Author: Momo Chan

The woman I’d been secretly crushing on for a decade suddenly texted me. “Dean, I’m drunk. Can you take me home?” I rushed out of my condo and drove across Bayport, following the pinpoint location she’d sent. But the man who opened the door to the private room wasn’t the one I was supposed to see. It was Brock Harrington. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dean Sullivan. Captain Perfect,” Brock sneered, leaning against the door frame of the exclusive club lounge. “After all these years, are you still hung up on Anya?” Anya Reid, my high school goddess, was draped over his shoulder, her eyes unfocused and heavy. “Too bad, man. You’re too late,” Brock purred, his voice thick with entitled arrogance. “I’m about to close the deal on your little high school fantasy right now.” I stood there, feeling like a punchline, as laughter and snickers erupted from the dimly lit room behind him. “Oh, that’s right,” Brock said, snapping his fingers dramatically. “Tonight is the official engagement party for the future CEO of Harrington Group, yours truly, and the beautiful former Northwood High Prom Queen. Sullivan, aren’t you going to come in and have a celebratory drink?” I glanced past him to where Anya was practically folding into his expensive suit. I gave a slight, dismissive shake of my head. “No, thanks. I wouldn’t want to show up the groom.” 1 For three long years of high school, I was practically a punching bag. As soon as class ended, Brock would order me to run out and buy him cigarettes. If I didn’t, I’d be paying for it later. He was the son of the Chairman, which in a place like Bayport meant his word was law, and he had a whole entourage of sycophants who lived to see me tormented. I can still taste the bitterness of my senior year, right after spring break, when Brock planted something on me, lied, and got me expelled. It cost me the last semester and, crucially, my SATs. I missed my chance at a normal life, all because of his petty spite. Ten years later, and here he was, still not finished. “Sullivan, are you completely insane? Anya Reid was the school’s golden girl. What makes you think she’d ever look at a loser like you?” This was Toby Jenkins, our former gym-class captain, now, inexplicably, the VP of Development at Harrington Corp. He must have spent the last decade polishing Brock’s shoes. “Besides, the future Mrs. Harrington is marrying into real power. Brock is practically Bayport royalty. What are you, a guy who couldn’t even get a high school diploma? Where does that confidence come from?” I’ve never liked pointless arguments. I turned to walk away, but a circle of my former classmates immediately blocked my path. “Hey, being expelled isn’t a crime, Dean,” one of them chirped. “Don’t rush off. We haven’t seen each other in ten years. Stay and celebrate with us, have a drink.” Toby quickly chimed in, “Yeah, what’s the rush? Don’t you want to catch up with old friends?” I fought to keep my fury contained, my eyes locked on Toby. “No, I don’t. I came because Anya texted me. From now on, don’t include me in your irrelevant gatherings.” “Hold it right there!” Brock, who had been watching the scene unfold from the sofa, suddenly straightened up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Sullivan?” he demanded. “You think you’re too good to drink with us?” That was all the cue the peanut gallery needed. “Ooh, the expelled high school dropout looks down on us?” “Yeah, your straight-A grades didn’t do you any good, did they? Still couldn’t get a diploma!” My attempt to leave quietly had turned into a public spectacle, all because of one line from Brock. The old adage felt painfully true: birds of a feather. “Yes, fine. I admit you all have better lives than me. Happy?” I tried to turn once more, but a familiar silhouette was suddenly in front of me. “Dean. Long time. Are you… doing okay now?” Seeing my former crush again hit me with a complicated wave of emotions. Back in high school, ninety percent of the guys at Northwood had loved Anya Reid. I was the other ten who just wanted to watch her be happy. “Captain Sullivan, why aren’t you talking? Don’t you remember me?” She reached out a hand to wave it in front of my face. That’s when I saw the heavy, glittering engagement ring on her ring finger. I took a deep breath, forcing a slight smile. “I’m doing great,” I said. “You, on the other hand… why didn’t you send an invite before deciding to get married?” Anya’s gaze immediately clouded over. “My grandmother needs a major surgery. It’s a massive expense, and Brock… he said he’d handle it.” Her voice broke at the end. “I see,” I murmured. The heavy weight in my chest, the one that feared she might have actually chosen him, finally eased. “If you’d just sent me a text before tonight, Anya, maybe I could have helped.” The second the words left my mouth, a loud, sharp sound split the silence. CRACK! Five vivid, red finger marks appeared instantly on Anya’s pale cheek. “You bitch! Who the hell gave you permission to talk to this loser?” Brock’s bellow silenced the room completely. He swaggered over, a cruel smirk twisting his mouth as he held a champagne flute. “I’m in a foul mood now,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “You know what you need to do to fix it.” He grabbed the fabric of her silk dress, and with a sickening tear, began to rip it away. “Brock, please! Not here, there are too many people!” Anya struggled to pull away from his grip, but the arrogant Young Harrington wasn’t about to be denied. “Still playing the innocent goddess, huh? Take the damn clothes off, right now!” he hissed. “If you don’t service me properly tonight, your grandmother, waiting for surgery in that hospital, might just find her case… dropped.” Anya buried her face in her hands, silent tears streaming out. As she began to sink to her knees, I pushed myself forward. “Stop it!” 2 A collective gasp went around the room. No one, not a single person, expected the high school punching bag, the quiet kid they’d bullied for three years, to publicly challenge the privileged son of the Chairman. “A hero, are we, Sullivan?” Brock clapped his hands mockingly, and the private room door burst open again. A dozen enormous, black-suited security guards instantly flooded the space. “This is a surprise. I didn’t think there was anyone left in Bayport who had the audacity to lecture me.” My hands curled into fists, but my voice was cold and level. “Brock, for the sake of old times, I’m warning you. Don’t push this too far.” Brock threw his head back and roared with laughter. “What? Did I hear that right? Captain Sullivan, are you… threatening me?” Anya, sensing the dangerous shift in the atmosphere, quickly stepped out from behind me. “Mr. Harrington, he absolutely didn’t mean that. Dean’s just… making a bad joke.” She turned to me, blinking frantically, trying to signal me to back down. “Dean, you know better than to talk to Mr. Harrington like that.” I knew she was trying to save me, but I was done taking cues from anyone in this room. “I’m not joking,” I stated, my gaze fixed on Brock. “I am warning him.” BANG! Brock smashed his champagne flute on the floor. “You son of a bitch, I called you ‘Captain’ out of courtesy, and now you think you’re actually important, is that it?” I was about to retort when Anya frantically pulled me aside. “Dean, I know you want to help, but his father is a massive figure here! The founder of the Harrington Group! If you cross him, you won’t even find a job in Bayport, let alone the city!” A mere billionaire can cost me my job? If I hadn’t been stone-cold sober, I’d have thought I was dreaming. Given my position, only a direct order from the highest levels of the Federal government could override my appointment. The Harrington fortune couldn’t even touch the lowest rung of my organization. I gently squeezed Anya’s hand, a silent signal not to worry, and turned back to Brock. “If you’re reacting this way because Ms. Reid spoke to me, then let me make something clear.” I paused, letting the silence expand. “I don’t approve of this engagement.” The room erupted. “Oh my God, has he lost his mind? He’s trying to steal Brock Harrington’s fiancée?” “It’s been ten years, and this guy is still acting like some kind of naïve jock with zero self-preservation.” “The Harringtons get whatever they want in this town! This idiot has no idea who he’s dealing with.” As the insults grew louder, Brock’s expression became smugly superior. “Drunk on cheap whiskey, are we, kid? Trying to be tough?” he challenged. “You’re a high school dropout. What exactly do you think you have to compete with me for anything, least of all a woman?” I ignored him, my attention fixed on Anya, who was still frozen in disbelief. “Tell me, Anya. Do you love him?” She instinctively shook her head, then immediately tried to correct herself. “Dean, I appreciate the thought, but I have to marry him. Otherwise, my grandmother’s surgery…” I gently wiped a tear from her cheek, my eyes unwavering. “Forget all that. You only need to answer one question.” “Are you coming with me?” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Dean, I want to go with you, but…” I cut her off. “Ms. Reid, the world doesn’t deal in ‘buts.’ You told me once, back in AP History, to stop overthinking and act. Did you forget?” Anya bit her lip hard. Then, in one decisive movement, she ripped the engagement ring from her finger and dropped it onto the carpet. At that moment, a furious roar came from behind me. “You bitch! Are you sure about this?”

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The day after the divorce was finalized, Seraphina Wynn married the junior mentee who’d just graduated college. I didn’t chase them. Not this time. Everyone in Boston’s finance circles was privately speculating on what my angle was. They couldn’t believe I—the man who had, until recently, been driven to madness over her—would simply walk away. Five years ago, when I first discovered Sera’s affair, I had spiraled, desperate to hold on to her. I’d ended up arrested, sacrificing my stellar career as one of the Street’s youngest rising stars. She had remained unmoved. Cold. Now, I was running a gourmet sliders stand near the main campus, a fixture on the college-town nightlife strip. A customer stood by the stand for a long time, silent as a statue. I took off my gloves, exposing the network of faint burn scars on the back of my hand, and nodded a small greeting. Long time, no see, Ms. Wynn. “Care for some artisan grilled cheese sliders?” 1 Sera finally spoke, her voice low and carrying a hint of barely suppressed gravel. “I thought you would pretend you hadn’t seen me.” I pulled my lips into a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “No need for pretense.” “Why are you selling street food here?” “To live.” I answered with blunt clarity. “A man has to find a way to survive.” I’d done everything to survive these past five years. Even after she used her influence to blacklist me from nearly every firm in the financial district, I managed to scrape by on odd jobs and freelance consulting. I’d made it through. She drew a quiet breath, her gaze lingering on my working hands. “You used to burn water trying to boil pasta. Now you’re running a food stand…” Just then, evening classes let out, and a wave of students poured into the street. A young man in a hoodie ran up, calling out a familiar greeting. “Cole! The usual, extra caramelized onions and that spicy aioli, please!” I acknowledged him, skillfully layering the ingredients. The hot sauce sizzled, and the aroma, rich with sharp cheese and beef, filled the air. Sera watched my practiced, fluid movements, a look of unfamiliar confusion in her eyes. The students were chattering amongst themselves, close and comfortable around the stand. “Cole, helping out Mrs. Rodriguez again tonight?” I nodded. I met Mrs. Rodriguez during a community service project; her husband passed away years ago, and she relied on this little stand to put her daughter through college. I’ve helped many people like her over the years. I hadn’t made much money, but I had definitely learned the harsh edges of real life. The customers began to queue up. In the surge of people, Sera was nudged toward the periphery. When it was time to pack up, I assumed she was long gone. I walked, as I usually did, into the familiar, old-school diner around the corner and ordered my go-to: the classic patty melt with a side of clam chowder. A low, familiar male voice, tight with suppressed emotion, sounded behind me. “Boss, I’ll have the same.” Sera sat down across from me. Out of habit, she took my silverware, ran it under the hot water from the thermos, and poured me a glass of hot tea. Only then did she hesitate before speaking. “How have you… been, these five years?” “Fine. Still breathing.” My tone was flat, revealing nothing. The diner was mostly filled with local students and residents. Many recognized Sera. “Ms. Wynn!” “Seraphina!” The greetings were constant. It was clear she was still riding high—powerful, successful, intimidating. In comparison, my apron-clad appearance certainly looked down-on-my-luck. “When did you get back to Boston?” “Last month.” She paused. “The day you took the photo for us.” I didn’t deny it. I hadn’t realized the world was so small. I’d only just returned when I ran into her, her new husband, and their daughter outside a kid’s park. I certainly hadn’t expected that the casual snapshot I took for them would be shared by her husband in their family group chat. That one picture was enough to send my former friends and associates into a frenzy, with some even taking bets on how long it would take for me to ‘break’ again. “Rhys didn’t mean to post that picture.” She said, “The gossip in the group—don’t let it get to you.” I shook my head. “I don’t have time for it.” She was silent for a moment, then lowered her voice. “If you’re having trouble, I can—” I cut her off. “Don’t bother. I’m fine.” It was the truth. Yet, Sera seemed convinced I was faking strength. Her brow furrowed, and her voice involuntarily rose. “Five years, Adrian! Why are you still so stubborn?” “Are you doing this to punish yourself, just to make me feel guilty?” Through the diner’s steamy air, I looked at the face before me—still beautiful, but now etched with the maturity of hard-won success. I could barely recall the cold, ruthless expression she wore five years ago when she slapped the divorce papers on the table. I shifted my gaze to the flashing neon outside the window. “I let go a long time ago.” “You…” The food arrived, interrupting Sera’s unfinished sentence. The owner, a kind man, chuckled as he looked at us. “Well, look at you two! Haven’t seen you in here together in ages, have I?” Sera’s body stiffened slightly. My expression was calm. “You must have the wrong people, sir.” “No way! You two were so sweet back then, I remember it—sickeningly sweet, every time you came in…” The owner scratched his head and muttered as he walked away. Sera pressed me. “Why deny it? This is exactly where we used to come.” I looked down, stirring the clam chowder. “Was it? It’s been too long. I don’t recall.” She abruptly stood up and walked to a display wall covered in old Polaroids and sticky notes. After searching for a moment, she cautiously pulled out a faded photo. “See? It’s still…” Her voice cut off, and she desperately tried to hide the picture. But I’d already seen it. In the photo, Sera was sitting on my left, affectionately draped over my shoulder. On my right, holding my arm tightly, smiling sweetly and leaning into me, was a clean-cut young man. Rhys Bennett. Her now-husband. A corner of the photo—slightly blurred, but the date was clear: six years ago today. 2 I was five years older than Sera. The year we met, I returned to my alma mater to speak at a finance forum as an honored alumnus. She was the student who asked the most incisive, challenging question from the audience. I remember her eyes—full of ambition and sharp brilliance. Even in her basic student clothing, her exceptional presence was undeniable. After the event, she boldly intercepted me. She said she’d studied every deal I’d ever managed; she called me her benchmark, the trajectory she was fighting for. Surrounded by admirers as I was, and jaded by the insincerity of the corporate world, her open worship and fiery gaze did cause a ripple in my long-dormant heart. But I kept my distance. Sera was too young; her passion felt like a temporary impulse. I underestimated her resolve. What followed was her almost reckless, all-in pursuit. Sera came from a modest background, yet she’d save her part-time earnings to buy me expensive concert tickets. She’d wait outside my office building until midnight just to drop off a late-night meal she’d made herself. No matter how many times I rejected her, she returned with more force. Until the day I was targeted by a project rival. Sera stepped in front of me, and her arm was badly cut—an injury that threatened to derail her crucial final internship. Furious and worried, I yelled at her, using the harshest words I had to chastise her recklessness. She just held my hand tighter, her eyes shining with frightening intensity. “The path I’ve chosen, Adrian Cole, I will finish, even if I have to crawl across the finish line.” “I love you. Even if you reject me a thousand times, I will never give up.” I eventually broke. I crumbled. I staked everything I had on that reckless, honest devotion. My parents vehemently disapproved. Friends warned me—the gap between us was too vast, our future too unstable. I had my own anxieties. But Sera used action to prove her determination. On her graduation day, she stood on the stage and announced to the entire faculty and student body that she would marry me. “Adrian,” she said. “I will spend my whole life proving to you that your choice was the right one.” After we married, I poured all my connections and resources into building her career, introducing her to the major players in the investment world. She proved to be a prodigy. In just a few years, she became a recognizable force, launching her own fund. Outwardly, she was the decisive Ms. Wynn, but at home, she was clingy and fiercely possessive. At Sera’s strong insistence, I gradually withdrew from the core, high-stakes finance work. I shifted my focus to running a charitable foundation and managing our family’s private assets, seeking to achieve a different kind of social value. It was during that time that I met Rhys Bennett. He was interning at a non-profit organization, liaising on a project. He came from a disadvantaged background but was relentlessly ambitious and had a disarmingly innocent smile. I admired his tenacity, providing him with guidance and opportunities. He was overwhelmingly grateful, calling me “Cole” and treating me like a revered older brother. Sera was initially cool toward him, even jealous that I was dedicating too much time to anyone outside of her orbit. That changed when I had Sera help place Rhys in an internship at her company, hoping to give him a better platform. After working closely with him, her opinion softened; she admitted he was a hard-working, thoughtful young man. For a time, the three of us often had dinner together. On weekends, we even took short trips. I never suspected that beneath this seemingly perfect harmony, a dangerous current was already moving. The truth broke on my thirty-second birthday. I ended an overseas trip early and came home. On the floor of the foyer, scattered among Sera’s silk scarf, was the designer tie I had given Rhys—now left behind. From the slightly ajar master bedroom door, I heard the sounds—low, ragged, and unrestrained. The world shattered the moment I pushed the door open. I grabbed the nearest thing—a heavy glass vase from the console table—and hurled it. “Seraphina! Rhys is only twenty-two! How could you!” Rhys lifted his tear-streaked face from her shoulder. “Cole, I’m so sorry… We truly fell in love, I couldn’t help myself…” The pain choked the air from my lungs. “And me? What was I to you?” Sera tightly wrapped a blanket around Rhys. After the initial flash of panic, her face settled into a chilling calm, laced with a hint of… impatience. She deliberately slipped on her silk robe and walked up to me, lifting my chin with a cool finger. “You know Rhys is only twenty-two. The peak of youth. But look at you.” Her eyes critically scanned my face and body. She gave a small, cold laugh. “Haven’t you noticed you haven’t been able to satisfy me for a long time?” “When I go to events with you, people are always whispering, wondering if I’m just a trophy wife who rode your coattails.” I was shaking with rage, my nails digging deep crescents into my palms. “Seraphina, did the age gap appear just today?” “If you cared, why did you pursue me in the first place!” Sera’s smile vanished, replaced by an empty gaze. “Yes, you’re right. I’m the one who changed. Adrian, you’re too controlling. You have to dominate everything.” “Rhys is pure, soft, and he looks up to me. He needs me.” “Just like you were drawn to the young, conquest-driven woman I was back then.” Listening to her preposterous justification, I started to laugh, even as the tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. “Fine, fine… We’re getting a divorce!” She frowned, as if I’d said something ridiculous. “Divorce? I won’t agree to a divorce. Not right now.” “Consider it…” She paused, her tone laced with patronizing charity. “Consider it my way of repaying you for the opportunities you gave me back then.” 3 I couldn’t endure the humiliation. The day after I discovered their affair, I screenshotted some dubious financial correspondence and sent them to our core client group. It was quickly dismissed, but it caused a momentary panic. The next day, I dumped all of Rhys’s belongings out of the villa while Sera watched. “Get out.” Rhys clung to Sera’s sleeve, tears in his eyes. Sera merely gave me a cold look and made a phone call. Less than thirty minutes later, every card in my name was frozen. On the third day, I approached her company’s most important investor, hinting that her turbulent private life might compromise her fund’s reputation. That evening, Sera returned home smelling of expensive scotch. She dragged me into the study and forced me to sit in front of the computer. On the screen was the signed confirmation that the investor had increased their investment. “Adrian Cole, is that all you’ve got?” Sera was right. When it came to manipulating capital and people, her student had surpassed the master long ago. In a fit of rage, I gathered materials on some of her ethically questionable project maneuvers and filed an anonymous but detailed complaint with the relevant regulatory bodies. While I was at it, I went to the non-profit where Rhys was due to be promoted and gave his supervisor an ‘objective’ account of his character. The result? The private family foundation I managed was hit with an immediate audit, and I was given a travel ban. When I stormed into her office to confront her, she was feeding Rhys a piece of cake. “Stop this, Adrian.” She wiped a smear of frosting from Rhys’s mouth. “If you touch Rhys again, I can’t guarantee you’ll walk away from the trouble I’m about to drop on you.” In that moment, I felt a deep, crushing helplessness. I finally understood that in the high-stakes game of capital and power, the current Seraphina was leagues beyond me. “Cole?” A voice of feigned surprise yanked me back to the present. Rhys Bennett was standing beside the table. He was wearing an expensive, on-trend designer suit—polished, handsome, and clearly protected by an armor of money. “It really is you, Cole! I almost didn’t recognize you. I thought you were someone’s hired housekeeper.” I watched his performance in silence. “What are you doing these days? I heard you’re running a food stand?” He wore a mask of pity, but his eyes held clear schadenfreude. “You were the god of our finance world, Cole. How could you fall this far…” Sera frowned. “Rhys!” “Oh, I was just expressing concern,” he said, shaking her arm with a little-boy whine. “We’re old friends, aren’t we? What’s wrong with catching up?” I offered a chilling, mirthless smile. “The old friend who nearly had you indicted?” The temperature in the diner instantly plummeted. Five years ago, while Sera and I were locked in this exhaustive cycle of mutual torment, another devastating blow landed. My father, always healthy and active, had a sudden, fatal heart attack after being implicated in a failed investment project, leaving behind massive debt. I rushed back, grief-stricken, to find Sera tightly holding a trembling Rhys. She was comforting him. “Don’t be scared. It’s okay. Investments are risky; this isn’t your fault…” I learned that the project that had dragged my father into ruin—the one he’d poured his life savings into—was based on information Rhys had ‘casually’ passed along to him. Rhys had used my trust to gain my father’s ear, persuading him to take the plunge. My father was dead, crushed by debt, while Rhys stood there, playing the role of the innocent bystander. I collapsed, weeping, grabbing Rhys’s shoulders and shaking him. “Why! My father trusted you!” Sera forcefully pried my hands away, pulling Rhys behind her. “Adrian! Calm down! Rhys is a victim too! He just shared information out of good faith—your father made the final decision!” The tragedy was officially ruled as my father’s death by suicide due to financial distress. Rhys came to the funeral and wept with convincing sincerity. “I’m sorry, Cole. I truly had no idea…” I slapped him hard across the face, then lunged to grab him again. “My father was so good to you! Why did you ruin him!” Sera violently shoved me back. I stumbled, knocking over my father’s framed picture. The glass shattered across the floor. “Have you lost it, Adrian! Can’t you tell right from wrong anymore? Rhys was cheated too!” I felt cold, my heart turned to ash. “And my father? Did he deserve to die like that?” “Why does real sincerity always get trampled?” Sera, to prevent me from hurting Rhys, called the police. I was detained on charges of disturbing the peace and assault. The next time I saw her was in the holding cell. She brought the divorce agreement. “Adrian, sign this, and everything ends here.” My heart was dead wood. I scanned the agreement. “…You want me to assume all of my father’s debt? And forfeit all our joint assets?” Sera showed me photos of loan sharks vandalizing our villa, splashing paint on the walls, and sending death threats. “Your father’s failed investment—Rhys nearly had a breakdown from the guilt.” “This money will serve as compensation for his emotional distress, and… atonement for your father.” “When you get out…” She sighed, her voice laced with near-pity. “Find somewhere quiet, and live peacefully.” My tears were long exhausted. I simply stared at her, numb. In that instant, every memory of love, every vow, every act of support—it all twisted into the sharpest, most cynical betrayal, tearing my heart to shreds. I signed as she wished, inheriting a mountain of debt and leaving with nothing but the clothes on my back. 4 “We never imagined you’d end up… struggling this much.” Sera took a deep breath, pulled a checkbook from her wallet, and quickly wrote a number. “Take this. Consider it a little compensation from me. The pin hasn’t changed.” Rhys’s face momentarily flickered with displeasure, but he quickly forced a look of sympathy. “You truly don’t need to treat us like enemies, Cole.” “And you don’t have a Seraphina looking after you, like I do. A man your age, carrying debt, with no one to rely on—it must be so hard…” “I’m not alone.” I cut him off. I reached out and pushed the offered check away. As I adjusted my jacket sleeve, the subtle sparkle of a diamond ring on my left hand—my other ring finger—was momentarily visible. “I’m married. And I’m doing very well.” Both of them froze. Rhys reacted first, his smile turning subtly conspiratorial. “Oh, really? Congratulations, Cole.” His eyes darted up and down. “So, your current wife…” My phone conveniently buzzed with a string of texts from someone urging me to hurry home. I looked down, quickly replying, and answered with deliberate casualness. “A few years older than me, actually.” Rhys drew out the syllable. “Oooooh. I thought your type was always fixed, Cole. You know, young and bursting with life.” “Enough!” Sera’s face darkened. She looked at me with a mix of disappointment and anger. “Adrian Cole, do you really have to resort to this kind of self-sabotage?” “Marrying an older woman just to run a street stand and pay off debt for her?” “Is this the life you want? Have you forgotten you were the Adrian Cole who commanded the room on Wall Street?” I hit the send button on my text, then looked up, meeting her gaze. “Seraphina. You’re crossing a line.” She flinched. “I just… I don’t want you to live like this.” “Don’t bother.” I was unequivocal. “Because I have never wished either of you well.” Looking directly at them, I spoke slowly, distinctly. “I have never forgiven you.” “I just refuse to waste any more of my precious time and life tangling with two rotting people.” “I’ve paid my check. I’m leaving.” With that, I grabbed my bag and turned without hesitation. A muffled argument erupted behind me. “Seraphina, what was that? Are you going soft on him now that you see his pathetic life?” “Rhys, stop this! Don’t forget your place!” “My place? I’m your husband! Don’t forget you were the one who climbed into my bed first!” “Shut up! We’re going home!” I didn’t slow down, walking straight to the door. Time is the fairest judge. No one can permanently occupy the moral high ground. And when the velvet curtain is lifted, the sight of the decay beneath is the most repulsive of all. I had barely stepped out of the diner when hurried footsteps sounded behind me. Sera caught up and grabbed my wrist once more. “Adrian, listen to me…” Her breath was ragged. Her eyes, in the gathering dusk, were complex and unreadable. “Actually, after you left, I…” Before she could finish, a clear, high-pitched child’s voice chirped from behind her. “Dad!”

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My father had a custom pool built in our backyard, supposedly to help me conquer my fear of the water. But I was terrified of even dipping my toes in, so he never pushed it, letting me stay on the deck with a super-soaker while he swam laps. Then my little brother, Leo, was born, and he became the sun this entire household orbited around. The day everything changed, Leo was standing by the edge, his feet slipping on the wet tile. I instinctively reached out to grab him, but I was small and clumsy, and we both tumbled into the deep end. I fought to keep his head above the water. By the time Dad rushed over, all he saw was me shoving my brother’s head under. His eyes were blazing with a terrifying, primal fury. He grabbed the heavy-duty skimmer pole and brought it down on my hand with a sickening crack. “Killer! You tried to drown your brother!” He hauled Leo out, but he left me, the child who couldn’t swim, thrashing in the deep end. Then, he yanked the ladder out. “Stay in there and think about what you did! Maybe this will beat some sense into you!” They were too busy performing CPR on Leo, too frantic to look back at me, bobbing and struggling just a few feet away. Water burned my nostrils and lungs, but even in that crushing agony, the last thing I wondered was if they would still love me, once I was saved. 1 My body felt impossibly light. I was floating. I looked down and saw the small form—the one always dressed in ill-fitting, hand-me-down t-shirts—curled up at the bottom of the deep end. My hair fanned out like dark seaweed, obscuring the pale, tiny face. The motion-sensor lights in the backyard flickered, illuminating the scene. Outside, the siren’s red and blue strobed across the front of our suburban mansion. Medics rushed in with a stretcher. My mother, Vicky, her face tear-streaked and hysterical, clung to Leo’s hand. “Baby, don’t you dare scare Mommy! Please, don’t you dare!” My father, Richard, hovered over them, his face a mask of panicked concern. They rushed the stretcher out to the ambulance, their footsteps ragged and urgent. From start to finish, not one person glanced back at the backyard. The ambulance wailed into the night, carrying away all their hope and worry. The house sank back into a deathly silence. I floated above the pool, watching the water smooth out. When the last ripples vanished, the dark-blue water was like a massive, polished sapphire, perfectly concealing the horror beneath it. From the deck, the surface was flat as glass; there was no hint of the dead child at the bottom. After the ambulance left, my father strode back to the patio. He still had the broken skimmer pole clenched in his hand, his expression so dark it felt like the air itself was condensing around him. “You little sociopath! Get out here!” He stopped at the glass doors, his gaze sweeping the empty yard like a predator’s. I floated right in front of him, close enough for my spectral presence to brush his nose. I tried to whisper, “Dad,” but no sound came out. He couldn’t see me. His eyes passed over the pool’s tranquil surface, pausing for barely half a second before moving on. No waves, no splash. To him, that meant I had climbed out, and now I was running, hiding out of guilt. “Oh, you think you’re tough, now, do you?” He sneered, slamming the skimmer pole onto the cobblestone patio. The metal scraped against the stone, sending up a shower of sparks. “Tried to murder your brother, and now you want to play hide-and-seek? Grow up!” He stomped toward the utility shed, kicking the door panel hard. “Come out! Don’t think for a second I’ll let you off just because you’re hiding! You have a toxic heart! That’s your brother, and you attacked him!” “You always seemed so meek, but you’re just a poisonous, ungrateful brat!” Every word was a shard of glass, embedding itself into my dead body at the bottom of the pool. He had convicted me long ago. No trial, no evidence needed. If Leo cried, I was the sole culprit. The shed was empty, save for a few terrified cockroaches scurrying away. Not finding me only fueled his rage. He turned around, hands on his hips, his chest heaving violently. His eyes fell back on the pool. This time, he stared at the dark-blue water, and a flicker of pure disgust crossed his face. “Hiding? Fine. Let’s see how long you can hide.” He must have been convinced I was watching him from a corner, waiting for him to cool down. He stalked toward the pool’s control panel. There was a red button there. The switch for the automatic pool cover. It was usually only used to prevent leaves from falling in or when closing the pool for the winter. The cover was made of thick, heavy, canvas-like material. Once sealed, it could hold the weight of several grown men. I didn’t understand what he was doing. Not until his finger slammed down on that red button. “RUMBLE—” The roar of the motor starting up was jarring in the dead quiet of the night. The spool at the end of the pool began to turn, and the thick, opaque, dark-blue fabric began to roll out, like a massive mouth slowly swallowing the water’s surface. No! I shrieked soundlessly, trying desperately to pull his hand away. Dad, I’m right here, under the water! If you cover it, truly no one will ever find me! The canvas scraped along the rails, a nerve-jangling, grinding sound. Three feet, six feet, nine feet… The water, which had been gently glimmering, was slowly smothered by darkness. Richard stood by the switch, a look of vindictive satisfaction on his face. “Since you like hiding so much, don’t come out.” “That’ll stop you from running off and hurting someone else! Let’s see how long this little menace can stay hidden!” He thought that sealing the pool would prevent me from ever pushing Leo in again. He didn’t know he was sealing his own daughter inside her tomb. The motor whirred to a stop. Click. The lock engaged. Air-tight. The entire pool was now a flat expanse of dark-blue canvas, a colossal coffin lid. Richard turned toward the glass doors. Before going inside, he made a point of sliding the old-fashioned deadbolt home. The sound of the bolt locking was sharp and final. Through the glass, he glared at the empty patio, at the sealed pool. He yelled, his voice laced with venom: “You can feed the damn mosquitos out here! Think about your black heart!” “And no one is opening this door for you until morning!” With a sudden, violent movement, he yanked the heavy blackout curtains closed. The warm indoor light was completely cut off. The world outside dissolved into a perfect, impenetrable blackness.

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The fifth time I received an intimate video sent to me by Owen’s executive assistant—his little bit on the side—a profound weariness just washed over me. I forwarded it to Owen. My text: This posture looks physically uncomfortable for the woman. Owen sent a flurry of voice notes and a wire transfer of ten thousand dollars almost instantly. “Willow, she’s just a kid who doesn’t know any better. I’ll make sure she’s more careful next time.” Next time? There wouldn’t be a next time. After all, I was going to die very soon. I accepted the transfer and booked an extreme travel package to the Arctic Circle. Counting the accumulated payments Owen had sent over the years to apologize for his secretary’s “mistakes,” I had just enough to spend the rest of my dwindling life in the Far North. 1 Owen didn’t get home until the third day. When he walked in, I was sitting on the hardwood floor, surrounded by the debris of ripped-open cardboard boxes. He raised an eyebrow at the collection of gear piled around me—tents, high-altitude oxygen tanks, and mountaineering boots. “Going on a hike?” I didn’t look up, replying casually. “Mmhmm. Thought I’d take a trip.” Owen looked genuinely surprised. In his mind, I was the woman with no life of her own. I never went out, never socialized. The thing I loved doing most was staring at my phone, compulsively checking his location and monitoring his social media footprint. “Good,” he said, nodding as he walked further into the house, eyes still glued to his phone. “Good for you. Get out there and clear your head.” The framed, brightly lit cancer diagnosis report was sitting on the hall table, but he walked right past it without a glance. Then again, why would he look? Two weeks ago, when my nosebleeds started, he told me to drink more water. A week and a half ago, when my hair began falling out in clumps and my complexion had turned the color of parchment, he asked if I was catching a cold and suggested I call an Uber to the clinic. A week ago, I passed out in the hallway. In the last fragmented moment of consciousness, I managed to dial his number—my emergency contact. His voice, tired and exasperated, came through the phone. “Willow, do you have nothing better to do than fake an illness? I’m busy. Stop bothering me.” The call disconnected, but not before I heard Reese’s syrupy, playful whisper: “Tell me, Owen, am I better than she is? Say it…” Just as I finished packing up the shipping material, Owen walked back out of the bedroom, a look of sudden remorse on his face. “Willow, listen. I’ve got a massive deal that just came up this month. I won’t be able to come with you on your trip…” His voice trailed off when he finally noticed the one-person nature of the entire expedition kit. Owen froze, his voice cracking with shock. “You’re… going alone?” “Of course,” I said, giving him a sincere nod. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? I should find something to do with myself.” He looked like I’d just punched him in the throat. The shock quickly morphed into a furious annoyance. “What is with the attitude? Why are you being so deliberately cryptic? I already apologized, didn’t I?” The apology he referred to was the ten thousand dollars. He used to buy me designer bags or diamond necklaces whenever his assistant caused a scene. Eventually, he couldn’t even be bothered with the shopping; he just wired the money for me to buy my own silence. If I really thought about it, this was a profitable exchange. Getting to escape him in the last days of my life, doing what I wanted, and having enough money to fund it all. It was a steal. I smiled, a genuine, easy smile I hadn’t worn in years. “Don’t worry,” I said honestly. “I won’t bring it up again.” 2 Owen’s expression didn’t soften; it grew darker, more ominous. He gritted out a terse, “Whatever,” and stormed into the master bedroom. The slam of the door vibrated through the entire house. A second later, I was on my knees. Blood poured from my nose, hitting the hardwood floor and blooming into a dark, vivid flower. I felt a strange, detached annoyance. Will I be too pasty and bruised to be photogenic by the time I get to the Arctic? Carrying that absurd thought, I gathered my gear and went to the guest room. The chemotherapy had left a searing, relentless pain across my body. I slept poorly. I dreamed of Reese sending me photos of her and Owen, and in the dream, I watched the videos over and over again like a form of self-inflicted torture. I watched the man I loved on top of another woman. I listened to them exchange sickeningly sweet nothings and vulgar private jokes. I watched the mole on Owen’s shoulder—the one I used to trace—tremble slightly in the dim light. I cried and laughed like a hysteric, then smashed everything in the house like a madwoman. I grabbed Owen’s collar, weeping. “Why?” He didn’t answer. He just pulled my hands away and asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted his love. Owen’s face was etched with weary frustration. “I do love you, Willow.” I shook my head, tears streaming. “I want you to love only me.” He sighed, a painful, bitter sound. “Don’t be greedy, Willow.” He was right. I was terribly greedy. I married the wealthy Owen with nothing but the clothes on my back, and I dared to demand all his love, his focus, his soul. Maybe that’s why fate was punishing me, leaving me less than a month to live. A sharp jolt of pain woke me up. My body was covered in a thousand pinpricks of fire. A chilling gaze fixed on me. Owen was leaning against the guest room doorframe, looking down. Half-awake, I had a brief, comforting flash of memory: years ago, when I was sick, he’d stood guard at my door all night long. He’d helped me put on a jacket later, sighing, “Your health is terrible. You need to eat more. I’m looking up some of those nutrition plans they talk about online…” Owen’s cold voice cut through the memory, dragging me back to the present. “Do you know what time it is?” A sudden chill made me shiver, clearing my mind completely. “Mr. Song, breakfast is ready.” A bright, chirpy voice followed. I looked up and saw Reese step out from behind Owen. She was resting her hand casually on his shoulder, giving me a soft, pitying smile. “Mrs. Song, I made yours too. I just hope it’s to your liking.” I shook my head, politely declining. It didn’t matter if it was to my liking. I hadn’t been able to keep anything down for two weeks. As I got ready to leave for the pharmacy, I saw Reese put a perfect, sunny-side-up egg onto Owen’s plate. The familiar sting of the gesture—an action that once would have sent me into a full-blown hysterical breakdown—still made my heart clench with a dull ache. But thankfully, none of this will concern me soon. 3 After my tests and picking up my medication, I stopped at a law firm. I consulted with a lawyer and had him draft a settlement agreement. As I left the office, a friend request popped up on my phone from someone named Delilah—a member of my Arctic travel group. She’d seen my IP address was local and asked if we could meet up beforehand. I agreed and sent her my location. Delilah was a burst of sunshine, a young, intensely lively girl. She talked my ear off, sharing funny stories and showing me photos of the magnificent places she’d visited. I felt a sudden, sharp envy. Envy of her youth, of her solitude, and of the vast, open future she had, filled with yet-to-be-seen landscapes. My own future was a narrow sliver of time. My past, save for the consuming love I had for Owen, was utterly empty. I let out a long, quiet breath. We talked until late into the night, sitting in a park, enjoying the warm summer breeze. She looked at me earnestly. “Willow, why did you suddenly decide on the Arctic?” I smiled. “Because I’m sick. I’m going to die soon.” Delilah’s smile dissolved instantly. She looked stricken. “I’m so sorry…” I waved it off. She was silent for a long moment, then cautiously gestured to my ring finger. “Will your family be okay with you going somewhere so remote alone?” “I don’t have a family.” “My parents died a long time ago.” She stared at the diamond on my left hand, then back at me, clearly unsure what to say. I smiled, pulled the wedding band from my finger, and tossed it into the nearest public trash can. “I’m filing for divorce tomorrow.” Delilah didn’t know what to do, so after a moment of silence, she just wrapped me in a tight hug. “You have to be happy, Willow.” I nodded. I would be happy. I was walking away from a toxic relationship and a corrupted home. For the few days left to me, I had nothing to worry about. My only task was to figure out how to please myself. I was already happy. We talked until three in the morning before she insisted, citing my fragile health, that she take me home. I was surprised when I pushed the door open. The living room lights were on. Owen, who always went to bed at twelve on the dot, was sitting on the sofa. He saw me and shot to his feet, his face thunderous. He immediately cornered me. “Why weren’t you answering my texts?!” I was momentarily stunned. I took out my phone. He hadn’t just texted; he had called multiple times. I had been so engrossed in my conversation with Delilah that I hadn’t even noticed. He stood up and strode toward me. “Where have you been? Why are you just getting home now?” The intense, high-energy conversation had exhausted me, and I was suddenly hit by overwhelming fatigue. I ignored him and started walking toward the guest room. He yanked my wrist. Owen’s voice went up an octave. “Willow, I’m talking to you!” I turned to face him, looking up at the man whose face was etched with raw, sudden anxiety. I calmly peeled his fingers off my wrist. “Since you made it clear you don’t want me asking about your life, you don’t get to ask about mine.” Without giving him a chance to respond to his rapidly changing expression, I went into the guest room and collapsed into sleep. 4 Thanks to the drugs, I slept until late the next afternoon. When I woke up, Owen was standing by the bed. He was watching me. “You look thinner,” he said abruptly. Chemotherapy, medication, and a body that was rapidly failing—I hadn’t managed a decent meal in weeks. I pushed myself up to sit against the headboard. Owen suddenly held out a thick jacket. I looked at him, confused. He frowned. “You didn’t forget what day it is, did you?” I truly couldn’t remember. He looked annoyed. “Even I remembered it’s our anniversary. You slept until now. When did you start sleeping in so late?” I frowned back. Why was Owen so easily agitated these last two days? He took my hand and pulled me toward the door, heading for the most exclusive, Michelin-starred spot downtown. I had to stop him mid-drive to detour to the law firm to pick up the final divorce papers. When we arrived at the restaurant, the maître d’ immediately recognized Owen. “Mr. Song, your usual private table is ready.” The man’s eyes flickered to me, a flash of surprise in them. After all, the woman who usually joined Owen for late-night trysts in that very place was his executive assistant. Owen awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. I didn’t say anything. I simply took the divorce papers and a pen out of my bag and handed them across the table. He started to flip the pages, then paused, a strange look of realization crossing his face as he looked at my bare ring finger. Something was missing. He was distracted. He flipped to the signature page of the agreement, signing it without even glancing at the financial terms. “I’ve thought about it,” he said, sliding the papers back to me. “The Arctic is too dangerous. I’ll come with you…” Boom. Boom. Boom. Fireworks exploded in the sky above the city. I looked up suddenly. A continuous, brilliant chain of fireworks bloomed, gradually forming two names spelled out in light, connected and intertwined: OWEN and WILLOW. Owen watched me carefully, his eyes searching mine. “Do you like it?” I couldn’t help the slow smile that curved my lips. I loved fireworks. I loved the vibrant colors, the celebratory sound, the simple, dramatic romance of it all. It would be better, of course, if Owen’s name could just be removed. My smile seemed to mesmerize him for a moment. He smiled back, taking out a small, exquisite gift box. “Happy Anniversary, Willow. From now on, I’ll be here for every single one.” “Open the gift.” “No need,” I said, holding up the signed divorce papers. I was still smiling. “I’ve already received the best gift I could ask for.” “After all, I really don’t want to be called Mrs. Owen after I’m dead.”

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This was supposed to be our wedding condo, yet here we were, finalizing the designs based on the preferences of my fiancé’s dead brother’s widow. On the walk-through, Dean frowned at the freshly applied slate-blue accent wall. “Have this wall repainted,” he instructed the foreman. “Switch it to a warm apricot. Willa always said warm colors make a place feel like home.” It was our home, a space meant for me, yet his entire aesthetic barometer was calibrated to another woman’s taste. But this time, I didn’t argue, I didn’t push back, and I didn’t offer a single, petulant complaint. I calmly folded the architectural drawings. My voice was level, devoid of any discernible emotion. “Fine. Whatever you want. After all, the woman who hosts the home in your heart has always been Willa.” His fingers, mid-buttoning his cuff, froze. He looked over, a flicker of genuine shock in his eyes. The condo was a catch—perfect location, lavish finishes. Too bad the woman moving in wouldn’t be me. 1 The drive back to the Walker estate was silent. Dean glanced at me several times in the rearview mirror, clearly wanting to speak, but ultimately saying nothing. I leaned my head against the window, watching the blur of sycamore trees rush by. My heart felt like a desolate, quiet field. Five years. That’s how long it took me to finally face one brutal truth: Dean had never truly loved me. I was just a stand-in, a shadow filling the space while Willa wasn’t there. When we pulled up to the house, Mrs. Walker was waiting, welcoming me with a wide smile. “Avery, dear, you’re here! Come wash up, I made your favorite—braised short ribs.” Mrs. Walker took my hand, her smile beaming. I offered a polite, detached, “Thank you, Mrs. Walker,” and followed her into the dining room. My gaze immediately landed on Willa, seated next to Dean’s chair at the head of the table. She was wearing a soft lavender slip dress, her hair loosely pinned up, and an ankle wrapped in a bandage. She was painstakingly attempting to shift her chair. “Willa,” I greeted her flatly, taking the seat opposite Dean. She looked up at me. A flash of something—was it triumph?—crossed her eyes before melting into a look of fragile vulnerability. “Avery, I hear you and Dean checked out the condo today? I’m so jealous,” she sighed, her voice soft. “When Rhys and I got married, we barely had a proper studio apartment…” At the mention of her deceased husband, her eyes immediately welled up. Dean set his fork down. His voice was gentle, laced with concern. “Willa, don’t think about those painful things. Your brother-in-law is here to take care of you now.” I looked down and sipped my water, a perfect outsider. A year ago, I would have slammed my hand on the table and demanded to know whose fiancé he actually was. Now, the desire to even fight was gone. Mrs. Walker quickly intervened. “Eat, everyone, the food is getting cold.” Dean carefully placed a piece of de-boned fish into Willa’s bowl. “You’re hurt, Willa. Fish is good for healing.” She offered a breathy thank you, her gaze flickering subtly toward my face. I took a bite of my short rib, chewing slowly. It tasted overwhelmingly bitter. Finished with the fish, Dean wiped his fingers on a napkin and, without looking up, scooped a chunk of kiwi from Willa’s salad bowl and dropped it onto my plate. The piece was still glistening with fish broth residue. “Avery, you should have some fruit. Vitamins.” I stared at the chunk of kiwi. I am severely allergic to kiwi. Even a trace of it can swell my throat shut. He knew this. He had sat with me in the ER while I was on an IV drip, but he had clearly never cared enough to remember. Before, I would have pushed the plate away, my eyes burning with tears as I launched into a tearful accusation of his neglect. Now, I simply pushed the dangerous piece of fruit to the far edge of my bread plate. “I’m finished.” I put down my napkin and stood up. “Mrs. Walker, I have a headache. I’ll go rest in the guest room.” Mrs. Walker looked surprised, but nodded quickly. “Of course, dear, the linens are all fresh.” As I walked up the stairs, I heard Willa’s soft voice drift up from below. “Dean, this soup is so hot, I can’t hold the bowl steady…” “Don’t move. I’ll feed you.” My foot paused momentarily on the step, but I didn’t turn back. The intimate, bantering tones from downstairs pricked like fine needles on a heart already gone numb. After dinner, I came downstairs, my handbag in hand, ready to leave. Dean was on the sofa with Willa, watching a reality show. He looked up, a slight frown marking his face. “You’re leaving this late?” “I have an early closing at the firm tomorrow,” I said, my tone flat. “I’ll drive you.” He started to reach for his keys. “Don’t bother. I called a ride-share.” “Avery,” he stood up abruptly, his voice tinged with irritation. “What is your problem? You’ve been impossible since the condo viewing.” I met his eyes. My mind was finally crystal clear. “Nothing is wrong. I just saw things clearly.” “What things?” “That you don’t have me in your heart.” He stiffened, his gaze darting away. “Stop being dramatic.” “You know whether I’m dramatic or not.” I gave a shallow, detached smile. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t want you, either.” I pushed the front door open and stepped out. I heard his quick footsteps behind me, but I didn’t pause. Just as I reached the edge of the circular drive, I heard Willa’s panicked, choked voice ring out. “Dean, please don’t leave! My ankle is throbbing! I think the bone shifted…” The sound of his footsteps instantly stopped. The crisp autumn air was sharp, and it quickly dried the sudden wetness at the corners of my eyes. I settled into the ride-share. The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Little fight with the boyfriend?” I shook my head, gazing out at the blur of city lights. “No. Just refusing to play the supporting role anymore.” Back at my apartment, I pulled out my old phone and scrolled through five-year-old text messages. Back then, Dean was an idealistic intern doctor, barely scraping by, and his eyes were only on me. I scrolled through the silent slide show of old photos. The year of the flash flood. I was stranded outside my office building, soaking wet. He gave me his only raincoat, got completely drenched himself, but laughed with a warmth that could melt anything. He was the top of his class; I was a fresh-faced attorney. We were solid. He would get up at three in the morning to make me soup when I was pulling all-nighters on a brief. I said I wanted to see the Aurora Borealis, and he saved his stipend for a year to fly me to the Arctic. He even made a solemn vow: “No matter what happens, you will always be my first choice.” I was naive enough to believe that was my forever. Then, two years ago, his brother Rhys died in a car accident, leaving Willa a widow. I knew Willa was their childhood friend, the quiet benchmark of perfection they both looked up to. Dean said he had to be “like a father” to Willa, fulfilling his duty to his brother. But somewhere along the line, his phone wallpaper changed to a family photo with Willa dead center. He forgot my birthday, but remembered the exact date of Willa’s cat’s neutering surgery. When I was rushed to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy, his reply was a one-word text: Busy. I found out later that night, Willa’s house had lost power, and he had stayed up all night with her because she was afraid of the dark. I finally understood: his devotion had only existed because Willa was married to someone else. I was the comfortable compromise. I was nothing more than a placeholder during his emotional vacancy. The sudden ring of my phone sliced through the quiet. Dean’s name flashed on the screen. I hesitated, then answered. “Be ready tomorrow. We’re going to look at furniture.” His tone was completely authoritative, as if today’s drama had never happened. “Okay.” I hung up, staring blankly at the ceiling. This, I decided, would be my last time playing my part. The next morning, Dean arrived precisely on time. His favorite jazz station was playing softly in the car, and I leaned back, resting my eyes. “How did you sleep?” he asked casually. “Fine.” He noticed my coldness, and his jaw tightened. He started to speak, but stopped himself. Mid-route, his phone rang. The ringtone was exclusive—it was Willa. The moment he answered, his expression turned instantly anxious. “Willa? What’s wrong?” A panicked scream, mixed with the sound of thunder, came through the speaker. I couldn’t make out the words, but Dean’s face went white. “Don’t panic. Lock the doors. I’m on my way!” He slammed the brakes, screeching to a halt on the shoulder of the highway, miles from any exit or town. “Avery, you need to get out and call a cab.” He didn’t even look at me. His hand was already on the door handle. I asked calmly, “A reason?” “Willa’s power went out in the storm, she has extreme nyctophobia! I have to go!” He slapped the steering wheel in his agitation. “Don’t be difficult, Avery. This is an emergency!” Watching his frantic desperation, I remembered his vow: “You will always be my first choice.” It was a worthless promise. It evaporated the moment Willa needed him. I unclipped my seatbelt, pushed the door open, and stepped out. The car sped away, disappearing into the torrential downpour. The sudden storm instantly soaked my trench coat. We were on an isolated access road; getting a cab was impossible. I pulled out my phone and sent my best friend my location. “Come get me. I’m moving out.” Forty minutes later, my friend Sloan’s SUV screeched to a halt in front of me. “Dean is an absolute bastard!” Sloan fumed, handing me a towel. “Dumping you here?!” I was toweling my soaked hair, my expression serene. “Are you really doing this?” Sloan asked anxiously through the rearview mirror. “Five years is a long time…” “Exactly. Five years is long enough. I won’t waste a sixth,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Cutting your losses is required learning for an adult.” Back at my apartment, I started packing. The lace dresses I bought to mimic Willa’s style, the expensive skincare she recommended—all of it went into black garbage bags. I looked at my reflection—no makeup, no pretense. I looked both strange and familiar. For five years, I’d tried to live as another woman’s imitation. Clearing every trace of him was liberating. At eleven that night, my phone buzzed with a text from Dean: Did you make it home? I looked at the three words, thought of his retreating taillights in the rain, and my finger hovered over the screen for a moment before I tapped the button: Block Contact. The world finally went quiet. On Monday morning, I was at my firm to finalize my resignation. I had given notice two weeks earlier; today was my last day. Dean’s hospital was only two blocks from my office. As I walked out of the building, hugging a box of personal effects, I ran straight into him. He looked terrible—dark circles under his eyes, his face etched with exhaustion. Clearly, he hadn’t slept. Dean grabbed my wrist, his grip like steel. “Why did you block me?” “Let go.” “Answer me!” His voice was a dangerous, suppressed whisper of anger. “What kind of game are you playing?” “Dean, we’re finished.” He froze, as if he didn’t understand the language. “What did you say?” “I’m breaking up with you.” I repeated, pulling my hand free. “Excuse me.” “You think this is how you make me compromise?” He scoffed. “This tactic is boring, Avery. You’ll be back when you cool off.” I ignored him, stepping toward the curb. “Stop!” He lunged, blocking my path, his voice low and threatening. “Don’t push your luck.” I looked up at him, feeling nothing but profound exhaustion. “I used to care if you were angry. Now, you’re just noise.” His expression solidified, as if he were seeing me for the first time. “Move. I’m in a hurry.” I hailed a passing taxi. He roared behind me, “Avery, you will regret this!” I got in the car without looking back. The window rolled up, sealing his shocked face outside. Regret? My only regret was not walking away sooner. In the afternoon, I drove to Dean’s hospital. Not for a reunion, but to return his apartment key and parking pass. The nurses at the front desk all recognized me, and I walked directly to his Chief of Staff office. I pushed the door open, and there was Willa, sitting in Dean’s executive chair, idly fiddling with his fountain pen. The cream cashmere sweater she wore made her look elegant and demure. When she saw me, a hint of a victorious smile touched her lips. “Avery? Looking for Dean? He’s on rounds. Do you want to wait?” “No. Just here to drop something off.” I placed the key and pass on the desk. She rose and walked toward me, her voice soft and conspiratorial. “I heard you two booked The Celeste Ballroom at The Observatory for the wedding? The ceiling is stunning.” She paused, a calculating glint in her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to hold a charity memorial for Rhys there, but their schedule is impossible…” “And?” “Well,” she bit her lower lip delicately. “Do you think if I asked Dean, he would give me the date?” I smiled, a cold, empty gesture. “You can try.” She was visibly thrown by my calmness. The door burst open, and Dean strode in. He frowned when he saw us. “What are you doing here?” “Returning the key. Now we’re even.” “Wait,” he stopped me, then turned to Willa. “Willa, can you step out for a minute? I need to talk to her.” Willa nodded sweetly. As she passed, she gently tugged his sleeve. “Dean, the venue I mentioned…” “I heard you. We’ll talk about it later.” His tone was slightly impatient, but he didn’t refuse her. After she left, the air felt thick and heavy. Dean walked up to me, his voice softening. “Avery, stop throwing a tantrum. Let’s talk this out.” “There’s nothing to discuss.” I turned to leave. “Stay right there!” He blocked the doorway. “We are going to finish this conversation now.” I looked up at him, utterly drained. “Dean, I’m tired.” “You’re tired? Go home and rest, don’t cause a scene here.” “Not physically tired,” I pointed to my chest. “Here.” He was momentarily stunned. “For five years, I tried to be the woman you wanted. I wore the clothes you liked, ate the food you preferred—all just to get a single genuine look from you.” “Avery…” “But I understand now,” I cut him off. “You don’t love me. I was just the substitute you settled for while she wasn’t available.” “That is absolute nonsense!” He was genuinely angered now. “Haven’t I treated you well? You have my bank cards, the condo is in your name, what more do you want?” I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. My eyes stung. “Yes, you gave me a lot. Everything but your love.” “Avery, don’t do this!” He softened his tone, reaching for me. “Avery, please believe me, I do love you. But Rhys is only two years gone, and Willa is suffering. I’m just trying to take care of her for my brother.” He stopped, then continued, his focus instantly shifting. “By the way, Willa said she really needs that Celeste Ballroom date for the memorial. It’s vital for her healing. Could we maybe postpone our wedding for a few months? Or switch venues?” I stared at him, suddenly feeling a chilling sense of disbelief and deep irony. “What did you say?” “The wedding is just a ceremony. Our relationship doesn’t need a spectacle to prove itself. Besides, we’re family. Willa’s needs are our family’s needs. Be reasonable.” I looked at him for a long time, until he dropped his gaze, unable to meet mine. “Fine,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Give it all to her.” Dean let out a relieved breath and smiled. “I knew you would understand. After the memorial is over, we can—” “The venue, the wedding cancellation, and you. I’m giving all of it to her.”

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My mom: “Someone’s going to add you on WeChat later. Reject them.” Me: “?” My mom: “He’s a 6’1″ cutie.” Me: “What? Why? Do you think he’s too hot for me?” My mom: “I was chatting with his mom, and I thought she was bragging about her son, so I bragged back that you had a 4.0 GPA, cooked like a chef, did all the housework, were naturally gorgeous, and hated spending money. Who knew she’d actually want you for her son! So remember to reject him.” Me: “…” 1 I added him on WeChat, only to discover it was my ex-boyfriend. Julian sent a message: “When we were together, how come I didn’t know you had a 4.0 GPA, cooked like a chef, did all the housework, were naturally gorgeous, and hated spending money?” I typed, deleted, typed again. “Let me explain… no, let me clarify.” Julian wouldn’t let it go. “Go on, elaborate.” I stammered, “That was just my mom talking nonsense… actually I…” Julian: “Oh.” Early the next morning, my mom dragged me out of bed, muttering, “Hannah, someone’s coming over later. Dress nice, don’t embarrass me.” I rolled over, grumpy. “Who’s coming over this early?” My mom yanked my blanket. “The lady who liked you last time and wanted you as her daughter-in-law.” “She got my number somehow and said she’s bringing her son over for New Year’s greetings.” I woke up instantly. “What… Mom! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” “We need to be prepared for battle!” Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I jumped out of bed and fled into my bathroom. “Mom, remember to tidy up my room!” Looking in the mirror, I saw myself in dinosaur pajamas with a bird’s nest on my head. Good thing I ran fast… Being an 8 AM class girlie paid off. I did a “no-makeup” makeup look in fifteen minutes. Clothes make the man. I put on a Chanel-style suit with fur trim on the cuffs and collar. I even spritzed some of my expensive perfume. Julian had never seen me dressed like this. This should stun him. Knock, knock, knock on my door. “It’s open, come in.” Julian pushed the door open and locked it behind him. I stood up and flashed him a sweet smile. For a second, I saw a flash of amazement in his eyes. Admit it, Julian, you’re obsessed with me. His gaze fixed on me. “Why didn’t you dress like this when we were together?” He stepped closer. Damn, looking at his face, I understood why they say physical attraction doesn’t lie. I pretended to be calm. “Ex-boyfriend, you’re crossing the line.” “This is too ambiguous.” Suddenly, he took a step forward, trapping me between his arms and the vanity table. Eye to eye, Julian chuckled. “But I think you look best without makeup.” I glared at him, about to break free. “Hannah, come help with the dishes!” My mom yelled from the kitchen, startling me. I pushed him away with my freshly manicured hands. “Julian, get away from me.” He acted as if nothing happened and went to the kitchen with me. 2 It was obvious my mom was very satisfied with Julian. At the dinner table, she kept piling food into his bowl until it formed a small mountain. I was so jealous. But Julian’s mom seemed to like me too. During the meal, she kept putting food in my bowl as well. “Hannah, which university do you attend?” Julian’s mom asked. Me: “Auntie, Tsinghua University.” Julian’s mom put down her chopsticks. “What a coincidence! Julian went there too!” “Did you two ever meet at school?” Not only met, we kissed. I answered before Julian could: “Auntie, Julian’s major is near the southeast gate, and mine is near the north gate. We were worlds apart.” Yep, we were familiar strangers. “Besides, he graduated a year ago. It’s hard for us to bump into each other.” My mom was confused. “When did you know what major Xiao Jiang was in? And when he graduated?” I answered seriously: “Uh, he told me just before dinner. Ask him if you don’t believe me.” I looked at Julian for help. Julian raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Hannah and I chatted briefly before dinner.” Seeing our interaction, Julian’s mom started shipping us. “In-law, I think Hannah is not only beautiful but has a great personality.” “And the kids get along well. How about let them get married after Hannah graduates next year?” I almost spat my rice onto Julian’s face. Fast-food marriage? The two moms sat on the sofa holding hands, discussing our “wedding” as if no one else was there. “Young people like living on their own. I’ll buy them a wedding house so they can do whatever they want.” “That way, there won’t be any mother-in-law drama.” “And while we’re still healthy, we can help take care of the grandkids.” No wonder the internet says Gen Z is polarized. Some are getting married and having kids, while others are still sneaking spicy strips in the kitchen at twenty-something. In the kitchen, only Julian and I were left. He didn’t let me wash dishes but wanted me to chat with him. So I rested my chin on my hands, watching his back as he washed dishes. A man doing housework is indeed hot. The next second, I looked up and met his gaze. His eyes flickered, lips curling. “Hannah, are you free this Saturday?” He never plays by the rules. Calling me by my full name means trouble. I looked at him warily. “What do you want?” His smile remained. “Taking you to a banquet on Saturday.” “Mm, you going?” “Yes, of course!” Hesitating for a second is disrespectful to a banquet. Saturday morning, Julian came to pick me up. “Auntie, Hannah and I are heading out.” “Okay, have fun!” Now, both parents assumed we were dating. Maybe that’s the only perk of dating Julian… No need to report where I’m going. But Julian didn’t tell me the banquet was at his house. It was his grandfather’s 90th birthday. I didn’t bring a gift. At the door of the Jiang residence, I felt embarrassed going in empty-handed and tried to sneak away. But Julian caught me. The next second, he grabbed my collar. “Hannah, where are you going?” He narrowed his eyes, voice low. I felt guilty and stammered, “Julian, it’s all your fault. I didn’t even prepare a gift. My mom says never visit someone empty-handed. So, I’m going back.” “No need. I prepared it for you.” Just like that, Julian dragged me inside. I almost dug out a three-bedroom apartment with my toes. “Hey, where’s the gift you mentioned?” “Right in front of you.” The next second, Julian pulled me down to kneel with him. “Grandpa, this is your granddaughter-in-law!” “Good! When is the wedding?” “Next year.” I was dumbfounded. Went to a banquet, got married off? Is Julian getting revenge on me? 3 Actually, my first meeting with Julian was during freshman registration. Among many seniors, I fell for him at first sight and designated him as my orientation volunteer. Back then, the post about the Computer Science God gallantly carrying luggage for a freshman girl went viral on the campus forum. Yes, I had my eyes on Julian. I declared, “This man is mine!” My roommate looked over and shook her head. “Hannah, wake up. That’s Julian Jiang.” “So what?” “Senior girls say he’s ignored every confession so far. He has a famous quote: ‘If you don’t like someone, there’s no need for a story.’ “More importantly, there’s a campus beauty, Lynn, always around him.” That just fired me up. I asked around. Confirmed they weren’t dating. And Julian was in the top major at Tsinghua, known as the “Computer Science God.” Top GPA every year, national scholarships. Excellent genes. Freshman me was ambitious. They say it’s easy for a girl to chase a guy, right? So I pursued him aggressively. Until winter, I followed him everywhere. That winter was exceptionally cold. Julian caught a cold right before a competition and was in bad shape. It was obvious he cared about this competition. I ran up to him mysteriously. “Julian, you look troubled. I heard of a secret remedy for colds. Want to know?” He perked up. “What is it? Does it work?” I kept him in suspense. “Mm, they say it works every time.” “Tell me.” I looked troubled. “Do you… really want to try?” Julian nodded heavily. “Okay!” I looked like I was sacrificing myself. I pulled Julian to a flower bed. “Close your eyes first.” He obediently closed his eyes. I climbed onto the flower bed. Nervous and scared. I just gently pecked Julian’s lips. It was my first kiss. The next second. Unexpectedly, Julian cupped my face and deepened the awkward kiss. Julian won the award, but I got sick. That night, he took me out for spicy chicken pot. I teased him, “Brother, your cold seems completely gone!” “I told you it was a secret remedy. Super effective.” Julian’s ear tips turned red silently. He put a big piece of meat in my bowl. “Shut up.” “After we eat, I’ll buy you medicine.” Back at school, he uncharacteristically dragged me to the track field for a walk. Suddenly, he had a bouquet of roses in his hand. “Hannah, will you be my girlfriend?” “Yes!” And so, we were together. 4 Just as I got up from the floor, Julian’s mom handed me a red envelope. I tried to refuse. “Auntie, I can’t take this.” “It’s fine, take it.” She stuffed a thick envelope into my arms. Julian smiled. “Take it. It’s Mom’s gesture.” “Okay, thanks Mom.” Huh? What did I say? “No, I mean, thanks Auntie.” I ignored the man muttering beside me, “You’ll call her Mom sooner or later anyway.” Soon, all the relatives arrived. The living room was bustling. Julian and I sat in the corner of the sofa, trying to be invisible. But his aunt walked towards us. “Julian, is this your girlfriend?” Auntie was basically the captain of our ship. Before I could say no, Auntie rushed over. “Forgot to introduce her, this is my daughter-in-law.” I pinched Julian’s arm, wishing the floor would swallow me. Julian glanced at me, smirking. “Auntie, this is my fiancée.” My face flushed red. When did I become a fiancée? Afraid I’d be bored, Julian’s mom patted his shoulder. “Julian, go play with Hannah. I’ll entertain the guests.” “Okay, Mom.” Julian led me to his room. The room was minimalist, black, white, and gray, very clean. Cleaner than mine, at least. I leaned against his bookshelf and coughed. “Um, long time no see. How’s work?” “Good. Successful career, just that my partner ran away halfway!” “Oh.” I looked calm but was panicking inside. “Why didn’t you chase her back? Means you didn’t love her enough.” “Because I loved her, I respected her decision.” I looked up and saw the ceramic doll I gave him still there. I pointed at it. “You still have this?” He pinned me against the wall, looking down at me. Julian is 6’1″, I’m barely 5’4″. Under the light, his sharp profile cast a shadow over my face, enveloping me. We were so close. I was nervous, swallowing unconsciously. I shrank back, gathering courage. “Julian, do you still like me?” “Hannah, why are you so dumb? This time, I won’t let you run.” “Why did you break up with me?” I didn’t know how to answer. Guilty, I slipped under his arm and ran home. 5 I thought he wouldn’t come find me anytime soon. Unexpectedly, the next day Julian was downstairs. “What? Harbin? THE Harbin?” On the phone, Julian said he was taking me on a trip and gave me thirty minutes to pack. My mom didn’t object and even helped me pack. “You’re 21, don’t stay home all day. Young people should go out and meet friends.” “Mom, that’s not what you said when I wanted to go to Yunnan with my roommates freshman year! You refused!” “Different situation. With Xiao Jiang, I’m 100% relieved.” “Aren’t you afraid your precious daughter will get taken advantage of?” “If Xiao Jiang likes you, I’m happy for him to take advantage.” “…” Before leaving, Julian emphasized, “Southern potato, you can’t handle the cold. Bring thick clothes.” What’s wrong with being 5’4″? I got angry. Fine, you messed with the wrong fluffy cotton ball. Harbin was popular lately, hotels were hard to book. Julian booked a twin room near Saint Sophia Cathedral. First time sharing a room with a man. Dropped bags, went out. Harbin was a real-life Frozen. Free frozen pears on the street, sliced and plated. Walking near the cathedral, I suddenly wanted to tease Julian. “Brother, take a picture of me~” In the past, Julian was terrified when I called him “Brother” in front of classmates. He’d blush every time. Julian hesitated, then doted, “Okay.” “Brother will take it for you.” Why isn’t he playing by the rules? Julian took me to see the winged horses and the artificial moon. When the hot air balloon rose, we saw the fire reflected in each other’s eyes. “Hannah, let’s get back together!” I nodded. “So why did you break up with me back then?” So he was waiting for this. Beauty is indeed a trap.

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The day I was born, my parents made a bet. If I learned to say “Mama” first, my mother would get all the family assets. If I said “Dada” first, my father would get everything. But no matter how hard they tried, I wouldn’t make a sound. Eventually, they decided I was mute. So they decided to start over with a new kid. I breathed a sigh of relief. In this life, I might finally survive. Because in my first life, I said “Dada” first, and my mother threw me off a high-rise the next day. In my second life, I said “Mama” first, and my father drowned me in the bathtub that very night. 1 My dad frowned, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “She’s five already. Is she really mute?” My little heart pounded in my chest, thump-thump. I pursed my lips tightly. I knew another round of “Teach the Kid to Talk” was coming. My mom shook her head. “I couldn’t have given birth to a mute.” The next moment, they pulled out snacks to bribe me. I stood my ground, though my eyes betrayed my longing for the treats. “Cici, say ‘Dada,’ and all these candies are yours.” “Cici, say ‘Mama,’ the chocolate is super sweet.” I swallowed hard and slowly opened my little mouth. Excitement flashed in my parents’ eyes. They grabbed my arms eagerly. “Finally going to talk! I’ve waited five years for this money!” “That money is definitely mine!” Before I could even speak, they were already arguing. “Ah… ah… ah…” My vocal cords produced only childish, incoherent noises. They took turns squatting in front of me, speaking patiently. “Repeat after me: Mama.” “Dada. No, say Papa…” I tried to mimic them, but no more sounds came out. My dad’s face clouded over instantly. My mom angrily devoured the chocolate in her hand. “Useless. She really is a freaking mute.” As soon as she finished, my dad kicked me. I rolled across the floor like a snowball. When I rolled to my mom’s feet, she kicked me back. “Since the first account is a bust, let’s start a new character?” My mom’s sudden suggestion immediately won my dad’s approval. “You’re smart. Why didn’t I think of that?” As they headed to the bedroom, my mom’s gaze met mine. “Throw her outside. I’m afraid she’ll jinx the next one into being mute too.” Without a word, my dad strode over. He pinned me down with his foot, flipped me onto my back, and lifted me by the neck with one hand. My breathing grew difficult, and stars danced before my eyes. Fortunately, it didn’t last long. My dad tossed me out the door. I sat up on the ground, patting my wrinkled, dirty little white dress. Then I pulled a hidden candy from my pocket and popped it into my mouth. Resting my chin in my hands, biting my lip, I pondered my life. If my parents have another child, will he end up like me? 2 In my first life, I learned to speak early. My dad teased me with a toy. “Cici, say ‘Dada’.” His eyes were kind, filled with the joy of a new father. I called out “Dada” in a milky voice. My dad excitedly picked me up, peppered my face with kisses, and spun me around. “Cici, you really are Daddy’s precious treasure.” I giggled like a little chick. But the next day, my dad got a new girlfriend and kicked my mom and me out. Without a word, my mom took me to the roof of a 25-story building. She handed me a piece of chocolate. “Cici, eat up. After you eat this, you’ll go to another world.” Not understanding her words, I just focused on eating the chocolate. But halfway through, my mom snatched the chocolate and threw it off the edge. My body followed, plummeting along with the chocolate. In my second life, I spoke a year later than before. My parents still patiently taught me every day. Even late at night, my mom would tirelessy come to my room to teach me “Mama.” Under her relentless pressure, I couldn’t take it anymore and finally said “Mama.” My mom, who was eating, threw her bowl aside and danced with me. “Mama knew it! Cici is the best!” She immediately took me to the mall and bought me the prettiest princess dress. That night, my mom went to see her “white moonlight”—her first love. My dad smoked a cigarette, grinning at me constantly. “Cici, Daddy will help you take a bath. It’ll be very comfortable.” The huge bathtub was filled with warm water. The steam flushed my little face red. My dad held my head underwater at the bottom of the tub. He didn’t let go until I stopped struggling. My parents’ marriage was a business alliance. There was no love, only profit. But while my mom was pregnant with me, both families’ businesses suffered a catastrophic failure. Their assets shrank drastically, moving from a villa to an apartment. Both my parents were used to luxury and couldn’t handle hardship. Their remaining assets were still enough for one person to live comfortably. To secure their future, they made a bet the day I was born. Both wanted the money, but because I wouldn’t speak, neither could claim it. 3 “Are you Cici?” An old lady with gray hair, wearing a glittering gold dress, stared at me. I blinked, pursed my lips, and nodded. The old lady hugged me excitedly. “Cici, I’m Grandma. Your real grandma.” “Quick, say Grandma.” My little heart pounded furiously again. If I call her Grandma, will Grandpa throw me in the bathtub? I struggled out of her embrace, lips sealed tight. “Oh my, Cici, what’s wrong?” “I really am Grandma.” Just then, the door clicked open. My dad walked in, head down, muttering curses. “What’s all the noise?” The next second, he got a sharp knock on the head. “Damn it, who’s got a death wish hitting me?” My furious dad looked up, saw Grandma, and instantly changed his tune. “Mom, what are you doing here?” Grandma rolled her eyes at him and elbowed him in the stomach. “Move. Don’t block Cici and me.” Grandma led me back into the apartment by my small hand. My mom walked out of the bedroom, hair messy, looking impatient. Grandma rattled on to me. But I just looked at her blankly, then stared at the candy on the table. Finally understanding, Grandma gave me a piece. I grinned, showing my little tiger teeth, but made no sound. “David, why doesn’t Cici talk?” “And she’s five, why isn’t she in kindergarten?” My parents exchanged glances, communicating silently. Then my mom stepped on my dad’s foot. He yelped in pain before speaking. “Mom, Cici is mute.” “A mute can’t go to kindergarten.” While they weren’t looking, I stuffed a few more candies into my pocket. The three adults argued over me. Sucking on the candy, I walked to the balcony and looked outside. Many kids my age were skipping along, holding adults’ hands, carrying little backpacks. They must be coming home from kindergarten. “What kind of parents are you?” “Cici doesn’t speak, and you don’t even take her to a doctor?” Grandma’s roar startled me. I turned to look at them. My dad scratched his head and licked the corner of his mouth. “Why waste money on a doctor?” “A mute is a mute. You can’t change it.” My dad waved me over. Seeing me stand still, he grabbed me. “Mom, I’m telling you, Cici can’t even cry.” saying that, he started spanking me hard with his large palm. He hit harder and harder. I bit my lip until it bled. But I didn’t make a sound, tears rolling down my cheeks. Seeing this, my mom came over and pinched my thigh viciously. Red marks bloomed on my pale skin. Still, I made no sound. 4 “Enough! Even if Cici can’t speak, she still needs to go to school.” Grandma’s pale face flushed red, probably from anger. My dad patted Grandma’s back, grinning cheekily. “Mom, don’t be mad. She’ll go to school.” “Can our business make a comeback?” Grandma sighed. “Don’t know yet. Still negotiating.” Just then, Grandma’s phone rang in her bag. After taking the call, she left in a hurry. My parents started discussing their business. “Ever since we had this jinx, nothing goes right.” “She definitely dragged down both our families’ businesses.” As they spoke, my mom slapped me. I saw stars again. “David, do we really have to send this jinx to school?” “Won’t everyone know we gave birth to a mute?” “We have to. My mom will be watching.” After weighing the pros and cons, my parents decided to send me to kindergarten. If Grandma’s business recovered and they hadn’t sent me to school, she definitely wouldn’t give them money. Sunshine filled my heart. I can go to kindergarten too. I’ll have lots of playmates. The sound from the TV caught my attention. A man in a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses spoke authoritatively. “The patient has suffered language regression due to a long coma.” “They must speak more, or over time, they might really lose the ability to speak.” I frowned deeply, staring at the man on TV. Actually, I can speak. But to survive, I haven’t opened my mouth. Can I still speak now? “Oho, the little mute relates?” “Look at that face, wrinkled like an old lady.” My dad sneered, and my mom rolled her eyes in contempt. My stomach grumbled gurgle gurgle. I had only eaten a slice of bread and two candies all day. My mom smirked wickedly. “David, let’s go have a big meal tonight, then get a foot massage.” My dad nodded immediately and dragged my mom out. Before I could react, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang. My parents were gone. I climbed onto a chair and struggled to reach the bread on the table. After wolfing it down, I remembered the man on TV. So I walked to the TV and mimicked him. “This herb is called Astragalus, very effective for qi deficiency.” “You can boil it with red dates every day…” I was so immersed in imitating that I didn’t notice the front door opening. Thirsty from talking, I looked for water. But turning around, I saw my parents standing there, giving me a death stare. I trembled all over, legs refusing to move. My parents’ faces were twisted and ferocious, looking terrifying. My little heart felt like it would burst out of my chest. The TV sound buzzed in my ears. Memories of my past two lives flashed through my little brain like a movie. “Cici Sun.” My parents screamed my name in unison. Veins popped on their foreheads, eyes bloodshot. 5 My mom rushed forward, squatted down, and gripped my arms tightly. “Cici, say Mama quickly.” My dad stared at my mom in disbelief, but a few seconds later, he ran over too. He shoved my mom aside, grinning at me maniacally. “Cici, say Dada quickly.” I pursed my lips, tears falling like rain. “Wah!” I started wailing. My parents panicked, trying to coax me. “Cici, don’t cry. Say Mama and I’ll buy you a princess dress.” “Cici, Dada will take you to KFC.” They started a new round of teaching. But I knew, as soon as I said either name, I wouldn’t live. I wiped my tears with my small hands. “I want to eat now. I want to go to kindergarten.” My parents nodded repeatedly, seemingly obeying my every command. “Cici, Daddy will take you to eat good food right now.” “Mommy will take you to a fancy restaurant and buy Cici dresses.” Speaking, my dad snatched me up and rushed out the door. “David Sun, stop right there! Give Cici back!” My mom chased after us in her high heels, ignoring her image. Lying on my dad’s shoulder, I giggled at my mom. The table was piled with food: fries, cola, burgers, fried chicken. “Cici, eat up.” My dad smiled until his face wrinkled, looking like a loving father. My mom grabbed my wrist from the side. “Cici, Mommy will take you to a high-end restaurant.” I shook my head, rejecting my mom. I devoured the feast before me. My parents argued endlessly. After eating, I patted my round belly and burped. “Cici, are you full?” My dad looked at me fawningly. I nodded. “Good. Say Dada for me.” “David Sun, you’re dreaming.” “Thinking you can take all the assets with one KFC meal? Keep dreaming.” Soon, their verbal argument escalated to physical conflict. “I want a backpack.” My childish voice interrupted their fight. This time, my mom grabbed me and ran. “Cici, Mommy will buy it for you.” But soon, my dad caught up. My parents took me shopping for the first time. They fought to buy me backpacks, stationery, and clothes. When we went home, we had bags big and small. Grandpa Neighbor couldn’t help but exclaim. “The Suns treat Cici so well.” My parents’ faces flushed simultaneously, maybe from what adults call shyness or shame.

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Ten minutes before the International Swimming Championship finals, my childhood sweetheart destroyed the entire team’s gear. She slashed every swimsuit, snapped every pair of goggles. Why? Because her “male bestie” had just tested positive for doping and was disqualified. If we lost this race, it would be a national disgrace. In my past life, to save her from the committee’s wrath, I called in every favor my wealthy family had to air-freight new gear at the last second. I even forced myself to swim in her bestie’s spot for the singles race just to buy time. We won. She accepted the awards as the “resilient captain.” Her bestie, Skyler, eventually moved to the provincial team, got caught doping again, and was banned for life. Distraught, he ran into traffic and was crushed by a truck. She blamed me. Two months later, right before the World Cup, she injected a lethal dose of stimulants directly into my veins. “If you hadn’t forced Skyler to drink that stuff back then, he wouldn’t have been banned. He wouldn’t have died!” she screamed, her mask of calm shattering. “You stole his trophies and caused his death. You’re the one who deserves to die!” My heart exploded in my chest. When I opened my eyes, I was back in the locker room. Ten minutes before the finals. This time, I’m not saving anyone. I want to see how they survive without me as their life raft. 1 I woke up to the sound of shouting. Opening my eyes, I saw our team’s hothead, Mike, poking Skyler hard in the chest. “Skyler, you’re the one who got disqualified! But now Serena destroyed everyone’s gear because of you! None of us can race!” “The prize money is gone! Our careers are toast! How are you going to pay for this?!” Skyler was backed against a locker, neck stiff, denying everything. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t dope! It’s a testing error!” Mike was furious. “You failed the appeal and two re-tests! You still dare call it an error?” He raised a fist, ready to swing, but Serena rushed in and blocked him. Skyler, who had been acting tough a second ago, immediately turned red-eyed and weepy the moment he saw her. The teammates were seething. “Serena, if you guys want to quit, just leave! We want to win for our country!” “This is the International Championship! How are we supposed to swim naked?” Serena shielded Skyler like a mother hen. She lowered her voice to comfort him, then turned to the team with a self-righteous glare. “We are a team. Skyler was framed. You should be helping him appeal, not worrying about your own races.” Her twisted logic stunned everyone. But since she was the team captain, they all turned to look at me—the vice-captain. “Lucas, we’re on in ten minutes. What do we do? We never should have let Skyler join. Since he got here, everything’s gone to hell!” Serena cut him off sharply. “The bad luck is because you didn’t train hard enough, don’t blame Skyler.” “Besides, the coach approved his entry. If you have a problem, take it up with the coach.” The teammate muttered a curse, shooting a resentful look at me. “It’s all because of Lucas. Bringing these two disasters into the team.” Great. Once again, I’m guilty by association. My family, the Sterlings, are wealthy. The Vanderbilt family—Serena’s family—approached my parents when we were kids, saying Serena wanted to swim too. We were engaged since childhood. My parents were happy to help. So, my family paid double to let my professional coaching team train her. We dragged her all the way to the National Team and made her captain. We were practically inseparable. Both families called each other “in-laws,” waiting for us to retire and marry. Then, Skyler appeared in her circle. For this guy, Serena ordered my coaches to waste their time training him, barely scraping him past the qualifiers to get him on the team. She talked about him constantly. If I showed even a hint of displeasure, she’d snap: “Skyler and I are just friends. Stop being so dirty-minded. If you’re going to be jealous, at least be logical.” In my past life, I believed her. When she destroyed the gear, I tried to save both her reputation and Skyler’s career. My reward was a needle in my arm and a stopped heart. This time? I’m done. The childhood bond is over. I looked down and sent a text message, instructing my family to contact a swimming equipment supplier. Then, I spoke calmly. “You’re right. After this competition, I will formally request a re-evaluation from the coaches. Anyone who doesn’t meet the standards gets kicked out.” Serena looked at me in shock. Skyler panicked. They knew. Without my protection, Skyler wouldn’t last five minutes in a real assessment. Someone slammed the table. “Forget the assessment! The race is starting! No suits, no goggles, we don’t even have caps! We’re going to lose by default.” “The live broadcast is on. The whole world is going to see us forfeit.” “It’s not just embarrassing; it’s a national humiliation. We’ll be nailed to the pillar of shame forever.” Serena’s pupils contracted. She bit her lip nervously. Skyler tugged her sleeve. “Serena, what do I do? My whole family is watching. If they find out I was disqualified, they’ll kill me.” Serena turned back to comfort him. “Don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll handle it.” She stepped forward, putting on her captain’s face. “There’s a rule. If the whole team signs a joint petition, a disqualified athlete can be reinstated.” “I can fix the gear situation, but you all have to sign the petition to get Skyler back in.” Skyler’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude. A teammate asked, skeptically, “Easy to say. The gear is shredded. We’re in a foreign country. How do you fix that in ten minutes?” Serena lifted her chin, pointing confidently at me. “Lucas’s uncle owns a sports equipment company in this city. He can have professional gear delivered immediately!” 2 I sneered internally. Just like the last life. She volunteered my resources to clean up her mess. What she didn’t know was that my uncle had pivoted his business to tech last year. He didn’t have swimming gear anymore. Last time, when I explained this, she screamed at me: “Lucas, I know you hate Skyler, but is this really the time for games?” “The race is starting! Can’t you be the bigger man? Don’t put your jealousy above national honor!” And Skyler had chimed in, “Yeah Lucas, beat me up later if you want, but help the team first.” Back then, I was too panicked to see they were gaslighting me. But I’m not stupid anymore. “My uncle’s company pivoted last year. They don’t do sports gear anymore.” The locker room erupted in despair. “It’s over. We’re dead.” Serena frowned, shouting at me, “Lucas! This is the International Championship, stop joking!” Skyler added, “Lucas, bro, even if you hate me, think about the others.” The team looked at me, eyes filled with blame. Seeing them try to shift the pot to me again, I pulled out my phone, opened a news article about my uncle’s business pivot, and showed it to them. “I am thinking about the team. That’s why I’m calm. But I’m not the one who tested positive for drugs, and I’m not the one who shredded the suits. Why are you blaming me?” “I trained day and night since I was a kid to bring glory to my country. Who knew I’d run into sabotage from within?” Serena looked away, guilty. Knock, knock. Staff shouted from outside: “Ten minutes!” On the TV monitor, the crowd was roaring. Banners with our names were waving in the stands. Usually, this would pump us up. Now, teammates were cursing. “We have to go out there naked at this rate.” “Just my luck to be on a team with you lunatics.” “One dopes, the other destroys our gear for a man. If you want to date, go do it outside! Why ruin our careers?!” A fight broke out. Serena shielded Skyler, screaming, “Stop! Even if we miss this, there are other ways to go pro!” “Lucas! Your family is rich. Make your dad start a private swim club and sign everyone!” I blinked. “We’re talking about the race. What does a private club have to do with anything?” Serena held up five fingers. “If you all sign the petition for Skyler and tell the committee the gear was an ‘accident’… I’ll guarantee you a salary of $500,000 a year.” The number stunned everyone. “$500k? Lucas, is that true? Your dad would do that?” I frowned. She was trying to drag the Sterling family down with her. A national team failing internationally, then immediately getting signed by my family for huge money? It would look like a massive conspiracy. “Serena, who are you to make decisions for the Sterling family?” Serena smirked. “We’re engaged. You’re the only son. Your family’s money is basically mine, isn’t it?” 3 So that was her plan. Eating the inheritance before I’m even dead. I laughed, glancing at a shocked Skyler. “Oh? You’re announcing our engagement publicly now? Didn’t you say you wanted to keep it secret so your dear Skyler wouldn’t be sad?” Serena’s face darkened. “Skyler and I are just friends. Your mind is dirty.” Before Skyler could speak, a teammate snapped. “Who cares! Lucas, just tell us, can you guarantee the contracts?” “If you can’t, Serena and Skyler are paying for this with their lives!” Serena shouted, “I guarantee it!” The team looked at me. I threw up my hands. “I didn’t say it. I can’t guarantee anything.” “You…” Serena started. Suddenly, the Coach burst in. “Why aren’t you warming up?! Five minutes! Why aren’t you changed?!” A teammate pointed at the pile of shredded fabric in the corner and quickly explained. The Coach’s face turned purple. “Are you insane?! This is national honor! This is everyone’s career!” “My career is ruined because of you two psychos!” Skyler cried, “Coach, I didn’t dope! It’s a mistake!” Serena stood tall. “Skyler was framed. I did this to force you to take it seriously!” The Coach ignored her, frantically making calls. But with minutes left, in a foreign country, it was impossible. He pulled his hair out, screaming, “It’s over! My career is over!” The despair in the room was palpable. “My parents are watching. If I walk out without a suit, they’ll disown me.” “This is a major violation. The committee might ban us for four years.” “Four years…” Silence. An athlete’s prime is short. Four years is a death sentence. A girl started sobbing. A male teammate clenched his fist. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!” He punched Serena in the face. Chaos erupted. Serena screamed, “My dad can sign you too!” Everyone stopped. She pulled out her phone, muttering, “The Sterlings have money, the Vanderbilts have money too! I’ll make my dad start a team. $500k each, just don’t blame me!” “Dad! Start a swim team! Sign my teammates! Five hundred thousand salary each!” On speaker, her dad’s voice roared: “You useless idiot! Did you offend the Sterlings? They just cancelled every contract with our company! I can’t even pay our debts, where the hell am I getting money for you to waste?!” 4 The call ended. Serena gasped. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Lucas! You did this!” I shrugged calmly. “I just told my dad that you only wanted to marry me to eat my inheritance. That you were a gold digger.” “Maybe… my dad felt your motives were impure and cut ties.” Serena’s face flushed red. “Who said I’m a gold digger… You did this on purpose! You want to see our careers destroyed!” I pointed at the security camera on the wall. “Don’t twist the facts. The camera saw who shredded the suits. You and Skyler are the ones destroying careers.” Teammates, faces pale as death, turned on them. “That’s right! You ruined our lives! I’m calling the committee right now.” “No!” Skyler snatched the phone away. “No one calls until my results are overturned!” Suddenly, the TV screen announced the start of the Men’s 400m Freestyle. That was Skyler’s event. His name wasn’t even on the screen. Skyler let out a strangled scream. “It’s over… it’s completely over…” Serena held him up. “There’s still the relay! There’s still a chance!” Gritting her teeth, she faced the team. “Gear or not, we go out there. Even if we lose.” “I promise, if you help Skyler get reinstated and keep your mouths shut, I will give you each $500,000 after the competition.” Someone sneered. “Your dad just said you’re broke. Where’s the money coming from?” “I have my ways.” I raised my voice. “Then write a promissory note. Everyone signs.” “Yeah! Write it down! Or we don’t believe you!” Cornered, Serena nodded. By the time the 400m freestyle ended, Skyler was sobbing at the TV. But everyone else held a handwritten IOU from Serena. “Okay? Now go appeal before the relay starts!” She dragged Skyler toward the door. The others hesitated. “What are you waiting for?” Serena turned back to see me blocking the door. “Lucas, what now?” I smiled and signaled my teammates to step aside. The door opened. Several delivery men walked in carrying two large crates. Inside were brand new, professional-grade swimming kits. The team cheered, rushing to find their sizes. “Where did these come from?” I bent down to grab my kit. “I asked my uncle to pull some strings with other suppliers. Late, but just in time.” Serena’s face lit up with relief. She pulled Skyler over. “Lucas, I knew you wouldn’t abandon us. Since you helped, our families’ partnership should be restored, right?” But the boxes were empty. Everyone had a suit. Except Serena and Skyler. “Where are ours?” I laughed. “So sorry. My uncle could only find this many.” “Coincidentally… we’re exactly two short.”

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After I accidentally friend-zoned my eighth blind date, my mom finally couldn’t take it anymore. She set me up with a guy who was mute. When I got there, I realized he wasn’t just anyone. He was my old high school classmate—the one who rejected my confession senior year. … 1 My dad died young, leaving my mom to raise me and my brother alone. We both graduated and established successful careers, but when it came to our love lives, we were both hopelessly single. My mom started to panic. Every holiday, she’d scramble to set us up on blind dates. At first, I was resistant. The idea of marrying a stranger sounded insane. But my brother was different; he embraced it quickly. At his peak, he’d go on three dates a day—breakfast date, lunch at home, then back out for more. I didn’t get it. It was baffling. “How do you do it?” I asked him. He smirked. “You don’t get it. At our age, how many people are actually doing this voluntarily? We add each other on WeChat, go through the motions, and as long as we hit our KPI, our parents stop nagging.” As he spoke, he was mass-texting those girls. I looked closer. He was asking if they wanted to buy insurance. “Master,” I said, “I am enlightened.” 2 Watching my eighth blind date turn into another insurance lead for my brother, my mom couldn’t sit still anymore. She sat down next to me, peeling a tangerine, and started her pitch: “Auntie Liu recommended a guy. Heard he started his own company. Parents are professors. Very easygoing.” “I’ve seen his photo. Looks bookish and handsome. You should meet him tomorrow.” I didn’t take it seriously at first. I considered myself a veteran of blind dates. But when she promised this would be the last one, I agreed immediately. Mom’s frown turned into a beaming smile instantly. She shoved the peeled tangerine into my hand. “But Auntie Liu said the boy has a disability. He’s mute. You talk a lot, so watch your mouth.” Mute. Suddenly, I thought of someone. My brother, lying on the sofa next to us, burst out laughing first. Mom slapped him. “What are you laughing at? If you try to sell insurance to this girl tomorrow, I’ll break your legs.” He begged for mercy, still laughing. Mom turned back to comfort me. “Just get to know him first. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But I heard he went to No. 1 High School too. Maybe you were schoolmates.” I ate the tangerine silently. My brother perked up. “No. 1 High? What’s his name?” Mom thought for a while but came up blank. “Sigh, I forgot. Why do you ask?” “Just asking. What if he’s our Hannah’s first love?” I kicked him. “No love happened. Don’t talk nonsense.” 3 Caleb Chen. 4 Outside, the night was quiet except for the wind rustling the leaves. It was already autumn in Riverdale. I suddenly remembered that Caleb Chen had transferred to our class during an autumn just like this. No. 1 High was a key provincial school, strict about grades. The “Rocket Class” (honors class) constantly shuffled the top fifty students. People dropped out, people moved in; every major exam brought new faces. But Caleb was special. He couldn’t speak. So the homeroom teacher sat him next to me. Her reasoning: I talked too much, he talked too little—we’d balance each other out. I thought it was interesting. Back then, I was young and energetic, bursting with 800 random thoughts a second that I needed to share. And Caleb was the only one who would quietly listen. He was always patient, always accepting. If I leaned in slightly, he knew I was about to speak and would turn his face to listen earnestly. I still remember his smiling eyes every time we made eye contact. Thinking of this, I unconsciously smiled. When I snapped back to reality, my phone screen had already jumped to the chat history with “Good Luck Charm.” 5 “Good Luck Charm.” That was the nickname I gave him. I swore back then that it would bring him better luck. I wondered if he had indeed become luckier over the years. The chat history stopped on the Dragon Boat Festival, where he sent me a “Happy Dragon Boat Festival.” Looking back, our conversations over the years were pitifully sparse. Mostly him sending generic holiday greetings. Sometimes I replied with a “Same to you.” Or I was too lazy to reply at all. I stared at his profile picture for a while, then backed out. Why open the chat? To tell him, “My mom set me up on a blind date today, and he reminds me of you. I thought of you again.”? Crazy. 6 The date was set at a dessert shop in an alley. It was a bit secluded and hard to find. But I loved this place; I was a regular. Unexpectedly, my date had similar taste. On the phone, Mom was still nagging anxiously: “He’s wearing a white shirt, blue jeans, has bangs, no glasses, sitting by the window.” I turned the corner, about to walk to the front door. Suddenly, I froze. Through the glass door, an all-too-familiar figure sat there. For a moment, my heart seemed to skip a beat. I asked my mom, “Mom, what’s my date’s name again?” She thought for a moment. “Caleb Chen.” Caleb Chen. 7 Getting set up with the boy I liked in my youth… I didn’t know if I should call myself lucky or unlucky. When I pushed the door open, Caleb looked up. I raised an eyebrow, sat down in front of him, and asked the obvious: “Long time no see. What are you doing here?” Sunlight hit Caleb, making him seem to glow. He paused, then subconsciously signed a few gestures at me. Short, looked like a brief sentence. Before I could ask “What does that mean?”, he realized his mistake and pulled out his phone to type. His fingers were long and slender, tapping quickly on the screen. He paused to think, deleted some words, and typed again. Finally, he showed me a very polite sentence. “Long time no see. Heard from Auntie Liu that you like this shop, so I picked it.” I glanced at him and couldn’t help but laugh. “Caleb, Auntie Liu doesn’t care what shop I like.” 8 Auntie Liu lived in the same building as us, practically a neighbor. When she came to find my mom, I was in my room flipping through a dusty sign language book. I had taught myself sign language for a while. And since I have a good memory, I quickly found the meaning of the signs Caleb made at noon. He said: “I was waiting for you.” The night light by my bed flickered softly, illuminating the page. I was silent for a few seconds, then couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Can’t speak, but sure knows how to lie.

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Dad’s secret family of eight years was finally discovered by Mom. She vowed to cut ties with him, even if it meant leaving with nothing. This time, I stopped her. Because I was reborn. Dad has a terminal illness and is about to die. As long as we outlast him, all his assets will belong to Mom and me. 1 “Joy, if Daddy and Mommy separate, do you want to live with Mommy?” When Mom asked me this question again, I finally didn’t hesitate. I told her firmly, “Mom, don’t divorce him.” Mom’s eyes reddened. “Do you know that your father’s illegitimate child is only six months younger than you? How can I swallow this? If we divorce, out of sight, out of mind. Come with Mommy, okay? Mommy only has you.” “Mom, no!” “Why?” she asked. Because I was reborn. In my last life, when Mom and Dad divorced, to fight for my custody, Mom left the marriage with nothing, giving up all the property. The house, money, and company that Mom and Dad built from scratch all fell into the hands of that mother and son. Two months after the divorce, Dad died of terminal stomach cancer. He let Mom know about their existence only because he was dying. He wanted to pave the way for his illegitimate son but couldn’t bear to let Mom take half the assets. He insisted on my custody, and Mom, to take me with her, had to give up the wealth they had built together for years. The moment he got the divorce certificate, he married the mistress. After his death, the mistress and her son legally inherited all his assets. As for Mom and me, the mistress drove us to extinction. Mom’s attempts at starting a business or finding a job were all ruined by them. Even when she set up a street stall, they hired thugs to target her. To raise me, Mom had to work as a hostess, eventually falling into the sex trade. The mistress tortured Mom for ten years. Finally, on my 18th birthday, Mom jumped from a 21-story building. After Mom died, the mistress didn’t let me go. She paid people to bully me at school, twisting the truth to say I was the illegitimate daughter and Mom was the homewrecker. Orphaned and isolated, I was hit by a speeding truck on a dazed night and died. The capital used to besiege Mom and me came from the assets the mistress inherited from Dad. In this life, I will protect Mom and not let that scum succeed. 2 “Mom, do you believe in dreams?” I recounted everything that happened in my past life to Mom. Mom murmured to herself, “I wouldn’t objectify myself to do such lowly things, nor would I leave you behind.” I know, but when backed into a corner, who can guarantee they won’t grab the only straw available, even if it’s covered in filth? Disheartened by Dad’s betrayal, Mom had neglected the company. Dad took advantage of this time to feign trying to keep Mom, making her think he still had feelings for her. Meanwhile, he consolidated control over the company while Mom was distracted. Mom was skeptical, but her love for me was bone-deep. Even if it was just a dream, she would verify it. Mom went back to the company. In the evening, she and Dad came back together. Dad’s face was tense and ugly. I approached him, “Dad, are you a dirty cucumber?” Dad was so angry his chest heaved, unable to catch his breath. “Netizens say a cheating man is like a dirty cucumber; you can’t use it no matter how much you like it.” Mom covered my mouth, “Stop surfing the web so much, don’t talk nonsense and learn those dirty things.” I nodded quickly. Mom let go, and I asked again, “Mom, Dad, will you still get a divorce?” Mom smiled, “Of course not. Mommy has forgiven Daddy. Our family of three will be fine.” Dad’s face turned green and purple. He scolded me a bit and went to his room without dinner. Mom’s phone pinged. She went to shower, and I expertly unlocked her phone. The mistress, Wanda, came to provoke Mom. She sent Mom photos of her and Dad being intimate. Her words goaded Mom to divorce Dad quickly. She called Mom a hen that couldn’t lay eggs, mocking Mom for not being as open as her and not pleasing Dad. She claimed she and Dad were true love, and if Grandpa hadn’t forced Dad to marry Mom, they would be the rightful family. I replied for Mom, “I don’t believe it. Your photos are photoshopped, right? I remember Old Yuan has a big mole on his left buttock, but your photos don’t show it.” Wanda actually sent a spicy video. To provoke Mom, it was a 360-degree HD video. The big mole on Dad’s left buttock was very clear. Disgusting. Fighting the urge to vomit, I downloaded the original photos and video, sent them to my account, and deleted the chat history. After dinner, I opened my laptop, imported the video and photos. I applied heavy mosaics to Dad and Wanda’s private parts and posted them on my Moments (social media feed). Caption: “Auntie says her technique is good, and Mom isn’t as open as her. Now Dad dislikes Mom and wants a divorce. What should I do? Joy doesn’t want to be a child without a father (Crying Emoji).” I’m not even nine yet. Posting this kind of stuff shouldn’t land me in juvie, right? 3 Dad played the emotional card with Mom, while Wanda provoked Mom to divorce quickly. Nice calculation. I knew Dad would be angry, but I didn’t expect him to be this furious. He slapped me so hard two of my teeth flew out. God, it hurt so much. But compared to the excruciating pain of being crushed by a truck, this slap was a drizzle. Mom pounced on him, scratching his face into a bloody mess. He ordered me to delete the video, and I obediently did. But deleting it was useless. After a night, who knows how many people saved their video? My Moments friends include several aunties who are always surfing the forefront of gossip. I believe their combat power won’t disappoint Dad. Dad scolded Mom, “Look at the good daughter you raised!” He slammed the door and left. My mouth was full of blood. Mom cried and wanted to take me to the hospital. I refused. “Mom, when in trouble, find the police uncle.” Mom felt sorry for me and wanted to take me to the hospital first, but I dragged her to the police station. Holding a mouthful of bloody water all the way, I finally spat it out inside the station. With blood in my mouth, I tremblingly extended my hand to a pretty police auntie, holding my two teeth. “Auntie, Joy wants to report a crime…” Dad had smooth sailing for so many years; this must be his first time in a police station. And for beating his own daughter. Successful and spirited as he was these years, he had never lost face like this. His face turned green and purple, changing colors. I lost two teeth, and my face was swollen like a soaked bun. The police auntie said my injuries warranted administrative detention. If Mom and I insisted, Dad could be detained for five days or fined. Locking Dad up was exactly what I wanted. It bought Mom five more days. Dad brought up my posting his private video. I quickly pulled out my kid’s phone, opened the video of Wanda and Dad, turned the brightness to max, and showed the uncles and aunties present. “This is the video Dad talked about. The auntie said Dad likes her technique, she gave birth to a son for Dad, and told Mom to divorce Dad quickly. Although Dad is a rotten cabbage, Joy doesn’t want Dad and Mom to divorce. Joy doesn’t want to be without a father. Joy just wanted to ask the family on Moments for advice…” Speaking of the sad part, my tears flowed like two rushing rivers, washing over my swollen cheeks. If there were a crack in the floor, I believe Dad would have buried his head in it immediately. After an awkward silence, the police uncles and aunties kindly explained that posting such dirty things on Moments is illegal. But because I was young and ignorant, and deleted it in time, they just gave me a verbal warning. Now everyone knew about Dad’s betrayal and despised him even more. Because Mom and I insisted, with the facts laid out, Dad had to sing the iron bars blues for five days. 4 Trading two teeth for five days of time for Mom felt worth it. Now wasn’t the time to pity me. After seeing the doctor, I persuaded Mom to go to the company. And told her that several key positions in the company were held by Wanda’s relatives. Mom didn’t dare delay. She asked a friend to find two strong female bodyguards to take care of me, then rushed to the company to handle things. Dad could be considered what the internet calls a “Phoenix Man”—rising from a poor background. He only had a widowed mother who worked hard to support his education. Mom’s family wasn’t particularly well-off either, but Grandpa’s work unit had allocated him an apartment. The apartment was in the city center, a decent location. After Mom and Dad graduated and married, Grandpa sold the apartment to give them capital. With this money, they grew a small mom-and-pop workshop into a factory now worth nearly a billion. Although Mom is very smart and handles company matters with ease and organization, she values relationships heavily. In my past life, Dad used himself and me to play the emotional card, coaxing her into leaving with nothing. Mom thought she could start over. But the world changes fast. With me as a burden and Wanda chasing her down, let alone starting a business, even feeding us was hard. Children always seem to be the weakness of most mothers. If not for me, how could Mom willingly give up the fruits of her years of hard work? I don’t want to repeat the tragedy of my past life. In this life, it’s my turn to protect Mom!

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