Author: Momo Chan

The day Vivian Blackwood demanded a divorce for that celebrity—again—was the day I finally gave in. The hand holding her cigarette froze mid-air. After a beat, a smirk played on her lips. “What’s this? Playing nice for a change?” “Found out that throwing a fit gets you nowhere, so you’re trying a new tactic?” I slipped the wedding band from my finger and placed it on the table between us. My voice was steady. “No. I’m just done fighting.” 1 After a long, heavy silence, Vivian stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. She leaned against the wall, her voice a low, casual drawl. “It’s not that I’m in a rush, you know.” “It’s just that Kevin’s career is really taking off.” “And you constantly harassing him… it’s just so tiresome, darling.” I didn’t answer. With deliberate, careful strokes, I signed my name—Leo Vance—on the divorce agreement. Only then did I look up. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” Vivian’s relaxed posture stiffened slightly. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought. Then she pushed herself off the wall, a new, almost imperceptible edge of irritation in her voice. “Good. See that it doesn’t.” “Otherwise… you know the consequences.” An involuntary shudder ran through me. The last time she’d pushed for a divorce, I had shattered. In a fit of despair, I leaked the explicit, taunting photos Kevin had sent me. Vivian’s response was swift and brutal. She sued me for defamation. Her fans doxed me, plastering my personal information all over the internet until I was forced into a humiliating public apology. I remember the look on her face in the courtroom when the verdict was announced. She watched me crumble with the cool, detached air of a spectator, utterly in control. Then she’d leaned in, a triumphant arch in her eyebrow, and whispered, “Darling, pleased with the outcome?” It’s strange. The memory was a suffocating, soul-crushing pain back then. But now, thinking back on it… My heart was a flatline. All I felt was a bitter, mocking irony. As I walked out the front door, luggage in hand, I glanced at the plane ticket in my pocket. It finally dawned on me, with a slow, creeping sense of finality. I was finally letting go of the love that had wrecked me. 2 On the massive screen in the city square, Kevin Reed grinned, the picture of confident charm in a luxury brand ad. The image blurred, merging with the memory of a snarling, defiant boy who had clawed his way into my life to tear it apart. Vivian had been right about one thing. Kevin’s career was on a meteoric rise. The leaked photos, far from damaging him, had been spun into a victory. His “unapologetic honesty” was hailed by his fanbase as the mark of a “fearless modern man.” But the first time I knew—truly knew—about Vivian’s affair, it was because Kevin himself had made sure of it. That first discovery sent me into a blind rage. I stormed the Blackwood family estate, determined to make every single one of them see the filth Vivian had dragged their name through. In the fallout, our friends all gave me the same advice. Be the bigger person. Let it go. But I couldn’t. I hated her. I hated Vivian for her betrayal, and I hated her for turning me into this hysterical, raving lunatic. While I was falling apart, she was out living her life, wrapped around her new plaything. I refused to give in. I wouldn’t be the one to quietly disappear. Then the paparazzi caught them, photos of them checking into a hotel splashed across every tabloid. The scandal was massive. To protect Kevin’s career and reputation, Vivian did the unthinkable. She went public with their relationship. Every entertainment headline was a fairytale spin: “Heiress Finds Love with Rising Star.” It was the final blow. I snapped. I stormed into her corporate office, screaming, shouting, a man possessed. Vivian, ever the strategist, calmly had Kevin escorted out, which only fueled my meltdown. I grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from her desk and threw it, splitting her forehead open. I called her trash, a whore who belonged in the gutter. When the storm of my fury finally broke, she stood there, blood trickling down her face, her expression unreadable. “You’re right,” she said, her voice ice. “I am trash. I did cheat. If you can’t handle it, then divorce me!” The words hung in the air, stunning us both into silence. But I was the first to break it, my voice raw and torn, more unhinged than ever before. “Why the hell should I divorce you?!” “Why should I make it easy for you and that little parasite?!” “Vivian, you and he can spend the rest of your goddamn lives branded as the cheating bitch and the homewrecker you are!” 3 We didn’t speak after that day. Vivian stopped coming home altogether. The only updates I got on her life were from Kevin’s smug social media posts, each one a carefully curated tableau of their love. Battered from all sides, I made a desperate, scorched-earth decision. I posted our marriage certificate online, laying bare the truth of their affair. But before the story could even gain traction, Vivian moved against me. She paid off my mother’s specialist, a top surgeon, ensuring he remained “unavailable” abroad, effectively holding my mother’s life hostage. Then she gave me her ultimatum: retract my statement and publicly declare the marriage certificate a fake. The moment I understood what she had done, the blood drained from my face. I was so numb with shock I didn’t even register the triumphant smirk on Kevin’s face as he stood beside her. A strangled cry tore from my throat. “Vivian, you know her condition! You know she can’t wait!” “You know this will kill her!” “How could you be so cruel?” But she was unmoved, calmly lighting another cigarette. She waited until I was an exhausted, sobbing heap on the floor. Only then did she extinguish the flame. “Darling,” she said, her voice devoid of all warmth, “don’t ever expect me to go easy on you.” “Now, go make your statement. Don’t ruin him.” In that moment, a vise clamped around my heart. The world went gray. I was a fish gasping on dry land, suffocating in a world without air, without hope. I couldn’t believe the woman standing before me was the one I had once loved. And that was the day I truly decided it was over. 4 But the humiliation was far from finished. My mother’s life was on the line. I had no choice. I went online and confessed to the world that the marriage certificate was a forgery, that I was a jealous, obsessed liar. To this day, the comment section of that post is a cesspool of hatred directed at me. “Dude, are you that desperate for attention?” “Psycho. Can’t believe he’d lie about our boy Kevin being a homewrecker. What a pathetic piece of trash.” “Someone needs to slap some sense into this guy.” “I’ll chip in five bucks for the crowdfund.” “Ten from me.” … I moved through those days in a fog, a walking ghost. My only refuge was my mother’s bedside, where I could pretend the world outside didn’t exist. But even without seeing the internet, my mother knew something was wrong. My gaunt face and hollow eyes told a story I couldn’t hide. One afternoon, she sighed, her hand frail in mine, and started talking about the past. About me and Vivian. The love of your youth is always the purest. In high school, Vivian had a crush on me, but she was too insecure, too proud to ever say it. Instead, she’d follow me from a distance every day, a silent guardian making sure I got home safe. Until the day a group of thugs cornered me. Vivian launched herself at them to protect me. They broke three of her ribs, but she never relented, shielding me with her own body until they gave up and left. After that, falling in love was as natural as breathing. This was before the Blackwoods claimed her. She was still just a scrappy girl living with her grandmother, perpetually hungry and wearing clothes that were little more than rags. It was my mother who helped her, slipping her money for food, even paying her school fees when she couldn’t. And now, my mother’s past kindness had become the knife twisting in my gut. She had no idea what her son was enduring. Looking at her face, growing more fragile each day, I thought, Let it be. This is enough. At least I still have my mother. At least I haven’t lost everything. But fate has a cruel way of toying with those who are already broken. 5 When the hospital called with the news that my mother was critical, I ran. I raced for the hospital like a madman, only to be swarmed at my own front door. Kevin’s fans. They had found my address. They surrounded me, a self-righteous mob hungry for justice. I couldn’t break through. Panic clawed at my throat, my eyes burning with unshed tears as I tried to explain, to plead with them. But no one listened. “Wow, still living in your little fantasy world? How pathetic can you get?” “You had a lot of nerve slandering Kevin. Who are you crying for now?” In the struggle, someone shoved me hard. “Just apologize, you loser!” I stumbled and fell, landing hard on the pavement. I heard a snicker from the crowd. The sharp pain in my knee was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Defeated, I gave in. Like a puppet on a string, I faced their phones and cameras and began to apologize. “I was wrong. I was delusional.” “I’m so sorry for what I did to Kevin. It was all my fault.” “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The mob, their crusade won, finally dispersed with triumphant smiles. “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?” But by the time I scrambled to my feet and rushed to the hospital, it was too late. For a split second, I thought I was trapped in a long nightmare. A dream where, when I woke up, I would still be a little boy curled up in my mother’s arms. A dream where I had never met Vivian Blackwood, never been ground into dust by a world that despised me. But reality delivered the final, fatal blow. I had chosen the wrong person to love, and it had cost me my mother’s last moments. 6 That day, I knelt by her bedside and cried until there were no tears left. The nurse who had cared for her told me my mother’s last words. “She kept calling your name at the end.” “She said… she said that whatever reason you had for not being here, she didn’t blame you.” “She just wanted you and your wife to be happy together.” I clutched my mother’s cold, still hand, sitting on the floor in a stupor, the silence of the room pressing in on me. The days that followed are a blur. The trip back to my hometown, the cremation, the funeral. Finally, I sat alone in the quiet memorial hall and made one last call to Vivian. At the very least, she should pay her respects to the woman who thought of her even at the end. When she answered, I realized my voice was a raw, unrecognizable rasp. “Mom’s gone,” I said. But the voice that came through the line wasn’t hers. It was Kevin’s, bright and sickeningly cheerful. “Well, congratulations.” “Vivian’s a bit busy right now, though. We’re planning our next ‘couple goals’ post for Instagram. Can’t keep the fans waiting.” In the background, I heard Vivian’s muffled voice, “Who is it?” I ended the call. I sat in that hall all night, a silent vigil with the dead. Then, with a calm I hadn’t felt in years, I returned to the city. I bought a plane ticket. Liquidated my assets. And agreed to Vivian Blackwood’s divorce. 7 Let the past be the past. Before boarding, I sat in the airport lounge and set my final revenge in motion. I was never the type to go down without a fight. I packaged up all the incriminating corporate data I had gathered and sent it to Vivian’s biggest rival. Once the wire transfer confirming my payment hit my account, a strange sense of peace washed over me. Online, the storm of hate against me still raged. Every trending topic seemed to feature my face photoshopped into some new, grotesque meme. And pinned to the top of Kevin’s profile was the sanctimonious post he’d made the day I was forced to recant. Kevin Reed: What goes around, comes around. Throw all the mud you want. I’ve never been afraid of a fight. The comments were a sea of sycophantic pity. “So unlucky for Kevin and Vivian to get tangled up with this creep. My heart goes out to them.” “This is how a real man handles things. That other guy trying to ruin his reputation with dirty tricks isn’t a man at all.” “Kevin is too kind. He should have sued him into oblivion.” A cold, humorless smile touched my lips.

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1 All because he lost a game of truth or dare, my husband made out with his secretary in my car. When she sent me the video, I forwarded it straight to him. “Is Cole Industries going bankrupt, Landon? Can’t even afford a motel room for your affairs? Has to be in my car?” His reply came as a voice message, his tone thick with post-coital satisfaction. “This was a business arrangement, Sophia. Did you really think I was your husband? It was a dare. Can’t you even handle a game?” A cold smile touched my lips. Fine. I would make him understand. When you do something you shouldn’t have, you pay the price. … I immediately put a hold on the massive overseas contract Cole Industries was set to sign next week. A moment later, my phone lit up with a barrage of calls from my husband, Landon Cole. My secretary handled every one of them. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cole. Ms. Ingram is in a meeting.” He wanted to play the silent game? I could play, too. It didn’t take long for the door to my office to be kicked open. Landon stormed in, slamming his palm on my desk. “Sophia, have you lost your mind? That’s a three-hundred-million-dollar deal! You’re going to bankrupt my company over a stupid dare?!” The typically cool and composed CEO of Cole Industries, losing control like this over a secretary. I set down the financial report I was reading and met his furious, distorted gaze. “You have fifteen minutes.” Ten minutes later, a picture arrived on my phone. The interior of my Maybach was spotless, undergoing a professional deep clean. I immediately notified our overseas division. “The signing proceeds as planned.” Then, I sent Landon a photo of my own. The Patek Philippe watch he treasured was smashed to pieces. His favorite limited-edition collectible was submerged in a filthy mop bucket. “This was a dare, too, Landon. Remember my boundaries. This is just a warning. Cross them again, and you’ll face consequences you can’t even imagine.” Silence from his end. I knew he was incandescent with rage. But I was angrier. He was the one who pushed for our families to merge through marriage. He was the one who rejected the idea of an open relationship. For six years, we went from polite respect to a genuine partnership. Especially after our son was born, I poured everything I had into our family, ensuring both Ingram Corp and Cole Industries flourished. I thought we would support each other until we were old and gray, ready to retire from our empires. But he was the one who shattered our stable, happy life. That temporary hold on a three-hundred-million-dollar deal was just a taste of what was to come. 2 That night, for the first time in our marriage, Landon didn’t come home. The next day, I walked into the Cole Industries headquarters and took the executive elevator straight to his floor. The reception area was empty. Our secretaries were usually stationed here. I hadn’t brought mine today, but where was his? Brazen laughter drifted from his office. Through the blinds, I saw his secretary, Chloe, dutifully blow-drying his hair. Landon was leaning back in his chair, relaxed, chatting and smiling with her. He had always been a man who valued his personal space, who never let anyone but me linger in his office. But the tenderness he showed Chloe now was a dagger to my heart. Even more glaring was the custom silver necklace sparkling on her neck. It was the one he had picked out for me on his last business trip, my birthday present. Chloe was just an intern. She could sell every organ in her body and still not afford a single diamond chip on that chain. I pushed the door open. Chloe dropped the hair dryer as if electrocuted, quickly smoothing her hair. “Ms. Ingram, what brings you to this part of the building?” I gave her a glacial look. “I’m the General Manager of this company. I don’t need an intern’s permission to be here.” “Now go get the head of HR. I have some questions about the company’s new, lowered hiring standards.” Chloe shot a desperate look at Landon. He gestured for her to leave, to wait out the storm. As she turned to go, my voice stopped her, cold and sharp. “Take off the necklace.” She froze, her hand flying to her throat as she looked pleadingly at Landon. My eyes were locked on him. “Explain. Why is my birthday present on her neck?” “I still have the deposit receipt in my desk drawer.” Landon’s expression soured with impatience. “She’s my secretary. She represents my image.” “You threw a fit and had my car professionally cleaned just because she sat in it, making her a laughingstock. What’s wrong with me giving her a necklace to help her save face?” “Your own secretary wears custom-tailored suits you paid for, doesn’t she?” I scoffed. “My secretary is a woman of substance who earns her compensation through merit. What has this… thing… done to deserve anything?” I pointed a finger at Chloe. “Or is it because she’s just that good at servicing her boss?” Landon’s face turned to stone, fury blazing in his eyes. “It’s just a necklace, Sophia! A compensation for the trouble you caused her!” “I’ll buy you a better one for your birthday, alright?” 3 I laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “A custom piece? Her? What part of her status makes her worthy?” “Landon, one’s actions should always match one’s station in life.” I took a step closer, my voice dropping to an icy whisper. “A son-in-law of the Ingram family is expected at high-society events.” “But for a Mr. Cole to get an invitation to those same circles… money alone is not enough.” He erupted. “Sophia, we have important work to discuss! Chloe has put an immense amount of effort into this deal. I need you to leave, now!” He was shouting at me. For this worthless creature. “Fine,” I said with a chilling smile. “Let’s see what your brilliant secretary is really capable of.” Landon, fuming, slammed the contract down on the table and stormed out. Chloe shot me a triumphant smirk before trotting after him on her high heels. Before the sound of their footsteps faded completely, I made a call. “Proceed as planned. Make sure Mr. Davidson gives them a warm welcome.” Then, I ordered a coffee and settled into a chair by the floor-to-ceiling window. I’d barely taken two sips when my phone rang. It was Landon. His screaming was so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “Sophia, you manipulative bitch!” “Davidson tore up the contract in front of everyone! He called Chloe a common club girl who slept her way to the top!” “He even mocked me, called me a kept man living off his wife’s power, trying to have his cake and eat it too!” “This was you! I was blind to ever marry you!” I calmly set down my cup. “People will say what they want. How can I control that?” “If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.” Before I could finish, he shrieked. “The deal is dead, and Chloe ran off in tears! Are you satisfied now?” The corner of my mouth lifted. “Satisfied? I’m just putting things back in their proper place.” He hung up. I called HR and had every trace of Chloe Vance erased from the company. I thought I had given Landon enough dignity, enough of a chance. If he would just behave, we could move on. But he had no intention of taking the lifeline I offered. 4 Our son was burning up with a fever, clinging to me. I stayed home with him, holding his hand through the IV drip, trying to distract him with toys. When Landon prepared to leave, our son’s small voice stopped him. “Daddy, don’t go!” Landon hesitated for a moment, then sat back down. Seeing the happy smile on my son’s face, I felt a flicker of reassurance. Maybe giving him another chance was the right thing to do. But the shrill ring of his phone shattered the moment. It was Chloe, her voice thick with tears. “Mr. Cole, someone’s following me! The internet is full of people calling me a homewrecker, a gold-digger, a slut!” “Is Ms. Ingram trying to drive me to my death? Please, just tell her I’ll stay away from you. Tell her to leave me alone!” I didn’t even look up, continuing to build a block tower with my son. I expected Chloe would face some backlash, but she was exaggerating. Landon, however, reacted as if he’d been electrocuted. He slammed his phone onto the coffee table with a crash. Our son burst into tears, terrified by the sudden noise. Instead of comforting him, Landon pointed a shaking finger at me. “Enough, Sophia! I am sick and tired of you playing games with people’s lives, acting like you control everything!” “You already got rid of Chloe, why won’t you just leave her alone?” “I may have married you, but I didn’t sell myself to you! You don’t get to control every aspect of my life!” My own temper snapped. “If you want to scream, get out!” I pointed to the door. “Don’t you dare scare our son!” He let out a cold, bitter laugh. “You want to destroy her, Sophia? Fine. I’ll be the one to protect her.” He turned his back on our son’s wailing cries and slammed the door behind him. I watched him go, my gaze hardening. He had truly lost his mind. After getting our son to sleep, I opened my laptop. The morning’s gossip about Chloe the homewrecker had vanished. To protect this trash, Landon had actually deployed the company’s PR team. Pathetic. I was about to close the laptop when I saw it. An official statement from Cole Industries. It praised Chloe’s professional excellence, condemned the “malicious rumors,” and threatened legal action. At the same time, a message from HR popped up on my phone. Landon had officially promoted Chloe to Manager of Operations, complete with an executive office and a vice president’s benefit package. My secretary forwarded me a screenshot of Chloe’s latest social media post. A picture of her in a designer gown, the infamous necklace glittering at her throat, a picture of pure, smug victory. I looked at the messages and let out a soft, cold laugh. Alright, Landon. If you’re so determined to prop up this parasite, don’t blame me for what comes next. After setting my plans for Cole Industries in motion, I rushed home, only to find my son gone. I frantically questioned the nanny, who told me with a trembling voice, “Sir… Sir came back. He took the young master…” The rage I had been suppressing finally erupted. My secretary tracked Landon’s location to an amusement park, and I drove there as fast as I could. I saw them ahead. Landon and Chloe, whispering intimately to each other, completely oblivious to our son stumbling to keep up behind them. His little face was flushed with fever, slick with sweat. His voice was a choked, pleading sob. “Daddy… slow down… it hurts… wait for me…” A vicious smile touched Chloe’s lips. Casually, she stuck her foot out. Thump. My son fell hard, the shock silencing him for a moment before he let out a heart-wrenching wail. Landon instinctively moved to help him, but Chloe spoke first, her voice dripping with faux innocence. “Oh, Mr. Cole… do you think he dislikes me so much that he’d fall on purpose and pretend to cry?” At her words, Landon froze, his hand dropping. He looked down at our son with disapproval. “Auntie Chloe was nice enough to bring you out to play, and you’re faking falls? Why are you being so difficult?” I flew toward them like an arrow released from a bow, scooping up my son, who was now sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. Fury threatened to consume me whole. Landon’s face paled. He stammered, “Chloe said I shouldn’t have left him when he was sick… she suggested bringing him here to make it up to him…” I stared at him, my eyes like chips of ice. “A two-year-old with a fever. What could he possibly do at an amusement park?” “Watch you two lovebirds parade around? Or get deliberately tripped by your whore?” The air went still. Chloe’s triumphant smirk froze on her face. Landon’s pupils contracted, his expression shifting from shock to anger. “Sophia, don’t twist our good intentions! We were just—” I cut him off, clutching my terrified son to my chest. “Landon, I want a divorce.”

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A year after my breakup with Nathan, we ran into each other at a maternity shop. He was standing in the formula aisle. When he looked up and saw me, a flash of panic crossed his eyes. “I’m buying formula for my son,” he said, his voice a little strained. “He’s six months old.” “Congratulations,” I replied softly. He seemed taken aback. “You don’t hate me?” How could I not? But in that moment, as I felt the flutter of life in my own womb, the absurdity of my past self became painfully clear. A year ago, he had left me for another woman’s pregnancy test, and I had pathetically prayed that I, too, could get pregnant just to keep him. All that soul-crushing desperation, the feeling that he was the only one for me, now seemed like nothing more than a self-indulgent obsession. “It’s all in the past.” 01 After I spoke, I turned to leave. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Thea, wait…” I glanced down at his hand, then gently pulled mine free. “Is there something you need?” “It’s been a long time. Do you want to grab a coffee?” He pointed to the corner café just outside the shop, his tone tentative. “It’s right there. Still the same one you used to love.” He remembered. I could spend an entire afternoon sipping cappuccinos at that café, watching the shadows of the sycamore trees from the window seat. We had spent countless weekends there—me reading, him working, occasionally looking up to share a smile that would last for ages. But that was a long time ago. So long it felt like another lifetime. “No, thank you.” I said it quietly and turned toward the checkout counter. Nathan quickly fell into step beside me, a note of urgency in his voice. “Thea, you’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” “No.” He stopped. “Then why…” “There’s just no need.” I cut him off, enunciating each word with calm precision. “Nathan, there’s nothing left for us to say.” His expression shifted, his lips parting as if to argue, but I didn’t give him the chance. I walked past him to the register. The cashier smiled as she took my basket and began scanning the items with practiced efficiency. Prenatal vitamins, maternity formula… Nathan stood a short distance away, his gaze fixed on the pregnancy products piling up on the counter, his brow furrowing deeper with each item. By the time I left the shop, the sky had darkened. The clouds hung low and heavy, the air thick with the oppressive heat that comes before a storm. I pulled out my phone to call a car, but the screen lit up before I could. “Honey, it’s about to rain. Where are you? I’ll come get you.” His voice was full of warmth and concern, an undisguised affection that made the corners of my mouth lift into a smile. “I’m at the maternity shop on South Street.” “Stay put. Don’t wander off. I’ll be there in five.” “Okay.” Just as I hung up, a black Mercedes pulled up to the curb. Nathan got out and walked over to me. “Let me give you a ride.” I shook my head. “That’s okay. My husband is coming to pick me up.” The moment the word “husband” left my lips, Nathan’s pupils contracted. He stared at me for a few seconds before forcing a complicated smile. “You’re still trying to get back at me.” His voice was filled with absolute certainty. He thought I was using a fictional “husband” to make him jealous. He thought I couldn’t let him go. He thought… I didn’t bother to explain. I just looked at him calmly. “You’re overthinking it, Nathan.” He acted as if he hadn’t heard me, continuing his own monologue. “Thea, there shouldn’t be this much distance between us.” Distance? I almost laughed out loud. Who was it that threw a fake marriage certificate in my face and told me coldly, “We were never legally married”? Who was it that signed the papers to have me committed to a psychiatric hospital when I was at my breaking point? And who was it that, when I needed him most, chose Ava and the child in her womb? And now he was saying there shouldn’t be distance? “Nathan.” I looked at him, my voice soft but every word sharp. “Do you know what creates distance?” He stared at me, confused. “Distance is for people who still have feelings left to protect.” I offered a small, empty smile. “But between you and me, there are no feelings left.” “So it isn’t about distance, and it isn’t about forgiveness.” “We’re just strangers.” 02 A year ago, I cut a business trip short to surprise Nathan. Instead, I walked into a scene that would haunt my nightmares. In the living room, Nathan’s hand rested gently on the swollen belly of another woman. It was Ava. My sister. Both sets of our parents were there. “Ava is already five months along,” Nathan’s mother said, her tone laced with reproach. “When are you going to give her and the baby the legitimacy they deserve?” Ava quickly shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “Please, Mrs. Cole, don’t pressure Nate…” She bit her lip, her voice catching in a sob. “I just wanted to give him a child. He still loves Thea the most.” Nathan’s mother sighed, patting her hand. “You’re too kind, dear.” My own mother echoed the sigh. “But a child needs a proper name, a proper family.” She looked at Nathan’s father. “What do you think we should do?” He was silent for a moment before turning to Nathan. “What are your plans for Thea?” I held my breath, waiting for his answer. “We’ll keep it from her for now.” “We’ll tell her after the baby is born.” In that instant, the keys slipped from my hand and clattered onto the floor. Every head in the room snapped toward the doorway. Toward me. The color drained from Nathan’s face. “Thea? What are you… You weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.” Ava stood up, starting toward me. “Sister, let me explain…” “Explain what?” My eyes were glued to her stomach, the prominent, taunting curve of it. “Explain that you’re carrying his child?” Tears streamed down Ava’s face. “Sister, I’m so sorry, I never wanted this, but…” I walked over to her and slapped her, hard. The sound echoed in the silent room. Ava cupped her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. Nathan’s mother shot to her feet, shielding Ava. “Thea! Have you lost your mind?” “She’s pregnant! What if you hurt the baby?” I started to laugh. A broken, hysterical laugh that brought tears to my eyes. “I’ve lost my mind?” I pointed at myself, then at them. “Yes, I must be crazy to have let all of you fool me for so long!” Nathan reached for me. “Thea, calm down, let me explain…” “Don’t touch me!” I shoved his hand away with a strength that surprised even me. “Nathan, what right do you have to touch me?” He froze, his hand suspended in mid-air. I looked at him, the tears finally breaking free. “How long were you going to hide it? Until she gave birth? Until the baby had his name on the birth certificate?” Nathan’s lips moved, but no words came out. His mother stepped forward, her face a mask of disapproval. “Thea, have you made enough of a scene?” “You can’t have children. Is the Cole family line supposed to end with you?” “Ava was kind enough to help you, and this is how you repay her?” But I was the one who couldn’t have children because I had saved his life. 03 The day Nathan got his driver’s license, he was as giddy as a child. “Thea, I’m taking you for a drive!” He grabbed my hand, his eyes shining with excitement. I laughed and agreed. The entire drive, he talked about our future. Then, a truck lost control and came hurtling toward us. It was loaded with steel rebar. I saw it getting closer and closer. There was no time to think. On pure instinct, I unbuckled my seatbelt and threw myself in front of Nathan, shielding him with my body. The rebar pierced through me. Pain. So much pain I couldn’t even breathe. Nathan’s face was covered in blood. My blood. His mouth was moving, shouting something, but I couldn’t hear him. I could only see his tears, falling one by one. All I could think was, Thank god. Thank god Nathan is okay. The surgery was a success. But the doctor’s face was grim as he looked at my chart. “Her uterus is severely damaged. The chances of a natural conception are less than five percent.” In that moment, I saw the expression on his mother’s face change. She quickly pulled Nathan out of the room. Lying in my hospital bed, I could hear their argument in the hallway. “What are we going to do…” “The Cole family can’t be without an heir…” His father’s voice was calm. “Ava is the family’s biological daughter. She and Nathan are a much better match, really.” “Enough!” Nathan’s voice cut them off. He burst back into the room and came to my bedside, taking my hand. “I told you, I’m only marrying Thea.” His hand was warm, almost feverish, his eyes red-rimmed. His mother followed him in. “Nathan! You can’t…” He cut her off, his voice resolute. “Mom, Thea took that hit for me.” “Without her, I’d be the one lying in this bed.” “I won’t marry anyone else.” He looked at me, his eyes full of conviction. “Thea, as soon as you’re better, we’ll get married, okay?” I nodded, tears streaming down my face. Back then, I thought he truly loved me. I didn’t know it was all just part of a long deception. I should have seen the signs. The day I was discharged from the hospital, Ava moved into their house under the pretext of taking care of me. She learned to cook Nathan’s favorite dishes better than I could. She learned to brew his father’s favorite tea more skillfully than I could. She even learned to play mahjong with his mother, a game I didn’t even know the rules to. His mother was always praising her. “Ava is such a wonderful girl.” And my own parents would always say, “Thank goodness we found Ava again. What would this family do without her?” In that house, I was the outsider. 04 My eyes were red as I screamed, my voice raw. “I will never acknowledge that child!” “I will make sure that child is forever known as a bastard!” Nathan stood there, his eyes fixed on me. “Thea, he’s not a bastard.” I froze. “What do you mean?” “We have a marriage certificate. Ava is the mistress, which makes the child a bastard…” “The ceremony three years ago was a sham,” Nathan interrupted. “The officiant was an actor I hired.” “Our marriage certificate… it’s fake.” My mind went blank. The photos, the official-looking seal, the signatures… All fake? “That’s impossible.” I whispered, “We were… we…” Nathan looked at me, his expression unreadable. “You won’t find our names in any official registry.” His mother approached, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Thea, don’t blame us.” “This is for the good of both families.” “Look, now Ava is having a baby. The Cole family has an heir. Isn’t that wonderful?” Ava hid behind Nathan, whispering, “Sister, I know you’re hurting.” “But Nate needs a child.” “I didn’t have a choice.” As she spoke, fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, making her look like the victim whose happiness I was trying to destroy. My parents stood to the side, silent. I could see a flicker of guilt in their eyes. But in the end, they chose silence. Because Ava was their biological daughter. And I was just the one they had adopted. “Fake.” I mumbled the word, my voice growing louder. “It was all fake, all of it…” Nathan reached out to steady me, and I shrieked. “Don’t touch me!” Like a madwoman, I started grabbing anything I could find and hurling it at him. Vases, picture frames, teacups… Anything within reach became a projectile. Ava cowered behind him, watching me with terror in her eyes. His mother frowned in disgust. “Has she gone completely insane?” Insane? Maybe. Maybe I really was insane. How else could I have been foolish enough to believe him for three years? How else could I have believed I actually had a family? Nathan lunged forward and wrapped his arms around me. The next day, I was admitted to Spring Mountain Psychiatric Hospital. At first, he would visit. Then, his visits became less and less frequent. During that time, I even started to hallucinate. I kept thinking I had a child. Maybe if I had a child, I could pathetically hold on to Nathan. My phone buzzed, pulling me from the memory. A message from my doctor with my latest ultrasound report. 8 weeks gestation, fetal development is normal. I smiled and saved the report. It reminded me of how I once carefully saved a marriage certificate. A certificate that turned out to be a lie. But this report was real. My marriage is real. And the baby in my womb is real. The doctor’s “less than 5% chance” had become a reality. It wasn’t a miracle. It was Wyatt. He found the best traditional medicine specialists in the country, and for a year, they painstakingly helped me heal. It was Wyatt who spent a whole year convincing me that I could still have a complete life. “Thea.” Nathan opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a black Maybach glided to a stop beside us. The door opened, and Wyatt stepped out. He walked straight to me, pulling me behind him and shielding me from Nathan’s gaze with his own body. “Mr. Cole,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Please stay away from my wife.”

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1 My best friend, Ben, finally stopped laughing long enough to send me the picture of the man my wife was leaving me for. The reason for his half-hour-long laughing fit wasn’t just the affair itself. It was because her new man wasn’t some decorated four-star general, nor was he a billionaire CEO with a summer home in the Hamptons. He was a motor pool driver, nearly forty, who was my inferior in every conceivable way—education, background, and appearance. At first, I thought it had to be a sick April Fool’s joke. But when I confronted Eleanor with the photo, she calmly produced a set of divorce papers. “I failed you in the first half of my life, Ethan,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “I can’t fail Liam in the second.” Her next words were a clean, brutal slice: “You can have the assets. I’m choosing him.” My own expression remained flat. I pulled out my phone, opened the calculator app, and did a quick tally of our properties, stock portfolio, and luxury cars. Then, I signed the papers with a steady hand. “I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.” … Exactly twenty-eight minutes had passed from the moment Eleanor confessed her affair to the moment I handed her the signed divorce agreement. According to our terms, the military base housing assigned to us and my related base privileges would remain under my control. She would pay me a one-time settlement of three million dollars in compensation and child support. From that day forward, our son and I would have no further contact with her. When I handed her the papers, Eleanor was in the middle of a video conference, a strategic briefing of some kind. The two silver stars on each of her shoulders gleamed under the lamplight as she glanced up, her eyes catching the words “Divorce Agreement.” She held up a hand, pausing the meeting. “One moment,” she told the screen, before turning her gaze to me. She gave a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment, and I left her study. To speed things along, I packed all of her personal belongings myself. Five large suitcases in total. I was meticulous, not wanting to miss a thing. I even cleared out the storage room, carefully packing away the medals and commendations from her years at West Point. The last thing I saw was the wedding photo hanging on the wall. In it, Eleanor stood tall and proud in her dress uniform, while I, in a crisp white suit, held her tightly in a sun-dappled birch forest. Back then, her arms were always wrapped around me, her voice a warm whisper in my ear. “I’ll love you forever, Ethan.” “Marrying you was the luckiest day of my life.” We met at West Point. She was a freshly commissioned officer, and I, despite having my own share of admirers, fell for her instantly. She was independent, honorable, and beautiful—everything I wasn’t, everything I admired. We married right after graduation, and I watched as she climbed the ranks, from a junior officer all the way to Major General. To support her meteoric rise, I put my own ambitions on hold, becoming the perfect military spouse. I managed our home, our life, and took care of her with unwavering devotion. As her rank increased, so did the frequency of her field exercises and deployments. I filled my days with grocery runs and gym sessions, maintaining my physique while she was away. But she never neglected us. No matter how exhausted she was, she’d come home and help our son with his homework, take walks with me, and use her influence to smooth over the petty politics of base housing. To everyone else, we were the model military couple. I don’t know when it started, but her “weekend exercises” began to stretch, sometimes bleeding into entire weeks where she was completely off the grid. Ben had even joked about it. “Man, you better keep an eye on her. Things can change.” I’d brushed it off, but a seed of doubt had been planted. I’d dropped off documents for her at the base a few times. Everything seemed normal. Her staff officers were always buried in work, and that man—Liam Carter—was always there in the background, driving his truck between departments, delivering supplies, occasionally lending a hand. He was a man approaching forty, not handsome by any means. He wore his uniform well, his hair cut in a sharp military buzz, and he spoke with a friendly, Midwestern sort of charm. He’d even poured me a cup of tea once, polite and unassuming. Over the years, I had braced myself for this possibility. I’d pictured her leaving me for a general’s son, a handsome young captain, or even a dashing war correspondent. The one person I never considered was the truck driver from the motor pool. I’d heard he had been married once before, to another soldier. This was his first job after the divorce, and he was known for his work ethic. He volunteered for extra shifts, was friendly to everyone, and his colleagues liked him. Some of them even asked him to pick up groceries for them on his runs. I remember telling Eleanor about it once, saying he seemed like a hardworking guy and that she should look out for him. Her response was always cool, detached. “The military doesn’t run on favors, Ethan. I’ve already told my staff to stop asking him for personal errands.” At the time, I thought she was just being a stern, by-the-book General. Looking back, I realize she was probably just upset that Liam had to run errands for others after a long day of work. The reason she chose today to confess was simple. I had made her a bowl of warm soup, a ritual for whenever she returned late from an exercise. She stared at the bowl, her brow furrowed slightly, then gently pushed it away. After a long silence, she looked up at me, her eyes clouded with weariness, and asked if we could get a divorce. She admitted it had been going on for three months. She’d been using the breaks between her field exercises to meet him. My heart felt like it had been pierced by a thousand tiny needles, but I forced myself to maintain my composure. I asked who it was. When she said the name “Liam Carter,” I was sure I was hearing things. A wave of numbness washed over me, a strange, aching paralysis that spread through my limbs. 2 By the time Eleanor finished her meeting and came out of the study, I had finished my workout, ironed my uniform for the next day, and was sitting on the balcony, reading a book. As if nothing had happened. She went to the bedroom to change and, out of habit, called out from the walk-in closet when she found it empty. “Ethan, where are my Class A’s?” I didn’t turn around. “Packed. Wear yesterday’s uniform if you don’t mind. You’ll be throwing it out soon enough anyway.” A long, heavy silence was her only reply. When she emerged, she finally saw the five suitcases stacked neatly by the front door. She came and sat beside me, her finger tapping the divorce agreement on the table. “The settlement… I’ll transfer two million now. The rest will be in installments—” I cut her off. “No. I want it all at once.” I paused, then added, “I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to have any lingering ties to me.” A flicker of confusion crossed her face. “He’s my son too, Ethan. I have a right to be part of his life.” “I know I’m in the wrong,” she continued, her voice gaining a defensive edge. “I’m willing to compensate you, but don’t you dare use our son as a bargaining chip.” I set down my book and looked her straight in the eye. “You’re the one who had the affair. The settlement and child support are what I’m owed. Considering your income, keeping the house is hardly greedy of me. As for our son, I’m the one who’s been there for him his entire life. He’s a sensitive boy who needs attention. How much of yourself can you honestly give him while you’re in the throes of a new romance? Being a parent is about more than just money. It takes time and patience.” She was speechless, cornered by the truth. Finally, she managed, “Regardless, I won’t let three million dollars sever my relationship with my son.” I picked up the agreement. “The three million is for the settlement and his upbringing. If you want to provide anything extra, you can transfer it directly to his trust fund. I’ll have a separate account set up for him.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped her lips. “I never knew you were so obsessed with money, Ethan. It’s all you talk about.” “And what about love?” I shot back, my voice dangerously quiet. “What good did that do me?” She had nothing left to say. Her face was a grim mask as she snatched a pen and signed the papers. She then informed me we had an appointment at the base’s Legal Assistance Office tomorrow to file the official application. With that, she called for her aide to come collect her things. I finished arranging a vase of flowers and went to bed. When I woke the next morning, she was already gone. Our son, Leo, came running out of his room and jumped into my arms, chattering excitedly about a dream he’d had about visiting the Air and Space Museum. As I listened, I gently tested the waters. “Mommy has a really important training exercise coming up. She might be away for a little while.” Usually, this news would be met with tears and protests. But this time, he just grabbed his tablet to video call her. “Mommy, when are you coming home?” he asked. “I’m going to be busy for a while, sweetie,” her voice came through the speaker. He just nodded, his little lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s okay. As long as I have Dad, it’s enough.” My composure shattered. My throat closed up, and I couldn’t speak. Making an excuse about breakfast, I fled to the kitchen, fighting back tears. Agreeing to the divorce was painful, but the guilt of not being able to give my son a complete family was what truly gutted me. Even though I knew I wasn’t the one who broke it. After dropping Leo off at school, I met Eleanor at the legal office. We filed the paperwork. Thirty days. In thirty days, we’d have the final decree, and it would all be over. 3 I had just gotten back to the house when a message popped up from a young clerk in Eleanor’s unit named Sam. He was a cheerful, outgoing kid, the kind everyone liked. He asked if I was busy. When I said I wasn’t, he launched right in. Are you and the General getting a divorce? I didn’t deny it. Is it because of Liam Carter? I didn’t answer. I figured Eleanor must have told people. Seeing my silence, Sam sent a string of crying emojis. Dude, I knew it! It’s because of that guy! No wonder you haven’t been bringing us your famous brownies lately! I miss them so much! Back when Eleanor and I were happy, I used to bake for her unit almost weekly as a thank you for their hard work. Some of the younger soldiers would joke they’d never leave the army just so they could keep eating my pastries. It’s okay, I typed back. I’m thinking of opening a flower shop. When I do, you can come by and I’ll give you a free bouquet. Sam cheered up instantly, demanding the address. I told him I’d send it later. He was fine with that, but then the complaints started again. You have no idea what a jerk Liam has become. Right after you stopped coming around, he got promoted from driver to head of the motor pool. His whole attitude changed. He used to smile at everyone. Now he just nitpicks and finds fault with everything. He’s not even trying to hide how smug he is. And get this—he bought the same brand of watch and jacket as you. It’s so obvious. What does the General even see in him? He finished by saying if he didn’t love the uniform so much, he’d request a transfer just to get away from the guy. I was at my front door by then. I sent him a few comforting words, and he finally, reluctantly, ended the conversation. At this point, I found I didn’t have the energy to dissect Liam’s motives anymore. It was a stark contrast to the moment Eleanor confessed, when a frantic, desperate need to understand his appeal had consumed me. I pushed open the door and was surprised to see Eleanor’s boots in the entryway. She was on the floor with Leo, helping him build a complex model airplane. “Dad!” Leo shouted, his face lighting up. “Come on, let’s race and see who can finish their side first!” In the past, Eleanor would have scooped him up, spun him around until he giggled, and then pulled me into a hug. The house would have been filled with laughter. Now, she just cleared her throat and patted Leo’s head. “Daddy’s had a long day, sweetie. He’s tired. Maybe next time, okay?” “Okay,” Leo mumbled. “Mommy, when will you be done with your exercises?” Eleanor paused, then said softly, “As soon as I can,” before shooing him off to get ready for bed. After a long day working on plans for the flower shop, I had no energy to play games with her. “Lock up on your way out,” I said, heading for my room. “I promised Leo I’d stay and sleep here tonight,” she said quietly. I didn’t argue. I had just closed my bedroom door when I heard her phone ring in the living room. Her voice was low as she answered, repeating a few reassurances. Then, her tone sharpened with barely concealed irritation. “I told you, I’m just staying with Leo! What are you so worried about? We’ve already signed the agreement! How many times do I have to explain that we’re sleeping in separate rooms?” A moment later, I heard the sharp click of the call ending. Then, a soft knock on my door. “Ethan,” she said from the other side. “Something urgent came up at the base. I have to go back. I’ll… I’ll try to come see Leo again tomorrow.” I didn’t open the door. “Okay,” I said, just loud enough for her to hear. She wasn’t even out of the driveway when my phone buzzed with a notification: an eighty-thousand-dollar deposit into Leo’s trust fund. The memo simply read: Buy Leo some new clothes. I didn’t reply. I turned back to my laptop, pulling up the business plan for the shop. But just as I did, a new message notification appeared on my screen. It was from a number I didn’t recognize. 4 There were no words. Just a single, smiling emoji. I couldn’t even remember adding this person. I scrolled through the chat history and saw that our only previous interaction was two years ago, when they’d added me as a contact. As I was trying to place them, another message came through. 【You must be feeling pretty smug, huh?】 It hit me like a physical blow. This had to be Liam Carter. But Liam had only been transferred to this base six months ago. How could he have had my number for two years? Had this account been silently watching me, observing my life, for nearly two years? A cold dread washed over me. I replied with a single question mark. The response was immediate, typed with furious speed. 【I don’t care what tricks you’re using to keep her. I can make her come back to me in a second.】 It was him. There was no doubt. So Eleanor had known him two years ago? Maybe even longer. Then, he sent a picture. I clicked on it, and my world tilted on its axis. It was Eleanor, asleep in a bed that wasn’t ours, a man’s arm draped possessively over her waist. In the bottom right corner of the photo was a date stamp: May 20, 2023. I stared at the image, my stomach churning. A wave of bitter nausea rose in my throat, and I lurched toward the trash can, dry heaving. May 20, 2023. That was the day my mother was in the hospital for a biopsy. Eleanor had been on a grueling field exercise for the entire month. She had compressed her schedule, pushed her unit to the limit, just so she could get back in time to be with me. She’d spent hours on the phone, her voice a soothing balm against my anxiety, telling me not to be scared. I couldn’t sleep, so she stayed on a voice call with me all night, a constant presence in the darkness. She arrived back at dawn on the 20th, exhausted but resolute, and sat with me outside the operating room, holding my hand. And on that same day, in the midst of all that, she had found time to be with him. How could she have come home and looked me in the eye? When I didn’t respond, Liam grew bolder. He sent a flurry of photos, each one meticulously dated. Our wedding anniversary. Leo’s birthday. Each time, she had been with him first, before rushing back to play the part of the loving wife and mother. The disgust was so profound it eclipsed the pain. I had thought this was a recent thing, that she had simply grown tired of our quiet, stable life in the last few months, a mid-life crisis pushing her toward a new “true love.” But it wasn’t new. It was rotten to the core, and had been for years. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Returning to my desk, I saved every single photo, creating a file for the evidence. I knew why he was sending them now. He was getting impatient. The full three-million-dollar settlement hadn’t been paid yet. Over the past two weeks, Eleanor had transferred 1.2 million, but the remaining 1.8 was, in her words, “going to take some time.” The house was already in my name, a detail clearly stipulated in our agreement. There was no dispute there. If I were to blow this up now, it would jeopardize her career, and an enraged Eleanor would be far less likely to pay me the rest. I could lose everything. Leo could lose his father. Eleanor had probably expected me to break down, to beg, to fight. But my pride, my need for dignity, wouldn’t allow me to cause a scene at her command. Liam, however, hadn’t counted on my quiet compliance. My refusal to engage, to even confront her, had thrown him off. He knew that in this game, the first one to lose their cool, loses. But something didn’t add up. If Liam had been able to stay hidden in the shadows for so long, playing the part of the harmless, hardworking driver, why the sudden desperation? In just a few more weeks, our divorce would be final. Why would he risk everything now, just because she came home to spend one night with her son? I checked the time. It wasn’t too late. I called Sam. He was out having a late dinner with some colleagues, and he told me, with a conspiratorial whisper, that they were all gossiping about Eleanor and Liam. By pooling their information, they’d pieced together a few new details. Apparently, at a joint-forces mixer last week, Eleanor had had too much to drink and was personally escorted home by a handsome Colonel from a neighboring unit. That same Colonel had since asked her out a few times. Combined with the fact that I hadn’t been around for weeks, the rumor mill was churning: Major General Vance was about to be single again. Suddenly, a host of ambitious young officers were making their interest known. And that’s when Liam Carter started to lose his nerve. “Ethan, you’re such a good guy, I can’t stand keeping this from you,” Sam said, his voice earnest. “Don’t be sad. I mean, yeah, the General is amazing, but she’s also a cheater. You’ll find someone so much better! No, wait, screw women! You’re going to have an amazing career, your flower shop is going to be a huge success, and then you’ll find someone better, haha.” His clumsy attempt to cheer me up actually worked. A small smile touched my lips. “Thanks, Sam. I’ll do my best.”

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Three years after I got out of prison, I ran into Seraphina Rowe on Sycamore Lane, the place where our story began. She was taking a leisurely stroll with her new husband. I was just standing under a plane tree, lost in thought, wearing an old jacket that had been washed so many times it was nearly white. She walked right past me without a second glance. But ten minutes later, she came back. Alone. “Adrian… It’s been a long time.” My nails dug into my palms. I forced a calm smile. “You have the wrong person.” A flash of pain crossed her eyes. She grabbed my shoulders, her composure cracking. “Adrian, sending you to prison… it was never what I wanted.” “You have money, you have looks,” she pleaded, her voice tight. “You could still have a great life after getting out. But Leo is different. He’s an orphan, he has nothing. A criminal record would have destroyed him!” I brushed her hands away, my voice flat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please don’t harass me, or I’ll call the police.” I turned and walked away, leaving her standing there with a look of stunned disbelief. The boy she once knew, the rich kid Adrian Vance who had seen his entire world in her eyes, had died three years ago. He died the moment she submitted the false evidence that sent him to prison. 1. A soft rustle, the sound of something light hitting the ground. I turned to look and saw a folded piece of paper lying on a fallen sycamore leaf. My release papers. Ever since I got out, finding a job has been next to impossible because of my record. I’d gotten into the habit of carrying them with me everywhere. I bent down to pick them up, but a slender, pale hand was faster. Looking up, I saw Seraphina staring at the document, her eyes wide. “Adrian…” She started to say something else, but I snatched the papers from her hand, cutting her off. “Thanks,” I said, my voice cold and distant, before walking away. How strange. She was the one who destroyed me, and now she was playing the part of the long-lost lover. The sycamore leaves drifted down around me, but I could still feel her gaze burning into my back. I felt nothing. I just kept walking until I rounded the corner. I passed by our old university and saw a large banner hanging over the main gate, thanking Seraphina Rowe for a generous donation. I couldn’t help but stop, taking in the familiar campus. Just then, two figures I knew well walked out of the gates. It was Leo Foster and Mr. Davison, our old homeroom teacher. They both froze when they saw me. “Adrian? Is that you? It’s been so long! Where have you been all these years?” Mr. Davison still recognized me; I guess I hadn’t changed that much. A genuine smile touched my lips, but before I could speak, Leo cut in. “You probably didn’t hear, Mr. Davison. After graduation, Adrian here went to prison.” A flicker of shock crossed our old teacher’s face, but he quickly masked it. My gaze shifted to Leo. Just as I expected, the look in his eyes was a toxic mix of smugness and contempt. “Oh! That reminds me!” Mr. Davison suddenly exclaimed. “I still have some of your old things I confiscated in my office. They were too valuable to throw out. I’m heading there now, I can give them back to you.” When we got to his office, I saw what he meant by “valuable.” He handed me a small box. I sorted through the yellowed pages inside. They were all love letters I had written to Seraphina. As a teenager, I must have written her name a thousand times. “And this,” he said, pulling out a small red jewelry box. “I kept it safe for you.” I took the box and opened it gently. Inside, a silver necklace still glittered. I felt a pang in my chest and turned it over. There, engraved on the back, were my initials. It was one half of a matching set I had given her seven years ago when I was trying to win her over. Back then, when I liked someone, I wanted to give them the best, the most expensive things. I’d seen the set in a magazine and knew I had to have it for us. I even had them custom engraved with our initials. But she had turned it in to the teacher, claiming it was a distraction from her studies. I gave her the one with my initials. The one with hers, I wore all through my youth. I snapped back to the present with a silent, bitter laugh. A laugh at my own naivety back then, and at the wreck I had become. “It’s nothing valuable,” I said, my voice hollow. “You can just throw it all away.” And just like that, the necklace that had once held all my hopes and dreams was dropped into the trash can by my own hand. 2. After saying goodbye to Mr. Davison, I left the school. I didn’t expect to see Leo still waiting for me outside. I tried to ignore him, but he chased after me, shedding any pretense of dignity. “Adrian! Why did you have to come back?” I stopped. “What’s the matter? Does this city have a new rule against ex-convicts?” At the mention of prison, I saw a flicker of superiority in his eyes. “So you do know your place. Good. You’re not some golden boy anymore. Seraphina and I are married now.” He took a step closer, his voice a low threat. “You’d better stay away from my wife.” This arrogant posture was so different from the timid boy who used to hide behind Seraphina’s back that I almost didn’t recognize him. I looked him straight in the eye, a cold smile playing on my lips. “Shouldn’t you be the one who remembers I was in prison?” “After all, Leo,” I murmured, “aren’t you afraid of ghosts?” The color drained from his face. A few years of comfort had made him careless. He was seething, but he had no comeback. He just ran a hand through his hair in frustration and stormed off. I stood there for a long time, lost in thought, until dark clouds gathered overhead, and I hurried back towards my shabby rented room. My shoes were cheap and ill-fitting, and the back of my ankle was rubbed raw and burning with pain. I had just made it inside when the sky ripped open and the rain began to fall in sheets. I shut the old glass window, but water still seeped in through the cracks. To be honest, I’ve only lived in a place like this twice in my life. Once is now, in this rundown little room I’ve called home for the three years since my release. The other time was seven years ago, at Seraphina’s house. Seven years ago, I was a different person. I had money and I had love. I acted without thinking of the consequences. And someone like me, against all odds, was completely captivated by Seraphina Rowe. I was surrounded by beautiful faces, but there was something unique about the girl who always had her nose in a book. It was no surprise I fell for her. I tried everything to get her attention. I knew she loved to study, so I bought her entire libraries of textbooks and research materials. I knew she only ate at the cafeteria, so I bribed the staff to give her extra portions. But she was untouchable, an ice queen. Every time I got close, she would just give me a look of pure disdain. Then, a friend told me her grandfather was sick in the hospital. I found out she was scrimping and saving every penny to pay for his surgery. The hospital bills were piling up, and they were about to turn him away. Without a second thought, I took a fraction of the trust fund my father had left me and paid for everything. When my mother found out, she was furious. We had a massive fight. I’d never been treated like that by my own family. I ran out of the house, swearing I would never go back. And that’s where she found me, on Sycamore Lane, huddled under a tree in the pouring rain. Through the downpour, I heard her voice, a strange mix of anger and concern. “Adrian, are you an idiot? Hiding under a tree in a thunderstorm? Are you trying to get struck by lightning?” Tears welled in my eyes. I heard myself choke out the words, “Seraphina… this idiot has nowhere else to go.” That was the first time she let me get close. She took me back to her home. 3. That night, the rain beat against her windowpane just like it was now. I had never been in a house so small, so sparse. But when I saw her sitting at her desk, a strange sense of peace settled over me. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Seraphina, be with me. I know you need money. If you’re with me, I promise you’ll have it.” The lamplight flickered across her face, hiding and revealing her expression. She was silent for a long time. After what felt like an eternity, she spoke. “This is just for the money.” It was a strange, disconnected statement, as if she were saying it as much for herself as for me. The words should have stung, but they didn’t. Because in that moment, I knew. She was finally letting me in. Later, she got into Northwood University’s prestigious law program. I used my family’s money to get into the same school. I was deliriously happy then. I believed we were in love. We were like any other couple, holding hands, kissing in the campus gardens. I was so naive, thinking our story was a real-life romance novel. I was her hero. It wasn’t until our sophomore year that another boy started appearing by her side: Leo Foster. Seraphina told me he was just a friend from her hometown, a freshman in her department. When I learned that, like her, he was an orphan raised by relatives, I didn’t press the issue. But the way he looked at me was anything but friendly. He would take gifts I gave Seraphina and show them off subtly, trying to make me jealous. He would invent excuses to pull her away from our dates. He would “accidentally” break my things, trying to embarrass me. In any story, he was the villain. I played the part of the magnanimous boyfriend and never said a word to her about it. But the worst thing he ever did was hire a group of thugs to assault me in an alley. He had asked to meet me at a coffee shop that day. I was running late because I was visiting my mother at our old family estate. That small delay, that one twist of fate, changed everything. The thugs he hired mistook Leo, who also happened to be wearing a pink shirt that day, for me. They dragged him into the alley instead. In the struggle to defend himself, Leo killed one of them. By the time I arrived, all I saw was a blood-splattered Leo and a body on the ground. I told Seraphina everything. She was the one person I trusted. But I never imagined that I would be the one charged with murder. I thought there had been a mistake. I tried to explain, frantic, desperate. I told her I was innocent, that I wasn’t even there. But Seraphina just stood there, shielding Leo behind her, and gave me a single, chilling look. “Does it matter if you’re innocent?” she asked, her voice light as air. “What matters is that Leo won’t be the one going to prison.” In that one, sickening instant, I understood everything. Why she wouldn’t believe me, even though Leo was the one covered in blood. Why she identified me as the killer, even though I had an alibi. She knew. She knew from the very beginning that Leo had killed that man. She was just playing dumb, pinning the crime on me. The so-called evidence against me? She submitted it herself. She was protecting him. And she was willing to send me to prison to do it. All along, it really had been just for the money. In the end, she chose him, the boy from her world, not mine. A loud clap of thunder outside jolted me awake. I was slumped over on the edge of my bed. I wiped the tears from my eyes and rubbed my temples, my head throbbing from the nightmare. Just then, there was a knock on the door. It was late. A knot of suspicion tightened in my gut. I peered through the peephole and saw Seraphina. Her hair and shoulders were soaked with rain.

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It was the day my husband, Addison Wright, was promoted to Full Professor. For a man who considered our own wedding to be a simple matter of signing a certificate, he insisted on hosting a grand dinner party at our home to celebrate. During the meal, he brought out a bouquet of flowers given to him by a female student, and was about to place them in a vase. Without warning, I slapped the flowers from his hand. They scattered across the floor as I knocked the vase over. Amidst the stunned silence of our entire family, I spoke calmly. “Let’s get a divorce.” Addison stared at me for a long moment, his shock curdling into rage. “Evelyn, what the hell is wrong with you? All I did was put some flowers in a vase. Are you serious?” His mother chimed in, her voice shrill. “Addison just made Full Professor! It’s a day of celebration! What’s wrong with a student bringing him flowers? Is your jealousy that pathological?” I glanced at the fallen petals on the floor and said, enunciating every word, “Yes. It’s because of these flowers that I want a divorce.” 1. The atmosphere at the table went cold. My father-in-law’s face darkened. My mother-in-law’s hand, holding her chopsticks, froze mid-air. My own parents were the most shocked, staring at me with utter confusion. My mother was the first to react, grabbing my hand. “Evelyn, stop this. This is Addison’s big day.” Addison’s expression shifted from disbelief to pure fury. The fire in his eyes could have burned me to ash. “Say that again.” I repeated myself. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for everyone to hear. “I said, I want a divorce.” Clatter. My mother-in-law slammed her utensils on the table. She pointed a finger at my nose, spittle flying. “Evelyn Reed, are you insane? Do you have any idea what day this is?” “This is a momentous occasion for our family! And you’re here causing trouble, trying to ruin everything. What are your intentions?” “My son works himself to the bone with his research to earn this promotion, and he can’t even accept a simple bouquet of flowers?” I didn’t look at her. My eyes were locked on Addison. His handsome face was a mask of indignant anger. “Over a bouquet of flowers?” “Evelyn, has your jealousy twisted you this much? All I did was put them in a vase. Do you have to be so dramatic?” My father slammed his hand on the table, his gaze firm on Addison. “Watch your tone.” Addison glanced at my father, took a deep breath, and swiftly wiped the anger from his face, replacing it with an expression of pained disappointment. He first patted his mother’s hand soothingly, then turned to my parents and bowed. “Mom, Dad, I’m so sorry.” “Evelyn must be under a lot of stress at work lately. She’s not herself. Please don’t blame her.” “I’ll have a good talk with her.” He tried to reach for my hand, but I sidestepped his touch. Addison’s face was a picture of earnest apology. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. I’ve been so focused on the promotion review lately, I’ve neglected you. That’s my fault.” “But this is just a normal bouquet of roses. Don’t you think you’re overreacting? She’s just an innocent student.” Addison’s older brother, Leo, couldn’t stand it anymore and tried to smooth things over. “Evelyn, are you sure you’re not misunderstanding something? Addison didn’t mean any harm. It was a gift from a student, he couldn’t just throw it away in front of her, could he?” “That’s right, Evelyn,” his wife, Laura, added. “I’ve met that girl, Chloe. She’s sweet and sensible. She wouldn’t do anything intentionally. Don’t overthink it. Just apologize to Addison, and we can all move on.” My gaze swept over everyone at the table. My father and father-in-law were frowning, silent. My mother’s expression had shifted from confusion to dawning comprehension, and now she looked at me with reproach. Addison. Truly a professor. With just a few words, he had transformed my demand into a childish tantrum. I ignored his hypocritical performance and pointed to the roses on the floor, their fragrance growing stronger by the second. “You’re saying these are just ordinary flowers, right?” I stared into his eyes. “Then I dare you to close every door and window in this living room.” “And then stay in here with me, right here, with these flowers, for one hour.” 2. At my words, the color drained from Addison’s face. He took an instinctive half-step back, his left thumb unconsciously rubbing against his index finger. It was his tell, the thing he always did when he was hiding something. His voice held a barely perceptible tremble, his eyes darting around the room. “What… What nonsense are you talking about? What’s the point of that?” I smiled, bent down, picked up a single petal, and held it out to him. “You said they were just ordinary roses, didn’t you?” Addison turned his head away, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line. Seeing his discomfort, his mother shot up from her chair and grabbed a broom to clean up the mess. “This is bad luck! Such bad luck! Ruining the peace in our home. I’ll sweep it all up, then maybe certain people won’t have a reason to be so jealous and critical.” My own mother, shaking with anger at the insult, shot back, “What is that supposed to mean?” I patted my mom’s back reassuringly, then snapped at my mother-in-law, “Don’t touch them!” She flinched, startled by my sharp tone. I snatched the broom from her hand and threw it aside. Then I stepped forward, cornering Addison between myself and the floral wreckage. “What’s wrong? Feeling guilty?” “You said there was nothing wrong with the flowers. So what are you afraid of?” My questions made his eyes shift away, completely unable to meet my gaze. My father-in-law threw down his chopsticks, his face a mottled canvas of red and white. He slammed his fist on the table. “Enough! All of you! What is this nonsense? This was supposed to be a celebration! Look at what you’ve turned it into!” “Now sit down and eat. Anyone who causes more trouble can get out!” He shot a meaningful look in my direction. I knew that last part was meant for me. Just then, the doorbell rang. Addison practically lunged for the door, his haste looking almost desperate. He yanked it open. Standing on the doorstep was the very student he had just described as innocent and sensible: Chloe Bennett. She was wearing a white sundress and carrying a box of expensive tea and supplements, gifts for my in-laws. When she saw the scene inside, her face went pale, her eyes instantly welling with tears. Her voice caught in a sob. “Professor Wright… Mrs. Wright… What’s happened?” “Is it… Is it because of the flowers I sent? Did I upset you?” “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have sent roses. I didn’t mean to cause a misunderstanding. The florist just said this bouquet was a bestseller and recommended it.” “I’m so sorry to intrude. I’ll just go.” With that, she stepped into the living room, placed the gifts on the coffee table, and turned to leave. It was a sequence of actions that should have taken three seconds, but she managed to stretch it into a three-minute performance. “Wait.” My mother-in-law couldn’t hold back any longer. She rushed forward, shooting Addison a blaming look. She grabbed Chloe’s hand, sat her down on the sofa, then shot me a venomous glare. “You sweet child, this has nothing to do with you! It’s just that some people are petty and can’t stand to see others happy!” In the brief moment her back was turned, I saw it clearly: Chloe shot me a look that was a potent cocktail of provocation and triumph. I ignored her and said calmly to the room at large, “Get out.” My words made Addison stare at me in disbelief. His fists clenched, veins popping on the back of his hands. “Evelyn, that’s enough!” he ground out. “What did she do wrong?” “She already apologized for the misunderstanding! She’s just a twenty-year-old kid, she’s naive! The florist recommended them! Why are you taking it out on her?” “I’m warning you, don’t project your own filthy thoughts onto an innocent child.” His mother stood protectively in front of Chloe. “I’d like to see anyone try to make you leave!” She turned on me like a cannon. “Evelyn Reed, you’ve been married into our family for five years and haven’t even given us a child, and now you treat our guest like this?” “All you do is lock yourself in that lab of yours, making yourself less and less like a woman! You can’t even perform the most basic function of a wife! Marrying you was the worst luck our family has ever had!” “I said it from the beginning! A barren woman like you has a black heart! Since you can’t be a mother yourself, you can’t stand to see a young, vibrant girl!” 3. “Who are you calling barren?” My father finally snapped. He shot up from his chair and stood in front of me, glaring at my mother-in-law. “It was your son who got on his knees and begged me for my daughter’s hand in marriage. Is this how your family treats her now?” My father-in-law slowly set down his teacup. “Now, now, let’s not get excited. What she said was harsh, but she’s just angry. This is women’s business. We men shouldn’t get involved.” With one sentence, he dismissed his wife’s vicious tirade as “women’s business.” My father was so enraged he was gasping for air. I put a hand on his arm and looked at Chloe. “You’re the one who sent the flowers. Are you telling me you don’t know what’s in them?” She stared back with wide, innocent eyes, the picture of a wounded doe. “Mrs. Wright, what are you talking about? I bought them from a flower shop. If you think there’s a problem, I can call the shop right now and ask.” She made a show of pulling out her phone. I watched her performance with cold eyes. With one move, she had absolved herself of all responsibility, implied I was paranoid and jealous, and reinforced her own innocence. A true master. As expected, Addison stopped her. He shot me a dirty look. “She’s the one being paranoid. You don’t need to prove anything.” He strode over to me, grabbed my shoulders, and shook me hard. “Evelyn, have you had enough? You’ve completely humiliated our family!” “Humiliated?” I shoved his hands off. “And you staying up all night with your female student to ‘edit her thesis,’ that wasn’t humiliating?” “That was work!” he roared, utterly self-righteous. Just as we were facing off, my mother slapped me hard across the face. Her eyes were red and filled with disappointment. “Evelyn, is this how I raised you? Have you no shame? Apologize to Chloe right now!” My cheek stung, but a chill spread through my entire body. My own mother, without even asking for an explanation, had believed a stranger over me and struck me. Through a blur of tears, I saw the triumphant smirk on Addison’s face. He even gave me a slight, mocking arch of his eyebrow. Behind him, Chloe, still sheltered by his mother, covered her mouth with her hand, her “innocent” eyes wide. But deep within them, there was no mistaking the glint of victory and scorn. He thought he had won. In his perfect plan, I was isolated, defeated, abandoned by everyone. Addison stood before me, a cold sneer on his lips. “See? You know you’re wrong now.” He gestured towards Chloe. “Get on your knees and apologize to her. Admit that you’re mentally unstable and paranoid. Do that, and I’ll pretend this whole thing never happened.” “Who dares make her kneel!” my father roared, pulling me behind him once more. But my mother clung to his arm, crying, “Isn’t this chaotic enough for you? What’s wrong with her just apologizing? Do you want her to get a divorce over something so stupid and make our whole family a laughingstock?” I looked at my father, his eyes red with the effort of defending me. I looked at that smug, victorious pair. I gently moved my father’s hand away, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Fine.” I paused, then gave them the words they wanted to hear. “I’ll kneel. I’ll apologize.” The living room fell into a dead silence. Addison’s expression froze, as if he hadn’t expected me to cave so easily. He softened his tone, coaxing me. “Evelyn, let’s stop this. Let’s just go back to how things were, okay?” 4. “No.” I looked at him, my face blank. I pulled out my phone and waved it, looking at Addison and Chloe with pure derision. “Apologize? Sure. But before I do, I think we’re all entitled to know what, exactly, is in this bouquet.” Addison’s patience snapped. “They’re just flowers! How long are you going to keep this up?” “Is that so?” I found the number for my lab and dialed. “Hello? This is Evelyn Reed. Halt all ongoing tests. I need you to run an analysis on a bouquet of flowers for me. I’m bringing the materials over right now.” I hung up and stared directly at the suddenly constricted pupils of Addison and Chloe. “If the results prove that these are just ordinary flowers and that I’m insane,” I announced, “I will not only get on my knees and beg for Miss Bennett’s forgiveness, but I will also sign over my 30% stake in my pharmaceutical company, along with all my properties and savings, to you, Addison.” “I will walk away with nothing.” An undisguised, manic joy erupted in my mother-in-law’s eyes. She shoved Addison forward, her voice high and strained. “Addison, she said it herself! Did you hear her?” “Everyone heard her! She’s the one who said it!” The last vestiges of reason in Addison’s eyes were consumed by greed. Fearing I would back out, he made the decision, announcing loudly to everyone, “Fine! We’ll go right now! Evelyn Reed, you’d better keep your word!” “Dad, Mom, Father-in-law, Mother-in-law, let’s all go and witness just how she has slandered an innocent person!” My mother’s face was a mask of regret and panic. She tried to stop me, but my father held her back. He looked at me, and in his eyes, there was more trust than worry. On the way to the lab, my mother cried the entire time. “Evelyn, how could you be so foolish… How could you gamble your entire life away out of spite…” My father said nothing, but he kept looking at me in the rearview mirror. Addison, in the driver’s seat, would occasionally meet my gaze in the mirror as well. His eyes were filled with contempt, mockery, and a hungry anticipation for the massive fortune he was about to acquire. The lab technicians I had called ahead were already waiting for us at the entrance, dressed in white coats. “Dr. Reed, what do you need analyzed?” The lab director, Dr. Marcus Thorne, greeted me. I held out my arm. “First, a sample of my blood.”

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1. The DM When I got Sawyer’s DM, I felt a little guilty. I thought about it—I did send the gift to the wrong person, stealing his thunder. Plus, in this livestream room, I had always exclusively tipped Sawyer. It was understandable that he’d be upset about me giving a Ferrari to his rival. He’s a heartthrob, right? A little temper is part of the package. Just as I was about to send him ten Yachts to make up for it, a new notification popped up. [System Notification: KU-Ace has followed you.] Immediately after, a DM from that account popped up. KU-Ace: [Thank you, sis. That was my first Yacht ever. I’ll remember you forever. <3] I paused for a few seconds, clicking on the profile picture to zoom in. It took a moment to match the face with the heavy filters from the livestream. Ace. He was the guy I’d accidentally tipped. Zooming in, his face actually held its own against Sawyer, the guy I’d been chasing. The makeup in the livestream did him dirty; he looked cleaner and more intellectual in his profile pic. But he was new, only here for a few days, and always stood in the back row. In a ten-man group, seeing two-thirds of his face on screen was a miracle. He didn't seem to know the tip was a mistake. His words were... surprisingly sincere. It was just one Yacht (about $100). No need to explain and crush his spirit. I wasn’t planning to reply. Just as I was about to exit, he sent another message. KU-Ace: [Sis, I’ll practice dancing even harder. I won’t let your encouragement go to waste!] Ugh, he’s kind of a pitiful underdog. Thanking me three times for one Yacht. I sent a polite [Good luck] and prepared to switch back to the stream to compensate Sawyer. But suddenly, my phone started vibrating like crazy. It was all from Sawyer. KU-Sawyer: [?] [Did you not read my message?] [Why haven't you sent them yet?] [What do you mean?] [So, you tipped him on purpose to piss me off?] [Fine.] [I get it.] Confused, I replied with a [?]. A red exclamation mark appeared. Message Not Delivered. Excuse me? He blocked me?! A wave of rage surged from my chest. I’ve been chasing him for two months. I’ve spent at least fifteen grand on him. And because of one misclick, he’s throwing a tantrum and blocking me? Fine. If you’re too good for me, there are plenty of others who aren't. I’m done playing. I was about to rage-quit the app when I glanced at the pitiful message from the new kid again. My finger hovered over the close button. I’m ruthless in business, but I have a weakness for hardworking, handsome underdogs. Even if he’s acting, at least he’s putting in the effort to act for me. So, I charged back into the livestream. 2. The Snub As soon as I entered, the hype man shouted me out. "Our Sawyer's Top Gifter, 'Yacht Queen,' is back! Oh man, Sawyer is set for the night!" This boy band group had only been formed two months ago. They were still in the growth phase. They didn't have many die-hard whales, so my account was definitely in the top tier. Plus, I have OCD. I only tip Yachts. It’s my signature. Hearing my name, the corner of Sawyer’s mouth twitched upward slightly. But in a split second, he returned to his usual "cool guy" persona. Just then, a new account with a pretty girl’s profile pic entered and immediately dropped a Sports Car. [This guy is so hot. He hits right in the heart. Love it.] The host thanked her as usual and read the comment. Sawyer gave a shy smile. After finishing his dance move, as if to spite me, he made a heart shape with his hands and personally thanked her. "Thanks to the beautiful lady for the Sports Car. Please support me in the future!" The chat went wild. [OMG, never seen Sawyer so shy and enthusiastic.] [First time seeing Sawyer do a heart! Rich sisters, drop more cars! We love to see it!] [She’s generous, and looking at her profile, she’s a real beauty.] [A real rich heiress. Did Sawyer catch feelings?] Seeing Sawyer in such a good mood, the old fans started dropping gifts too. Bouquets and balloons filled the screen. Sawyer couldn't hide his grin. He was interacting with everyone, hearts and thank-yous flying everywhere. Even the host marveled, "What good thing happened to Sawyer tonight? He’s in such a good mood." I was fuming. Usually, I drop $100 Yachts without blinking, and all I get is a faint smile. A newbie drops a cheap gift, and he gives her emotional value? So what do my Yachts count for? Chopped liver? In a fit of rage, I opened the gift menu and dropped another Yacht directly on Ace. "Thanks to our Yacht Queen for sending Sawyer a..." The word "Yacht" got stuck in the host's throat. He squinted at the screen. "Oh, sorry, my bad. The Yacht is for Ace." The whole team froze for two seconds, turning their heads to look at Ace in the back row. Ace looked unbelieving, hesitantly stepping forward. And Sawyer, who was standing in the center (C-position), was even more shocked than Ace. 3. The Rain of Yachts Sawyer stared at the monitor for a few seconds to confirm, then reluctantly stepped aside. Ace stood in the center, visibly terrified. He composed himself and bowed deeply to the camera. Just as he opened his mouth to say, "Thank you, sis—" I dropped another Yacht. Ace was about to start dancing, saw the new Yacht, and bowed again. When he stood up, I dropped another one. For a moment, the screen was just a continuous stream of Yachts. Ace was bewildered. Sawyer’s face was uglier than a stormy sky. He looked around anxiously, looking like he wanted to jump through the screen and shake me by the shoulders. The host excitedly announced the gifts, his voice getting higher with each one. The chat was scrolling so fast it was a blur. [Holy sh*t, Yacht Queen is flexing!] [That’s my Queen.] [Wait, is this a mistake?] [Did she click the wrong person?] [Sis, stop! Wrong guy!] [Yacht Queen only tips Sawyer, is the system glitching?] [No way, are they force-pushing the rookie? Report for rigging!] Even the host, after shouting thanks ten times, muttered under his breath, "Is this a misclick..." Ace bowed over and over, tears glistening in his eyes. Seeing I wasn't stopping, he frantically tried to persuade me: "Sis, stop sending them! It's enough, really enough! Thank you so much, I will work harder!" As soon as he finished, I dropped 52 Yachts in one go. I like this feeling. Reciprocity. It feels infinitely better than tipping that fake-noble, gaslighting Sawyer. I’m spending my money to feel good. Plus, with Ace standing in the center for so long, I took a good look. Ignoring the bad makeup, his features were excellent. Especially those long legs—when he danced, it was lethal. The other guys wore lifts in their shoes; his soles were thin, yet he was still half a head taller than Sawyer. No wonder they banished him to the back row. Seeing so many Yachts, and none for him, Sawyer’s face hit rock bottom. He couldn't hold it in anymore. He shoved Ace, who was standing in the center, and walked out of the frame grumpily. I could hear him snap something to the host before disappearing. "The system must be bugged. The Yachts meant for me are going to someone else. I’m going to fix it." Ten seconds after Sawyer left. A new message popped up on my phone. KU-Sawyer: [Sis, use your eyes before you click. You’re sending them all to the wrong person, you know that? F*ck.] 4. The Block The message stayed for two seconds before he quickly retracted it. Huh? Didn’t he block me? How did he add me back? I thought he had a backbone. Just as I finished that thought, a barrage of new messages appeared. KU-Sawyer: [Sis, be careful when you tap the gifts. You gave them all to that guy.] [Maybe go ask customer service for a refund?] [Whatever, if you can’t refund it, it’s fine.] [Just re-send them to me. Slowly. Look before you click!] [?] [Why aren't you replying? You're not mad, are you?] [Sorry about earlier. I saw you tipping someone else and got jealous, so I spoke too harshly. Don't overthink it.] [Sis, come back to the stream right now, okay?] Tsk tsk. I’ve known Sawyer this long, and this is the first time he’s typed this much. Too bad. It’s too late. I have the "ick." I didn’t reply. I didn’t block him either. I just left him on read and closed the app. I started watching their stream to do market research. My conglomerate is planning to acquire their agency, KU Media. I didn't expect to get hooked on this B-list group's stream. Sawyer was just my type physically. High nose bridge, smooth jawline, lean muscle. He was different from other streamers—aloof, just the right amount of "hard to get." Or so I thought. At first, I was bored, so I threw him a Yacht. He just smiled. He wasn't like the desperate ones my assistant told me about who would follow you back for a $1 gift. Two days later, I dropped 10 Yachts. He DM’d a thank you. Days later, I saw him losing a Battle (PK) badly, looking like he was about to cry. I dropped 100 Yachts to save him. Only then did he follow me back. Even after following, he remained aloof. Except for complaining about sales quotas or pressure to hint for gifts, he barely chatted. I didn't mind. Life is boring; I look at handsome guys online to pass the time. It's a transaction. I don't lack the money. But I didn't expect that the nicer I was, the less he cared about my feelings. Last month, I was busy with a business trip and didn't log in for three days. He gave me the cold shoulder for a month. He acted like he was sure I wouldn't leave him. If I love someone, I give without expecting a return. But I don't love him. Why should I spend money to be treated like trash? If this one is disobedient, I’ll swap him. The next one is always better behaved. 5. The Return After staying offline for three days to finish work, the acquisition of KU Media was finally finalized. Bored, I opened the short video app again. Dozens of notifications popped up. The most recent one was from Ace. I scrolled back. After the stream that night, he wrote me an 800-word essay expressing his overwhelming gratitude. He even sent his private WeChat ID. Even though I didn't reply, he persisted in sending "Good morning" and "Good night" messages for the last few days. I thought about it, didn't add him, and just replied with a polite [Thanks]. Then I checked Sawyer’s messages. [Sis, why didn't you come back to tip?] [Didn't we agree?] [Sis, come back and tip me, or I won't get the champion title tonight... it's embarrassing.] [Don't ghost me at a critical moment! We're in a Battle! Hurry!] [Reply to me.] [?] [Don't regret this.] Sawyer’s attitude seemed to deteriorate as time went on. I saw he was still awake at 4 AM; probably stayed up all night fuming. Seeing no reply from me, his tone gradually shifted back to fawning over the next few days. [Sis, I really was just jealous yesterday. Don't hold a grudge, okay?] [I lost last night and got punished. You should be less angry now, right?] [Sis, you didn't come today either?] [Sis, I was wrong. Will you come see me?] [Whether you come or not, Sawyer is here.] [Sawyer will wait for you in the stream forever. <3] Most messages were sent at 3 or 4 AM. Even better, he sent me a few high-definition ab pics. Tsk. Without me as a sugar mommy, he isn't so "cloud-like and breezy" after all. I zoomed in. Just okay. Who knows if they’re photoshopped. Thinking about it, he’s just a rookie with no social experience. Since they are now artists under my company, I decided not to block him for the sake of his face making me money. I didn't reply and clicked into their livestream. Tonight, I planned to "rain and dew alike"—tip every member to show them how generous their new boss is. As soon as I entered, I saw it was perfect timing. Sawyer and Ace were about to start a dance Battle (PK).

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My eight-year-old son, Mason, deliberately dumped a bucket of water from the second-floor balcony, soaking his classmate below. By the time I rushed to the school, breathless and panicked, he was still defending himself. “Mom, I didn’t mean to! My hand just slipped. You have to believe me.” I nodded slowly. Ignoring the burning, angry glare of the other boy’s mother, I spoke to my son, keeping my voice gentle. “Go down to the courtyard and wait for me.” Five minutes later, I stood on that same balcony. I lifted a basin filled to the brim with ice-cold water, aimed for my son standing below, and dumped the whole thing on his head. 1 Before Ms. Carter sent me the security footage, I was holding onto a shred of hope. You always want to believe your kid is the sweet one, the one who listens, the one who only has the occasional rebellious streak. You don’t want to believe they’re capable of malice. But the moment I clicked play on that video, I knew I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. The footage was crystal clear. Mason was supposed to be helping tidy up the classroom. Instead, he filled a small bucket, wobbled over to the second-floor railing, and stood there. He tipped onto his toes, peering over the edge, waiting. You could see the hesitation. He looked down, then back at the bucket. But then, he made up his mind. In a split second, he hoisted the bucket and dumped it directly onto a classmate’s head as the boy walked by underneath. The text bubble from Ms. Carter popped up a moment later, a wall of text: [Mrs. Miller, Mason is at a critical developmental stage. Mental health and behavioral issues are serious. Unlike grades or a fever, psychological issues hide deep inside. We need to communicate and solve this immediately before it gets worse.] My chest tightened. She was politely telling me my son was disturbed. [Please come to the school this afternoon. regardless of the ‘why,’ Mason was in the wrong. He needs to apologize to the other student.] I typed back instantly, my fingers shaking. [Absolutely. I’ll be there. Is the other child okay? Do I need to cover a doctor’s visit?] Even in summer, getting doused with water from that height is a shock to the system, both physically and emotionally. [The student cried for a while, but his parents picked him up to change. He seems physically okay. His parents will be back this afternoon for the meeting.] [Okay, Ms. Carter. Thank you. I’ll be there at 5:00 PM sharp.] I took a deep breath, trying to steady my heart rate. My husband, Grant, and I had always been overachievers. Top of the class, Ivy League, the works. Mason was our only child. Grant had massive expectations for him, running a tight ship when it came to academics. Since kindergarten, Mason had been at the top of his class. Teachers loved him. He was sunny, helpful, the kid everyone wanted to be friends with. That’s why this act of bullying terrified me. It was so out of character. I almost forwarded the video to Grant. But I hesitated. He’d been pulling all-nighters working on his tenure review and research papers, barely sleeping. I decided to handle it myself. I checked the time and headed to the mall first. I needed to buy the other kid a new outfit. Whether the parents accepted the apology or not, I had to show that we were taking this seriously. I pulled up the class photo, showed a sales clerk the victim’s size, and bought two high-end outfits. I picked the most expensive options without blinking. Then, I drove to the school. My son did something wrong. As his mother, I couldn’t be late. I wouldn’t give them another reason to be angry. 2 School had just let out when I pulled into the lot. I walked into the main office at the same time Ms. Carter was walking in. Behind her trailed two boys. One was Mason. The other was the victim, Liam. The second Mason saw me, he dropped his head. I looked away, staying silent. Ten minutes later, Liam’s mom rushed in. She zeroed in on me immediately. “You’re Mason’s mom?” I nodded, keeping my expression open and remorseful. “I am. And I am so incredibly sorry. My son hurt your son, and as his mother, I want to apologize first.” I handed her the shopping bag. “Liam’s clothes got soaked, and I know that ruined his day. These are new. It’s a small gesture, but please accept it. Mason was wrong. I’m going to handle this strictly. But I also want to hear from you—whatever you need to make this right, we will do it.” Liam’s mom blinked, caught off guard. She clearly expected a fight, not a humble apology. She took the bag, her expression softening but still wary. “Look, boys roughhouse. I get it. But pouring water from a balcony? That’s dangerous. It’s too much.” “It was completely out of line,” I agreed quickly. “Again, I am so sorry.” She sighed, nodding. “I accept your apology.” She turned to her son. “Liam, do you accept the apology?” Liam nodded, but his eyes darted nervously toward Mason. I turned to my son, who hadn’t said a word. “Mason. Come here. Apologize to Liam and his mother.” Mason looked up at me, his lip trembling, then looked down at his sneakers. “Mom, I don’t want to. I told you, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. My hand slipped. You have to believe me.” The air in the room instantly turned ice cold. Liam’s mom, who had just calmed down, flared up again. “Excuse me? The teacher saw it. The security cameras saw it. My son didn’t even touch you, and you’re standing there lying about it?” Ms. Carter jumped in, trying to de-escalate, offering Liam’s mom some water. I stepped forward and crouched down to look Mason in the eye. “Mason, I watched the tape. I asked Ms. Carter to ask the other kids because I wanted to be sure you weren’t being framed. They all confirmed it. You did it on purpose. Why are you still lying?” Mason’s head sank lower. His legs were shaking. He was gripping the hem of his t-shirt so hard his knuckles were white. I knew my son. He was terrified. My voice remained calm, but I was vibrating with nerves. “Mason Miller, I am giving you one last chance. Apologize to your classmate.” The silence stretched out, agonizingly long. Finally, Mason choked out a sob. “Mom, why don’t you believe me? I didn’t mean to!” I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I ignored the hateful look Liam’s mom was giving us. I nodded. “Okay, Mason. Go downstairs to the courtyard. Stand right under the balcony and wait for me.” I watched his small back retreat out the door. Then I turned to Liam’s mom. “My child soaked yours. He refuses to own up to it. I think it’s only fair he understands exactly how that feels.” Liam’s mom looked confused. “What do you mean?” “Come with me,” I said. Two minutes later, I stood on the balcony with a basin of water. Mason was standing right where I told him to. I felt sick, but I didn’t hesitate. I tipped the basin and splashed the cold water directly onto my son. 3 Mason shrieked, clutching his wet head, looking up at me in total disbelief. Ms. Carter gasped, her hand covering her mouth. She wanted to stop me, but it was too late. Liam’s mom stared at me, jaw dropped. I turned my back on the balcony and faced her again. “On Monday, Mason will give Liam a proper, sincere apology.” She waved her hands awkwardly, suddenly embarrassed by the intensity of the punishment. “It’s… look, they’re just kids. He’s been punished enough. We… we don’t blame him anymore.” I crouched down to Liam’s level. “Liam, honey, are you still angry?” He shook his head. He thought for a second, then said, “Ms. Jenna, Mason is actually my best friend. He usually helps me. Last time I was sick, he did my class chores for me.” I waited patiently. “Go on.” “I was just mad he soaked me. I felt embarrassed. But I don’t hate him.” I patted his shoulder. “Mason is lucky to have a friend as forgiving as you.” Liam nodded. Then he lowered his voice, glancing at his own mom. “Ms. Jenna… I think I know why he did it.” I froze. “Why?” Liam looked nervous, but his mom nudged him to speak. “Because of the soccer tryouts. I beat Mason in the prelims. Mason told me this match was super important. He said if he didn’t get first place, his dad would be furious.” My brow furrowed. I didn’t know anything about this. Liam was getting worked up now. “His dad told him he has to be number one in school and number one in sports, or else he’s not a ‘good son.’ Last time we were changing for gym, me and the guys saw marks on Mason’s back. Like, red lines. I think his dad hit him…” My temples started throbbing. Liam’s mom lightly tapped her son’s arm. “Liam, don’t make up stories.” She looked at me apologetically. “Kids talk, you know how it is. Don’t take it to heart. It’s getting late, we should go.” I forced a smile. “Right. Drive safe.” After they left, Ms. Carter looked out the window at my shivering son, then turned to me. “Mrs. Miller… does Mason’s father actually talk to him like that?” She chose her words carefully. “He’s young. If a parent pushes too hard, or uses fear to motivate… it twists a child’s thinking.” “Also…” She hesitated. I nodded, cutting her off gently. “I understand. I’m going to have a very serious conversation with his father tonight.” 4 I drove home in silence. Mason sat in the back, head down, shoulders shaking. “Why are you crying?” I asked, pulling the car over to the curb. “Is it because I poured water on you? Or is it something else?” He didn’t answer. I rubbed my temples, exhaustion washing over me. “Mason, you know I think you’re an amazing kid, right?” “And I don’t mean because you get A’s. I mean because you’re generous, and kind, and you help people. You respect us.” I looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Sometimes I ask myself… if you got bad grades, would I still love you?” Mason looked up, his face streaked with tears. “I would,” I said softly. “Because you are my son. Loving you is my instinct. It’s my job. It’s not a reward for performing well for the neighbors.” Fresh tears welled up in his big eyes. He wiped them away furiously with a tissue. “When I was upstairs, Liam told me something. He said if you admit you were wrong, he still wants to be your best friend.” I turned in my seat to face him. “Do you know why he’s willing to forgive you?” Mason shook his head, sniffing. “Because before today, you were good to him. When he was sick, you helped him. When he twisted his ankle during the fire drill, you slowed down to help him down the stairs. That kindness built a bank of trust. You made a withdrawal today, Mason. You hurt him. But he remembers the good version of you. Now, do you still think you weren’t wrong?” “Mom…” Mason broke down, sobbing loudly. “I’m sorry. I know I was wrong.” “Okay,” I said, my voice trembling. “On Monday, you need to tell him that.” “I will.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Okay. That part is settled. Now we need to talk about the other thing.” Fear flashed across Mason’s round face. “You poured water on Liam because you wanted him to get sick so he’d miss the finals on Sunday, didn’t you?” Mason froze. He tried to shrink into the leather seat, avoiding my eyes. “Why would you think like that?” Silence. I took a deep breath. “It’s because of Dad, isn’t it?” “Because Dad told you if you aren’t the best at everything, he won’t love you anymore… or worse.” I closed my eyes, feeling sick. “He’d punish you, right?” “Tell me,” I said, enunciating every word. “Do not lie to me.” Finally, Mason nodded. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just not good enough. That’s why Dad gets mad.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. My hands were shaking on the steering wheel. “No,” I reached back and touched his knee. “That isn’t true. Dad put impossible, cruel pressure on you. You have nothing to be sorry for.” My voice cracked. “Dad is the one who should be sorry.” Mason picked at his fingers nervously. “But Dad… Dad never says sorry.” I looked at the red light glowing through the windshield. I hit the blinker and made a U-turn. “Mom? Aren’t we going home?” “You’re going to stay at Auntie Sarah’s for a few days,” I said, my voice scarily calm. “We aren’t going back until your father apologizes to you.”

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Back in my “purest” era, I kept the school’s brooding, poverty-stricken heartthrob on a retainer for ten bucks a week. I paid him his wages like a stingy accountant. Holding hands: Two dollars. A hug: Three dollars. A kiss: Five dollars. Until one day, just as I was graciously slapping a handful of quarters into his palm, a translucent chat window floated across my vision like a Twitch stream gone rogue: [User_69: LMAO poor girl doesn’t know the Male Lead is scamming her. His family could literally buy a private jet.] [Simp_Detector: Honestly? She’s not losing out. She’s cannon fodder, sure, but she got a taste of the goods. If I transmigrated in, I’d take a bite before the Heroine shows up too.] [Mommy_Issues: Go home, girl. It hurts to watch. You have fifteen bucks in your pocket and you’re giving him ten?] [Plot_Twist: Once the Heroine transfers in, he won’t need this girl as a human shield anymore. Cut your losses, sis.] [Burger_King: For real, that money won’t even buy him a breakfast burrito…] The next second, I stared at the man’s cold, sculpted profile and gulped. Hard. Cut my losses? If he’s that rich… Getting a free meal out of this shouldn’t be a problem, right? 01 My hand, still clutching the quarters, tightened into a fist. I hung my head. Luke Sterling, wearing his usual expression of detached indifference, paused. He looked down at me. “What’s wrong, Jo?” I squeezed the coins so hard they hurt. I swallowed, my brain scrambling for a way to open a line of credit. Suddenly, Luke pushed his hand against my fist, gently shoving it back toward me. “Are you broke again?” “I told you,” he sighed, “if you don’t have the money, don’t…” I looked up, eyes wide and pathetic, cutting him off. “But if I don’t pay, I can’t touch you.” “Besides,” I puffed out my chest, “I’m your Sugar Mommy. I can afford this much!” I stiffly extended my hand again. This move is called “retreating to advance.” Clearly, this sheltered rich boy knew nothing about the sinister nature of humanity. He sighed. “Forget it. Put it on my tab.” Suppressing a maniacal grin, I threw myself onto him. “Now satisfy me, babe.” Luke’s pale ears turned beet red instantly. He was always like this—never initiating, never refusing. His eyes closed, lashes trembling slightly. His moist, thin lips pressed into a line, like he was enduring some great torture. But God help me, I loved this “I sell my art, not my body” martyr act. It gave me the thrill of a corrupt aristocrat tossing gold bars at a fallen noble. Even if I was technically freeloading. After a particularly enthusiastic make-out session, my brain short-circuited, and I blurted out: “Just yield to me already.” 02 I realized my mistake immediately. I met Luke’s gaze awkwardly. The corners of his eyes were flushed red. He stared at me intensely. “Jo, you…” “I-I was just kidding! I know you have standards.” “Besides, I haven’t saved up enough money for that yet. Just talking trash, don’t take it to heart.” My attempt at damage control didn’t seem to cheer him up. His eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything. I didn’t care about his mood. I cared about his abs. My hand slipped under his shirt, sliding down until I hit those distinct, scorching ridges of muscle. Luke bit his lip and let out a soft gasp. My heart hammered against my ribs. My head spun. He was a masterpiece. Even his breathing sounded expensive. Suddenly, Luke asked, “Do you like me that much… do you just want to touch me?” I replied without hesitation. “I like it.” Who doesn’t like groping a hot guy? The simple answer made the corners of Luke’s mouth twitch upward. Since this was my last free trial, I went all out. When we finished, I walked him back to his “shabby” rental apartment, feeling thoroughly satisfied. Maybe because I looked too happy about scoring a freebie, Luke didn’t go inside immediately. He stood in the doorway, staring at me. Or rather, staring at the coins in my hand. “You kissed me five times, hugged me for thirty minutes, and touched my abs three times. That’s a total of $85.” “Remember to pay me next time.” My heart cramped. I shoved him toward the door, spewing nonsense. “I know, babe!” “Times are tough, but next time. Definitely next time.” “You know what they say—behind every successful woman is a man she owes money to. You’re the best!” I fled before he could do the math. Back in my room, I shoved the quarters back into my Hello Kitty piggy bank. Are you kidding me? School starts in a week. The Heroine is dropping soon. Mr. Moneybags will forget about that $85 in no time. If he’s actually rich, he wouldn’t be this petty… right? Meanwhile, the chat floating in the air was going nuts: [Sherlock_Homie: Wait, I remember Jo has at least $85 in her stash. Why is she crying poor?] [Zen_Master: Wait… look at that smirk. I get it now. She’s trying to dine and dash!] [Girl_Boss: Trying to scam the Male Lead? She’s got guts. Respect.] [Plot_Armor: Honestly, with the Heroine showing up soon, she might actually get away with this heist…] [NPC_Energy: She might not be the smartest NPC, but she is definitely the horniest.] I huffed at the comments. So tasteless. Look in my eyes! What is life if not for lust? 03 In the week following my decision to ghost my “sugar baby,” I channeled my grief into working three part-time jobs. My savings grew. My lust for Luke faded. But weirdly, he kept messaging me. It was forced conversation. Before, unless I explicitly ordered a cuddle session, he would reply with single punctuation marks. Today, I was busy shaking boba tea. His text popped up. [Luke: What are you doing?] Boring. I didn’t want to reply. But I remembered his face. I typed fast: [Shaking boba.] He replied: [?] Clearly, the Young Master was going through withdrawal. I have a script for men like this. [I’m working hard to earn money so I can touch you again, babe.] [Wait for me. Once I’m rich, I’m coming for you!] He typed for a solid three minutes. Finally, a single word: [Mn.] I nodded. Good. He’s normal again. But I had doubts about the chat’s spoilers. Shouldn’t he be meeting the Heroine by now? Why does he have the energy to pester me? I hope he doesn’t remember the $85. That night, after my shift, I witnessed a classic “Hero Saves Beauty” scene on the street corner. Starring Luke Sterling. A girl in a white dress, looking like a fragile flower, was clutching the hem of his shirt, tears shimmering in her eyes. I couldn’t help but whisper, “Wow.” This is the flavor! This is the plot! That has to be the Heroine. 04 Hearing my “Wow,” Luke looked up and saw me. I shrank back. Then I turned and ran. I ran faster than the stray dog that hangs out by the dumpsters when the butcher drops a bone. I couldn’t ruin his meet-cute with the Heroine. If he held a grudge, he might ask for the money back. As I sprinted home, the chat lit up again: [Romance_Reader: That scene was supposed to be romantic, but Jo turned it into a sitcom. It’s a talent, really.] [Fast_And_Furious: LMAO she bolted. Leaving the main couple confused in the wind.] [Sonic: Look at her go. She’s blurring.] [Career_Advice: With that speed, she should do DoorDash. More money than boba.] I nodded in agreement. They made a good point. My next job was decided—DoorDash. But some of the comments started arguing. [Drama_Queen: Did anyone see Luke’s face looking at her back? He looked heartbroken. I ship it.] [Canon_Police: Upstairs, are you okay? Jo is broke, stingy, and horny. How is she better than our sweet, soft Heroine? The Male Lead is just toying with her.] [Multishipper: I ship everything. Leave me alone.] [Warning_Sign: I can’t stop you, but if this girl keeps blocking the plot, the Narrative is going to punish her.] The chat started filling with insults directed at me. Whatever. My stepdad’s verbal abuse had maxed out my resistance stats years ago. I’ve survived Twitter cancelations with zero followers. Insults go in one ear and out the other. But one thing stuck. The Narrative is going to punish her.

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I am Hollywood’s newest “It Girl,” Lily Hart. I’ve been secretly married to Gavin Sterling, a tech mogul and Silicon Valley’s golden boy, for a year now. I thought we were pulling off the perfect double life. Until that one night. Gavin was on a late-night conference call. I had no idea. Sleepy and clingy, I draped myself over his back, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Hubby, I’m so tired. Carry me to the bathroom, please?” The next morning, the entire internet knew. 1 I woke up to thirty-four missed calls from my manager, Lisa. And a notification feed that was absolutely blowing up. Top trending topics on Twitter: #LilyHartSecretHusband #LilyHartGiantBaby #LilyHartExposed #GavinSterlingSimp #GavinSterlingDownBad There were screenshots everywhere. They were leaked from Gavin’s internal company Slack channel. Apparently, someone recorded the Zoom meeting. Employee A: “Wait, if I’m not hallucinating, was that Lily Hart’s voice? Is she… with the CEO?” Employee B: “Yooo, are they dating? That’s wild.” Employee C: “Omg, Lily sounds so soft and clingy irl. I’m dead.” And then, the CEO himself chimed in. Gavin: “Apologies, everyone. That was my wife.” … Idiot! He just confessed! I scrolled down. The chat went silent for five minutes before someone spammed a copypasta: “Bro, maybe delete that? I personally don’t care, but my friend is sweating right now. He’s physically ill. Not me, obviously, I’m good. But for the sake of my friend who is absolutely losing it over this info, maybe retract that statement?” 2 Reading this, I was half-furious, half-amused. I turned over and punched the culprit in the arm. Gavin grabbed my hand, pulling it to his lips. “Babe, don’t be mad. People are saying we’re a power couple.” I glared at him. “Where? The trending tab is literally roasting me for being a toddler.” He pulled out his phone, opened Twitter, and scrolled past the hate to the bottom of the list. #LilyAndGavin It was full of shippers screaming about how cute we were. Okay. It wasn’t a total disaster. To distract myself, I went into the trenches—the stan Twitter replies. A thread popped up: “Lily Hart x Gavin Sterling Fanfic [NSFW]” Excuse me? The internet moves terrifyingly fast. I blushed, but curiosity killed the cat. I checked the comments. User1: “Author, dropping just the title is criminal. Where is the link?” User2: “Please, I need to know if the tech bro has a soft spot. I need this trope injected into my veins.” User3: “SISTER, PLEASE. I am on my knees in a Walmart. I am shaking. I need the smut. Just one chapter. I promise I’ll go to church on Sunday, just give me the content.” User4: “So… did he carry her or what?” I closed the app immediately. My face was burning. But Gavin caught me. He leaned over, his voice low and teasing. “So, Lily… do you like reading that stuff?” I felt the heat spread from my neck to my ears. I stayed silent. Gavin chuckled, a dark, rich sound. “Maybe I should take some notes.” …Pervert! 3 My follower count was actually going up. Thank God I’m an actress. If I were a pop idol, I’d be cancelled by now. But, naturally, there’s always that one “Pick Me” girl. Vanessa Vaughn, my rival in the industry, tweeted five minutes ago: “Imagine being a grown woman in 2024 and needing to be carried to the toilet. Some of us are actually independent. Yikes.” Her fans swarmed the replies. “Queen! You work so hard for everything you have.” “Vanessa is the real deal. No sugar daddy needed.” “That lead role in Scorsese’s new film should be yours, not Miss Baby’s.” But the internet is chaotic, and some people defended me. “It’s called intimacy between a married couple? Are you the Fun Police?” “Vanessa sounds jealous lol.” I was about to close the app when a new reply rocketed to the top. Gavin Sterling [Verified]: “Why? Does nobody want to carry you?” HOLY. I looked at the man sitting next to me, calmly drinking coffee. “Dude,” I gasped. “You have no filter.” Gavin patted my head. “You’re a star. You have to be polite. I’m just a tech guy. My reputation doesn’t matter as much as my code.” Damn. He suddenly looked 10% hotter. Vanessa deleted her tweet. Life went back to normal for a bit. The weekend rolled around, and Gavin had a business trip to Napa Valley. I had a gap in my schedule, so I tagged along. We stayed at a private resort with a hot spring. At 4:00 AM, a paparazzi dropped a bombshell photo. In the misty steam, a woman was clinging to Gavin. She had long, straight, jet-black hair cascading down a pale back. The internet exploded again. “Wait, Lily has curly hair. Who is that?” “Did Gavin cheat already?” “He brought his wife to the hotel and then snuck a mistress into the hot spring? The audacity!” I saw the headlines and lost it. Tears welled up. I threw my phone at Gavin. “Explain this! Now!” He didn’t even look up from his laptop. “Think what you want. I’m tired.” The audacity! “Men are trash!” I screamed. “If we’re done, let’s just break up! I’m not doing this!” He gritted his teeth. “Fine. Whoever wants to break up is a dog.” One second later: “Woof. Woof woof.” The room was filled with the sound of a very wealthy puppy. 4 I stared at him. He reached out, hooking his pinky around mine. “Babe, how was my acting? I’m practicing to be the toxic ex for your next script.” I was still fuming, but the anger was deflating fast. “Terrible,” I sniffed. “Stick to coding.” He pulled me into his lap, nuzzling my neck like a Golden Retriever. “Okay, but we need to fix this.” He knew exactly what happened. My hair is naturally straight; I got a perm for my last role. The hot spring water and humidity just flattened it out. “I’ll take a photo of you now,” he said. “Same angle. Post it.” I sat on the balcony chair, looking away, letting my now-straight hair flow down my back. Gavin snapped the pic. He’s actually getting good at photography. I posted it to Instagram immediately. Caption: “Mr. Sterling is getting better at his camera angles.” The comments flooded in instantly. “Ohhh, her hair just went straight in the water! Rumors killed.” “Okay, looking at the back muscles… I approve of this brother-in-law.” “Lily is so gorgeous, let me give you a kiss!” That third comment… Gavin saw it. Gavin Sterling: “Sorry. Only I get to do that.” I snatched his phone away. “Stop it! Those are my fans! Stop fighting them in the comments, you jealous weirdo!” Just then, my phone rang. It was Lisa. 5 I braced myself for a scolding. “Hey, Lisa…” But she sounded… happy? “Lily! Listen, the engagement metrics on you and Gavin are insane. People love the ‘Simp CEO and the Star’ dynamic. A major brand wants you guys for a livestream shopping event tonight. The pay is seven figures.” Me: “Huh?” Lisa: “Just show up, look pretty, sell some stuff. Bring the husband.” I’m not stupid. I never say no to a bag. I hung up and looked at Gavin. “Babe, you’re not allowed to be jealous tonight. We have products to sell.” I smirked. “Fans like the jealous act, though. So… keep it up.” We got the briefing: “Livestream E-commerce 101.” I skimmed it. Easy. Gavin read it like he was studying for the Bar Exam. “You spend half my annual bonus on livestreams,” he noted dryly. “You should be a pro at this.” I chose to ignore that. The livestream started. I was in my element. “3, 2, 1, link is in the bio! Grab it before it’s gone, besties! Type ‘1’ in the chat if you need this serum!” Gavin sat next to me, stiff as a board. My fans noticed immediately. “Why is the CEO so quiet?” “Is he being held hostage?” “Lily is carrying this stream. Gavin is just eye candy.” Gavin cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m not being held hostage. I’m just… observing. If this was a lecture on Neural Networks, I wouldn’t shut up.” I covered his mouth. “Shhh. Look pretty.” The stream was ending, and sales were through the roof. Then, drama struck. Vanessa Vaughn entered the chat. She dropped 10 “Universe” gifts—worth about $5,000. Vanessa Vaughn: “Is Lily’s acting career failing? Why is she an influencer now?” Vanessa Vaughn: “No sugar daddy to buy you gifts? Sad.” So she spent 5k just to insult me? A philanthropist, honestly.

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