Author: Momo Chan

My wife showed up to finalize our divorce just as I’d finally managed to calm down her 18-year-old self. The moment she heard the word “divorce,” she exploded all over again. She started pacing, ready to charge out the door. “How dare she divorce my future husband! Who the hell does she think she is?” 1 I had to sneak away from the 18-year-old Celia to meet the 30-year-old Celia at City Hall to sign the papers. On the way there, the younger version must have woken up, because she called me. “Where are you?” I shot a nervous glance at the woman driving beside me and lowered my voice. “Just out buying something.” “Why didn’t you wake me? I’ll come find you.” “No, no, don’t! I’ll be back in a minute!” After a lot of back-and-forth, I finally managed to talk her down. “Who was that?” The Celia in the driver’s seat was tense, her lips pressed into a thin line. “No one. Can we speed it up? I’m worried there’ll be a line if we’re late.” The words had barely left my mouth when she slammed on the brakes. “Let’s just do it another day.” “Huh?” “I just remembered I have something to do. We can reschedule the divorce.” Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get out of the house? 2 Celia was my first love. We dated for five years before getting married. Unfortunately, the marriage didn’t last. Last month, we decided to get a divorce. But then, out of nowhere, the 18-year-old version of Celia “time-traveled” into my life. She just appeared in my apartment, bold as brass. And with the supreme confidence of a girlfriend, she moved right in. At 18, Celia and I had just started dating. We were in the honeymoon phase, madly in love. So when she heard I was planning to divorce her future self, she lost it. “I’m going to find that old woman right now! Who does she think she is, divorcing my man?” “Don’t you worry,” she vowed. “I would sooner kill myself than let you suffer like this.” Even though I explained that it was an amicable split, she refused to believe me. “A day will come when I don’t love you? Impossible!” “You want a divorce? Fine. You’ll have to step over my dead body first.” From that day on, she initiated a full-blown surveillance strategy, shadowing my every move. Forget getting a divorce. I could barely even get a moment alone with the other Celia. I thanked my lucky stars that the older Celia and I were already living separately. If I had to deal with both of them under one roof, I’d have a complete breakdown. 3 The 30-year-old Celia had no idea about any of this. Frankly, I didn’t see the point in telling her. To me, the 18-year-old girl and the 30-year-old woman were two completely different people. One had eyes only for her work. The other had eyes only for me. When I got home, the young Celia was sitting on the sofa. The picture of aloof elegance. The moment she saw me, she pounced, sniffing me all over like a curious puppy. I dodged away, ticklish. “What are you smelling for?” “A woman’s scent.” Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t go behind my back to divorce that hag, did you?” My heart skipped a beat. Her instincts were terrifyingly sharp. “Of course not. Didn’t I promise to give her a chance?” The younger Celia sighed. “You have no idea how hard this is for me, having to play matchmaker for my own husband and another woman every single day.” That night, while she was in the shower, I called Celia. I wanted to get this divorce over with as soon as possible. But a man’s voice answered the phone. “Mr. Hayes.” It was Celia’s assistant, Simon. “Where’s Celia?” “The Director is in the shower and can’t come to the phone right now. If you have a message, I can relay it for you.” I was about to speak when the bathroom door in my apartment creaked open. Guilt shot through me, and I instantly hung up. The young Celia stepped out, her hair still dripping, with nothing but a towel wrapped around her. Her 18-year-old body was… captivating. Even after twelve years with Celia, I wasn’t immune to that kind of visual assault. My expression must have given me away, because a smug smile played on her lips. She padded over to me, barefoot. “How do I stack up against her?” She was talking about her 30-year-old self. The older Celia stayed in shape, of course, but she was nothing like she was a decade ago. Besides, she was so busy… I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d been intimate. Seeing the complicated look on my face, her expression soured. “Is she… in really bad shape?” Before I could answer, her eyes widened in horror. “Don’t tell me… I let myself go? At thirty? I’m… out of shape???” Me: ? Her face crumbled. “Don’t say anything. I get it now. I finally understand why you want a divorce. I just… I need a minute to process this.” She trudged back to her bedroom, looking utterly defeated. For a moment, I honestly had no idea how to explain. My phone rang again. The caller ID said Celia. “Did you just call me?” “Yeah. I wanted to ask when you’re free to go to City Hall.” Before she could answer, my bedroom door cracked open and a small head peeked out. “Honey, where are my pajama pants?” I frantically covered the mouthpiece. “On the balcony.” “Oh. Okay.” The door closed. The woman on the other end of the line went completely silent. “Leo,” she finally said, her voice dangerously quiet, “we are not divorced yet.” “I know,” I snapped, my patience wearing thin. “That’s why I’m trying to schedule a time to sign the damn papers.” More silence. Finally, she spoke again, each word dripping with ice. “I would hope that until our marriage is officially over, you would maintain a basic level of respect for our relationship.” I thought of the male assistant who was at her place so late at night and let out a cold laugh. “Why don’t you take a look in the mirror before you lecture me.” 4 That call soured my mood completely. I lay in bed that night, tossing and turning, my mind replaying twelve years of history with Celia. Sleep was impossible. Finally, I got up. As I stepped out of my room, I saw the young Celia sitting in the living room. She looked up, startled. “Can’t sleep?” “No, just thirsty. Getting some water.” “You touch your nose when you lie.” She walked over to me. “You’re upset. Is it because of… that old woman?” This time, I didn’t answer. To my surprise, she puffed out her chest. “Go on. Hit me.” “What?” “Maybe you’ll feel better if you let it out on me.” She squeezed her eyes shut, ready for martyrdom. “Don’t worry. I’m young. I can take a punch.” I couldn’t help but laugh, giving her a light tap on the chest. Seeing me smile, she finally relaxed, grabbing my hand and pulling me into a hug. She mumbled into my shoulder, “I’m sorry, okay? I just don’t get how a gorgeous woman like me could suddenly, one day, just… let it all go…” She really thought that was the reason! I sighed dramatically. “I know, right? I was shocked too. I’ll buy you some workout equipment tomorrow. We’ll start you at 18. Maybe there’s still hope.” The look of utter devastation on her face was, I have to admit, immensely satisfying. Her presence had a way of soothing the anxiety of the divorce. It felt like I had traveled back to a time when Celia’s world revolved around me. She’d drop me off and pick me up from work, we’d go on dates, or we’d just spend the entire day at home, perfectly content in each other’s company. A few days later, a rumor started spreading around my office: a beautiful young woman was pursuing me. Eventually, the gossip reached the ears of the 30-year-old Celia. I was out to dinner with the younger one when she called. “I hear you have a new admirer.” I glanced at the girl across from me and stepped outside. “I do. So if you could please sign the papers and stop holding up my future, I’d appreciate it.” “You want a divorce because of her?” “No.” “Then why?” “Celia, don’t you think it’s a little late to be asking that question?” She didn’t ask when I first brought it up. But now that someone else is in the picture, she’s suddenly curious. She sighed softly on the other end. “Leo, how did we get here?” Yeah. How did two people who were once so in love end up like this? Just as I was about to answer, I heard Simon’s voice in the background. “Director, the meeting starts in five minutes. The team from Apex is already in the conference room.” “I took the liberty of swapping your usual coffee for barley tea, since I was worried about your stomach. I hope you don’t mind.” I hung up. I stood outside for a moment before going back in. When I did, I saw two young guys standing by our table, trying to get the young Celia’s number. “Sorry, I have a boyfriend.” “We just want your number. No harm in that.” She looked at them deadpan. “Not happening. My husband has a short leash on me. You should probably go.” She understood how to keep her distance from other men at 18. Why was it so hard for her 30-year-old self to do the same? I walked over. The two guys looked at me, surprised. One of them chuckled. “Come on, ‘boyfriend’ is just an excuse, right? This guy’s way too old for you.” The young Celia’s face darkened instantly. “You might be young, but you look old as hell.” She wasn’t done. She pointed to her chest. “You know what this is?” The guy just stared, shaking his head. “A heart that beats only for my husband!” Then she held up her right hand. “And you know what this is?” They both shook their heads again. She smirked. “A fist that’s about to rearrange your pretty face.” “Let me hear one more word against my husband, and I’ll knock you into next week.” The guys: … Me: … Long after they’d scurried away, she was still fuming, muttering under her breath. I tried to hide my smile. “I am older than you. It’s just a fact. No need to get upset.” “So what? I don’t care if you’re 18 or 80, if your hair is gray or you have no teeth left. You’ll always be my baby to spoil.” 5 I don’t know if her appearance had somehow rattled the older Celia, but she started contacting me a lot more often. Just trivial things. Asking if I’d eaten, what I was doing. I couldn’t remember the last time Celia had made small talk with me. It had been years. But now, her messages just felt… ironic. “Since we’ve already decided on a divorce, let’s cut back on the pointless pleasantries. The next time I hear from you, I hope it’s to tell me when you’re available to go to City Hall.” “So aside from that, there’s nothing else for us to talk about?” “You’re just realizing that now? We ran out of things to say to each other a year ago.” After I said it, a heavy silence fell between us. It wasn’t always like this. As her business grew, as she got busier, the space between us widened. Work during the day, overtime in the evening, client dinners at night… the man by her side for all of it was never me. After a long pause, she finally just said, “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” I didn’t think much of it, but a few days later, Simon showed up at my door. “The Director is in a meeting. She said she left a file at home and asked me to pick it up.” I wasn’t thrilled about him showing up unannounced, but I went to the study, found the folder, and handed it to him. He took it but didn’t leave. “Perhaps it’s not my place to say this, but as her assistant, I’m concerned about the Director’s well-being.” He looked me in the eye. “I heard you’re the one who initiated the divorce. Since you’ve made your decision, you should stop dragging it out and wasting everyone’s time. You’ve already found a younger woman, yet you keep stringing your ex-wife along. The Director is too decent to call you out, but you shouldn’t take advantage of her kindness.” “Who do you think you are, lecturing him like that?” I hadn’t even had a chance to respond before the young Celia appeared, a surgical mask covering her mouth. She glared at Simon. “You’re the help, not the boss. So mind your own business. Whatever is going on between my husband and his wife is none of your damn business. I’ve seen guys like you before. You’re just waiting for them to split up so you can make your move. Well, let me tell you something: a guy like you? I wouldn’t look twice at you in 12 years, or even 120.” The words shot out of her like a machine gun, relentless and brutal. Simon was stunned. “You two… are living together?” “Yeah, we are! What about it?” she snapped. “You want to go tattle to your boss? Then go! Stop loitering around here like a bad smell.” It was an overwhelming amount of information to process. Before I could react, she had slammed the door in his face. The next second, the fierce warrior was gone. She turned to me, her expression grim. “So, it’s because of him, isn’t it?” I froze. She pressed her lips together. “You want a divorce because of that man?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My silence was all the confirmation she needed. Her face clouded over as she turned to go back to her room. I didn’t understand why she was suddenly upset. “Shouldn’t you be happy about this?” She just scoffed. “Happy about what? That when I’m thirty, my eyesight will be so bad I’ll fall for a guy like that? I’d rather just be out of shape.” 6 The idea that her 30-year-old self had “cheated” seemed to be too much for her to handle. The young Celia was in a foul mood all day. That evening, her favorite drama came on, but she stayed in her room. That’s when I knew it was serious. What if she couldn’t accept it? What if she was planning on doing something drastic? I was about to knock on her door when my doorbell rang. It was Celia. Her face was flushed, her hair a mess. When she saw me, she mumbled my name, her voice hoarse. “Leo.” For reasons I couldn’t explain, I slammed the door in her face. The noise must have startled the girl inside, because her door creaked open. A small gap appeared. “Who is it?” “The power company!” The lie flew out of my mouth. “Oh,” she said, about to come out. I rushed to stop her. “No, no, stay in there!” Young Celia: ? “But… you said my show was starting…” “I’ll bring you the tablet! You can watch it in your room!” My brain was spinning. “I’m still mad at you! Mad that in 12 years you’re going to fall for another guy! I don’t want to see you right now!” She bought it. Her shoulders slumped even further. “This is so unfair. It feels like my future self chopped down a tree, and now I’m the one getting hit by the splinters.” Just as her door closed, there was another knock on the front door. Terrified she’d come out again, I flung the door open and hissed, “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” “I missed you.” Celia’s eyes were glassy and wet. She looked so much like the girl in the other room it was unnerving. I sniffed the air. “Have you been drinking?” She didn’t answer, just tried to squeeze past me. I blocked the doorway. “What are you doing?” “This is my house! Why won’t you let me in?” she whined, pouting. “I want to come home! I want to go to sleep!” My temples throbbed. While I was trying to figure out what to do, she spotted a gap and darted inside like a rabbit, turning back to give me a goofy, triumphant grin. She was a completely different person from her sober self. There was no way I could kick her out now. I had to put her up for the night. I was never more grateful that when the younger Celia first arrived, I had insisted—on the principle of not corrupting a minor—that we sleep in separate rooms. Otherwise, this would be a whole new level of awkward. Celia stumbled into my bedroom and immediately sprawled out on my bed in a perfect starfish. Her eyes were fixed on me. I ignored her, grabbing a spare blanket, intending to sleep on the couch. But as I turned to leave, she rolled off the bed and wrapped her arms around me from behind. “I don’t want a divorce.” I froze. She rubbed her fluffy head against my back. “You’re living with her, aren’t you?” Ah. Now I understood. “Simon told you?” Celia nodded meekly. I didn’t know how to feel. “Celia, the person who’s been trying to have their cake and eat it too, this whole time, is you, not me.”

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Two years in a cell, sent there by my own wife. The moment I got out, I changed my name and fled the country. Seven years later, we met again before my sister’s gravestone. Our eyes locked. She froze, the cloth in her hand hovering over the cold marble. A storm of emotions I couldn’t decipher flashed across her face—shock, elation, guilt… “Paul,” she breathed. “I’ve been looking for you for years. I thought… I thought you were gone, too.” Her voice trembled. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you ever call me?” When I said nothing, she quickly dabbed the corner of her eye. “You’ve been avoiding me on purpose, haven’t you? You still hate me for what happened back then. But you have to understand, I had no choice.” I couldn’t fathom how she had the audacity to say those words in front of my sister’s grave. Not after she’d orchestrated my sister’s death, stolen her husband, and driven me to the brink of utter ruin. But love and hate are luxuries I can no longer afford. To me, she was nothing. 1 With a final, lingering look, Linda turned and walked away. I knelt, placing the bouquet of snow-white chrysanthemums before the headstone. In the photograph, my sister, Amelia, was forever twenty-five, her smile warm, her eyes clear and full of light. If she were still here, she would have been at the airport to pick me up today. She would have ruffled my hair, just like she always did when we were kids. “Hey, kiddo, why the long face?” No. If she were still here, she never would have let them bully me into leaving in the first place. I crouched lower, my fingertips gently tracing the curve of her smile etched into the stone. “Amy,” I whispered, “I have some good news…” Before I could finish, Linda returned, holding out a heavy-looking gift bag. “I promised you I’d make you a gift for your birthday, every single year,” she said, her voice soft. “I couldn’t find you, so… I saved them all.” Inside were an electric razor, the latest gaming console, a designer watch… I could tell she’d put thought into them. I remained unmoved. Her hand hung awkwardly in the air, a flicker of hurt and embarrassment on her face. “You don’t like them? I can have my assistant get something else. We could… we could have lunch?” “No, I have plans.” She started to protest, but her phone buzzed. “Linda, when are you coming back?” a man’s voice demanded from the speaker. “It’s our seventh wedding anniversary today. I’ve already booked the restaurant…” My fingers paused as I brushed a fallen yellow leaf from Amelia’s name. This, Amy, I thought, is the man you once saved, the man you gave everything for. You saw him all wrong. And I trusted him all wrong. A sudden tickle in my throat forced a pair of dry coughs from me. “Linda, where are you? Who is that? Is there a man with you?” She hung up without a word and pulled a disposable mask from her coat pocket, offering it to me. “Your allergy to the cold air… it always makes you cough in the fall. You should wear one of these.” I turned my head away. “I’m over it now.” After a final goodbye to my sister, I walked toward the cemetery gates. Linda hurried to catch up, her presence a clinging shadow I couldn’t shake. I didn’t understand. Seven years ago, she had warned me to never show my face to her again. Now, she was stuck to me like glue. A rack of city bikes stood by the entrance. I scanned a QR code and unlocked one. Just as I was about to push off, her Mercedes pulled up smoothly beside me. “Paul,” she asked, a fragile, hopeful light in her eyes under the autumn sun, “have you been alone all these years?” I nodded once, offering no explanation. The truth was, I’d come back to tell my sister that I was getting married. That was a joy I was willing to share only with her. “Paul, don’t try to be strong all by yourself out there. If you ever need anything, please, call me.” She rushed the words out. “My number is still the same. I never changed it. I was so afraid that if you ever wanted to reach me, you wouldn’t be able to find me.” A bitter smile tugged at my lips. Ironic, wasn’t it? The very person who had severed every tie between us, who had wished me out of her life forever, was now playing the part of a devoted, long-suffering lover. “No thanks,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m not interested in getting tangled up with a married woman.” I pushed down hard on the pedal, and the bike carried me away, down the long path paved with golden gingko leaves. The wheels rustled over them, a sound that echoed with ghosts of the past. I knew this path better than my own reflection. As kids, Amy and I would come here for morning runs, for bike rides. She was better than me at everything, except running. I would always slow down to let her catch up, and she’d mess up my hair, laughing as I pretended to be annoyed. She used to say that even when we were eighty, we’d still be here, arm in arm, walking this path and enjoying the sun. But now, I was two years older than she would ever be. 2 I rode all the way back to the old apartment building where my sister and I had lived. It had been empty ever since she died. The rusty security door groaned open, and a wave of stale, forgotten air hit me. On the living room wall hung a photograph of four people, veiled in a thick layer of dust. It had always been just me and my sister, two orphans against the world. Then, when I was sixteen, Linda burst into our lives. She said Amelia had saved her from drowning, had given her a second chance at life. She swore to be Amelia’s best friend forever. From the start, Linda and I were like oil and water, always bickering over the smallest things. That all changed on our senior trip, when a mudslide hit the resort. Our classmates were picked up by their parents, but my sister was away on a business trip, too far to reach me. A torrent of mud and debris swallowed the hotel. I was trapped under a collapsed beam, waiting for death to take me. But Linda, ignoring the chaos and the danger, ran back into the wreckage. She dug with her bare hands from dawn till dusk. “Paul, don’t be scared! I’m here!” She carried me on her back for what felt like an entire night. It wasn’t until we reached the hospital that I realized she’d lost both her shoes. Her feet were a mess of raw, water-logged cuts. Her perfectly manicured nails, her pride and joy, were broken and bloody. “You idiot, what are you crying for?” she had said, grinning through her exhaustion. “As long as you’re okay, I’d do it again in a heartbeat, even if it crippled me!” In that moment, her smile was brighter than any spring day. Then came Leo. It was New Year’s Eve, and the three of us were making dumplings when he showed up at our door, a wreck of a man. He was the son of an old neighbor; his family had gone bankrupt, and he was hiding from loan sharks. Amelia, ever the soft heart, remembered his family once giving us a bowl of hot porridge. Without a second thought, she took on all of his burdens. She quit her stable, respectable job and threw herself into the ruthless world of business, drinking herself into the ER with a bleeding stomach and cheating death more than once. In two years, she lost thirty pounds, paid off all of Leo’s debts, and won his heart. We raised our glasses together, the four of us, and swore we’d be a family forever, that we would never be separated. I was lost in the memory when the sound of a key turning in the lock jolted me back to the present. The door swung open, and there they were. Leo and Linda. I had forgotten. We each had a key to this place. “Linda told me you were back,” Leo said, forcing a smile. “We figured you’d be here. You should have told us you were coming; we would’ve picked you up.” He moved to clap me on the shoulder, but I sidestepped him. “You can’t stay here,” he continued, gesturing around the dusty apartment. “Come back with us. Our housekeeper is on vacation, so we have a spare room.” I looked down. My fiancée’s family lived right here in the city. I was only here to see my sister, and later tonight, I was meeting my future mother-in-law for the first time. I held out my hand. “The key.” This apartment was my sister’s, but the deed was in my name. It had nothing to do with either of them. Linda’s gaze flickered to the old photograph in my hands, her expression unreadable. “Paul, if Amelia were here, she would want to see the three of us getting along.” Leo looked away, unable to meet the eyes in that picture. Ignoring me, Linda walked in, took off her coat, and rolled up her sleeves. She grabbed a broom from behind the door. “Leo, go open the windows. Let’s get some air in here.” For a dizzying moment, it was like stepping back in time. The four of us, gathered here. Amelia would cook, Leo would help, and Linda would clean. I would be the one giving useless directions. The small apartment used to echo with our laughter. Now, only a heavy silence remained. I wiped down the table and carefully placed Amelia’s memorial portrait on it. In the photo, her smile was so gentle. I never imagined this would be how the four of us reunited. Suddenly, Leo lunged forward and slammed the portrait face down on the table. “What are you doing, putting that up for?” he snapped, his voice tight with panic. Seeing his frantic expression, a cold smirk formed on my face. So, he could feel guilt. He didn’t have the courage to face my sister’s clear, honest eyes. “Paul, Leo is just worried about you,” Linda said softly. “After all, someone… someone died here.” “And you two know better than anyone how my sister died, don’t you?” The broom clattered from Linda’s hand, the sound echoing in the dead quiet of the room, broken only by the wind whistling outside the window. The year after my sister and Leo got married, everything changed. 3 Amelia’s business was booming, and she was constantly flying all over the country. The day she secured her first round of angel investment, she was so ecstatic she took us all out for a celebratory dinner. Halfway through the meal, she got a call from Linda, who hadn’t joined us. “Amy, I’m in trouble,” Linda cried over the phone. “Some guys have me cornered at a bar.” Without a second’s hesitation, Amelia dropped her chopsticks and ran out. She never came back whole. Protecting Linda, Amelia was struck in the back of the head with a liquor bottle. By the time Leo and I reached the hospital, she had the mental capacity of a five-year-old child. She had forgotten everyone and everything, except me. Her little brother. My world collapsed. While grappling with my own grief, I tried to push Leo away. “When Amy was herself, she loved you more than anything,” I told him, my heart breaking. “She wouldn’t want you to waste your life on her now. As her brother, I’m making the decision for her. You two should get a divorce.” Leo gripped Amelia’s hand, tears streaming down his face as he shook his head fiercely. “I will never leave her. Never. Not even in death.” His devotion was absolute. In a moment of naive gratitude for his loyalty, I signed over all inheritance rights to Amelia’s company to him. Linda, consumed by guilt, locked herself in her room, drinking herself into oblivion. It was Leo who finally kicked her door down and doused her with a bucket of cold water. “If you want to make things right with Amelia,” he yelled, “then you’ll get your ass up and help me protect her company and this family!” From that day on, Linda became a different person. She joined the company and shouldered the burden of caring for us all. At the time, I was drowning in grief and uncertainty. Linda’s constant presence and support became my only lifeline. We got married, and by my sister’s hospital bed, she swore she would take care of me for the rest of her life, just as Amelia would have wanted. Linda’s phone rang, pulling me from the depths of my memories. Leo, as if desperate to escape the past, suddenly became talkative. “Don’t be mad at Linda,” he said, a smug tone creeping into his voice. “She’s the CEO of a publicly-traded company now. She’s a very busy woman.” He rolled up his sleeve, deliberately flashing a limited-edition vintage watch. “She got this for me last month for my birthday. Flew to an auction in Paris to get it.” Linda ended her call. “What are you two talking about?” Leo took her hand, his touch sickeningly affectionate. “I was just saying, Paul’s clothes look a little worn. I’ll pick out a few of my old suits for him later.” My voice was devoid of all emotion. “Don’t bother. I wouldn’t want anything you’ve touched.” Leo’s face turned ugly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I met his gaze directly. “You know exactly what it means.” If it hadn’t been for that night, for that “accident,” it should have been my sister standing here now, successful and triumphant. Amelia’s descent into a childlike state was a wound in my heart that would never heal. But life had to go on. In the darkest hours of the night, I would find a sliver of comfort, thankful that Amelia had left me with two people who were closer than family. The night before I left for grad school, Linda promised me again and again that she would take perfect care of Amelia. Lost in despair, I clung to her words like a drowning man to a raft. I believed her. And at first, she was flawless. She seemed determined to give me all the love Amelia no longer could. Every two weeks, she would fly to my city, terrified I might be feeling lonely or neglected. “Paul,” she would say, her eyes shining, “the day the first snow falls, we’ll have our wedding. We’ll be the happiest couple in the world.” The city where I studied was known for its year-round warmth, but that winter was unusually cold. The forecast predicted the first snow in fifty years would fall on Christmas Day. I used the money I’d earned from a part-time job to buy a diamond ring. I secretly bought a ticket home, planning to surprise them. But when I opened the door to our home, the surprise was mine. There was my sister, chained to a radiator, emaciated and frail. And in front of her, on the floor, were two naked, writhing bodies. 4 A glacial cold seized me. I trembled, bile rising in my throat. I didn’t know what was worse: the fury over how they’d abused my sister, or the sickening sting of their betrayal. The two most important people in my life had betrayed me, together. My mind went blank. But Amelia, in her fog, saw me first. My sister, who had always been so meticulous about her appearance, was now filthy, her hair a matted nest. She held out a dirty, stale bread roll to me. “P-aul… eat…” The tears I’d been holding back for months finally broke free. I lunged forward, a guttural roar ripping from my chest, and swung my fist at Leo’s face with all my strength. He shrieked, scrambling to his knees before me. “Paul, I know I’ve wronged you! I’ve wronged Amy! But I’m not even thirty yet! I can’t spend the rest of my life tied to a… to an invalid!” But I had offered him his freedom. He was the one who had sworn he would never leave her. Did he think he could have it all? “Linda and I… we’re in love,” he stammered. “I won’t challenge your position as her husband, I swear. I’ll take good care of your sister, I promise. Just… just let me stay with Linda. The four of us can still be together, can’t we?” My sister had always shielded me from the world’s darkness. This was the first time I had come face-to-face with such vile, selfish treachery. I raised my hand to strike him again, but Linda slapped it away. Amelia, terrified by the commotion, began to wail. But a primal instinct took over. She threw her frail body against the iron chain, again and again, until with a sickening crack, her ankle snapped and she broke free. Dragging her broken leg, she threw her arms around me, shielding me with her own body. The wooden stool Linda hurled at me crashed down on Amelia’s head instead. Warm blood soaked my hands. Numb with shock, I fumbled for my phone to call for an ambulance. But Linda, now dressed, calmly walked over and crushed it under her heel. I had seen her mischievous, happy, and guilty. But this was the first time I had seen such cold, calculated cruelty in her eyes. “If you want this idiot to live,” she hissed, “you will shut your mouth. Your position as my husband is secure. I’ll even get the best doctors for your sister. But you will never, ever mention what you saw between Leo and me again.” My poor, confused sister didn’t understand what was happening, but she clumsily tried to wipe away my tears. “P-aul, don’t cry… Amy’s here…” I surrendered. After their initial panic, Linda and Leo became brazen. Rumors of their affair spread through our social circle. People called them ungrateful parasites. The scandal even threatened the company’s plans to go public. Then, the most important thing happened: Linda got pregnant. She came to me with a demand. She wanted a divorce, and she wanted me to publicly confess that my sister and I were the third parties who had ruined her relationship with Leo. “Paul, if you let your pride get in the way,” she threatened, her voice chillingly calm, “you will never see Amelia again.” She wasn’t bluffing. I searched everywhere, but my sister was gone. Defeated, I knelt before her like a stray dog. In front of countless media cameras, I bowed my head and confessed my “sins,” publicly apologizing to her and Leo. “It was Amelia who drugged Leo and seduced him. It was me who deliberately sabotaged their love…” As I read the confession they had written for me, a script full of twisted lies, my first instinct was to run. But Linda leaned in close and played a voice recording from her phone. It was Amelia, her voice weak and slurred. “P-aul… so cold…” I bit down so hard I thought my teeth would crack, and I read every last word. The crowd stared at me with contempt, disgust, and morbid curiosity. I don’t know how I left that press conference. All I wanted was to see my sister, to know she was safe. But a nurse at the care facility told me that Amelia had seen the video of me kneeling. She had become agitated, demanding to go find me, and had slipped away. The next time I saw my sister, she was a cold, lifeless body in the morgue. She was covered in filth, her body broken. Clutched in her hand was a crumpled paper airplane, a toy I had loved as a child. I beat the homeless men who had assaulted her until they were bloody, but it didn’t change anything. I would never hear her call my name again. I held her body and sobbed until I had nothing left. Meanwhile, my phone lit up with headlines celebrating the fairy-tale romance of tech-world darlings Linda and Leo. How could I not hate them? I arranged my sister’s funeral alone. With a fruit knife tucked in my pocket, I went to their company’s IPO ceremony, ready to take them down with me. I burst in, but I was too naive. Before I could even get close, security guards had me pinned to the floor. In front of all the cameras, I screamed the truth, crying out about their shamelessness, hoping to ruin them. But I was no match for them. “He’s suffering from a mental breakdown due to his sister’s passing,” Linda announced calmly to the press. “We are so sorry for the disturbance. I promise, we will ensure he never has the opportunity to harm anyone again.” They had all the power and resources they needed to crush a powerless orphan like me. I was charged with assault and sent to prison. When I was released two years later, the world had moved on. Linda was the revered CEO of a major tech corporation. I couldn’t even get past the front gate of her company campus, let alone get my revenge. Linda opened her mouth to say something, but my phone rang. “Paul, I’m here.” A warmth spread through my chest, and I jogged downstairs to meet her. As I led Maya up the stairs, I could hear arguing from inside the apartment. “Why? Why are you just giving him half the shares?” It was Leo’s voice, shrill with anger. “Your eyes have been glued to him since he walked in! Am I invisible to you?” “If you ever go near him again, I swear, I can have him thrown back in prison, and this time—” The sound of a sharp slap cut him off. “The company belonged to his sister in the first place!” Linda’s voice was laced with fury. “It was Amelia who took you in when you were homeless, who paid off your debts! Without her, you’d be rotting in a gutter somewhere! After everything we did to him, aren’t you afraid Amelia’s ghost will come back to haunt you?” Hearing them mention my sister filled me with a sudden, weary disgust. I pushed the door open. They both fell silent. Linda’s eyes fixed on the woman whose hand was intertwined with mine. Her voice was a raw whisper. “Who is she?” “My fiancée.”

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My brother stole my fiancé’s canary. My fiancé pressed a knife to my neck, his voice a low threat to my brother. “Send her back.” “Or you can come collect your sister’s body.” My brother didn’t even spare me a glance. “Oh.” “Then kill her.” The words shattered something inside me. My depression, a dormant beast, flared up in that instant, and I threw myself onto the blade. After I died, they all went insane. 1 The day I was trying on my wedding dress, my fiancé, Liam Blackwood, pressed a knife to my neck. “Caroline,” he murmured, his voice heavy. “I’m sorry.” Then, he made a video call to my brother, Caleb Vance. It took three tries before Caleb finally answered. Liam casually maneuvered me into the center of the frame, the cold steel of the blade a chilling line against my artery. His handsome face was a mask of cold, predatory cruelty. “Send her back,” he repeated. “Or you can come collect your sister’s body.” Her? Before the shock of Liam’s actions could even register, before the pain could set in, a girl’s face flashed in my mind. 2 Her name was Jenna Reed. Everyone called her Liam’s little canary. She’d shown up at my university once to confront me. “Liam and I have been together for three years. We’re going to get married eventually,” she’d sneered. “What’s the point of clinging to an engagement? Are you planning on sleeping alone for the rest of your life?” Her face was twisted with contempt as she spoke, and when she was done, she swept away. A sleek, black Cayenne was waiting for her at the curb. Quite the scene. I watched her go, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. She had it all wrong. It wasn’t me clinging to the engagement; it was Liam. He was the one who wanted to marry me. It wasn’t a new development. For the sake of the alliance between our families, I supposed. What other reason could there be? He couldn’t possibly still remember that I was his first love. That kind of foolish sentiment was probably something only I held onto. 3 Jenna’s words didn’t break me, but they sent my best friend into a fury. She called my brother, Caleb, hoping he’d stick up for me. But when the call connected, we heard Caleb’s voice mingling with Jenna’s. “Gave my sister a piece of your mind. Feel better now?” Of course. The Cayenne belonged to my brother. I hadn’t recognized it, probably because Caleb never, ever picked me up. Yes, Caleb was in love with Jenna, too. But he was more “noble” than Liam. He wanted Jenna to have a respectable, happy life. He had repeatedly pushed Liam to marry her and had always been against my engagement to Liam. A shame all his efforts were for nothing. This marriage was about the merger of our family empires. Not everyone was a lovesick fool like Caleb. Certainly not Liam. When the Vance and Blackwood families finalized our wedding date, Caleb had made a scene, demanding of Liam in front of our parents, “How can you do this to Jenna?” Liam had just smiled coolly. “Jenna who?” he’d said. “The only one I know is Caroline.” Liam always knew how to play the game, which was why my father favored him. But now… I never thought the ever-composed Liam could be so reckless. The moment someone snatched his precious canary, he didn’t hesitate to put a knife to his fiancée’s throat. 4 Jenna and I shared a striking resemblance. My best friend suspected Liam was indulging in some kind of replacement fantasy. I’d laughed so hard it hurt. Who would threaten the original for the sake of a replacement? There was a time when a simple paper cut on my finger would have Liam fussing over me for ages. Now, for Jenna, he held a blade to my throat. I closed my eyes, my heart turning to ash. Through the phone’s screen, my brother watched, a cold sneer on his lips. “Oh,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Then kill her.” His complete indifference was nothing like that of a brother. I froze, the wound in my soul gaping wide. I stared at Caleb, my eyes wide with disbelief. He was my brother. My own brother. Tears finally escaped, trailing down my cheeks. On the other end of the line, Caleb’s gaze met mine, and his brow furrowed. A flicker of pain crossed his handsome face. For a heartbeat, I thought he might change his mind. But in the next second, he looked away. “Regardless, Liam,” he said, his voice flat, “I’m not giving Jenna back to you.” That was it. He had taken Jenna, and he had no intention of returning her. “You’re a real bastard, Liam,” Caleb continued, his voice sharp with accusation. “You’re about to marry my sister, yet you’re still trying to keep Jenna locked away. What do you think she is to you?” Every word was about Jenna, not Caroline. Not me. My heart plummeted into an abyss. I remembered when we were children. Mom was still alive then. She’d asked Caleb gently, “Will you protect your sister when you grow up?” “Of course, I will!” he had promised, full of boyhood bravado. “What if a bad guy tries to hurt her?” she’d asked. “I’ll hide her,” he’d declared without hesitation, “and I’ll go fight the bad guy.” The memory was a cruel joke now. My hands fell limply to my sides. The mental illness I’d fought for so long, the one I thought I had under control, suddenly erupted. A voice whispered from the depths of my mind. No one loves you. Your brother doesn’t love you. Your fiancé doesn’t love you. Just die. Death will end the pain. Go see your mother… “…Okay.” 5 All I wanted was for Liam to kill me quickly. To end it all. But then, with a soft thud, the knife fell from his hand, landing silently on the thick carpet. “I’m sorry,” Liam whispered. I didn’t hear him. It didn’t matter anymore. No apology from anyone mattered now. I just smoothed down the fabric of my wedding dress. They say you’re buried in a shroud. A shroud… it couldn’t be as beautiful as a wedding dress, could it? As I pondered this, Liam turned and left. He had to find Jenna. He couldn’t be bothered to finish me off. But at least he’d left the knife behind. The blade was sharp. I picked it up, whispering to myself, “It won’t hurt.” 6 They say a spirit first returns to a place it holds dear. So my soul drifted back to the familiar old villa. This was where I was born, where I lived until I was fourteen, with Mom always by my side. Being back felt good. I floated onto the large, pink canopy bed in my old room and settled into a peaceful pose. My life had been unhappy enough; I didn’t want to be a restless spirit. But a moment later… Click. The door opened. Strange. Who would come here? I opened my eyes and froze. A tall, imposing figure led a delicate one into the room. It was Caleb and Jenna. “This room is the biggest and gets the most sun. You can stay here,” Caleb said, pulling Jenna in by the wrist. He strode to the floor-to-ceiling windows and yanked the curtains open. A flood of bright sunlight poured in. I recoiled, scrambling under the bed as the light seared my ghostly form. Jenna stood silhouetted against the window, a living figure in a golden oil painting. Caleb stared at her, mesmerized. “Caroline?” he breathed. He said my name. No, I must have misheard. The noon sun was scorching, nearly burning me to ash. It hurt so much. 7 Luckily, the bright light seemed to bother Jenna’s eyes, and Caleb drew the curtains closed again. I could finally breathe. As I drifted out from under the bed, I saw Jenna’s high heels digging into my carpet. “This is your sister’s room. Won’t she be angry?” she asked. A cold laugh echoed in my spectral mind. Of course, I’m angry, you hypocrite. My mother had decorated this room for me with her own hands. The embroidery on the pillowcases—she’d stitched it herself. And tonight, Jenna would be sleeping on them. Jenna’s gaze fell on the photos on my wall, a flicker of envy in her eyes. “Your sister went to Europe when she was so young? She’s so lucky. People really are born different, aren’t they?” Caleb looked at her, his eyes softening with pity. After a moment’s thought, he reached up and took my picture down from the wall. “This is just our old family home,” he said. “She won’t be coming back here.” He paused, his expression darkening. “She has no right.” 8 So, Caleb had hated me all along. He’d been quiet about it for years, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten. When Dad had his affair, I urged Mom to divorce him. I still remembered Caleb’s enraged shouts. “Mom has the softest heart! Dad already said he’s sorry, she would have forgiven him!” he’d screamed at me. “This is all your fault! You went to college and filled your head with all that nonsense just so you could tear this family apart?” His words had stunned me. I didn’t understand. Dad had hurt Mom. He made her miserable. Why shouldn’t she leave? Was a woman supposed to just endure a man’s betrayal in a marriage? All I wanted was for my mother to be happy, to stop crying in secret. To stop enduring. To stop yielding. But in the end… Mom never saw her new dawn. She died. And Caleb hated me for it. He called me a fool. “Mom was like a vine, Caroline. She couldn’t stand on her own,” he’d spat. “You killed her. All your crazy ideas killed her!” I didn’t know if I had done the right thing, but it was true that she died after the divorce. If she hadn’t left, maybe she would still be alive. The guilt gnawed at me. I told Caleb I would never speak out of turn again. He shoved me away. “It’s too late! Mom is dead! Do you think you can ever be happy again?” His words became a prophecy. I was never happy again. And from that day on, I buried my own nature. I endured. I yielded. Even when Liam paraded his affairs for the world to see, then came back and proposed to maintain the family alliance, I smiled and accepted, pretending nothing had happened. Like a doormat. My mother was dead. And I had become her. 9 Clutching the picture frame, Caleb was lost in those same memories. A storm of irritation and a strange, deep regret churned within him. Was Caroline really wrong back then? It was so long ago. He didn’t want to think about it. And what if she was? It didn’t matter. In her eyes, he was no longer the good older brother. Fine. That was fine. Jenna saw his silence and bit her lip. “Will your sister really be okay? With what Liam did?” she asked softly. “It’s my fault. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have had to make that choice. Liam… how could he hold a knife to his fiancée? He didn’t have to do that for me…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes welling up with tears as if she felt terrible for me. But her words made my spectral skin crawl. “Don’t worry. Even if the sky fell, Liam would never actually hurt her,” Caleb said, his expression flat. The flicker of worry he felt was gone as quickly as it came. “Oh, is that so?” Jenna’s eyes dimmed, and she muttered to herself, “He would never hurt Caroline… Right. I was overthinking it.” Caleb didn’t notice the change in her expression. His gaze drifted up to the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It seemed to sway slightly, as if someone were sitting on it. Heh. Impossible. He was just overthinking things. It must be because he was thinking of Caroline. She was so small as a child. Once, during a game of hide-and-seek, she’d climbed onto the chandelier and couldn’t get down, nearly falling. He’d asked her if she’d dare do it again. She’d tilted her little chin up defiantly. “I will next time! If you make me mad, I’ll climb up there and scare you to death!” Caroline had been fearless as a child, always ready to challenge him. They had been so close. He was the one who had changed. At that thought, Caleb’s fingers trembled. What was Caroline doing right now? Was she sad? Should he call her? They were siblings. It was only natural for him to care about his own sister. 10 I sat perched on the chandelier, looking down at Caleb. It had been a long time since I’d really looked at him. Our features weren’t that similar, really. Maybe he’d known all along we weren’t related by blood, and that’s why he’d started treating me so coldly. I swayed back and forth, watching him hand a tissue to a tearful Jenna, all warmth and gentlemanly concern. He looked just like the brother I remembered. Just then, the sound of fighting erupted from downstairs. Liam had found them. His security was clashing with Caleb’s. Caleb heard the commotion and strode out to the second-floor landing. He rested a hand on the railing, looking down imperiously. “Weren’t you supposed to be at a wedding shoot with Caroline?” he called out, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You really want it all, don’t you?” The veins on the back of his hand stood out as he gripped the railing. There was no one Caleb despised more than Liam. And yet, he had allowed him to marry Caroline. Liam had everything… why did he still have to come for Jenna? Anger simmered beneath Caleb’s calm facade. “Caroline won’t be happy about you being here.” Liam looked up, a disdainful smirk playing on his lips. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. You didn’t care about Caroline’s life, but now you care if she’s happy?” If he and Caroline were on good terms, Liam thought, he would have beaten Caleb to a pulp by now. Some brother. Seeing the enmity in Liam’s eyes, Caleb’s hands clenched into fists. “I’m not the one who held a knife to his own fiancée. Aren’t you afraid you’ll regret that?” Caleb cursed their father under his breath. The old man must have been blind to pick a man like this for Caroline. Caroline, who as a child had the courage to tell her mother to get a divorce. Why could she tolerate this man now? How much did she have to love him to forgive his endless transgressions? A sour feeling churned in Caleb’s gut. At the word “regret,” a strange tightness seized Liam’s chest. But the feeling vanished as quickly as it came. Caroline owed him this. He had nothing to be sorry for. Besides, he liked seeing her hurt by him. At least he could still hurt her, couldn’t he? A slow, cruel smile spread across Liam’s face. “I never regret anything I do.” 11 Listening to their barbed exchange made me sick. The afternoon air was hot and sticky. The old villa’s air conditioning was barely working. I huddled next to the refrigerator, the only cool spot. Someone had left the door ajar, and a stream of cold air washed over me. I never thought being dead would come with its own set of physical discomforts. Speaking of being dead… I checked the time. It had been half an hour. The bridal shop was one of Liam’s properties. Hadn’t anyone found me yet? I had been too impulsive. Using that knife… I hope I didn’t traumatize the staff. Why did I have to be a burden even in death? Sigh. I felt a wave of gloom. I wanted to go check, but I found I couldn’t leave the villa. So, I was forced to watch this drama of two men fighting over one woman. Liam was losing his patience. “Cut the crap, Caleb. Give Jenna back to me. Or else…” He hated having what was his taken from him. He clenched his fists, ready to fight for his possession, but then he paused. His hand felt empty. Something was missing. What was it? Liam’s handsome face suddenly crumpled, his eyes losing focus. It felt like he’d lost something vital. That’s right. The knife was gone. Had he brought it with him when he left the bridal shop? Or… had he left it there? In the dressing room. An image of Caroline’s fragile frame flashed in his mind. When he’d held the knife to her throat, he’d seen how delicate her neck was, the sharp line of her collarbones, her slender arms without a trace of excess flesh. Just how thin had she gotten? Did she even eat anymore? Liam suddenly remembered that he hadn’t made sure she ate her meals in a long time. The last time they’d eaten together, she’d suddenly gotten sick halfway through the meal. He’d been so furious he’d kicked the table over. But why had she gotten sick? His mind unwillingly drifted back to the reason they had fallen apart. The fact that Caroline had been with another man. His heart felt like it was splitting in two. What was he doing? He had left Caroline and a knife together in that dressing room. A wave of panic, sharper and more terrifying than anything he had ever felt, washed over Liam.

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“Two hundred times.” I was staring at Jacob’s Venmo statement. It took a full five minutes of scrolling to reach the bottom of the transaction history. Every payment was sent to the same recipient: “Babe.” “You sent her ninety-five thousand dollars,” I said, finally looking up. “You give me five hundred a month.” Jacob froze on the couch. “I…” “Don’t,” I cut him off, setting down the phone. “I’ve already printed the bank records.” The color drained from his face. I stood up and walked over to him. “I want a divorce.” 1. For three years, I thought I’d married the right man. Jacob didn’t smoke or drink, had a stable job, and was always so considerate. When our son was born in our second year of marriage, he was the one getting up in the middle of the night for diaper changes, the one who could always soothe him back to sleep. My mom always said a man like that was one in a million. I thought so, too. Until last night. Jacob had forgotten his phone at home. He was at a late meeting at the office, and I was home with our son. After I put the baby to sleep, I was scrolling on my own phone when I noticed his lighting up on the coffee table, buzzing over and over. I picked it up, thinking it might be something urgent from work. The notification on the screen read: Babe sent you $1,000. I froze. Babe? The phone was unlocked. I tapped open his Venmo. The transaction list was endless. A river of digital cash flowing from him to her. I scrolled for five solid minutes and still hadn’t hit the beginning. The recipient: “Babe.” Two hundred transactions. The earliest was dated December 15, 2023, for five hundred dollars. The most recent was yesterday. A thousand. My hand was shaking as I opened the calculator app. I added them up, one by one. The final tally: $95,000. Ninety-five. Thousand. Dollars. I sank back onto the couch, my mind a complete blank. He’d given someone he called “Babe” ninety-five thousand dollars. When we got married, I was the one who put down the $75,000 for the down payment on our house. My salary is $6,000 a month. For three years, I’d given him $500 every month for “household expenses,” while the rest of my paycheck went to the mortgage, our son’s formula and diapers, and helping out my own parents. The mortgage was $2,800 a month. I paid it. Our son’s needs cost another $1,500 a month. I paid for it. Had I ever asked him for money? Not once. He was always saying how busy he was, how many projects he had at work. And I’d always say, “It’s fine, you focus on your career. I’ve got things covered at home.” Now I knew just how busy he’d been. Busy sending money to “Babe.” Two hundred times. I set his phone down and walked to the balcony. Rain lashed against the glass, a frantic, drumming sound. I remembered last winter. My dad was in the hospital, and I had begged Jacob, literally on my knees, to lend me ten thousand dollars. “The company’s finances are really tight right now,” he’d said, his face a mask of regret. “I just can’t pull it out.” I ended up borrowing five thousand from my best friend, Sarah, and maxing out a credit card for the other five. Finances were tight. But in that very same month, he sent “Babe” twelve thousand dollars. A laugh escaped my lips, bitter and sharp. It turned into a sob, and tears started streaming down my face. No. I wiped them away fiercely. What was there to cry about? I marched back into the living room, grabbed his phone, and started taking screenshots. Every transfer. Every amount. Every date. Two hundred screenshots. Then I opened his WhatsApp. Pinned to the very top of his chats was a conversation with: Babe. I opened it. The latest message was from 11 PM last night. Babe: Hey honey, I bought that purse we saw today. Thank you so much!~ Jacob: If you like it, that’s all that matters. I’ll come see you tomorrow. Babe: Can’t wait! See you then, love you! I scrolled up. Over five hundred messages. Morning, my love. I’m craving sushi tonight. I found the perfect condo, 1,200 square feet. The down payment is $120,000. You promised you’d marry me. My finger froze on the screen. Marry her. He told her he was going to marry her. I kept scrolling until I found a photo. A picture of the two of them. Jacob had his arm wrapped around a young woman, who was beaming at the camera. They were on a beach, the sunset painting the sky behind them in strokes of orange and purple. The date on the photo was from July. That month, I was three months postpartum, still recovering at home. He told me he was going on a company retreat to Miami. It wasn’t a company retreat. I took a deep breath and continued taking screenshots. Every message, every picture. I saved them all. By the time I was done, it was two in the morning. Jacob still wasn’t home. I sent him a text: Are you coming home tonight? He replied instantly: Meeting ran super late. Just gonna crash at the office. I stared at the message and smiled. The office. I had a feeling I knew exactly where his “office” was. I opened his credit card statements. It was linked to a card I paid off for him. Thirty-eight charges from a hotel. The same one every time: the downtown Hilton. The same room number: 1806. Each charge was for $250. Thirty-eight times. That was ninety-five hundred dollars. I jotted down the address and placed the phone back on the coffee table, exactly where I’d found it. A cry came from the bedroom. Our son was awake. I went in and lifted him from his crib, patting his back gently. “It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy’s here.” I looked down at my two-year-old boy, with his father’s eyes. I once believed he would grow up in a happy, complete home. It seemed I was wrong. Jacob came home just as dawn was breaking. He pushed the door open and stopped short when he saw me on the couch. “Why are you still up?” I looked at him and smiled. “Waiting for you.” “Waiting for me for what?” he asked, kicking off his shoes and walking toward me. “Nothing, really. I just felt like we should talk.” He sat down next to me, reaching an arm out to pull me close. I shifted away. His hand hung in the air for an awkward moment before he dropped it. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I said, standing up. “You must be tired. You should get some sleep.” He gave me a strange look before heading to the bedroom. I remained on the couch. My phone screen glowed in the dim light. I scrolled through my contacts and found Sarah’s number. “Sarah? Can you do me a huge favor?” Her voice was thick with sleep. “Laura? What time is it? What’s going on?” “I need a lawyer.” “A lawyer?” Sarah was suddenly wide awake. “What happened?” “Jacob is cheating on me,” I said, my voice as calm as if I were commenting on the weather. “What?!” she shrieked. “What did you just say?” “He’s been cheating for two years. Ninety-five thousand dollars. Two hundred Venmo transfers.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then, Sarah’s voice came back, firm and resolute. “Stay right there. I’m coming over.” I hung up and looked out the window. The sun was rising. The rain had stopped. And my counterattack, I thought, was about to begin. 2. Sarah arrived with breakfast. Coffee, bagels, and the lox spread I loved. “Eat something first,” she said, sitting beside me. “Then tell me everything.” I recounted the events of the previous night. The Venmo history, the WhatsApp messages, the hotel bills. By the time I finished, Sarah’s face was a thundercloud. “That absolute bastard!” she slammed her hand on the table. “He needs to walk away from this with nothing but the clothes on his back!” “He will,” I said, sipping my coffee. “But I need more evidence.” “What’s your plan?” “I’m going to hire a lawyer, get all the facts straight, and then I’m filing for divorce.” Sarah nodded, her expression grim. “I have a friend from college, a real shark who specializes in divorce cases. She’s brilliant. I’ll call her right now.” She pulled out her phone. “Ms. Carter, it’s Sarah… I have a friend who needs your help…” Ten minutes later, Sarah gave me an address. “Two o’clock this afternoon. Ms. Carter will see you at her firm.” I nodded and stood up. “I’ll go get ready.” “Want me to come with you?” “No, you’ve got work,” I said with a small smile. “I can handle this.” Sarah looked at me, then pulled me into a fierce hug. “Laura, you be strong.” I patted her back. “I am.” Jacob woke up late in the morning. He walked into the living room and saw me organizing a stack of papers. “What are you doing?” “Just sorting some things,” I said without looking up. “Oh.” He went to the kitchen for a glass of water. “I have to head into the office today. Might be another late night.” “Okay.” He paused in the doorway, studying me. “You seem… off today.” I finally met his gaze and smiled. “Do I? Probably just didn’t sleep well.” “Right.” He finished his water and set the glass down. “Well, I’m heading out.” “Wait,” I called out. He turned. “Yeah?” “Don’t forget your phone,” I said, pointing to the coffee table. “You left it here last night.” He walked over, picked it up, and glanced at the screen, a visible wave of relief washing over him. “Thanks.” I watched him walk out the door, a cold smile on my face. Thanks for what? Thanks for me not looking? Or thanks for me not saying anything? At two o’clock sharp, I was at the law firm. Ms. Carter was a woman in her late thirties, sharp, professional, and refreshingly direct. “Sarah filled me in on the basics,” she said, handing me a cup of tea. “Let’s see the evidence.” I handed her a flash drive containing all the screenshots from the night before. Ms. Carter plugged it into her laptop and meticulously reviewed each file. When she finished, she looked up. “This is a very strong start, but I recommend we get more.” “Like what?” “Hotel surveillance footage, official check-in records, and the identity of this other woman.” “How do I get any of that?” “We can subpoena the check-in records using the credit card statements. A police report would give us access to the surveillance footage. As for the woman’s identity…” Ms. Carter paused. “I can have someone look into that for you.” “How much will it cost?” “Seven thousand five hundred. That covers the private investigator and all my preliminary legal fees.” I nodded. “Okay. I can transfer it to you now.” “No rush,” Ms. Carter said, closing her laptop. “First, I have a few questions.” “Go ahead.” “One, whose name is on the house deed?” “Mine. I made the down payment of seventy-five thousand before we were married, and I’ve been the one paying the mortgage.” “Two, how old is your son?” “Two.” “Three, what’s your monthly income?” “Six thousand after taxes.” “And four,” she said, leaning forward, her gaze intense. “What do you want?” I met her eyes and said, each word deliberate and clear, “I want the house, I want my savings back, I want our son, and I want Jacob to walk away with absolutely nothing.” A slow smile spread across Ms. Carter’s face. “Ruthless. I like it.” She stood and extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.” I shook it. “The pleasure is all mine.” As I left her office, I sent a text to Sarah: It’s done. Her reply was instant: Go get him! I stood on the sidewalk, watching the cars rush by. Three years ago, I married Jacob thinking I had found the person I would spend my life with. Three years later, I’d discovered he was nothing but a con artist. But that was okay. I was going to make him pay for it. That evening, Jacob came home while I was in the kitchen making dinner. “Home early today?” I asked. “Things were quiet, so I thought I’d come home and spend some time with you.” He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. My body went rigid, but I didn’t push him away. “You work so hard,” he murmured into my ear. I continued chopping vegetables, my hand perfectly steady. “It’s nothing.” “Oh, by the way,” he said, releasing me. “How are we doing on savings?” My heart clenched, but I kept my expression neutral. “Why do you ask?” “No reason, just wondering if we could maybe start looking at trading in the car for a new one.” A new car. Or a down payment on a condo for his “Babe”? I turned to face him, forcing a smile. “There isn’t much left. It’s all gone to the mortgage and raising our son these past few years.” “Oh.” His disappointment was obvious. “Well, never mind then.” I looked at him and felt a wave of disgust. This was the man who, three years ago, promised to take care of me for the rest of my life. Now, he was trying to figure out how to get his hands on my money to buy another woman a house. “Dinner’s ready,” I said, carrying the plates to the table. Jacob sat down and picked up his fork. I sat across from him, watching. He ate with gusto, taking a large bite of steak. “You know, nobody cooks like you.” I offered a tight smile. “Is that so?” “Of course,” he said, looking up at me. “You’re the best wife in the world.” The best wife in the world. I wondered, had he said the same thing to “Babe”? I looked down at my plate and kept eating. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ms. Carter: Investigation is underway. I’ll have a full report for you in three days. I texted back a simple “OK” and put my phone down. Three days. I just had to endure this for three more days. 3. On the evening of the third day, a file from Ms. Carter appeared in my inbox. I opened it, and the first page made my breath catch in my throat. Tiffany, 23. An intern in the marketing department at Jacob’s company. The photo showed a young, pretty woman with a sweet smile. The second page was a detailed log of her hotel stays with Jacob. Thirty-eight times. Always the Hilton, room 1806. The third page contained photos from the private investigator. The two of them holding hands while shopping. Laughing together in a restaurant. Entering and leaving the hotel. The fourth page was a copy of the bank transfers. Ninety-five thousand dollars from Jacob to Tiffany. Two hundred transactions, all listed in black and white. The fifth page was an audio file. I clicked play and heard Jacob’s voice. “Babe, I checked out that condo. The down payment is one-twenty. We can scrape it together.” Tiffany’s voice replied, “But I thought you said money was tight?” “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.” “What about your wife…?” “She’ll never know. She’s so clueless.” Clueless. He called me clueless. I closed the file and took a long, shuddering breath. Okay. This was it. I picked up my phone and called Ms. Carter. “I received the file.” “Is it enough?” she asked. “It’s more than enough,” I said. “I’m confronting him tomorrow.” “Are you sure? You don’t want to wait?” “I’m done waiting,” I said, my gaze fixed on the dark city outside my window. “I’ve been disgusted long enough.” After the call, I walked into the living room. Jacob was watching TV, our son asleep in his arms. It was a picture of domestic bliss. A beautiful, poisonous lie. “Jacob,” I said. He turned his head. “What’s up?” “We need to talk.” “About what?” “About your ‘Babe’.” His face changed in an instant. “What… what are you talking about?” I walked over, gently lifted our sleeping son from his lap, and carried him to his bedroom, closing the door behind me. When I returned to the living room, I sat down across from him. “Your Venmo. You sent two hundred payments to someone named ‘Babe,’ totaling ninety-five thousand dollars.” Jacob shot to his feet. “You went through my phone?” “I did,” I said calmly. “I also read your WhatsApp messages. Over five hundred of them. You called her your wife. You told her you were going to marry her.” “I…” “You also went to the Hilton, room 1806, thirty-eight times. At two hundred and fifty dollars a pop.” “Laura, just let me explain…” “There’s nothing to explain.” I held up my phone and opened the photo gallery. “I have screenshots of everything. I have the printed bank statements. I hired a lawyer and a private investigator. They have pictures of you two.” I held the phone out to him. He took it, his face turning ashen as he swiped through the images. “When did you…” “Three days ago,” I said, my eyes boring into his. “The night you left your phone at home.” He collapsed back onto the couch, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry…” “Sorry?” I laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “You gave her ninety-five thousand dollars while giving me five hundred a month for our family. And you’re sorry?” “I… It was a moment of weakness…” “A moment of weakness that lasted two years?” I stood over him. “Two hundred money transfers? Thirty-eight hotel bookings?” “Laura, I swear, I know I messed up. Just give me one more chance…” “A chance?” I stepped closer. “When my father was in the hospital, I begged you for ten thousand dollars, and you told me the company’s funds were tight.” I locked my eyes on his. “But that very same month, you sent her twelve thousand.” He wouldn’t look at me, his silence a confession. “I made the seventy-five-thousand-dollar down payment on this house. I pay the twenty-eight-hundred-dollar mortgage every month. I cover the fifteen hundred dollars it costs to raise our son. And on top of all that, I gave you five hundred dollars a month for ‘expenses’.” My voice was steady, but every word was a razor blade. “You took my money and you used it to keep her for two years.” Jacob looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. “I really am sorry, I know I was wrong…” “It’s too late.” I turned, picked up a document from the coffee table, and threw it in front of him. “That’s the divorce agreement. Sign it.” “Laura!” He lunged for my hand. I snatched it back. “Don’t touch me.” “I’m not signing it! I’m not getting a divorce!” “It’s not up to you.” I gestured to the papers. “The house is legally mine—I made the down payment before we were married and I’ve paid the mortgage. Our son is two; I’ll get full custody. The thirty thousand left in my savings account is from before the marriage; that’s mine, too.” “And that ninety-five thousand you gave her? That’s marital property you illegally transferred. I’m getting it back.” He stared at me, stunned. “You… you’re going to leave me with nothing?” “That’s right,” I said, looking down at him without a shred of pity. “You don’t deserve a single penny of my money.” “Laura, you can’t do this…” “I can’t?” I cut him off. “When you were sneaking around, did you ever stop to think that maybe I couldn’t handle this?” He had no answer. I grabbed my purse and walked to the door. “The agreement is on the table. You have until tomorrow to sign it. Otherwise, I’m filing.” “Laura!” I shut the door, cutting off his voice. Downstairs, I stood on the sidewalk and took a deep, gulping breath of the night air. My hands were trembling. Not from fear. From rage. And something else… relief. It was finally out. I didn’t have to pretend anymore.

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Answering an emergency call got me reported for a “bad attitude,” and my department head fired me on the spot. The patient’s mother gloated, “Good. You deserve to be unemployed.” So I walked away and took a job at a private institute for triple the salary. The next day, that same mother burst into my new ER, clutching her child. “Please, I’m begging you, save my son!” Her son had a rare disease. Only three doctors in the entire city knew how to treat it. Two of them were overseas. The third one was me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m no longer a doctor at your hospital.” My old department head showed up with the hospital president. “Name your price! Anything!” I pointed at the mother. “I want her on her knees outside my mother’s ICU room until the day my mother walks out of it.” Three months later, I took half of my old department’s doctors with me. 01 It was two in the morning, and the emergency room at City General Hospital was a gaping, unhealing wound in the belly of the sleeping metropolis. The air was a thick, suffocating cocktail of antiseptic, iron-rich blood, and the sour tang of vomit. The hallways were crammed with temporary gurneys. A desperate symphony of moans, coughs, the anxious whispers of families, and the incessant, rhythmic beeping of monitors filled the space. I was wearing a white coat stained with blood and God knows what else, having been on my feet for eighteen consecutive hours. The soles of my feet felt like I was walking on shattered glass; every step was a fresh stab of pain. My eyelids were leaden weights. A relentless, pounding drumbeat throbbed at my temples. My brain felt like it was pickling in formaldehyde—dull, slow, and numb. I was in the middle of administering a nebulizer treatment to a patient having a severe asthma attack when my phone began to vibrate violently, as if possessed. The screen lit up with the caller ID: “Nanny.” Beneath it, a glaring notification: 12 Missed Calls. My heart plummeted. A cold dread seized my throat. I answered, and the nanny’s hysterical sobs exploded through the receiver. “Dr. Ross! Your mother… her heart… it stopped! The ambulance isn’t here yet!” BOOM. My mind went blank. The world fell silent, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in my ears. The nebulizer mask slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. It took me a few seconds to find my voice, and when I did, it was a ragged, trembling mess. “Now! Start chest compressions, now! The way I showed you! Push hard! Don’t stop!” My voice was shrill with terror, completely out of control. A woman holding a child, who had been glaring at me with impatience, shot to her feet. Her name was Sharon. I remembered her. Her son had a simple fever, but she’d been raising hell in the ER for two hours. “Doctor! Have you no professional ethics? My son has been waiting with a fever for two hours, and you have time to be on a personal call?” Her voice was sharp and acidic, every word a poison-tipped dart. Tears of panic were welling in my eyes. I couldn’t spare her a glance. I screamed into the phone, “Push hard! Do you hear me? Don’t stop! Whatever you do, don’t stop!” “What is this attitude?” Sharon suddenly raised her phone, the camera pointed directly at me. “This is how City General treats its patients? I’m reporting you! I’m putting this all over the news!” My eyes were bloodshot. I was practically begging. “My mother is in cardiac arrest. Can you please, just let me finish this call?” “Everyone has emergencies!” Sharon sneered, her face a mask of spiteful righteousness. “So your mom is in a rush, but my son isn’t? If my son’s brain gets damaged from this fever, are you going to take responsibility? Why is your emergency more important than his? You’re just trying to slack off!” Her words were a poisoned blade, twisting into my most vulnerable spot. Just then, the department head, Dr. Evans, arrived, drawn by the commotion. The practiced, bureaucratic smile on his face vanished the moment he saw the video Sharon was recording. He yanked me into a nearby office, the door slamming shut behind us, muffling the chaos outside. “Lena,” he began, wringing his hands, his face a mask of deep disappointment. “Look at this. The optics are terrible. Doctor-patient relations are so tense right now. You’re making the hospital look bad.” I was shaking all over, my voice choked with sobs. “Sir, my mom… she’s in cardiac arrest, I…” “That’s enough,” Dr. Evans cut me off, his tone shifting to cold and clinical. “You’re suspended, effective immediately. Come in tomorrow to handle your termination paperwork.” I looked up, incredulous, feeling as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. “What… what did you just say?” Dr. Evans avoided my eyes, his gaze fixed on a plaque of hospital regulations on the wall. “You’re not a rookie, Lena. You know how important the patient relationship is. My hands are tied. I have to placate the family.” The office door burst open. My colleague, Dr. Cole, stormed in, his face livid. “Sir! Dr. Ross has worked three straight double shifts! Her mother is dying, and you’re going to—” “Enough!” Dr. Evans waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing a fly. “This is the hospital’s decision! It’s final!” From the doorway, Sharon poked her head in, a triumphant smirk plastered across her face. “That’s more like it. A bad attitude deserves to be punished. She deserves to be unemployed.” That smile was a physical pain in my eyes. I bit my lip so hard I could taste the metallic tang of blood. Without a word, I tore off the heavy, stained white coat—the one that carried the blood and fluids of strangers—and threw it onto Dr. Evans’s pristine desk. Then, I turned and ran. “Lena!” Dr. Cole yelled after me. But I was already in the elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing me off from the world. The stark, white light of the hospital corridor was sliced into a thin line, then vanished. In the small, silent box, I leaned against the cold metal wall, the strength draining out of me all at once. And finally, the tears came. 02 I ran into Central Medical Center like a madwoman. The red light above the ICU pulsed like an ominous eye in the bleached-white hallway. Our nanny was waiting by the doors, her eyes swollen shut. Seeing me, she broke down completely. “The doctors said… they said it’s really bad…” The heavy automatic doors slid open, and a doctor in green scrubs emerged. When I saw his face, I froze. It was Mark. My ex-boyfriend. He looked at me without a flicker of emotion. The eyes that had once held so much love for me were now filled with nothing but professional detachment. “Family? You need to sign here.” His voice was flat, devoid of any feeling. My hand trembled as I took the pen. The words on the page danced and blurred before my eyes. “How… how is she?” My voice was a broken whisper. Mark’s tone was as clinical as if he were reading a weather report. “Acute myocardial infarction. She missed the golden window for resuscitation. The prognosis is not good.” My knees buckled. I had to grab the wall to keep from collapsing. “It’s my fault… it’s all my fault… I wasn’t there in time…” A tidal wave of guilt and self-loathing crashed over me. Mark watched me, a flicker of something like scorn in his eyes. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you? How did you not know your own mother had a severe heart condition?” My face was as white as a sheet. My lips moved, but no sound came out. “Her… her check-ups were always normal. I didn’t know… I really didn’t know…” “We’ll observe her for the next 24 hours,” he said, taking the signed form and turning to leave. He took two steps, then paused and looked back. His next words were spoken softly, but they landed with the force of a physical blow. “I heard you got fired from City General.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I said nothing. A corner of his mouth lifted in a sarcastic smirk. “You always said your career was more important than our relationship. Well, look at you now. You don’t have a career anymore, either.” I closed my eyes, letting the hot tears trace cold paths down my cheeks. The bench outside the ICU was hard and cold. I pulled my thin jacket tighter around me and didn’t sleep a wink. At 5 a.m., my phone lit up. It was a text from Dr. Cole. It’s all over the department. Dr. Evans singled you out in the morning meeting. Said you were a disgrace to the ER, a gross violation of professional ethics. I stared at the words, a sharp pain lancing through my heart. Another text followed. The head nurse is telling everyone in the group chat that you got what you deserved. That you were always so aloof and never fit in, and now it’s karma. A smile that was more like a grimace stretched my lips. My “aloofness” was just my refusal to play their political games, to join the gossip circles, to suck up to Dr. Evans, to sign off on unnecessary tests for patients. In their eyes, that was being stuck-up. At 8 a.m., the sun came up. The hallway began to fill with people. A few doctors I recognized from medical conferences walked past. They saw me sitting outside the ICU, but they averted their gazes and quickened their pace, pretending I wasn’t there. I even heard one of the younger nurses whisper to her friend, “Look, that’s her. The one who got fired for offending a patient’s family. She totally brought it on herself.” The whisper was quiet, but it drilled into my ears. I didn’t even have the strength to argue. My phone chimed again. A text message. It was my landlord. Lena, rent is due this month. I opened my banking app. The account balance was a glaring, negative red number. I had forgotten. The hospital had already frozen my direct deposit. The nanny brought me a bowl of steaming porridge. “Dr. Ross, you haven’t eaten since yesterday. Please, have something…” I looked at the simple millet porridge in the thermos, exactly the way my mom always made it for me after a long night shift. The tears started again, fat, uncontrollable drops splashing into the warm porridge, vanishing without a trace. My life, it seemed, had been stirred into the same messy, indistinguishable pulp. 03 On the third morning, I was still keeping vigil outside the ICU, a soulless statue carved from grief. A well-dressed, distinguished-looking man in his fifties walked toward me. The nanny saw him and jumped to her feet. “Director Finch! What are you doing here?” I recognized him. He was Dr. Alistair Finch, the president of the prestigious Sterling Institute, and one of my mother’s old university classmates. Dr. Finch’s gaze settled on me, his deep-set eyes full of sympathy. “I heard about what happened with your mother. Lena, my dear, are you alright?” I managed to pull the corners of my mouth into a stiff smile. “Thank you for your concern, Dr. Finch.” He dispensed with the pleasantries and got straight to the point. “Lena, I want you to come work for me at The Sterling Institute. Three hundred and fifty thousand a year, your own private clinic, and you can build your own team.” I was stunned, my mind struggling to process his words. “Dr. Finch, in my current situation…” “I know you were fired,” he interrupted, his voice steady and firm. “But I’m hiring you for your skill as a physician, not for a work history that has been unjustly destroyed.” I shook my head, my voice hoarse. “Right now… I can’t even think about that…” Dr. Finch suddenly lowered his voice, and what he said next made the blood freeze in my veins. “Don’t you want to know why your mother’s heart condition suddenly became so critical?” My head snapped up. I stared at him. “What… what do you mean?” “She’s been getting her arrhythmia medication from City General for a long time, correct?” Dr. Finch’s gaze was sharp. “I’ve reviewed her chart. She had a minor arrhythmia. It should never have progressed to full cardiac arrest.” My breathing quickened. A terrible thought began to form. “But… but all her recent check-ups were normal!” Dr. Finch looked at me pointedly. “Normal check-up reports, but an abnormal reaction to her medication. Lena, the pharmaceutical procurement at City General… it’s a corrupt system.” All the color drained from my face. I remembered. My mother had been complaining recently that the hospital’s medication made her feel worse, that her heart raced more after taking it than before. At the time, I dismissed it as a side effect. I told her to give it time. How could I have been so careless? “If you want to find the truth, you need a platform, one that isn’t controlled by City General’s politics,” Dr. Finch said, his words like a key unlocking the door to vengeance in my heart. “My institute can give you that platform.” I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. The sharp pain brought me a terrifying clarity. “I accept,” I said. My voice was quiet, but each word was laced with ice. Dr. Finch nodded, satisfied. “Good. Come in tomorrow to sign the contract. I’ve already had it drawn up.” He turned to leave, then paused. “By the way,” he added. “The head of procurement at City General, a Director Jennings, just booked a twenty-thousand-dollar executive health screening package for his entire family at our institute last week.” I drew a sharp, ragged breath. Director Jennings’s salary was barely six figures. Where did he get that kind of money? In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty: what happened to my mother was no accident. It was an attack. I looked through the thick glass of the ICU window at my mother, lying motionless, a tangle of tubes keeping her alive. I made a silent vow. Whoever did this to her, I would make them pay. In blood. 04 The Sterling Institute was a gleaming thirty-two-story tower of glass and steel in the city’s most affluent district, a modern temple of medicine. There was none of the crowding, chaos, or despair of City General. Here, there was only quiet, light, and a reassuring sense of order. The head of HR showed me to my new office. “Dr. Ross, this is your private clinic. Two thousand square feet, fully equipped with the latest diagnostic technology imported from Germany.” I stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the river of traffic below. It felt like another world. Just three days ago, I was fighting with a patient’s family over a single gurney in an ER so cramped you could barely turn around. The HR manager handed me a beautifully bound contract. “Dr. Ross, your base salary is three hundred and fifty thousand, with quarterly bonuses and project-based incentives. All benefits are at the highest tier.” I signed my name, “Lena Ross.” The nib of the pen scratched against the paper. It felt unreal, like a dream too good to be true. Meanwhile, back at City General, the head nurse was showing her phone to Dr. Evans. “Sir, look. That woman, Lena Ross, went to Sterling. I heard they’re paying her three hundred and fifty grand a year,” she said, her voice dripping with envy. Dr. Evans took a sip from his thermos and sneered. “Private hospitals are all smoke and mirrors. They’ll say anything to create buzz. Who does she think she is, some kind of miracle worker? Just wait. See how long she lasts.” Across town, in a neighborhood online group, Sharon was bragging about her “victory.” “You guys, that super rude doctor I told you about? I got her fired! That’s how you deal with these people who take your money and don’t do their jobs!” The chat filled with likes and supportive comments. “You go, Sharon! Someone had to teach them a lesson!” “Exactly! We’re the customers! They’re supposed to provide a service! If they have a bad attitude, they shouldn’t be doctors!” Sharon beamed at her phone screen, then hugged her son and kissed his cheek. “See, baby? Mommy will always stand up for you.” She was so absorbed in her triumph that she didn’t notice the unnatural flush on her son’s face. Back at the Sterling Institute. Dr. Finch knocked and entered my office. “Lena, this is your team. Three assistants.” Three young people stood behind him. One of them, a young woman, saw me and gasped. “Dr. Ross!” I recognized her. It was Mia, one of my former medical students. “Mia? What are you doing here?” Mia shuffled her feet, embarrassed. “Dr. Ross, I… I was also ‘let go’ from City General…” A warmth spread through my chest. I walked over and patted her shoulder. “It’s alright. You’re with me now. We’re going to do great work here.” The other two assistants, both recent graduates, introduced themselves, their eyes shining with respect. That afternoon, my first consult request arrived. A VIP patient, the chairman of a major local corporation. He’d had a persistent high fever for three weeks, had been to every major hospital in the city, and undergone countless tests, all inconclusive. I studied the thick file of medical records, my brow furrowing. “Let me see the patient,” I said to Mia. In the hospital room, the family crowded around me, their faces etched with anxiety. A middle-aged woman with red-rimmed eyes grabbed my arm. “Doctor, please, you have to save my father! Money is no object!” I approached the bed. The patient was semi-conscious, his breathing shallow. I began a thorough physical examination. As my fingers touched his fingertips, I noticed a subtle detail that had clearly been overlooked—slight clubbing at the ends of his fingers. The name of an extremely rare but highly fatal disease flashed in my mind. I looked up, my voice firm and unwavering. “Prep for a bronchoscopy, now. And run a serum G-test and GM-test, stat!”

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It was the ninth year since I’d left my small town behind. I was scrolling through a viral social media post when a comment caught my eye. The tone was smug, dripping with self-satisfaction. “My son was dating an ordinary girl back in the day. I didn’t stop them, just used a little trick to ruin her. He watched his own girlfriend fall apart and broke up with her out of disappointment. Now he’s successful and close to home. I suppose it’s what any great mother would do.” Jimmy Vance’s mother. After all these years, she was still proud of tearing us apart. The post had blown up, flooded with arguments and outrage. But I just turned off my phone, a calm emptiness inside me. It all happened so long ago. Then, I looked up and saw him. In a hospital consultation room, wearing a doctor’s white coat. Jimmy. I froze for a heartbeat. Then, with a heavy limp, I walked into the room and handed him my appointment slip. “Doctor,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m here to schedule an abortion.” 1. He recognized me instantly. Jimmy’s gaze faltered, then dropped to the paper in his hand. “Your health is fragile,” he said, his voice professional but strained. “An abortion could have serious complications. Are you sure about this?” Years had passed, but Jimmy was the same as ever—radiant, seemingly untouched by the world’s harshness. His mother had protected him well, shielding him from any real suffering. The old me would have slapped him across the face, screaming at him for the hypocrisy. I would have told him that what I’d become was all because of him and his mother. But years of torment and medication had blunted my emotions, leaving only a deep, weary numbness. I met his gaze calmly. “Yes. I’d like to schedule the procedure as soon as possible, Dr. Vance. Is that possible?” The earlier, the less damage to my body. I had debts to pay, and I needed to get back to work. Jimmy stood half in shadow, his expression unreadable. “Why? Is your husband not good to you?” I frowned, realizing his assumption. But I didn’t bother to correct him. He was nothing to me now. After this, our paths would never cross again. Seeing my silence, he said no more. After a quick examination, he scheduled the surgery for that same day. The cold needle slid into my arm, and my consciousness began to drift into a hazy fog. Just as the preparations were finishing, a young nurse hurried in and whispered something in Jimmy’s ear. He didn’t hesitate for a second. He turned and left the room. “Dr. Vance is such a good husband,” one of the nurses murmured. “His wife has a little cold and he’s already so worried.” “I know, right?” the other chimed in. “Not like the one on the table. Coming in alone for an abortion, with no one by her side. You know what that means.” My eyelids fluttered, but I couldn’t force them open. I wanted to scream, to defend myself. I wasn’t some slut. I was once the love of Jimmy’s life. It was the summer after sophomore year. I met Jimmy when he was shipped off to our sleepy little town. He was the son from his father’s affair, an outcast. No one wanted anything to do with him. But my parents, bless their bleeding hearts, felt sorry for the lonely boy and always had me bring him food. Maybe it was out of gratitude for their kindness, but Jimmy’s attitude toward me softened, becoming gentle, almost indulgent. He never said no to me. Anything I wanted, he’d move heaven and earth to get it. My friends noticed how close we were getting. “He’s the son of a mistress,” one of them whispered to me. “He’s dirty. You shouldn’t hang out with him.” But it wasn’t his fault he was born that way. My face hardened. “You can’t say that about him. Jimmy is a good person—the kindest person I’ve ever met.” I might have exaggerated a little, trying to defend his name. My friend nudged me, and I turned. Jimmy was standing there, his eyes red and glistening. Suddenly flustered, I ran off. That evening, as I was walking home from school, Jimmy followed me like he always did. But just as we left the school gates, he gently took my hand. “Ava,” he said, his voice soft. “Thank you. You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met, too.” My face flushed, but I didn’t pull away. I let our hands stay intertwined, the warmth slowly seeping into my skin. Jimmy and I were together. He promised he would love me forever. We would go to the same college, buy a small apartment, and get two cats. On my eighteenth birthday, Jimmy was late. Alone, I closed my eyes and made that wish. Late that night, I heard the door to the house next door open. “Jimmy, you missed my…” My words died in my throat. Standing behind him was a woman. She smiled warmly and extended a hand. “You must be Ava, right? I’m Jimmy’s mother.” She was gentle, nothing like the wicked woman people made her out to be. She gave me expensive gifts, spoke to me in honeyed tones, and brought me pretty little pastries every day. She even introduced me to her friends. We were in a private room at an upscale club. It was filled with leering, middle-aged men. A knot of fear tightened in my stomach. But Jimmy’s mother firmly pushed me down onto the sofa. “This is my son’s girlfriend, Ava,” she announced to the room. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Every eye in the room landed on me. Their slimy gazes made my skin crawl. “Ma’am, I still have homework to do. I should probably get going.” But one of the men grabbed the hem of my skirt, his hand even starting to creep higher. I shoved him, desperate, and earned a sharp slap across the face. My cheek burned instantly, a ringing sound echoing in my ears. “Don’t play innocent,” he sneered. “You only got with Jimmy for his money, right? Well, I’ve got money too. Why don’t you come with me?” He yanked me up and pulled me onto his lap. “No! Let me go!” I struggled, my eyes frantically searching for Jimmy’s mother. She just sat there, watching with cold indifference. I tried to escape, but I was no match for a grown man’s strength. They held me down, pouring glass after glass of liquor down my throat. The alcohol soaked the front of my shirt, turning the fabric translucent. My head spun. They grabbed my chin, snapping pictures of me. “The little bitch is actually pretty cute. No wonder Jimmy likes her.” Through the haze, I saw the look of disgust in his mother’s eyes. “She’s not good enough for Jimmy,” she said. “He has much better options in his future.” Then she added, “Alright, that’s enough. Stop playing around.” I didn’t understand what she meant, but I felt them arranging my body into a compromising position. The next second, the door flew open. “Ava… what are you doing?” Jimmy stood frozen in the doorway, staring at me—disheveled, sprawled against another man. I couldn’t speak. His mother helped me up. “Jimmy, don’t blame Ava,” she said sweetly. “Girls… they see a man with money and they’re tempted to take shortcuts. But don’t worry, your uncles here are decent men. They knew she was your girlfriend, so they didn’t touch her.” In a few short sentences, she had painted me as a shameless, money-grubbing whore. I choked back a sob. “No, that’s not what happened…” Jimmy didn’t say a word. He walked over to me and roughly wiped the liquor from my lips. I grabbed his hand, trembling. “Jimmy, it’s not like that. I didn’t do anything. Your mom made those men force me to drink. Please, believe me.” His face was shrouded in shadow, his expression impossible to read. “Mom,” he said, his voice tight. “Don’t bring her to places like this again.” He didn’t answer me. He just turned, put me on his back, and carried me out of the room. “Jimmy, it wasn’t what your mom said. She’s trying to break us up.” The night air was cold, making my voice tremble. He was silent for a long time. “Ava,” he finally said. “From what I’ve seen, my mom has been very good to you.” On that long walk home, he didn’t say another word. I knew. He believed her. The next morning, Jimmy didn’t wait for me. I rushed to school, desperate to explain. But when I got there, all my classmates were staring at me with strange expressions. Especially the boys. A thug with bleached-blond hair walked up to me. He hooked a finger under my bra strap and snapped it hard against my skin. “Come back again sometime,” he said with a smirk. “My buddies and I had a great time.” He threw a handful of photos on the ground. They scattered everywhere. The looks from my classmates turned from curiosity to contempt. Jimmy stood silently in the crowd, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions. Shaking, I grabbed my thermos from my desk and threw it at the thug’s head. “You’re lying! I’m calling the cops!” Blood streamed down his face. His expression turned vicious. “You little bitch,” he snarled. “You were enjoying yourself last night, weren’t you? Put your clothes on and suddenly you don’t know us?” “You’re lying!” I screamed. Just then, Jimmy stepped forward. He grabbed my arm, his grip like steel. “That’s enough!” he hissed. “Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” I stared at him, stunned. “He’s the one bullying me! Am I supposed to just let him slander me?” Jimmy’s eyes were dark. “If you hadn’t been so careless with yourself, would they even have a chance to slander you?” I froze. Looking at him, he felt like a stranger. Like I had never known him at all. I slapped him, hard. He turned his head to the side, slowly releasing his grip on my arm. “Ava, are you going to act like a saint after playing the whore? My mom and her friends all said you were the one who came onto them. Are you telling me every single one of them is lying?” His words sealed my fate. I became the class pariah. They called me names, stuffed trash in my desk, and scrawled obscenities on my uniform. I buried myself in my studies, pouring all my energy into getting into a good college. Late at night, I would lie in bed and tell myself it would be okay. Just get to college. Just get away from here. Jimmy’s mother was still as sweet to me as ever, but seeing her filled me with dread. “Ava, why have you been ignoring Jimmy lately? He’s been so heartbroken.” I finally found the courage to look her in the eye. “Ma’am, we’ve already broken up. Please stop targeting me.” A smirk played on her lips. “Your breakup means nothing. Jimmy is still completely devoted to you. But don’t worry. I’ll make him watch you rot, piece by piece. Then, he’ll finally give up on you.” Her threats, combined with the relentless bullying from my classmates, pushed me to the edge of a breakdown. My parents noticed something was wrong and wanted to talk. But before we could, there was a knock on the door. It was Jimmy’s mother, asking to borrow some salt. My dad went to the kitchen. My mom glanced at her phone, handed me my backpack, and pushed me out the door. “You’re going to be late. Go on to school. We’ll talk tonight.” I was on edge all day. After school, I practically ran home. Our house was surrounded by a crowd of people. The unease in my chest exploded into full-blown panic. I shoved my way through the onlookers, my hands trembling. And then I saw it. My father and Jimmy’s mother, tangled together, their clothes in disarray. My dad’s face was ashen, with bright red scratches on his skin. The woman was sobbing pitifully. “How could you do this to me? This is rape! I’m calling the police!” Jimmy threw his school jacket over them, his gaze sweeping over my family with dark contempt. “I thought you were good people,” he spat. “Turns out you’re the most disgusting of all!” My father’s lips trembled. “No… I didn’t do it…” But no one believed him. Not even my mother. She just stood there, humbly apologizing to Jimmy’s mother. The neighbors pointed and whispered. I stood frozen in the crowd, and in that moment, I saw a flicker of triumph in his mother’s eyes. After they left, my mother screamed and hit my father. He kept denying it, but the evidence was overwhelming. It ended with my mother demanding a divorce. I cried, begging her on my father’s behalf. “It has to be Jimmy’s mom! She’s setting him up! Mom, don’t fall for it…” My mother slapped me across the face. “How could I have raised a daughter who can’t tell right from wrong?” The house became a war zone of endless arguments. Jimmy told everyone at school that my father had raped his mother. On top of “whore” and “slut,” I now had a new title: daughter of a rapist. Eventually, the fighting at home subsided. It was as if nothing had ever happened. On the last day of my final exams, my dad gave me a brand-new phone. “Ava,” he said, his voice heavy. “Study hard. Live a good life.” The past few months had left me numb and exhausted, but I managed a small smile. “Thanks, Dad.” I thought they had reconciled. I ignored the deep pain in his eyes. The next day, I went to the exam center. Before I could even walk in, my phone rang. It was our neighbor. “Ava, you have to come home! Your dad jumped off the building, and your mom is trying to kill herself!” My legs gave out from under me. I scrambled home, stumbling and falling. My mom had turned on all the gas stoves in the house and was about to light a match. I screamed, trying to drag her out. But it was too late. The gas exploded. Everything went black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. My whole body ached, but I couldn’t feel my left arm at all. Our neighbor looked at me with pity in her eyes. “Ava, don’t look. Your arm… it was too badly injured. They had to amputate.” I struggled to sit up. “My parents? Where are they?” She turned away, unable to meet my eyes. But I knew. They were gone. In the end, I had nothing left.

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1 It was the fifth year since I’d cut all ties with my family. I saw them again at the prison gates. They were there for my sister’s first day of work as a corrections officer. I was there because I was an inmate being released. When they saw me, my parents froze, a wave of awkwardness washing over them. After a tense silence, my mother spoke first. “Luna… when we asked you to take the fall for your sister, we truly had no other choice.” “We never thought you’d actually cut us off, that you wouldn’t even call us once from inside…” I sidestepped her outstretched hand, grabbed the last of my things, and turned to leave. As I passed, my father grabbed my sleeve, his eyes red. “Luna! It’s been five years! Are you going to hold onto this forever? Is this how you treat your parents and your sister?” “Whatever you have to say, you can say it at home. It’s not like you have anywhere else to go…” What was there to say? I was no longer that desperate little girl, starved for her parents’ affection. Besides… My gaze shifted to a car parked a short distance away. I pulled my arm free. “I have somewhere to go. My family is waiting for me.” … When I pulled away, my father’s temper flared. “Luna Reed! Did five years in prison rot your brain? You won’t even acknowledge your own mother and father?!” “Still as stubborn as ever! You’re not half as likable as Stella!” His voice was so loud that a few of the officers glanced our way, the atmosphere turning thick with embarrassment. My mother quickly patted his arm, urging him to calm down. “Quiet down. You’ll make a bad impression on Stella’s colleagues.” She turned back to me, forcing a smile, her voice laced with a careful, placating tone. “Luna, you know your father’s temper. Don’t take it to heart.” “You haven’t contacted us all these years… did you really think we were going to let you go to prison?” “You’re our daughter too, silly girl. If you had just answered our calls instead of choosing prison, we would have hired the best lawyers to get you out of it.” Her eyes welled up, and she looked like a heartbroken, helpless mother. She seemed to have forgotten that I hadn’t done anything wrong in the first place. The crime was a lie they had fabricated to protect my sister, Stella. I took a step back, my voice calm and even. “Don’t trouble yourselves. The day you asked me to take the blame for Stella, we stopped being a family.” My words made my father’s face darken. “Look at her! Just look at that miserable face! How did we raise such an ungrateful child?!” He raised his hand to strike me, but the ringing of his phone cut him off. He answered it immediately. Stella’s lazy voice drifted from the speaker. “Dad, I’m done with my paperwork. Bring the car around to the West Gate. The main entrance is too far, I can’t be bothered to walk.” “Okay, okay, we’re on our way.” My mother tried to smooth things over. “You see, Luna? Stella is still so lazy…” “Come with us to pick up your sister. It’s her first day, she’s so excited.” “We’re family, there’s no grudge we can’t get over, right? Come on, come home with us…” “Enough!” I couldn’t stand another second of their family drama. I turned to leave. But she grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. I was only ninety pounds now, and the force of her pull sent me stumbling to the ground. My mother stared down at me, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came out. Even my father was stunned by my gaunt appearance. “Were you a picky eater in there? How did you get so thin…?” A picky eater? What a joke. In their eyes, Stella, with her bipolar disorder, was a fragile porcelain doll. I, the healthy daughter, was supposed to be tough as nails. So every time Stella made a mistake, I was the one who took the punishment. Stella put a bug in the principal’s water bottle. They were afraid the punishment would trigger an episode, so I was the one publicly reprimanded in front of the whole school. Stella’s bullying almost got another student killed. I took the fall, became the ringleader, and lost every friend I had. Until the last time, when Stella committed the ultimate crime… That was the first time I refused to take the blame for her. My reward was a sharp slap from my father. The blow ruptured my eardrum. To this day, I can’t hear a thing out of that ear. Five years had passed. Stella had graduated from the police academy with flying colors. A bright future ahead of her. How nice. I looked at them coldly. “Go back with you? And then what? You really want me back as your daughter?” “If people find out Stella has a convicted felon for a sister, your precious daughter’s career might be over before it even begins.” Their faces went pale. Stella called again, her voice growing more impatient. They looked torn, but in the end, they got in the car and left. After picking her up, their familiar black sedan drove past the main gate again. As they passed, I could hear their cheerful laughter drifting out of the window. A friendly officer I knew walked over. “Our new colleague’s family seems so close,” he said. “Last time her parents were here, they treated us all to dinner and bought her new clothes, just to make sure we’d look out for her.” “By the way,” he added, “I saw you talking to them for a while. Do you know them?” I couldn’t help but smile a little. “I do.” “Once upon a time, I was their child, too.” The officer’s eyes widened. He probably couldn’t comprehend how two children from the same family could end up on opposite sides of the law—one a criminal, the other an officer. A long, long time ago, I was also cherished by that man and woman. Every day after work, my father would go out of his way to wait in line at a bakery on the other side of town. He would carefully tuck the still-warm cake inside his coat, afraid it would get cold on the way home. Every night, my mother would sit by my bed and whisper stories until I fell asleep. Her phone’s photo album was filled with pictures of me—every smile, every tear. In every photo, the three of us were huddled together, with me safely in the middle, as they told me over and over again: “Luna will always be Mommy and Daddy’s most precious baby!” Even after my sister was born, their love for me never wavered. But Stella was a handful from the start. One day she’d be hitting other kids, the next she’d be getting hit herself. My parents were constantly cleaning up her messes, but they were also worried I would feel neglected. To keep things “fair,” every time they had to focus on Stella, they would buy me a gift. Then, when Stella was seven, she jumped from a second-story window at her school without any warning. It happened on the day my parents missed picking her up because they had come to my parent-teacher conference instead. My mother, her eyes red from crying, told me, “Your sister is sick. From now on, we have to spend more time watching her. Otherwise, something terrible will happen. Luna, you’re the older sister. Can you understand?” My father’s voice was hoarse. “Luna, you’re her big sister. You need to help us take care of her.” I wanted to help them, to ease their burden. I nodded without hesitation. “I’ll take good care of my sister!” I was too young then. I didn’t know what bipolar disorder was, and I didn’t understand the weight of the words “take care of your sister.” I never imagined that those few simple words would completely shatter my life. At first, “taking care of her” just meant giving up my own toys when Stella started hitting other kids to get what she wanted, and then apologizing on her behalf. But soon, she learned to use her illness as a weapon. Whenever she wanted something, she would throw things, hit people, or, in more extreme cases, threaten to hurt herself or jump off buildings. My role shifted from apologizing for her to taking the blame for her, to taking the fall for her crimes. My life became expendable in the face of hers. My parents’ attention shifted almost entirely to Stella. Then came my birthday. I used the first paycheck from my part-time college job to buy a cake and had carefully chosen gifts for them. I lit the candles and waited. The candles burned down. Midnight came and went. My phone remained silent. I drifted off to sleep on the sofa. The sound of the door opening woke me. I forced a smile, ready to give them their gifts. But before I could speak, my father, his face etched with frustration, cut me off. “What time is it?! Your sister is in serious trouble, and you’re at home eating cake?!” He swiped his arm across the table, sending the cake crashing to the floor. Seeing the ruined cake, my mother broke down, sobbing. “What are we going to do? Stella has bipolar disorder! She’ll kill herself if she’s away from us! She’s still so young…” Suddenly, her eyes landed on me. “Luna, Mom is begging you. Please, help your sister one last time.” “What is it?” A sense of dread washed over me, my voice trembling. “Take the blame for your sister…” My mother glanced at my father. Stella peeked out from behind him, crying harder than I had ever seen her, her body shaking uncontrollably. My mind went blank. “What… what did she do?” “Stella… her homeroom teacher said a few words to her, and she… she pushed the teacher down,” my mother stammered. “And then what?” My father closed his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “The teacher was eight months pregnant… She and the baby… they both died.” A roar filled my ears. I swayed on my feet, struggling to find my voice. “So… what do you want me to do?” My mother gripped my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “Luna, will you take the blame for her? Please?” “We’ve already looked into it. The lightest sentence for something like this is juvenile detention. Stella’s condition is severe. She’ll die in a place like that! Her life is just beginning!” “As for college, we’ll help you file for withdrawal later. And don’t worry, we’ll spend every last penny to get you the best lawyer. We’ll get you out.” I stared at her in disbelief, my legs weak. “And what about me? I worked so hard to get into my dream university! Is my life just disposable?!” “How could you think that?” My mother looked wounded. “Your sister is sick! You’re her older sister, isn’t it your duty to take care of her? You can forget about college. We’ll support you for the rest of your life! Once this is over, it won’t affect your life at all!” I stared at her, my eyes burning, and screamed, “This is one thing I can’t help you with!” Stella burst into tears. My father rushed forward and slapped me across the face. The force of the blow knocked me to the ground. A warm, wet sensation filled my ear. I touched it. My hand came away covered in blood. Seeing my defiance, Stella’s eyes darted around, and she ran for the balcony, wailing. “My sister won’t even help me! I don’t want to live anymore! My life is over anyway!” My parents, thinking she was having an episode, panicked and rushed to grab her, swearing they would fix everything. “Stella, don’t be scared! Mommy and Daddy will take care of it! We’ll solve this!” I watched them frantically console her, and I mumbled, “So in this family, all you have to do is threaten suicide to get what you want? What if I kill myself? What would you do then?” The answer came in the form of a water glass flying at my head and my father’s impatient roar. “Your sister is sick! What are you comparing yourself to her for?! The only reason she got this illness is because we spent all our time focusing on you and neglected her!” The glass shattered against my head. Liquid and blood streamed down my face. And with that, the last shred of hope I had for them died. They locked me in my room and took my phone. Through the door, I could hear them cooing over Stella. My head was splitting open. Everything I touched was slick with blood. The blood from my head, from my ear, smeared all over my face. I pounded on the door, crying for help, but my pleas were drowned out by Stella’s hysterics. I could only watch as the light under the door went out, as silence fell, as my consciousness faded into darkness. When I woke up again, the media had already branded me a killer. The university had sent my official notice of expulsion. The day I was expelled was also Stella’s birthday. My parents said that Stella’s birthday only comes once a year and couldn’t be missed. Meanwhile, I was curled up in my room, clutching my deafened ear, as I read the news of my conviction and expulsion. I tried to defend myself. But the online comments crushed any hope I had. “She pushed a pregnant teacher and now she’s trying to frame her own sister to get out of it?” “A murderer is a murderer.” They had even paid off the victim’s family and the witnesses. Everyone told the same story, all pointing their fingers at me. In my darkest moment, I saw their post on social media, celebrating Stella’s birthday. In the photo, my father was peeling shrimp for her. Everyone was smiling. Like a ghost, I liked the post. My phone rang instantly. It was my father, shouting. “It’s Stella’s birthday! Did you have to ruin it?!” Years of pent-up grief and anger exploded. “What did I ever do wrong?” I sobbed. “Why are you doing this to me?!” The only answer I got was the sound of Stella in the background, demanding her presents as they cut the cake. “Stella’s been in a bad mood lately. It’s her birthday, so you better get her a gift, and fast. Otherwise, she won’t forgive you.” That was all they said before hanging up. A moment later, my phone was flooded with calls from unknown numbers. “Go die, you bitch!” “An animal like you deserves to pay with your life!” The news online kept updating. “Even after all this, her parents are still trying to protect her. They’ve hired multiple lawyers to try and reduce her sentence.” “That ungrateful monster doesn’t deserve such a good family.” As I finished my story, the air in the prison yard grew still. The officer’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Are there really parents like that in the world? That’s not something a family does!” I nodded, my voice devoid of emotion. “That’s why I cut ties with them. I’ve already gathered all the evidence to overturn my case. Once my name is cleared, I can go back to college and…” Splat. A piece of cake flew through the air and hit me square in the face. I wiped the cream from my eyes, my hand now sticky and messy, just like my life. My father, his eyes blazing red, rushed toward me and slapped me again, his voice a furious roar. “And here I was, feeling guilty about your birthday, thinking I’d make it up to you with a cake.” “Luna Reed! How did we raise such a monster?! Are you determined to drive your sister to her death?!”

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The day Andy Blackwood tried to force me into a divorce for that actress—again—I finally gave in. His hand, holding a cigarette, paused mid-air. A half-smile, mocking and cold, played on his lips. “What’s this? So compliant this time?” he drawled. “Realized throwing tantrums gets you nowhere? Trying a new tactic, are we?” I slid 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 A long silence stretched between us before Andy stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray. Leaning back against the wall, he spoke with a lazy, calculated drawl. “You know, there’s no real rush. It’s just… Lily’s career is taking off right now. And your constant harassment is becoming a real nuisance.” I didn’t answer him. Instead, I picked up the pen and, with deliberate, steady strokes, signed my name on the divorce papers. Only then did I look up. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” Andy’s posture tensed for a fraction of a second, his thoughts hidden behind that cool facade. After a moment, he pushed himself off the wall, a new, barely perceptible edge of irritation in his voice. “Good. See that it doesn’t. Otherwise… you know the consequences.” An involuntary shiver ran down my spine. The last time he’d pushed for a divorce, I’d completely shattered. In a fit of rage and despair, I’d leaked the explicit photos Lily had sent to taunt me. But Andy had turned the tables, suing me for defamation. His fans had doxxed me, forcing me into a humiliating public apology. I remembered standing in the courtroom, listening to the verdict in his favor. Andy had watched my breakdown with the detached amusement of a spectator at a show. Then, with a raised eyebrow, he’d leaned in and whispered, “Darling, are you satisfied with the outcome?” It’s strange. The memory used to suffocate me, a crushing weight of pain and humiliation. But now, thinking back on it, I felt nothing but a cold, distant irony. As I walked out of the mansion with my suitcase in hand, I glanced down at the plane ticket. It was only then that the full weight of it hit me. I was finally letting go of the love that had brought me to my knees. 2 On a massive billboard towering over the city square, Lily was the face of a luxury lipstick brand, her smile confident and dazzling. The image merged with the memory of the spiteful girl who had clawed her way into my life, flashing her victory in my face. Andy had been right about one thing: Lily’s career was skyrocketing. The scandal with the explicit photos hadn’t hurt her. If anything, it had helped. Fans praised her for her ‘brazen honesty,’ hailing her as some kind of modern, empowered icon. But the first time I discovered Andy’s affair, it wasn’t from the tabloids. It was from Lily herself, a deliberate, vicious provocation. I had raised hell, making sure the entire Blackwood clan knew about his sordid affair. In those days, the other society wives, my supposed friends, all offered the same advice. Be gracious. Forgive and forget. Turn a blind eye. But I couldn’t. The hate was a poison in my veins. I hated Andy for his betrayal, but I hated him even more for turning me into this hysterical, screaming madwoman, while he paraded his mistress around town without a care in the world. I refused to give in. I refused to let them win. Then the paparazzi caught them checking into a hotel. The story exploded. To protect Lily’s reputation and career, Andy made a calculated move: he went public with their relationship. The tabloids splashed their fairytale romance all over the headlines: ‘The Tycoon’s Heir and the Silver Screen Starlet.’ The story broke me. I stormed into Andy’s corporate office, a woman possessed. He tried to get Lily out of there before the scene got ugly, but that only fueled my rage. I snatched an ashtray and hurled it at him, splitting his forehead open. Blood streamed down his face as I screamed that he was scum, filth from the gutter. When it was all over, his face was a cold mask. “You’re right!” he finally spat out. “I am scum! I did cheat! If you can’t handle it, then divorce me!” The word hung in the air between us, stunning us both into silence. But I was the one who broke it, my voice rising to a new, wilder pitch. “Why should I divorce you?!” I shrieked, more unhinged than ever before. “Why should I make it easy for you and that little tramp?! No, Andy. You and she can live with the titles you’ve earned: adulterer and mistress. Forever.” 3 We were at a standoff after that. Andy stopped coming home altogether. The only glimpses I had of his life were through Lily’s smug Instagram posts, each one a perfectly curated new stab to my heart. Beaten down from every side, I made a desperate, last-ditch decision to burn it all to the ground. I posted our marriage certificate online, exposing their affair for the lie it was. But before the story could even gain traction, Andy struck back. He found my mother’s specialist, a renowned doctor, and paid him an exorbitant sum to cancel his trip from Europe, effectively holding her life-saving treatment hostage. Then he gave me an ultimatum: tell the world the marriage certificate was a fake, or my mother would pay the price. When I heard the news, the blood drained from my face. I was so stunned I didn’t even register the triumphant smirk on Lily’s face as she stood beside him. My voice was a ragged, broken cry. “Andy, you know her condition is critical! You know this could kill her! How could you be so cruel?” He remained unmoved, calmly lighting another cigarette. He waited until my sobs subsided and I was nothing more than a crumpled heap on the sofa. Only then did he extinguish the flame. “Darling,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “Don’t ever expect me to go easy on you. Now, go and clear this up. Don’t ruin her.” In that moment, my heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I was drowning, a fish gasping for air on dry land, suffocating in a world of absolute despair. I couldn’t believe the man standing before me was the same one I had once loved with my entire soul. That was the day I truly decided it was over. 4 But the humiliation was far from finished. My mother couldn’t wait. I had no choice but to surrender. I went online and confessed to the world that the marriage certificate was a fake, that I was a jealous, delusional liar. To this day, the comment section of that post is a cesspool of hatred. “Damn lady, are you that desperate for a man?!” “Psycho bitch. Dare to spread rumors that my goddess is a mistress. You’ve got no shame.” “Someone slap some sense into her.” “Crowdfunding it. I’ve got five bucks.” “I’ll put in ten.” … I walked through the following days in a haze, a zombie going through the motions. I escaped into the sterile quiet of the hospital, sitting by my mother’s bedside. Perhaps she sensed my despair. Even without seeing the news, she knew something was deeply wrong. One afternoon, she took my hand and, with a heavy sigh, began to talk about the past, about Andy and me. A young love, she called it, the purest kind. In high school, Andy had been so smitten with me, yet so insecure, he’d never dared to confess. He’d just follow me home from a distance every day, my silent protector. Then came the day a group of thugs cornered me. Andy threw himself between us without a second thought. They beat him mercilessly, breaking three of his ribs, but he never let go, shielding me with his own body. After that, we fell in love. It was as natural as breathing. Back then, Andy hadn’t been a Blackwood yet. He was just the poor kid who lived with his grandmother, the ‘charity case’ who never had enough to eat. It was my mother who helped him, who treated him like a son, who even paid his tuition fees. Now, my mother’s past kindness was the weapon he was using against her. She had no idea what her daughter was enduring. I looked at her face, growing more frail each day, and thought, Just let it be. At least I still have her. At least I’m not completely alone. But fate, it seems, takes a cruel pleasure in tormenting the unfortunate. 5 When the call came from the hospital—my mother was in critical condition—I ran, frantic. But I didn’t even make it off my street. Lily’s fans were waiting for me. They’d doxxed me, found my address, and now they surrounded me, a self-righteous mob demanding justice for their idol. I couldn’t break through. Panic clawed at my throat as I tried to explain, my words lost in their jeers. No one believed me. “Pathetic. Still living in your little fantasy world, aren’t you?” “You were so tough when you were slandering our goddess. Who are you crying for now?” In the chaos, someone shoved me hard. “Shameless bitch! Apologize now!” I stumbled and fell hard onto the pavement. Someone snickered. The sharp pain in my knee was nothing compared to the crushing defeat in my soul. I gave up. Like a marionette with its strings cut, I got to my knees and began to apologize to their phone cameras, over and over again. “It was my fault. I was delusional.” “I’m so sorry. I hurt Lily. I was wrong.” “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Their crusade won, the mob finally dispersed, laughing as they walked away. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” But by the time I scrambled into a cab and raced to the hospital, it was too late. For a dizzying second, I thought I was trapped in a long nightmare. A nightmare where I would wake up and still be a little girl, safe in my mother’s arms. Before Andy. Before my life had been trampled into dust. But reality delivered its final, fatal blow. I had chosen the wrong man, and in doing so, I had missed my mother’s last moments. 6 That day, I knelt beside her bed and cried until there were no tears left, just a hollow, aching void… The nurse who had cared for my mother told me her last words. “She kept calling your name at the end,” the nurse said gently. “She said that no matter why you didn’t make it, she didn’t blame you. She just wanted you to be happy, to live a good life with your husband.” I held my mother’s cold hand, sitting numbly on the floor, unable to speak for a long, long time. The days that followed are a blur. The flight back to my hometown, the cremation, the funeral. Finally, I was sitting alone in the quiet funeral parlor. I picked up my phone and made one last call to Andy. He should at least pay his respects to the woman who had thought of him, even on her deathbed. When he answered, I realized my voice was a raw, unrecognizable croak. “My mother passed away,” I managed to say. But the voice that answered wasn’t his. It was Lily, her tone bright and carefree. “Oh, congratulations!” she chirped. “But Andy’s a little busy right now. We’re at his ultrasound appointment.” In the background, I heard Andy’s muffled voice. “Who is it?” I hung up, my hand going numb. I sat there in the silent hall all night, watching the incense burn down to ash. Then, I calmly flew back to the city. I bought a plane ticket. Liquidated my assets. And I agreed to the divorce. 7 The past was finally in the past. Sitting in the airport lounge, waiting for my flight to board, I launched my final counterattack. I was never one to go down without a fight. I packaged up the corporate intel I’d gathered and sent it straight to Andy’s biggest competitor. A moment later, a notification confirmed a very large sum of money had been deposited into my offshore account. Only then did I feel a sense of peace. Online, the storm of hate against me was still raging. On any social media platform, you could find my face photoshopped into grotesque memes. And Lily’s post, the one playing the victim, was still pinned to the top of her profile, from the day I was forced to retract my story. “LilyOfficial: The truth will always come out. You can throw all the mud you want. I’ve never been afraid of a fight!” The comments below were a chorus of sympathy. “My heart breaks for you and Andy having to deal with this psycho.” “This is what a real, strong woman looks like! The ones who use dirty tricks to ruin a girl’s reputation don’t even deserve to be called women!” “Lily is too kind. I would have sued that bitch into oblivion.” A bitter, humorless smile touched my lips. 8 Next, I bundled up every taunting message and voicemail Lily had ever sent me and forwarded them to her biggest rival in the industry. A little outsourced revenge. Just as I was about to turn off my phone for good, it rang. It was Andy. “Forgot to mention, the mandatory 30-day cooling-off period is ticking. If you’re thinking of changing your mind… it’s not out of the question. But you’ll have to do something to make me happy.” His voice was the same as always—lazy, arrogant, utterly self-assured. So certain that I could never let him go. I glanced at the boarding time on my ticket. “Got it,” I said, my voice flat. Then I hung up on him and walked onto the plane. (Andy’s POV) That was the first time Ava had ever hung up on him. Five days had passed, and Andy was still stewing. He untangled himself from Lily’s limbs, got out of bed, and pulled on a coat. He was going home to check on things. Lily wrapped her arms around him from behind, draping herself over his back. “Andy, stay a little longer,” she purred. He turned his head slightly. “Don’t say anything to Ava about the pregnancy yet.” Lily pouted. “You’re already getting a divorce. What are you so afraid of?” A flicker of irritation crossed Andy’s face. “There are still twenty-five days left. That’s not a divorce.” He pushed her away, dressed, and drove back to the house he shared with Ava. He hadn’t been back in nearly a week, and the silence was unsettling. A knot of anxiety tightened in his chest, growing worse when he saw the kitchen was pristine, completely untouched. He threw open the bedroom door and started rummaging through the closets. Finally, he found what he was looking for in the trash can. A wedding ring. The day they signed the papers, Ava had placed it on the table for him. He hadn’t taken it. Deep down, he never believed she would actually go through with it. Even if she signed, she’d come crawling back sooner or later. After all, Ava loved him. Andy picked up the ring, carefully wiping the dust from its surface. He’d bought this ring when he was nineteen, working three jobs—tutoring, construction, food delivery—for three straight months to afford it. It meant everything to him, and to her. She must have dropped it in the trash by accident. 9 Andy stood up and looked at the wedding portrait hanging on the wall. Ava was twenty-two in the photo, her smile as bright as the sun. Come to think of it, Lily was only in his life because of Ava. He could never forget the Ava who had dazzled him at eighteen, the girl who lit up his bleak world. Back then, he was poor, uncivilized, a nobody. Ava had been his entire world, his only source of warmth. Then the Blackwoods had found him. He shed the label of ‘bastard’ and was reborn as an heir, a man of power and influence. And he got the girl he’d always dreamed of. But Ava changed. She lost the carefree spirit of her youth and became just like all the other society wives—prim, proper, and painfully dull. He knew, logically, that she did it for him. She came from a simple background, and to marry him, she had to fit in, to not embarrass him. So, while he was disappointed, he still loved her. Until Lily appeared. She was so much like the old Ava, a vibrant echo of the girl he’d first fallen for. It was only natural that he’d be drawn to her. The first time he’d mentioned divorce, the words had just slipped out. He’d regretted them instantly. The other times he’d brought it up were just to scare her, to make her stop being so damn difficult. Compared to other men in his circle, he was practically a saint. He only had Lily. Ava’s histrionics were completely out of proportion. She was being ungrateful. Besides, he’d never really wanted to divorce her. As long as she behaved, showed a little more tolerance, he would eventually come back to her. He always did. Andy pulled out his phone, deciding to be the bigger person and call her. Maybe smooth things over. But the call wouldn’t connect. He’d been blocked. He frowned. That couldn’t be right. In all the years of his affair with Lily, through all their worst fights, Ava had never once blocked him. Before he could figure it out, his phone rang. It was Lily. “Andy, Ava leaked our stuff to my rival’s PR team! My socials are flooded with bots, and the narrative is starting to turn against me. What do I do, Andy? I’m so scared. How can she be so vicious? Does she really want to destroy me?” Listening to her frantic sobs, Andy’s brow furrowed in annoyance. Ava was pulling the same stupid stunts again. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? He remembered the look on her face last time—pale, defeated—as she asked him how he could be so cruel to her mother. A flicker of something stirred in his chest. He thought of her mother, the woman who had been so kind to him when he was a boy. The truth was, he had just been bluffing. Even if Ava had refused to retract the statement, he would never have let the woman die. But Ava had complied. She had been good. “I know. I’ll handle it.” He hung up, in no mood to comfort Lily. He decided he would go find Ava. If she agreed to fix this mess, he’d call off the divorce. He’d even take her on that trip she’d always wanted, the one he’d promised her for their honeymoon. He’d promised, but right after the wedding, he was too busy proving himself to his family, clawing his way to the top. By the time he finally had the freedom, their relationship was in shambles. He had gone on that trip, though. With Lily. She had found out about his promise to Ava and whined until he gave in. He remembered the look on Ava’s face when she found out. A terrible, broken thing, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. A strange tightness gripped his chest. He tried to call Ava’s mother, but the line was disconnected. Annoyed, he called Ava’s best friend. A moment later, his face paled. “What do you mean, she sold everything and emigrated?!” 10 “Impossible! She would never leave me!” Andy roared into the phone, but then he forced himself to calm down. Ava’s mother was still in the hospital. She would never abandon her mother. He immediately called the doctor’s office, but the man on the other end sounded confused. “Mr. Blackwood, I’m already back in the States.” Fury surged through Andy. “You’re back in the States? Who’s taking care of my mother-in-law?” The doctor’s tone was even more confused. “But the patient passed away last month, didn’t she?”

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1 At a critical international conference, my phone blew up. It was Cole, a childhood friend I hadn’t spoken to in years. When I finally called back, his tone was sharp. “Too important now? I’m getting engaged and you can’t even come help.” My work was classified. I gave a vague excuse. He grew more arrogant. “Fine. But if you want forgiveness, send a gift—a car with four rings.” Thinking he meant money, I offered ten grand. “Ten grand?” he spat. “My fiancée is Sierra Sterling, from Silveridge’s most powerful family. Don’t push your luck.” A digital invitation arrived. I opened it—and froze. There was my wife, Sierra, wrapped around Cole in a fiery kiss. “Four rings?” I whispered, my voice low. “I’ll send two.” Wreaths have rings, too. Hearing me agree, Cole was ecstatic. “Hell yeah! I knew I could count on you, brother! And hey, I’m looking out for you. Two of the new Audi R8s will be perfect. If you’re a little tight on cash, I know a guy who gives out loans. Super reliable.” Two R8s? At over a quarter-million each? Did he think I was his personal bank? A cold smirk touched my lips. I decided to test the waters. “So, you’re marrying Miss Sterling. Does her husband approve?” There was a pause on the other end, followed by the wet sound of someone swallowing. “Stop nibbling, you little vixen,” Cole’s voice came through, thick with lust. “My buddy here says you’re already married. You care to explain that?” Sierra let out a discontented moan, her words muffled. “My only husband… is you, Cole. That loser… he’s still treasuring a fake marriage certificate like it’s gold.” Aroused beyond control, Cole tossed his phone aside and I could hear the sounds of him pulling her into a rough embrace. The line was filled with a sickening symphony of moans, curses, and cries of pleasure. Each sound was a needle, stitching a pattern of agony directly onto my heart. “Oh Cole, please… I’m going to die!” I killed the call. Reaching under my bed, I pulled out the marriage certificate and immediately dialed the City Registrar. A quick search confirmed it. The certificate was a forgery. The rage was a physical thing, a black tide rising in my chest. I summoned my assistant. “Contact the District Attorney and the Police Commissioner in Silveridge. I want a full, top-to-bottom investigation of the Sterling family. Every asset, every transaction. If you find anything illegal, I want them crushed. No mercy.” “And one more thing,” I added, my voice deathly calm. “Call a florist. Order forty funeral wreaths.” After giving my orders, I stared at the cold, beautiful face on the worthless certificate and crumpled it into a tight ball. She seemed to have forgotten a simple fact. The Sterling family only existed because I allowed it to. To think she would dare humiliate a man of my standing… I would bury her entire family for this. I notified my superiors and drove straight to the Sterling mansion. I was getting my daughter. But she was nowhere to be found. I searched every room, and when I questioned the maids, they averted their eyes and mumbled excuses. My roar of fury finally broke one of them. Trembling, she led me to the backyard, to a crude, brick doghouse. I stared, confused, until she tapped on the dog bowl. A small, shivering girl in rags crawled out. It was my daughter. In that instant, the blood in my veins turned to ice. I couldn’t process what I was seeing. “Nora!” I cried out, rushing forward to sweep her into my arms. But she flinched violently, shaking from head to toe, her voice a tiny, pleading whimper. “Don’t hit me… I won’t eat anymore… I’ll go back to my kennel, I promise…” Her words were a knife twisting in my gut. I’d only been gone for a few months. What had happened here? That vile creature, Sierra… how dare she! Once Nora had calmed down, the whole horrifying story came out. In my absence, Sierra had brought Cole into our home. They carried on day and night, and to keep her out of the way, they locked my daughter in the doghouse. Whenever I was scheduled to return, they would clean her up, dress her in nice clothes, and threaten her into silence. Her small body was a canvas of horrifying bruises. Patches of her skin were scarred with cigarette burns. Cole’s handiwork. Looking at her tiny, malnourished limbs, I felt the last of my control snap. This engagement party would be their funeral. I ordered the maid to throw every last one of Sierra’s belongings in the trash, called a realtor to put the mansion on the market, and then, with my daughter safely with me, I drove toward the party. On the way, Sierra called. “Honey, the DA’s office is at the company. Can you go down there and smooth things over?” “I’m a little busy right now,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “Stop making trouble for me.” Busy putting horns on my head? I laughed coldly and blocked her number. When I arrived at the hotel Cole had mentioned, the entrance was lined with luxury cars. I told Nora to wait in the car, locked the doors, and walked inside alone. It was just an engagement party, but it was decorated with obscene extravagance. Cole was preening near the entrance in a tailored suit, greeting guests. Behind him, a series of large displays showcased photo after photo of him and Sierra. The revealing clothes, the lewd expressions… each image was a fresh wave of disgust. My fists clenched. I wanted to tear them all to shreds. In five years of marriage, she had always played the part of the untouchable goddess. The number of times she’d even allowed me to touch her could be counted on one hand. But here, in Cole’s arms, she was like a bitch in heat, desperate to please her master. Maybe five years ago, I never should have stepped in front of that loan shark’s knife for her. I never should have paid off her family’s debts and elevated her to a status she never deserved. “Well, well, if it isn’t my old pal Liam! What are you doing just standing there? Never seen a place this fancy? Cat got your tongue?” A jeering voice broke my thoughts. It was Cole, surrounded by a posse of our old childhood friends, strutting toward me like a king. “Hey man, I didn’t see you call my guy for a loan. So, what’s the story with the cars? I’ve been bragging to everyone. Don’t make me look bad, okay?” As soon as Cole finished, a sycophant named Leo flashed a high-end knockoff Rolex on his wrist and chimed in. “Come on, Cole, you’re putting our boy genius in a tough spot. He’s just a damn tutor at some prep school. He probably took the bus here. A car? The guy couldn’t afford a single tire if he saved for the rest of his life!” The group erupted in laughter. “Hey, Liam’s a brain, right? Maybe he can write a poem for the happy couple! He can keep the couple hundred bucks he was gonna give as a gift to pay for his taxi home!” “Liam, listen. Eat all you want, but don’t you dare try to sneak food out in a plastic bag. Cole’s marrying a Sterling, the top family in Silveridge. Don’t embarrass him.” Looking at their smug, bootlicking faces, a chilling coldness settled deep within me. “Liam, they’re just joking around, don’t take it seriously,” Cole said, clapping me on the shoulder, but his eyes were gleaming with triumph. “But let me give you some brotherly advice. In this world, money is king. What’s the use of being book-smart? If it wasn’t for my engagement, you wouldn’t even be allowed through the doors of this hotel.” He leaned in closer. “Remember all those girls you used to look down on? Now you couldn’t even lick their boots. See, that’s where I’ve got you beat. I married well. Now I run this city. But hey, don’t feel too bad. When you meet my wife later, I’ll see if I can get you a job as a security guard at Sterling Corp…” I stared at him, my expression unreadable. The higher he climbed, the harder he would fall. Just then, my phone buzzed. The wreaths had arrived. I gave the order. A moment later, a bizarre procession appeared at the end of the red carpet. A team of people, dressed for a funeral, carrying enormous wreaths, began to wail and chant, throwing the entire event into chaos. Cole’s face turned the color of week-old garbage. He screamed for security to throw them out. The florist, a cheerful man, bustled over to me. “Sir! All the wreaths you ordered have been delivered. I even threw in the full package, procession and all, free of charge. Are you satisfied?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “You did a great job. My brother gets married again, you’re the first person I’m calling.” The florist looked utterly bewildered, but Cole, finally realizing who was behind it, started shaking with rage. “Liam, you son of a bitch! I’m going to kill you!” He lunged, his fist aimed at my face. I caught his wrist, used his momentum to pivot, and sent him flying over my shoulder. He landed flat on his face with a pathetic grunt. Seeing his master down, Leo the lapdog grabbed a chair and swung it at my head. I ducked, spun, and planted a foot square on his ass, sending him tumbling headfirst into a pile of funeral wreaths. Cole scrambled up, his face a twisted mask of fury. “Liam, you have a death wish! Don’t you know who the Sterlings are in this city? You could have ten lives and it wouldn’t be enough!” I just shrugged. There weren’t many people in this world who could threaten my life. Within minutes, Cole had summoned a dozen security guards. “Get him! If he dies, it’s on me!” Emboldened by his promise, they charged. I took down the first two with quick, precise strikes, then used the chaotic environment to my advantage, weaving between tables and guests. In moments, half of them were on the floor. Cole was screaming like a madman. “You idiots! Use your batons! The first person to take him down gets a hundred grand!” The money lit a fire in their eyes. They drew their batons and came at me with renewed ferocity. I misjudged a step, and a heavy blow landed on my leg. I stumbled, and they were on me, a flurry of fists and feet. They dragged me before Cole. Without a word, he drove his fist into my stomach, twice. The pain was so intense my vision swam with black spots. “Liam! You were so tough a minute ago. What happened?” he sneered, grabbing a handful of my hair and slapping my face repeatedly, a sick, ecstatic light in his eyes. Leo handed him a wine bottle. Cole didn’t hesitate. He shattered it over my head. Blood and alcohol poured down my face, blinding me. He spat on me in disgust and pulled out his phone. “Baby, where are you? Some jealous asshole crashed our party and tried to hurt me. You have to come make him pay!” Sierra’s cold voice came through the speaker almost immediately. “Who has the nerve to touch my husband? Have the guards hold him. Cripple him, kill him, I don’t care. I’m on my way.” After he hung up, the sycophants started in again. “Damn, Cole, you’ve got the great Sierra Sterling wrapped around your little finger!” “Sierra Sterling is nothing! Back when Cole was a loan shark, he’d take any woman he wanted. Now those were the days!” Cole puffed up his chest, basking in the praise. He picked up a heavy, steel serving fork from a nearby table and, with a vicious grin, stabbed it straight through the palm of my hand. The agony was blinding. A scream ripped from my throat as cold sweat drenched my body. Nora, worried that I’d been gone so long, had slipped out of the car and into the hotel. She ran in just in time to see the fork impale my hand. She let out a terrified cry and threw herself at me. “Leave my daddy alone! Stop hurting my daddy!” she sobbed, spreading her tiny arms to shield me. Cole froze, stunned by her sudden appearance, then his face hardened into a cruel mask. “You little mongrel. Who let you out of your kennel? Get back there right now before I whip you!” Seeing the terror in my daughter’s eyes, remembering the scars that littered her small body, the hate inside me detonated. I ripped the fork from my palm and, with every ounce of strength I had left, lunged at Cole, plunging the steel tines into his chest. It only went in an inch before he kicked me away. “You piece of shit! You and the mutt you spawned aren’t leaving here alive today!” After a guard crudely bandaged his wound, Cole took out his rage on me, kicking and punching until he was out of breath. He leaned down, his hot, foul breath in my ear. “You know, Liam, I have to thank you. You raised a fine wife for me.” He chuckled. “She is so, so wet.” My blood ran cold. I stared at him. “You knew.” Cole threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Of course I knew, you idiot! Why do you think I set you up with her? For the thrill of it! You were married for five years, and I was fucking her for five years. She was so used up by me, she wouldn’t even let a loser like you touch her.” A red haze descended over my vision. I flailed at him, but he easily dodged my clumsy attacks. “Why?” I choked out. “I treated you like a brother. Why would you do this to me?” There was no remorse in his eyes, only a deep, festering hatred. “Because I hate you! I hate the way you always looked at me with pity, like you were tossing me scraps! So I decided I’d take everything from you. Everything. I’ll even make your daughter my dog!” “You animal!” I struggled to my feet, but before I could move, a sharp slap sent my head spinning. “What bastard dares—” My words died in my throat when I saw her. Sierra. For a split second, I saw panic in her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “You have the nerve to ask me that? You filthy, degenerate whore!” My words erased her panic, replacing it with cold fury. She slapped me again, so hard I nearly fell. By the time I looked up, she was draped over Cole, looking down at me with utter contempt. “You want to know why?” she hissed. “Because you make my skin crawl. You disgust me.” Her revulsion was a blade, carving me up from the inside out. Nora, trembling behind me, tugged on my hand, trying to pull me away. But Sierra’s sharp eyes noticed her. She wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell? Oh, the little mongrel is here too. You didn’t really think this pathetic loser of a father could protect you, did you?” Cole laughed, sliding his hand up Sierra’s dress and squeezing her. He brought his fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Let’s just take out the trash. Get rid of these two pieces of filth today.” He waved his hand, and the guards pinned me to the floor again. “Sierra, you will regret this!” I roared. “Regret it? I think you’re the one who’s going to have regrets,” she sneered. She ground her heel into my wounded hand and snatched a bottle of vodka from a table. She poured it directly onto the open wound. The pain was beyond anything I had ever felt. It was like being torn apart. The veins in my neck bulged as I thrashed against the hands holding me down. Nora’s screams were heart-wrenching. She tried to push Sierra’s foot off my hand, but Sierra kicked her away. Nora crawled back, sobbing, and started banging her small head on the floor at Sierra’s feet. “Mommy, please… please don’t hurt Daddy…” This only enraged Sierra further. “Who’s your mommy, you little bitch? I’ll kick your teeth in!” She raised her pointed high-heel and stomped it down on my daughter’s mouth. Blood gushed from Nora’s lips. My vision went red. I was helpless, pinned, able to do nothing but scream curses. “Are you even human?! That’s your own daughter! I never should have saved you—” Cole kicked me hard in the ribs, cutting me off. “Since you two are so keen on sharing everything, I’ll be happy to oblige. Hold that little bitch down and pour the rest of that vodka down her throat!” As Leo pried open my daughter’s mouth, I let out a desperate, primal scream. “You can’t touch her! I am a National Scholar of the Research Institute!” The room went silent for a beat, then exploded with derisive laughter. “A National Scholar? You look more like a national embarrassment! Yeah, and I’m the Archmage!” “Dude’s been reading too many fantasy novels!” “Touch her, and you are all dead men!” I bellowed, my eyes bloodshot with rage. The only answer I got was another hail of kicks and punches. “The man who can touch me hasn’t been born yet!” Cole snarled, grabbing the bottle himself and forcing it into my daughter’s mouth. The next second, the entire glass front of the hotel shattered inward as several military jeeps plowed into the lobby, followed by a dozen police cruisers, sirens screaming. The hall was instantly flooded with armed officers, surrounding everything.

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The real heiress of our family returned, armed with a brand of performative poverty so extreme she was determined to make us all suffer with her. Our family had a chauffeured car to take us to school, but she refused to get in, insisting that my brother and I ride a rickety electric trike with her instead. When the trike inevitably flipped, my brother and I broke our arms shielding her from the fall. At school, she’d toss out the lavish lunches our chef prepared, only to produce stale bread and pickled vegetables from her bag, forcing us to join her in a life of “frugal simplicity.” My brother, Dan, was a dancer; he fainted from hunger in the middle of rehearsal. When we pleaded with our parents, they’d just sigh. “Sadie’s had a hard life. She’s a pitiful girl. Just try to be patient with her.” “Besides,” they’d add, “frugality is a wonderful quality.” This continued until her official welcoming gala. She replaced all the fine wine with orange soda, the gourmet hors d’oeuvres with potato chips and spicy cheese puffs, and walked on stage wearing a faded, secondhand dress. That was when our parents finally snapped. “Get that pathetic rag off you and throw it away! Who are you trying to look pitiful for?” Dan and I burst into tears of relief and hugged each other. “They finally get it…” 1 The day the real heiress, Sadie, came home, our whole family stood at the entrance to welcome her. The town car pulled up, but Sadie didn’t get out. The driver approached us, looking troubled. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, the young miss refuses to ride in the car. She says it wastes gas and decided to walk home.” Dan and I exchanged a look of sheer horror. It was a thirty-mile walk from the city! If there were two people in the Sterling family who loved spending money, it was me and my brother, Dan. Our shared philosophy was simple: life is meant to be enjoyed, and money is the key. He bought the latest sports cars; I bought the latest designer bags. He bought top-of-the-line motorcycles; I bought couture gowns. We were blissfully, unapologetically extravagant. If a destination was more than a block away, we took a car. Our family used to look at us with disdain for it. Hearing the driver’s words, my parents were stunned for a moment. Then, my mother’s face broke into a pleased smile. “Frugality is a good thing. It’s alright, we can wait.” Our older brother, Sterling, had no such patience. He turned on his heel and went back to his office. Dan and I were about to make our own escape when our parents grabbed us. “You two stay right here. You could learn a thing or two from Sadie. Stop being so lazy all the time.” We waited. And waited. An entire day passed, and still no Sadie. Dinner had been reheated three times. Just as we were all about to starve to death, the doorbell rang. 2 The housekeeper opened the door. There stood Sadie, dressed in patched clothes and carrying a massive woven plastic sack. After walking for over ten hours, her face was flushed a dark red and beaded with sweat. Everyone rushed to greet her. My mother took the sack from her. It clinked and rattled, and she assumed it was luggage. “Sadie, dear, are these your things?” The moment she opened it, a sour, musty stench hit us like a physical blow. Sterling, our older brother, who had just returned, frowned deeply, muttered an excuse about work, and promptly left again. Dan couldn’t hold back. “What the hell is that, a bag of trash? It reeks!” Mom shot him a death glare. “Be quiet. Don’t be rude.” Dan sulked, shooting me a helpless look. Sadie, however, lifted her chin, her eyes defiant, and snatched the sack back. “These are soda cans I collected on the way. You can sell them for money. I hate waste more than anything.” She looked pointedly at all of us. “I hope everyone here can learn to be more frugal from now on.” My mother immediately gushed, “Sadie, you’re so sensible.” She then glanced at me and Dan. “Poppy, Dan, you two should learn from your sister instead of just eating and playing all day.” My father chimed in. “Frugality is excellent. Especially for you two. You need to learn its value.” He then pulled out a credit card and offered it to Sadie. “Sadie, this is a little something for your allowance.” Sadie turned her head, glanced at the card, and sneered. “I despise the stench of money. Don’t pollute me with such things.” The atmosphere turned instantly awkward. No one in the Sterling family had ever disliked money. My father awkwardly retracted the card. “Well, let’s have dinner then.” 3 At the dining table, which was laden with lavish dishes, Sadie’s face fell. She slammed her chopsticks down. “I don’t approve of such extravagance. Do you have any plain bread? I’ll have that.” I couldn’t help myself. “But there’s so much wonderful food here. Why would you eat plain bread? Wouldn’t letting all this go to waste be even more wasteful?” My parents quickly agreed. “There’s so much to eat, dear. Please, have some of this.” Sadie looked down her nose at me. “Not everyone is as shamelessly wasteful as a spoiled fake princess like you.” My eyes widened in shock. “Fake princess?” Sadie stood up, towering over me with moral superiority. “Even though you stole my parents from me, I don’t blame you. You can continue to live here. Of course, I don’t like drama and just want to focus on my studies. I hope you’ll refrain from bothering me.” I blinked and looked at Dan. He looked like he was trying to solve a complex math problem while severely constipated. Finally, he spoke up. “Sadie, this is your biological sister, Poppy. She’s a year older than you. Don’t you remember her?” My parents’ faces were also a little strained. Sadie was four when she was lost. It was strange that she wouldn’t remember her own sister. Sadie looked shocked for a second, then her expression smoothed back into one of calm indifference. “I was switched at birth. How could I possibly remember?” Dan and I just stared at each other. In the end, Sadie ate a large, dry roll and drank a bowl of cold water. The rest of the family picked at the gourmet feast, the loud slurping of her water making the whole meal incredibly awkward. We finally survived dinner. But the next morning, when it was time for school, Dan and I were in for a true shock. 4 Sadie stood in front of the chauffeured car, her brow furrowed, refusing to get in. “I will not ride in that. It’s a waste of gas and money.” My mother tried to reason with her patiently. “Sadie, honey, we’re not short on money.” Sadie just shook her head, her chin held high. “I don’t like waste. Having money isn’t a license to be extravagant. If they want to ride, let them. I’ll walk to school myself.” My parents looked stressed. “But it’s your first day. How can you walk?” My mother then turned to me and Dan. “Why don’t you two walk with Sadie to school?” “WHAT?” Dan and I yelled in unison. Mom sighed. “It’s two and a half miles… that is a bit far.” Just then, an old man on a motorized tricycle puttered past the end of our driveway. Sadie’s eyes lit up. She pointed. “We can take that! And we’ll be helping that old man earn some money.” My parents looked at Sadie with pure admiration. Dan and I looked at each other in pure misery. The three of us, all high school students, squeezed onto the tiny trike. The whole vehicle swayed precariously. Even on a perfectly flat road, it felt like we were adrift at sea, lost and helpless. Every time we went over a speed bump, it felt like a direct assault on my spine. The old man up front kept shouting, “Whoa, whoa, you’re leaning left! Everybody lean right!” And then, “Hey, hey, don’t move, don’t move!” Dan and I were so terrified we were barely breathing. How could we possibly be moving? “Now you’re too far right! Lean left, lean left… lean…” The trike flipped. Instinctively, Dan and I threw our arms around Sadie to protect her. His left arm was broken. My right arm was broken. Sadie simply stood up, dusted herself off, and turned to leave. “You two wait here. I can’t neglect my studies. I’m going to school.” And she left the two of us, with our broken arms, to cry together on the pavement. When the police arrived, the old man, trembling, finally got to his feet, tears streaming down his face. “I was just out for a little spin! This girl flagged me down, insisted that a trike was more economical and that I had to take the three of them to school. I’m almost eighty! I don’t need the six bucks!” In the end, my parents came, bought the man a new trike, and gave him a hefty sum for his troubles. 5 Breaking my arm did have one upside: I didn’t have to do any homework. Dan, who had been held back a year, was in my grade. When he found out, he was furious. “No fair! My arm is broken too! I can’t do my homework either!” Our homeroom teacher just tapped him on the head with a notebook. “You broke your left arm. I’ll be checking your work tomorrow.” Dan glared at me from his desk with a look of pure, unadulterated envy. I just gave him a smug, provocative smile back. My parents insisted that since Sadie was new and had no friends, Dan and I had to have lunch with her every day. If we didn’t, they’d cut off our allowances. This was a tragedy. A new designer bag I’d been dreaming of had just been released. Dan was eyeing a new motorcycle. So, we dutifully went to find Sadie for lunch. At noon, our housekeeper arrived with a lavish spread delivered from home. Before she could even set it all out, Sadie shot up from her seat. “I will not eat such a wasteful meal. This is pure indulgence. Mrs. Liu, please give all of this to the homeless people outside.” Dan and I were aghast. “What homeless people?” “Well, then give it to a poor family,” Sadie declared. “I brought my own lunch. I can share it with my brother and sister. There are children starving in the mountains who need this more than we do.” At her insistence, Mrs. Liu packed up the feast. Dan and I exchanged frantic looks. Me: What is she talking about? This is Silveridge Heights. How are we supposed to send this to ‘children in the mountains’? And who would accept a random meal from strangers? What is going on in her head? Dan: No idea. And when did she pack a lunch? Me: I don’t know either. Please don’t let it be… We both turned to look at Sadie. She slowly pulled three hard, crusty rolls from her backpack and placed them on the table. Then, she produced several packets of pickled vegetables. “Brother, sister, I dislike waste. From now on, we will be frugal together. Every little bit counts. I even brought pickles in case you aren’t used to just plain bread.” She then shoved the rolls and pickles into our hands. And so it went. For a month straight. One stale roll, a cup of hot water, and a packet of pickles for lunch every single day. The school didn’t have a cafeteria, and we weren’t allowed to bring in outside snacks. By the afternoon, Dan and I were often dizzy with hunger. One day, Dan went to the dance studio to practice his stretches, his arm still in a sling. He fainted mid-plié. I ran over and held his semi-conscious form, sobbing hysterically. “What kind of ‘real heiress’ is this? She doesn’t want money or love, she just wants to torture people! Dan, if you die, what am I going to do all alone?” He managed to open his eyes and pat my head with his good hand. “Poppy, don’t cry. I’m not dead yet. I’m here with you.” Just then, a sound like a thunderclap echoed through the studio. It was his stomach. And then he passed out for real.

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