia had left. Since the scandal broke, her father—the Chairman of Yates Corp—had publicly disowned her, shifting all his fatherly affection to his stepdaughter, Faye. I dragged my heavy feet to the window and pulled back the curtains. Outside, the New York skyline glittered. Skyscrapers, neon lights, endless traffic. It was supposed to be the city of dreams, but right now, it felt like a cage. The cost of living here was astronomical. This body was weak and needed rest; I couldn’t exactly grind a 9-to-5 right now. “I can’t stay here,” I decided right then and there. Three days later, I packed a single duffel bag and boarded a train heading south. The concrete jungle faded, replaced by rolling green fields. I picked a place called Greenwood Valley. Cheap rent, fresh air, and most importantly—zero connection to the plot of the novel. “Miss, we’re here. Greenwood Valley,” the driver announced. I hopped out, inhaling air that smelled like wet grass and soil. It was picturesque. Mountains in the distance, farmhouses scattered around, the sound of dogs barking. I found the rental I’d looked up online. The landlord was an old man named Mr. Lee. Weather-beaten face, kind eyes. “This is it. Five hundred a month. First and last upfront.” Mr. Lee pushed open the creaky wooden gate. “It’s old, but the bones are good.” The yard was bigger than I expected. A massive magnolia tree stood in the center, shading a couple of broken wicker chairs. The house was a simple bungalow. Peeling paint, but sturdy. The best part? A neglected vegetable patch on the side. Weeds were throwing a party, but the soil looked rich. “I’ll take it,” I said, counting out a grand and handing it to him. Before leaving, Mr. Lee pointed west. “The Higgins family lives over there. Good folks. If you need anything, holler at them.” It took me all day to clean the place. By sunset, I was squatting in the garden pulling weeds when a warm voice floated over the fence. “Hey there! You the new tenant?” I looked up. A woman in her fifties, hair pulled back in a practical bun, was holding a covered basket. “Yes, hi. I’m Kaia.” I stood up, dusting dirt off my hands. “I’m Mrs. Higgins from next door,” she beamed, walking through the open gate. “Saw you moving in alone. Figured you hadn’t eaten, so I brought some supper.” I froze. I wasn’t used to kindness. She pulled back the cloth. A container of pot roast, some glazed carrots, and fresh homemade biscuits. “This… thank you so much.” My nose stung. I blinked back tears. Since arriving in this world, this was the first time anyone had been nice to me. Mrs. Higgins waved it off. “Neighbors help neighbors. You here by yourself?” My hand instinctively went to my bump. “Yeah… just me.” Her gaze dropped to my stomach. A flicker of understanding passed through her eyes, but there was no judgment. Just warmth. “Well, you’re eating for two now. Gotta keep your strength up. You need anything, you ask.” The dam broke. The stress of the last few days crashed down, and I started crying right there in the garden. Mrs. Higgins didn’t miss a beat. She set the basket down and patted my back like I was her own kid. “It’s okay, honey. It’s gonna be okay.” 2 Life slowed down. The air in Greenwood Valley was healing. My cheeks started to get some color back. In the mornings, I sat under the magnolia tree with an embroidery hoop. The original Kaia had beautiful hands—slender, pale, artistic. I traced my own knuckles. Funny how fate works. We shared a name and a face, but our lives were opposites. In my old world, I grew up in the system. At ten, I was sent to a vocational school for arts. I specialized in embroidery. I used to prick my fingers until they bled just to master a stitch. I eventually made good money, but I developed chronic wrist pain. “I need to take care of these hands this time,” I whispered, threading a needle. On the fabric, a landscape called Spring Mountain began to form. Green hills, peach blossoms, a golden oriole. It was a blend of traditional technique and modern aesthetics. “Kaia, stitching again?” Mrs. Higgins walked in with a basket of fresh eggs. Since finding out I was single and pregnant, she’d practically adopted me. “Yeah, thinking of selling some online.” Mrs. Higgins leaned in. “That bird looks like it’s gonna fly right off the cloth! You could sell this for a fortune in the city.” I shook my head. “Online competition is stiff. I’m just starting out. Maybe fifty bucks a pop.” I rubbed my neck. Seven months pregnant, and my back was killing me. “Alright, break time,” Mrs. Higgins scolded gently. “You’re popping soon. I made chicken soup. Drink up.” Time flew. The due date arrived. The county hospital was basic but clean. The contractions hit like a freight train. I gripped the sheets, soaked in cold sweat. In a haze, I thought I saw the original Kaia standing by the bed. She was wearing a ballgown, looking hollow and sad. I’ll live a good life for you, I thought. She seemed to smile, relieved, before fading into the harsh hospital lights. “Waaah!” A loud cry shattered the night. The nurse placed a red, squirming bundle on my chest. “It’s a healthy boy. Seven pounds, six ounces.” I touched his wrinkled little face. He stopped crying and gripped my finger. “I’ll call you Leo,” I whispered. “My little lion.” Mrs. Higgins came the next day with oatmeal. “He’s gorgeous,” she cooed. “Looks just like you. Gonna be a heartbreaker.” I looked at Leo. Maybe he looked like his dad, whoever that was. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. The past was dead. Raising a baby was expensive. Diapers, formula, clothes… my savings were evaporating. I went back to embroidery, but a few orders weren’t enough. One night, scrolling TikTok, I saw an embroidery streamer. Just her hands, thousands of viewers. I can do that. I set up a tripod. The first stream was nerve-wracking. Viewers were scarce. But I kept at it. 【Your hands are so pretty!】 【How did you do that stitch?】 【Do you take commissions?】 Slowly, I built a following. I stitched while Leo napped and streamed for two hours a night. It was exhausting, but seeing Leo’s sleeping face made it worth it. 3 Leo was five months old now. He was turning into a little dumpling. Pale skin, big dark eyes, always curious. One evening, I set up the stream as usual. Leo was on his playmat, wrestling with a colorful bead maze. He was focused, brows furrowed, trying to push a bead from one side to the other. “Mommy’s working now, Leo. Play nice,” I said, kissing his soft hair. He grinned, showing off two bottom teeth, then went back to his battle with the beads. I started the stream. About ten minutes in, I realized the camera angle was off. I reached to adjust it, but I accidentally nudged the tripod. Suddenly, Leo—in his little blue onesie—appeared in the corner of the frame. Just his back view. The chat exploded. 【OMG WHO IS THAT TINY HUMAN?】 【So smol!】 【Does the streamer have a baby?】 【Look at his little hair tuft! Ahhh!】 I panicked. “Oh, sorry! That’s my son, Leo. Didn’t mean to show him.” That just made them crazier. 【Let us see his face!】 【How old is he?】 【What is he doing? He looks so serious!】 Views spiked. Leo, sensing eyes on him, turned his head. “Sorry guys, no face reveals. Privacy,” I said gently. “But… you can watch him play from the back.” I adjusted the camera so his chubby back took up the corner. He was trying to shove a circle block into a square hole. When it didn’t fit, he let out a dramatic baby sigh. The chat lost its mind. 【He sighed! He literally sighed!】 【Mood, kid. Mood.】 【This is the serotonin I needed today.】 My viewer count went from 1,000 to 30,000 in twenty minutes. Gifts were flying across the screen. By the time I signed off, I had gained 20,000 new followers. I picked Leo up and peppered his face with kisses. “My lucky charm! How are you so popular?” He giggled, grabbing my hair. That night, I realized this was my ticket. I started incorporating “Mom & Baby” themes into my art. Stitching chubby hands, baby animals, cute silhouettes. A brand reached out for a collab. $2,000 upfront. That was six months of living expenses in Greenwood Valley. I signed the contract and danced around the yard with Leo. “We’re gonna be okay, Leo! We’re gonna be okay!” 4 I carefully curated my content. Short clips of Leo (always from the back or with a sticker over his face). Leo in a bear suit watching ants. Leo “drawing” with crayons. Leo waddling like a penguin. The fans dubbed him “The Back-View Assassin” because he killed them with cuteness. My embroidery business boomed. My savings account hit six figures for the first time. I started being picky. No mass production. Only high-end art. I stitched a fan called 100 Children at Play. It took 48 different stitch techniques. A viewer named SilkRiverMaster started commenting. 【That’s the ‘Golden Thread’ technique. It’s been lost for decades.】 【Where did you learn this?】 【You have at least 20 years of experience.】 I smiled at the camera. In my past life, I was a prodigy. One evening, I was walking Leo in the stroller. We passed a house that was usually empty. The gate was open. I saw an elderly woman lying face down in the yard, a spilled water bucket next to her. “Leo, wait here.” I locked the stroller brake and ran in. She was barely breathing. I called 911 and did basic first aid until the ambulance came. When the sirens wailed, her eyes fluttered open. “Nosy… girl…” she wheezed. I stayed at the hospital until she was stable. I left Leo with Mrs. Higgins and brought soup to the hospital the next day. The woman, Ruby Lane, sat in bed, looking fierce despite the IVs. “You again. Think I’m gonna pay you?” I set down the soup. “If I left you there, I wouldn’t sleep at night. Eat.” She stared at the soup, hands trembling. She took a sip. “It’s… good,” she rasped. “Thanks.”

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On the day of my alma mater’s Centennial Gala, my assistant sent me a screenshot of an Instagram Story. The caption read: [Hope my girl kills her first performance tonight. You’re gonna shine, star. ✨] In the photo, a girl I didn’t know was standing backstage, looking like a delicate white swan. She was wearing my custom-made haute couture gown. The story was posted by my husband, Julian. And he had blocked me specifically from seeing it. I stared at the photo, fingers hovering over the keypad, ready to demand an explanation. But before I could type a word, the girl from the photo walked onto the stage. I was sitting front row center in the VIP section. She was dressed exactly like the photo. And then, she began to sing. It was the song Julian had written for me. I paused, lowered my phone, and snapped a picture of her performance. I sent it directly to Julian. “Honey, isn’t it a small world? I just found my missing couture gown and my diamond necklace right here at the gala.” “And this girl… she’s singing the love song you wrote for our anniversary.” “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I had a stalker obsessed with becoming me.” “Tell me, if I call the cops right now for grand larceny, how many years do you think she’d get?” The moment the message delivered, a spotlight swept across the audience. It landed squarely on a man holding a neon support sign in the VIP box opposite mine. His face was plastered on the giant auditorium screens. It was Julian. The sign was full of cutesy cheering words for the girl on stage. I didn’t hesitate. I stood up, turned around, and waved at my husband across the aisle with a dazzling smile. “Honey! What a coincidence!” 1 Our eyes met. Julian’s face drained of color instantly. I acted completely oblivious, looking at him with mock concern. “Julian? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you feeling okay?” The University President, sitting next to me, stood up and looked between us curiously. “Ms. Vance, you know Mr. Sterling?” He gestured to Julian with admiration. “Mr. Sterling is our newest major donor! The two new science labs and the library wing? All him. We even named the atrium after him!” The President turned to Julian, beaming. “Mr. Sterling, you should have told us you were coming! We would have seated you in the front row with the Guests of Honor.” It was loud. He obviously hadn’t heard me call Julian “Honey.” I smiled, walked over, and linked my arm through Julian’s stiff, freezing arm. “Oh, we know each other, President Miller.” I leaned my head on Julian’s shoulder. “We’re husband and wife. Right, honey?” Julian flinched. He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “I… I was just passing by. Saw the lights, thought I’d drop in. Didn’t want to bother the administration.” He stammered through an introduction. “This is my wife, Victoria Vance.” He was so guilty he couldn’t even look me in the eye. I didn’t expose his pathetic lie right there. Instead, I turned my attention to the stage. “President Miller, who is that girl singing? She has a lovely voice.” The President’s face lit up. “That’s Lily Harper. A real diamond in the rough. She comes from a very difficult background, but she’s brilliant. One of our top scholarship students.” “Mr. Sterling here is her personal sponsor. Since she enrolled, he’s been very generous to the university.” I nodded, maintaining my perfect socialite mask. After the gala, the President enthusiastically introduced Lily to us. “Lily, come meet our most distinguished alumna, Victoria Vance! The ‘Vance Legacy Scholarship’ you applied for? She established it.” He chuckled. “And what a small world—your sponsor is Ms. Vance’s husband.” Lily immediately bowed her head, gushing about how much she admired me and how grateful she was to Julian. She played the part of the humble student well, but she couldn’t hide the calculation and jealousy in her eyes. I stared at the dress she was wearing. “Miss Harper, for someone from a ‘difficult background,’ you have expensive taste. That gown is a custom piece I lost a few days ago. It’s worth six figures.” “It’s uncanny. It looks exactly like my missing auction item.” Lily’s face went pale. She looked at Julian for help. Julian shot her a warning glare. She immediately dropped her head, voice trembling. “The dress… I sewed it myself. I saw a photo in a magazine and copied it. The pearls are fake, too.” “I know it’s a knock-off, but I just wanted to look perfect for the stage.” I didn’t press further. I just turned to Julian, smiling dangerously. “Honey, you know how much I loved that dress. If I ever find out who the thief is… I’ll make sure they pay back every cent, a hundred times over.” Julian looked like he was about to vomit. He grabbed my wrist, his grip tight. “Tori, the gala is over. Let’s go home.” 2 The moment the car door slammed shut, I turned on him. “Julian. Explain.” He started sweating, his voice frantic. “Tori, it is strictly platonic! She’s just a kid from a poor village. I was moved by her grit and determination. I just wanted to help her succeed!” I laughed, cold and sharp. “She’s in college, Julian. She has hands and feet. She can work.” “From next month, you will pay her tuition only. No living allowance. No luxury gifts.” “I will contact the Dean and get her a job at the campus library. It won’t interfere with her studies.” I stared him down, laying out the law. “You will cut all personal contact. No texts, no dinners. The scholarship money goes through the school’s finance department, not your personal Venmo.” “And,” I leaned in closer, “get my things back. The dress, the necklace, the bags. I don’t care if you ‘gave’ them to her.” “Lily Harper is a scholarship student, not a sugar baby waiting to be pampered.” Julian turned red, then pale. Finally, he nodded, defeated. Our marriage was a business arrangement. The Sterling family needed the Vance family’s connections to enter the top tier of society. He was the perfect, gentle husband, and I was the powerful partner. We had a good run, even love, for a few years. I accepted that passion fades, but I have zero tolerance for betrayal. The next day, Julian brought everything back. My dress and necklace were returned in a velvet box, placed carefully on my vanity. “Tori, I made it clear to her. We’re done. No more contact,” he swore, raising his hand like a boy scout. I accepted his submission and let it go. But the moment he left for work, my phone pinged. A friend request. Lily Harper. I accepted, thinking she wanted to discuss the scholarship. Before I could type “Hello,” a wall of text hit me. [Lily]: Ms. Vance, for a trophy wife who just spends her husband’s money, don’t you think you’re controlling? [Lily]: What gives you the right to take back his gifts? [Lily]: Julian bought them with his money. They belong to him. He can give them to whoever he wants. [Lily]: Bullying a broke student… is that what gives a CEO’s wife a power trip? I read the messages and smirked. Not a white lotus after all. A viper. I typed back slowly. [Me]: Julian and I have a prenup and shared assets. His money is my money. But every cent he spent on you? That’s marital misconduct. [Me]: I can sue you for return of property and fraud. I can have you expelled and in debt before lunch. [Me]: Miss Harper, check your attitude. You’re a charity case, not a rival. [Me]: I’ll let this slide once because you’re young and stupid. Cross me again, and I pull your funding and your campus job. The chat went silent. I didn’t care. I’ve seen a dozen girls like her. They want a shortcut to the penthouse. They usually end up in the basement. Just then, my phone rang. My dad. 3 “Tori, your mom misses you. Can you come home for the weekend?” My parents’ health hadn’t been great lately. Julian and I usually visited together. “Of course,” I said. “Julian and I will be there.” But the night before we were set to leave, Julian came home with a “crisis.” “Tori, I’m so sorry. Emergency merger in Chicago. I have to fly out tonight. I can’t make it to your parents’.” He looked devastated. “I bought gifts for them—they’re in the trunk. Please apologize for me. I’ll make it up to them.” Business comes first. That was our rule. I agreed and went alone. The next day, I was walking with my parents through a luxury resort near their estate. My mom squinted at a figure in the distance. “Tori… isn’t that Julian?” My stomach dropped. I looked. It was him. Even from the back, I recognized the limited-edition trench coat—the one he was wearing in the photo he sent me from the “airport.” And hanging off his arm, taking selfies with him, was Lily Harper. I swallowed the rage and smiled at my mom. “Mom, you need new glasses. He’s in Chicago freezing his butt off. That guy just has the same coat.” “Let’s go to the spa. My treat.” Once my parents were settled in their massage session, I walked out and sent Julian my location. Then I called him. “Julian. You have three minutes to get your ass in front of me.” “Tori?” He sounded confused. “Why are you at the resort?” “I should ask you that. How’s Chicago?” He froze. Then the excuses started pouring out. “Lily… she’s never been on a vacation. Today is her birthday. She begged me… I just…” “I don’t care,” I cut him off. “Get here. Now.” “I can’t!” he snapped, suddenly defensive. “I brought her here. I can’t just abandon her. You’re with your parents, you’re fine. I’ll explain tonight.” “Julian. Three minutes. Or we are done.” He hung up on me. I called back. Straight to voicemail. Then, a notification. Lily Harper posted a Moment. [My BOSS turned off his phone just to focus on my birthday! No more interruptions! ❤️🏰] The photo was Julian’s back. The dignified CEO was wearing Mickey Mouse ears. I was shaking with fury. I messaged Lily. [Me]: Tell Julian to call me in three minutes. Or you both lose everything. Silence. Three minutes passed. I called my assistant. “Cancel the Vance Scholarship funding for Lily Harper. Get her fired from the library. Now.” Then, I screenshot Lily’s post and uploaded it to my own social media—visible to every high-society friend, business partner, and investor we knew. [My husband skipped visiting my sick parents to play Disney Prince with his charity case. He even blocked my number. Thoughts?] The internet exploded. [Comment]: WTF? Julian Sterling? The ‘Family Man’? [Comment]: Cheating on Victoria Vance? Is he suicidal? My phone lit up. Julian was calling. I declined. Blocked. The next morning, Julian’s parents dragged him to my doorstep. The moment the door opened, his father kicked him in the back of the knees. “You ungrateful moron! You’ve shamed the entire family!” His mother was crying, slapping his arm. They beat him and scolded him right in my foyer. It was theater, but it was violent theater. Finally, his mom grabbed my hand. “Tori, please. He’s an idiot, but it’s innocent! He just has a savior complex!” His dad kicked him again. “Kneel! Apologize to your wife!” Julian hit the floor. He looked up, eyes bloodshot. “Tori, I’m sorry.” “I swear, I’ll never speak to her again. Please. Forgive me.” I looked at him. He was pathetic. But… I wasn’t ready to burn it all down yet. I sighed. “Julian. This is the last time. Next time, there is no conversation.” 4 To prove his loyalty, Julian deleted Lily from everything in front of me. For months, he was the perfect husband. Home by 6 PM. Cooking dinner. Bringing flowers. We were almost back to normal. I threw myself into work. I was launching a new luxury fashion line under the Vance Group. I poured my soul into it. Three days before the launch, I told my team to rest up. The next morning, my lead model, Alice, called me sobbing. “Ms. Vance… I’ve been cut.” “What? The show is in two days.” “Mr. Sterling… he moved the launch to today. And he replaced me.” My brain short-circuited. I grabbed my keys and sped to the venue. When I burst in, Julian was on stage, mic in hand, beaming at the press. And standing next to him, the “Face” of my brand… was Lily Harper. She was wearing my designs. My jewelry. My hard work. I saw red. I stormed the stage and snatched the mic. “Stop the music!” I pointed at Lily. “Take that off. Now.” “You don’t deserve to wear my designs.” Lily shrank back, tears instantly springing to her eyes. “Ms. Vance, I didn’t know… please…” Julian stepped in front of her. “Tori! This was a business decision. Don’t take it out on her!” “Business decision?” I laughed hysterically. “Alice ‘got sick,’ right?” Alice walked out from behind me. “I’m not sick! His secretary fired me this morning!” The reporters went wild. Cameras flashed like lightning. “Julian,” I hissed. “You swore on your knees. You crossed the line. This is my project.” Julian glared at me. “It’s a Vance project under the Sterling Group umbrella! I am the CEO. I decide who the model is!” “You’re too controlling, Tori! You cut off a poor girl’s funding over petty jealousy! You bullied her so bad she wanted to hurt herself!” “If I didn’t step in to help her, her blood would be on your hands! I’m cleaning up your mess!” “Helping her?” I screamed. “You call parading your mistress in my designs ‘helping’? You’re disgusting.” “Victoria Vance!” he roared. “If you make another scene, I will fire you from your own board! You can go be a housewife!” Slap. The sound echoed through the hall. My hand stung. Julian touched his cheek, eyes murderous. “Security! Get these crazy women out of here!” Two guards grabbed me and Alice and dragged us out the side door. I stood on the sidewalk, smoothing my dress. I wasn’t crying. I was smiling. “It’s okay, Alice,” I said to the weeping model. “You’re hired by Vance Corp directly. Triple salary.” Julian Sterling. You want war? I pulled out my phone and called my father. “Dad. Mom. It’s time.” “Initiate the hostile takeover. Gut the Sterling Group.”

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Chapter 1 I just clocked out from work and ran into an old college buddy at the subway station. He asked me, after all these years, when I was going to forgive Sarah. Sarah was my childhood sweetheart. Five years ago, we almost tied the knot. But at our engagement party, the night before we were supposed to get our marriage license, she publicly dumped me. She said she refused to be a substitute for my “white moonlight”—my one true love—and sarcastically wished me a lifetime of happiness with her. Then she grabbed her grad school junior, turned around, and walked out. I was confused and wanted to explain. I never had any “white moonlight.” But she hurt me so badly I was practically numb. In the end, I left Boston. “Sarah has always had you in her heart. She said if you hadn’t used her as a rebound for your ex, she would have married you years ago.” “Now, as long as you’re willing to apologize, she’s ready to rekindle the romance.” Rekindle the romance? I laughed. My kid is three years old. What romance is there to rekindle? … Mike’s eyes went wide. He stared at me blankly, like he’d just heard a ghost story. “M-Married?” He stammered. “Your kid is in preschool?” I nodded, not wanting to waste my breath. I turned to leave. He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. “Impossible! Liam, you’re messing with me, right?” He was getting emotional, drawing stares from people waiting on the platform. “Everyone in our circle knows how much you loved Sarah.” “You gave up a guaranteed spot at an Ivy League for her. How could you possibly be happy marrying someone else?” I frowned. Hearing these old stories from his mouth just felt ironic. I did love Sarah. I loved her enough to give up everything. But that was in the past. “Why would I lie to you?” I asked. My coldness seemed to trigger him. “So who’s your wife? What does she do? Is she prettier than Sarah? Is her family as rich as Sarah’s?” He fired questions like a machine gun, his tone laced with inexplicable hostility. As if I had married someone embarrassing. I ignored him and tried to shake off his hand. But he held on tighter, refusing to let go. “Liam, are you doing this on purpose?” “I know, you felt wronged back then.” “But it’s been five years. Whatever anger you had should be gone.” “Do you know how Sarah has spent these last five years?” He started talking to himself, his tone boastful. “As the only daughter of the Miller family, Sarah took over the company and proved she’s just as capable as any man.” “She made drastic reforms, and now Miller Corp’s market value has tripled! She’s the hottest new tycoon in the business world!” “So many rich guys want to date her, but she’s kept herself single for you. Besides Luke, her work partner, she hasn’t even had a boyfriend.” “Everyone says she’s a hopeless romantic, wasting five years on a man who doesn’t appreciate her.” The Sarah he described was deep, devoted, and perfect—like the heroine of a tragedy. But listening to it just made me sick. I remembered a phone call I received before leaving Boston. It was from Sarah’s father, Mr. Miller. His voice was as gentle and polite as always, but there was an undeniable distance. “Liam, I know you feel wronged.” On the other end of the line, he sighed softly. “Sarah, that child, we spoiled her too much. She has a bit of a temper.” First, he tried to placate me. Then came the pivot. “But having said that, it’s normal for young couples to have friction.” “Sarah is our only daughter. The pressure of inheriting the family business is immense. Our help is temporary; she needs a partner who can assist and guide her.” I held the phone, silent. I understood what he meant. “Luke, that kid, I’ve met him a few times. He has a good head for business and is very steady.” “He’s accomplished academically and has a lot in common with Sarah. He’s a great asset to her career.” Mr. Miller’s voice was soft, but every word hammered into my heart. “You, Liam, your gentle nature is good. But in Sarah’s position, her future husband needs to be decisive. He needs to have… methods.” Methods. So in his eyes, all my kindness and gentleness amounted to “lacking methods.” I grew up in the Miller household. He watched me grow up, treated me like a son. But when it mattered, twenty years of affection couldn’t compare to “career asset.” In the eyes of the wealthy, matching status and business benefits always outweigh childhood bonds. I didn’t say anything back then. I just quietly hung up. And then I blocked their entire family. “Liam, are you even listening to me?” Mike punched my arm, annoyed at my spacing out. “Sarah treats you so well. Are you really happy marrying some average nobody? Don’t you regret it?” Regret? I looked at him like he was an idiot. “I’m living a great life.” I told him, enunciating every word. “My life doesn’t need anyone else to worry about it.” With that, I didn’t give him another chance to harass me. I yanked my arm free and walked away. Chapter 2 After leaving Boston, I cut ties with that entire circle completely. New number, new address, new city. So they all thought I was still stuck in the past. Waiting for that proud, dazzling woman to turn around and save me. But they didn’t know. My life had long since turned a new page. And Sarah Miller? She was just a typo I’d whited out on the previous page. My stop arrived. I got off the train and walked to the preschool near my house. Through the fence, I saw my daughter playing on the slide with her classmates, grinning ear to ear. A graceful figure walked up to her and picked her up. It was my wife, Claire. She saw me and immediately smiled. I quickened my pace and took our child from her arms. “Honey, you’re early today.” She took my briefcase and naturally held my hand. “Just missed you guys, so I came back early.” I smiled and pinched my daughter’s chubby cheek. My daughter nuzzled into my chest and chirped, “Daddy!” The warmth of this moment was enough to ward off the cold of the entire world. Regret? What did I have to regret? Sarah and I were neighbors. We grew up in diapers together. She was two years older and always protected me. If anyone dared to bully me, she was the first to throw hands. Everyone said Liam was the apple of Sarah’s eye—untouchable. I thought we would be like that forever, from school uniforms to wedding dress. Until Luke showed up. He was Sarah’s grad school senior, a gentle man with an edge. He started frequently appearing around Sarah under the guise of academic exchange. Library sessions, projects, academic forums. At first, I didn’t mind. Sarah was always surrounded by excellent men, but she only had eyes for me. I had enough confidence in her. The first time I felt uneasy was at a friend’s gathering. We were playing Truth or Dare. Luke lost and chose Dare. The dare was to reveal a secret about someone present. His gaze swept around the room and finally landed on me, apologetic. “Liam, sorry, I’m going to spill your secret.” He smiled, his tone hesitant. “Last time, I accidentally saw that Liam’s phone lock screen is a photo with a girl. She’s really pretty. Who is she?” Everyone’s eyes instantly focused on me. And some turned to Sarah. The bright smile on Sarah’s face faded. “It’s my cousin,” I explained immediately. “She passed away two years ago. That’s the only photo I have with her.” “Oh? I’m so sorry,” Luke apologized profusely. “I didn’t know. I really didn’t mean to.” He looked incredibly guilty. Everyone tried to smooth things over, and the incident passed. But that night at home, Sarah brought it up. “Your cousin? How come I never heard you mention her?” “She was always sick, lived abroad for treatment. Of course you never met her.” I handed her my phone. In the photo, a young girl leaned against a hospital bed, pale but smiling gently. I stood next to her, smiling a bit stiffly. “See? We look a bit alike.” Sarah looked at it for a long time before handing the phone back. “Yeah, you do look alike.” On the surface, she believed me. But I could feel a seed of doubt planted in her heart. From then on, Luke would always “accidentally” mention me in front of Sarah. “Sarah, Liam has such a great personality. He has so many friends. Unlike me, my circle is so small.” “Sarah, I saw Liam watching a movie with a girl yesterday. He’s really popular.” “Sarah, isn’t Liam graduating soon? He loves to party so much, can he handle a 9-to-5 job?” He never directly badmouthed me. Every sentence was a compliment, but every sentence hinted at something. Hinting that I had too many female friends, hinting that I was frivolous, hinting that I wasn’t steady. Sarah started becoming suspicious and jealous. We had our first intense argument because of this. The trigger was an academic gala Sarah insisted on bringing me to. At the gala, I ran into a senior who mentored me during my internship, so we chatted for a bit. Sarah’s face went cold on the spot. She left me alone in the banquet hall and walked out. I chased after her and found her in the parking lot. “Sarah, what’s wrong now?” “What’s wrong?” She sneered. “Liam, when you’re chatting happily with another woman right in front of me, do you ever consider my feelings?” “That was my mentor! We were talking about work! She’s married with kids!” “Does talking about work require smiling that happily?” she roared. I looked at her face, twisted with jealousy, feeling strange and exhausted. “Sarah, can you calm down? I have never betrayed you. My love for you is real.” “I’m not calm enough?” She grabbed my wrist. “Do you think I’m too controlling? Like a shrew? Do you think I’m not as gentle and considerate as your dead cousin?” I didn’t understand why she was bringing up my cousin again. My brain was throbbing with anger. “Sarah, that’s my relative within three degrees of kinship! What are you saying!” I was shaking with rage. But she just glared at me with hatred, turned around, and ran off. That time, we gave each other the silent treatment for a long time. I thought our relationship just hit a small bump. I never expected that was the beginning of the end. Chapter 3 During the week of the cold war with Sarah. I reached out to her no less than ten times, but she ignored me every time. Eventually, she just blocked and deleted me. In the past, whenever we fought, she would soften up and communicate within three days max. But this time, she didn’t. I was holding a grudge too. But with the engagement party coming up, I thought she would eventually come to me. The night before the party, I received a message from Luke. It was a photo. In the photo, Sarah was drunk, leaning on his shoulder, sleeping deeply. Luke’s head tilted slightly towards her, a victor’s smile on his lips. Under the photo was a line of text. “Sarah is under a lot of pressure. You should be more understanding.” I looked at that photo, agitated. But I still comforted myself. She was just drunk. Luke was just taking care of her. It was my fault for not being by her side. On the day of the engagement party, I dressed up carefully. I checked the venue in advance and arranged many gifts, wanting to surprise her. I found her in the lounge. She was wearing a gown matching my suit, beautiful enough to captivate anyone. Seeing me, her eyes dodged mine. “Sarah,” I walked up actively, wanting to hold her hand. “Let’s stop fighting, okay?” She reacted like she was electrocuted, violently throwing off my hand. The force was so strong it caught me off guard, and I stumbled. I looked at her in disbelief. Guests started entering, and the MC was ready on stage. As the main characters, we stood at the front. Spotlights hit us. I forced a smile, trying to maintain surface peace. Sarah didn’t even bother pretending. She kept a cold face the entire time, not even glancing at me. When the MC asked us to exchange rings, the fatal blow came. She threw off my hand again. In front of all the guests, she questioned me with ice-cold eyes. “Is it fun treating me as a substitute?” The crowd went into an uproar. My brain buzzed. I was completely stunned. “Sarah, what are you talking about?” “Don’t you know what I’m talking about?” She sneered and pulled a letter out of her purse. The stationery was pink and scented—clearly bought with care. “What is this?” I asked. “This is the love letter you wrote to your ‘white moonlight’!” she shouted. “Luke found it in my study!” She unfolded the letter and read it aloud. The ambiguous and cheesy words, read from her mouth, felt like knives slicing my heart. “I didn’t!” I explained frantically. “I didn’t write this!” “You didn’t write it?” Sarah laughed until tears welled up in her eyes. “Handwriting can be forged, but the perfume on this paper is the exact same one you use!” “Liam, how long are you going to keep acting?” I was stunned by this sudden slander and humiliation. I looked off-stage at my parents’ shocked expressions, the Miller parents’ ashen faces, and the guests’ disdainful and pitying gazes. I felt like a joke. Sarah finished reading the letter, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it in my face. Then, she took out the engagement ring meant for my finger and smashed it on the ground. “I wish you and your white moonlight a lifetime of happiness.” She articulated every word clearly. After that, she grabbed Luke, who was pretending to mediate but couldn’t hide the triumph in his eyes. Under everyone’s sympathetic gaze, she resolutely walked out. In that moment, my world collapsed. The farce of the engagement party made me the laughingstock of the entire Boston elite circle. Everyone said I was a scumbag playing with hearts. Leading on the Miller heiress while still entangled with a “white moonlight.” Rumors drowned me like a tidal wave. The Miller family offered no explanation, letting the rumors ferment. I became the gold digger who would do anything to climb the social ladder and finally got what he deserved. I was utterly chilled to the bone by the Miller family and Sarah. I didn’t explain a word. Because I knew, for someone who no longer trusted me, nothing I said would matter. I deleted all contacts, deactivated my social media accounts. Alone, I bought a one-way ticket and left Boston. This city where I lived for twenty years had nothing left for me to miss. Mike probably told Sarah that I was married with a kid. My phone started getting bombarded by strange numbers. Local ones, Boston ones. Calls, texts, non-stop. I ignored them all, blocking every single one. She seemed to be pushed to the edge. A few days later, just as I walked out of my office building, someone blocked my path. It was Sarah. Five years later, she had shed her youthful look, becoming more mature and alluring, but there was a heavy hostility between her brows. She stared at me dead-on, eyes red and bloodshot. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Chapter 4 Her voice was hoarse, like she hadn’t rested in a long time. I didn’t speak, stepping around her to leave. She grabbed my arm, her sharp nails digging into my flesh. “Liam, I’m asking you a question!” she roared. It hurt, and I frowned. “We have nothing to do with each other anymore. Please let go.” My detachment and coldness thoroughly triggered her. She questioned me like a madwoman. “Nothing to do with each other? You say it so lightly!” “You disappeared for five years without a word, and now you have a child with someone else. What do you take me for?” Her interrogation sounded ridiculous to me. “You’d rather marry some nobody from nowhere than come back and explain yourself to me?” She looked at me with bloodshot eyes, like an abandoned beast. “Liam, did you ever love me at all?” She asked me if I loved her. After humiliating me in front of everyone with a forged letter. After letting rumors destroy me and not caring one bit. After parading around with Luke for five years. She ran here to ask me why I didn’t love her. I looked at her painful expression and felt nothing but apathy, even finding it a bit ironic. The me who stood on that stage back then, mocked by thousands, isolated and helpless—I was the one who should have asked that question. Sarah, did you ever love me? If you loved me, how could you trust an outsider over our twenty-year bond? I looked at Sarah coldly. “Ms. Miller, please let go.” My polite and distant address made her tremble all over. “Ms. Miller?” She muttered to herself, then seemingly stung, became even more emotional. “What did you call me? Liam, say it again!” Her grip on my wrist tightened. “You owe me an explanation!” “There’s nothing to explain between us.” I tried to shake her off coldly, but failed. She was surprisingly strong. Just as we were struggling, a milky voice drifted over. “Daddy!” I turned and saw my daughter running out of the office lobby. Like a happy little butterfly, she opened her arms and ran toward me. In her hand, she held a drawing, crayons depicting three stick figures holding hands. “Daddy, look! It’s you, Mommy, and me!” I instantly broke free from Sarah’s grip, squatting down to hug my daughter. “Lily, why did you come out?” “Mommy said you got off work, so let me come pick you up!” I looked up and saw Claire standing not far away. She was smiling at us. And Sarah, beside me, looked like she had been struck by lightning the moment she saw my daughter. She froze, her face instantly draining of color. Her eyes were glued to the child in my arms, lips moving, but no words came out. Claire walked over, naturally kissed my cheek, pinched our daughter’s face, and then calmly walked in front of me. She looked at Sarah, her gaze as calm as water. “This lady, can I help you?” Sarah seemed to snap back to reality, her gaze moving from the child to Claire’s face, and finally landing on me. In that look, there was shock, pain, and disbelief. She looked at this scene in agony, murmuring. “A child…” “You even have a child…” Her voice was so light, yet filled with despair. I watched her soulless state, feeling no joy. Just a barren calm.

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My ex-husband, Tom, and his rich buddies recently started a twisted game. “The Bankruptcy Challenge.” The rules? Fake going broke for a month. The goal? To test the loyalty of their girlfriends. To make it look legit, their friends and family were all in on it. They even installed a “new owner” at their companies. Tom, wearing a $5 t-shirt and a construction hat, confidently went to find the woman he loved most. Instead of sympathy, his precious Chloe screamed at him and had security throw him out like trash. Stunned, he sat on the curb for a long time before his trembling fingers dialed another number. “Sarah… I’m broke. I’m homeless.” A soft, childish voice answered from the other end. “Daddy, don’t be scared. You can sleep in my room.” 1 When Tom called, I was in the kitchen frosting a cake. My four-year-old daughter, Lily, was playing Roblox on my phone and picked up immediately. I don’t know what he said, but suddenly Lily’s face lit up. She ran into the kitchen, losing a slipper on the way. “Mommy! Good news! Daddy went bankrupt! He can come to my birthday party this year!” Bankrupt? I looked at the phone. The contact name was still “Ex-Husband.” The last time Tom called was Christmas. He only contacted me on holidays. Usually to drag me to his parents’ mansion to play the “happy couple” and keep the old folks calm. But the second we walked out the door, he’d drop my hand like it was toxic and speed off to comfort Chloe. I’d watch him drive away, the backseat piled high with designer gifts, the passenger seat filled with red roses. I’d stand there in the cold wind, clutching the $2,000 “performance fee” he threw at me. I wasn’t sad. Why would I be? That was six months of rent for me and Lily. Hearing he was broke, my only thought was: Why isn’t he calling his precious Chloe? Why call me? We hated each other. Tom’s voice was cautious. “Sarah, I have nowhere to go. I haven’t eaten all day. Can I crash at your place?” I opened my mouth to say “No.” But Lily tugged on my skirt. Her big, grape-like eyes were wide, filled with hope and pleading. “Mommy, please? Let Daddy spend my birthday with me just this once? All the other kids have their dads…” I looked down, and my heart broke a little. I knew Lily craved a father’s love. Tom actually liked Lily. He used to take her to Disney World, buy her princess dresses, and get her those expensive blind box sets. But one day, Lily came home slumped over, saying she would never “bother” Daddy again. I dropped my spatula and stormed over to his villa. With the arm strength of a woman who washed a thousand dishes a day, I slapped Chloe silly. I shoved her face into the toilet to rinse out that filthy mouth of hers. After that, Tom never asked to see Lily again. 2 But today was Lily’s birthday. She just wanted her parents together. I sighed. “Tom, Lily misses you. You can come over for dinner.” On the other end, he exhaled. It was the sound of a man who just realized he wasn’t completely alone in the world. “You guys still live at The Grandview, right? I’m on my way.” I blinked. “What? Where is that? I’ve never been there.” I rented an apartment in the Garden District. It was close to Lily’s preschool. Downstairs was a street full of food trucks. At night, we could hear drunk karaoke from the bar across the street, and the roach-spray truck drove by on schedule. It was a far cry from the luxury high-rise Tom mentioned. Tom went silent for a moment, then asked for my current address. Even wearing clothes from a discount bin, Tom still looked like money. The moment he walked in, Lily tackled his legs. Tom patted her head affectionately, but as he scanned our small two-bedroom apartment, his eyes went cold. “You let my daughter live in a place like this?” I paused mid-tea pour. The apartment was clean, decorated in a warm, minimalist style. Everything from the appliances to the cartoon rug was hand-picked by Lily and paid for by me. No matter how hard things got, I never let Lily feel poor. But Tom walked in and immediately started judging. Right. He and Chloe lived in a 5,000-square-foot mansion. Of course this felt like a shoebox. I tossed the tea bag in the trash and pulled Lily over. “Lily, go check your room. Mommy hid a birthday present in there.” She squealed and ran off. My smile vanished. I glared at Tom. “A place like this? Who was begging to come here five minutes ago? You’re homeless now. What right do you have to judge?” Tom quickly dropped the attitude. Right. He was supposed to be a broke guy now. Not a CEO. He sat on the sofa, looking awkward. “You misunderstood. I meant… why aren’t you living in the house I gave you?” I frowned. “What house?” When we divorced, I left with one suitcase and a three-month-old Lily. The only money I had came from selling the jewelry his parents gave me. Tom’s brow furrowed. “Sarah, you gave me a child. Even if I don’t love you, I wouldn’t let my own flesh and blood starve.” “I told my assistant, Ben, to buy you a condo and give you a huge settlement check. Did you not take it?” 3 A condo? A settlement? This was news to me. But I quickly figured it out. “I didn’t get a dime. Are you trying to scam me now that you’re broke?” Tom leaned forward, regret swirling in his eyes. “Sarah, I would beg on the streets before I scammed you. In this world, the person I wronged the most is you.” Our history reads like a bad soap opera. My father saved Tom’s father’s life but died doing it. Tom’s family adopted me when I was eight. His dad treated me like a daughter. His mom loved my quiet nature. Tom, two years older, was the big brother who protected me. He fought off bullies. He took me to the zoo. He did everything to help me get over my grief. And I buried my crush on him in my diary. Sarah loves Tom. Does Tom love Sarah? Senior year of college, I got my answer. Tom proposed. I was overjoyed. I thought he loved me back. We got married at the courthouse for $35. I didn’t know Tom’s dad had given me 10% of the company shares as a dowry but forced Tom to start from the bottom in the mailroom. Tom didn’t marry me. He married a shortcut to the good life. After the wedding, I lived in a fantasy. I cooked for him, ironed his shirts, picked him up drunk from parties. But while I was pregnant, he cheated on me with an intern. Chloe. She was six months older than me. He said Chloe understood him. She was his soulmate. They were “true love.” He said his feelings for me were just… sibling affection. Tom’s dad saw right through Chloe. He called her a gold-digger and banned her from the family. So Tom came up with a compromise. He wouldn’t divorce me—he needed me to pacify his parents. But he would give Chloe everything a wife gets, except the marriage certificate. That day, ten days after Lily was born, I snapped. The docile Sarah who let Tom walk all over her grabbed a fruit knife and stabbed herself in the stomach. Marrying Tom was my mistake. I was young, stupid, and love-blind. 4 He cheated. He treated me like a maid. I deserved that for being dumb. But I would die before I let him ruin my daughter. Blood everywhere. Tom froze. He was panicked, terrified, guilty. He pressed his hands on my wound, shaking. “Sarah, don’t die.” I was stubborn. If he didn’t agree to a divorce and give me full custody, I would kill myself. If they saved me, I’d do it again. Until I was dead. If I died, his father would destroy Chloe. To save his mistress, Tom signed the papers. The day I left, he had a condition. We had to hide the divorce. I had to pretend to be his wife in front of his parents on holidays. I said fine. But I charged him. $2,000 a pop. Tom, the man who “wouldn’t touch me if I was the last woman on earth,” had to pay me to show up. He lost his temper. “Do you have no feelings for me at all? Do you love money that much? Fine. I won’t give you a cent of the settlement. I’ll wait until you’re starving and come crawling back to beg me.” He kept his word. The “economic compensation” in the divorce agreement? Never saw a penny. I was broke, yes. But I stood on my own two feet. I never begged him once. Remembering this, Tom rubbed his temples. “That was just angry talk. You were a single mom. How could I really leave you with nothing?” “Your ‘angry talk’ was my reality for four years.” Tom choked. He looked around the apartment again. It wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t rich. Chloe wore socks that cost $500. I was wearing a t-shirt I bought four years ago. Tom pulled out his phone and called his assistant, Ben. “Mr. Tom… uh, sir? Is there something you need?” Ben wasn’t used to the new boss yet. Tom’s voice dropped, carrying his old authority. “Four years ago, the condo at The Grandview and the $10 million settlement check. Did you give them to my ex-wife personally?” $10 million? That would have set me and Lily up for life. Ben hesitated. “Uh… well, Miss Chloe said she would handle it…” Her again. Rage boiled in my chest. Chloe already had everything. If she stole Lily’s future too, I was going to destroy her. At 7 PM, I brought out a Shaun the Sheep cake.

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