Author: Momo Chan

1 For three hours, I stood at a bus stop in a torrential downpour, waiting for Hugh. He never showed. Just as I was about to give up and call a car, I saw the message he’d sent five minutes earlier: Something came up. Can’t make it. A second later, his assistant posted a photo to her Instagram story. The familiar dashboard of his car. The caption read: *Thanks for the ride home, boss! ~* The old me would have blown up his phone, calling and texting, demanding an explanation. But now? I just tapped the screen and liked her post. Later, when I packed my bags and left without a word, he would fall apart, searching for me like a madman. He would beg, “I can change. Just don’t leave me.” … A once-in-a-decade storm hit the city. After work, my colleagues left one by one, until I was the only one left, finishing up a report. A text from Hugh lit up my screen. [The rain’s pretty bad. I’ll come get you.] I knew it was an olive branch. Last weekend was our wedding anniversary. I’d booked our favorite restaurant, but he never arrived. I waited until they were closing, and only then did I see the post from his assistant, Jenna. A photo of Hugh, his chiseled profile sharp in the dim restaurant lighting. The caption: *Happiest birthday ever. Thanks for the treat, boss! ~* When he finally came home, I showed him the picture. He just impatiently pushed my hand away. “She’s a young girl, all alone in the city on her birthday. What’s wrong with me, as her boss, showing a little concern? Stop making a scene! We can celebrate our anniversary any other year, can’t we?” He was right. We could celebrate it any other year. But couldn’t she do the same for her birthday? We hadn’t spoken since. Today was the tenth day. In the past, I would have been the one scheming for a way to make up. A message like this from him would have sent me over the moon. Now, I felt nothing. I simply replied, [Okay.] We had agreed on six. The curb in front of my office was a no-parking zone, so I walked to the bus stop down the street to wait. By nine, the rain was coming down in sheets. Even huddled under the awning, the storm had soaked the cuffs of my pants. And still, no Hugh. I pulled out my phone to call an Uber and saw the notification. A new post from someone I had on ‘close friends.’ It was Jenna. The picture of his dashboard. That limited-edition model—there were only two in the entire city, and one of them was his. Hanging from the rearview mirror was the good luck charm I’d gotten from a little chapel upstate last year. He’d scoffed when I put it there. “This thing is hideous. It clashes with my car’s interior.” I had to beg him just to let it stay. Remembering that, a sudden sense of release washed over me. I liked the post. He wasn’t coming. The rideshare app showed over a hundred people in the queue ahead of me. I glanced down at my damp clothes and turned toward the bike share rack instead. Hugh wasn’t home when I got there. I took a scalding hot shower and chugged a packet of cold medicine, but as I drifted off to sleep, I could already feel a dizzying fever setting in. I was woken sometime later by the sound of the front door opening. Hugh was home. He must have been surprised to find me asleep already. He walked to the side of the bed and just stood there. I could feel his gaze on me, but I felt too sick to move, so I didn’t. After a moment, his footsteps retreated, followed by the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. The low hum was like a lullaby, and I drifted back into a heavy sleep. When my alarm went off the next morning, my head was spinning. I fumbled for my phone, unable to turn it off immediately. Hugh let out an irritated “tsk,” and the sound finally jolted me awake. I was burning up. My head throbbed, but I had to lead a major meeting today. I dragged my aching body out of bed and got ready for work. When I got to the office, a coworker saw my flushed face and rushed over, pressing a hand to my forehead before fetching me some fever reducers and a cooling patch. A text from Hugh came through. [Are you mad at me?] I didn’t understand. [Then why didn’t you make me breakfast?] Ever since we got married, I’d made his breakfast every single morning, even during our cold wars. Not that he ever ate it. This morning, in my feverish haze, I had forgotten. But his tone, so matter-of-fact, like he was ordering a servant around, made my brow furrow. I typed back a simple reply. [Forgot. Get something on your way.] I was buried in work for the rest of the day and didn’t look at my phone again. Just before closing time, another message appeared. [I’ll pick you up.] I didn’t argue. I agreed. But after waiting downstairs for half an hour, his car was nowhere in sight. My phone rang. It was Hugh. “Are you downstairs?” I scanned the street. “I’m right by the entrance. I don’t see you.” He let out a heavy sigh on the other end. I knew that sound. It was the sound he made when he was losing his patience with me, his jaw tight as he tried to rein in his frustration. He was probably trying to make up for last night, so he reined in his temper and asked, his voice strained, “Did they change the main entrance?” A suspicion began to form in my mind. “Are you at the Sterling Building?” His voice rose, laced with indignation. “Of course I am! You think I don’t know where you work?” He didn’t. Our company had moved to a new office two blocks away from the Sterling Building last year. I had sent him the new address. He’d never even read it. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ll get home on my own. It’s all one-way streets around there, it’ll be a nightmare for you to get over here.” He was silent for a moment, then hung up. When I walked through the door, Hugh was already sitting on the sofa. It was a rare sight. Usually, I was the one who got home first, the one who cooked dinner and waited for him. More often than not, the food would go cold, and he still wouldn’t be home. When he finally walked in, I would complain, and he would just look at me with cold eyes. “Do you think my whole world revolves around you? Can’t you just eat by yourself?” “But the food is cold…” “If it’s cold, throw it out. Are you really going to start a fight over something so small?” So I learned to stop saying anything. I’d pack his portion away in a warmer, eat my own dinner alone, and then sit in the living room and wait. Tonight, however, he actually got up as I walked in. He followed me as I took off my coat, explaining, “Sandra, I’ve just been so busy, my head’s a mess. I didn’t mean to go to the wrong place.” “It’s fine,” I said, shrugging off my jacket. He studied my face, then added, “And about yesterday… it was late, and the storm was terrible. Jenna lives so far away… and when we got there, her power was out, so I just helped her fix the breaker.” I nodded, my voice neutral. “Okay.” “Are you angry?” I looked up at him, genuinely confused. “No.” That seemed to be the confirmation he needed. His careful expression hardened into accusation. “Yes, you are. I explained everything, and you’re still acting like this. You didn’t even make breakfast, and now you’re giving me the cold shoulder!” It dawned on me then. The old me would have had a complete meltdown over the last two days. Scenes like this had played out countless times over our four-year marriage. And every single time, he would stand back and watch me, silent, as if I were some unhinged actress in a bad play. Looking back, I must have looked pathetic. No wonder he never wanted to come home. But right now, I truly felt no anger. I was just exhausted from working a full day while sick. “If that’s all, I’m going to take a bath.” He stepped closer. “I’ll join you.” “No, thanks. I have a cold. I don’t feel well.” I pulled my arm from his grasp and went straight into the bathroom. A moment later, I heard the front door slam shut. He was gone again. And so, another cold war began. Before, these silences would have sent me into a panic. I’d be a nervous wreck, constantly looking for an excuse to break the tension, like “accidentally” sending him a message and then quickly deleting it. He rarely responded. He never asked what the deleted message said. If I called, he wouldn’t answer. My work would suffer as I obsessed over how to fix things, counting the minutes until I could go home. But now? I felt a profound sense of relief. Being sick, all I wanted was a good night’s sleep, but Hugh’s late-night returns always woke me up. Now, he was sleeping in the guest room, and I could sleep through the night. I stopped cooking dinner for him. He wouldn’t eat it anyway. The project I was leading was entering its most critical phase. I started grabbing breakfast on the go and eating dinner at the office before staying a little later to work. It saved me so much time. I threw myself completely into my work, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Ever since we got married, my entire world had revolved around Hugh. I’d text him constantly, asking what he was doing, telling him I missed him, that I loved him. He rarely replied, but I never stopped. I hardly ever worked late, always rushing home to cook. But he was always busy—either with work or with friends. I could count on one hand the number of times a month he was home for dinner. Now that he was no longer the center of my universe, my life felt lighter. My work improved dramatically. When the project finally wrapped up successfully, I let out a huge sigh of relief. I opened up my social media for the first time in weeks, only then remembering I had unfollowed Jenna. Curiosity got the better of me. Sure enough, while Hugh and I were in our “cold war,” he had been by her side. They went camping at the beach. She’d gone to a party with him and his closest friends. He looked so happy. The old me would have been on the phone immediately, screaming at him. He would offer a half-hearted explanation, then grow irritated with my “melodrama,” and the fight would end with him storming out of the house. But now, looking at these photos, so clearly meant to provoke me, I felt absolutely nothing. I even had the presence of mind to go through and like every single one. Because of the project’s success, the company was offering me a promotion. The new position was in B City. I had been hesitant, but now, my mind was made up. Leaving the office that evening, I was surprised to see Hugh waiting outside. “I had a meeting nearby,” he said by way of explanation. I opened the passenger door, and there was Jenna. Her smile was sickly sweet. “Sandra! Long time no see. I was just having dinner with Hugh, and he’s giving me a ride home. You don’t mind, do you?” I smiled back. “Not at all.” I closed the passenger door and opened the one behind it, sliding into the back seat. Hugh got in and looked back, confused. He hesitated, then explained, “Jenna gets carsick. It’s better for her in the front.” I just nodded. He glanced at me again, then turned back to the wheel, a frown creasing his forehead. He must have been baffled. I rarely rode in his car, but whenever I did, I was always in the passenger seat. I had once declared it “the wife seat.” He’d rolled his eyes, calling me dramatic. “It’s just a seat,” he’d said. “What’s the difference?” I just wanted to be next to him. That was the only difference. Jenna chattered away in the front, talking about people and projects at his company. I didn’t know any of them and couldn’t get a word in, so I just closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. I must have drifted off, because I was startled when Jenna turned around to ask me, “Sandra, how come you didn’t come to Dave’s birthday party the other night?” Dave’s birthday? I opened my eyes. No one had invited me. “I didn’t know he was having one,” I said softly. Jenna feigned surprise. “Really? But you know how close he and Hugh are.” I just smiled and said nothing. Dave and Hugh were like brothers. Last month, when Hugh got back from an international trip, he hadn’t come home. He’d gone straight from the airport to go stargazing with Jenna in the mountains. When I’d called Dave, frantic, he’d covered for his friend. He didn’t know I’d already seen Jenna’s post. That fight had ended with me in tears and Hugh checking into a hotel for three days. After Jenna spoke, Hugh glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his expression guilty. I ignored him and closed my eyes again. The takeout I ordered arrived at the same time we did. I changed my clothes and sat down to eat. Hugh came out of the bathroom and asked, “Where’s mine?” I looked up, surprised. “I thought you already ate.” His face froze for a second. He sat down across from me, looking like he wanted to say something. The old me would have immediately asked what was wrong. Now, I just wanted to enjoy my food in peace. Finally, he spoke. “About Dave’s birthday… we were still fighting, so I…” I cut him off. “It’s a small thing. It’s in the past. Let’s just drop it.” A flicker of shock crossed his face. He had said those exact words to me more than once. Most recently, at dinner with Dave, when I’d asked Dave why he’d lied to me. Dave had looked at Hugh, then back at me with a smirk. “Sandra, I was just trying to keep the peace, you know?” When I tried to press the issue, Hugh had snapped, “It was weeks ago. Are you ever going to let it go?” After dinner, Hugh showed no signs of leaving. I took the opportunity to pull the divorce papers my lawyer had drawn up from my bag. He glanced at the heading and let out a bitter, angry laugh. “What is this? Threatening divorce again?” He threw the papers on the floor at my feet. I picked them up and held them out to him again. “I’m serious.” “Do you get some kind of sick pleasure out of all this drama?” I didn’t say another word. Anything more would just lead to another screaming match. He slammed the door on his way out. I didn’t care where he went or what he did. I calmly placed the papers on his desk in the study and went back to browsing real estate listings for B City. Hugh didn’t come home that night. I was glad to have the place to myself. The next day, he was there to pick me up after work again. I didn’t refuse. It was a luxury I hadn’t been afforded in years; no point in being difficult about it now. I opened the back door and got in. A strange expression crossed Hugh’s face. “Sandra, why are you sitting… back there?” I looked at him, confused. “It’s just a seat. What’s the difference?” “Just… come sit up front.” I shrugged and moved to the passenger seat. Something hard was digging into my hip. I pulled it out. It was a tube of lipstick. Hugh immediately started stammering. “That must be Jenna’s. She’s so careless, always leaving things behind…” His voice trailed off as he saw the look on my face. I held it out to him. “Then make sure you give it back to her. That brand is expensive.” “I swear, I didn’t know it was there… There’s nothing going on between us…” I cut him off. “Hugh. It doesn’t matter.” “What?” “I said, it doesn’t matter. Whether there’s something going on with you and Jenna… I don’t really care anymore.” The color drained from his face. I turned to look out the window, ending the conversation. From that day on, Hugh started picking me up every day. He stopped going out with his friends. And every day, I would leave a fresh, signed copy of the divorce agreement on the coffee table in the living room. He acted like he didn’t see it, and I didn’t press him. It was inevitable. If I seemed too eager, he would just accuse me of playing games, of trying to manipulate him. One day, as soon as I got in the car, Hugh said, “We got Dave’s nephew into that school. He wants to take us to dinner to say thank you.” Dave’s nephew had been trying to get into a prestigious international kindergarten. I happened to know the director, so Dave had asked me for a favor. If he hadn’t mentioned it, I would have completely forgotten. At the restaurant, Dave handed me a glass of wine. “Sandra, you’re a lifesaver. My sister has been stressing about this for months.” I smiled and accepted the glass, though I didn’t drink. “It was no big deal.” Before our appetizers arrived, a familiar face appeared. “I thought I recognized your voices!” Jenna said, walking over to our table. “Hugh! Dave! Fancy seeing you here.” Then, as if she’d only just noticed me, her smile tightened. “Oh. Sandra’s here too.” She turned back to Hugh, her voice taking on a whiny, girlish tone. “My friend bailed on me. Can I join you guys? Please?” Hugh glanced at me, hesitating. I smiled brightly. “Of course. The more the merrier.” Dave shot me a surprised look. “Hugh, can you peel a crab for me?” Jenna asked, pouting. Then she looked at me. “I bet Hugh does this for you all the time, right, Sandra? Whenever we eat crab, he always says I’m too clumsy, so he just does it for me.” She smiled sweetly. Anyone watching would have thought they were the couple. I had asked Hugh to do that for me once, after seeing another woman’s boyfriend do it for her. He’d just scoffed. “You’re not a child. You have hands.” “But it’s what other husbands do,” I’d argued. “Am I your servant? Can’t you do it yourself?” The table next to us had looked over, and I’d shrunk in my seat, my face burning with shame. I never asked again. I had no idea he was doing it for Jenna. As she was about to say more, Hugh cut her off sharply. He turned to me, his voice low. “She doesn’t really know how… I just help her out sometimes…” I didn’t look up from my plate. “Oh,” I said, picking at my food. “Well, you should help her then.” My response clearly wasn’t the one he wanted. His face darkened. In the end, he didn’t peel a crab for anyone. “Hugh…” Jenna whined. “There’s plenty of other food,” he snapped. “Eat something else.” That weekend, I took the train to B City to look at apartments. I left early, while Hugh was still asleep. I was standing outside a potential building when he called. “Where are you?” I didn’t answer his question directly. “What’s up?” He seemed fixated on the answer. “I asked where you are.” I lied without thinking. “I’m at the office. Working overtime. Why?” His voice was tight, like he was gritting his teeth. “I’m standing right outside your office building. I just asked the guard. No one is working today.” I simply went silent. He didn’t hang up.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387009”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years after Adrian Shelton left me at the altar, I saw him again across a poker table in Monaco. He sat opposite me, his expression unreadable, his eyes drifting down to the meager pile of chips in front of me. “How much did you lose?” he asked, his voice smooth. “Put it on my tab.” I offered him a polite smile and slid my husband’s exclusive black card onto the felt. “No, thank you. My husband doesn’t like me spending other men’s money. He gets jealous.” The color drained from his face. He let out a soft sigh. “Seraphina, it’s been years. Are you still holding a grudge?” His tone was laced with a weary condescension. “That’s such a childish lie. Who’s going to believe you?” I just smiled, saying nothing. My husband, the King of Monaco’s casinos, kept me so thoroughly occupied at night that I barely had the energy to hold a grudge. … 1 Adrian clearly didn’t believe a word I said. He was about to retort when a glamorous woman slinked up to the table. “Adrian, darling, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She slid into the chair beside him, her arm linking possessively with his. “Who’s this?” she asked, her eyes raking over me with undisguised hostility, as if I were a cheap trinket she’d found at a flea market. “You look familiar,” she mused. “Weren’t you that girl from the Lind family? Tsk, look how far you’ve fallen.” Adrian pulled his gaze from me, his voice dismissive. “An old friend. Seraphina Lind.” “An old friend?” the woman echoed, her hand flying to her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh—I remember now. You’re the one who got jilted at the wedding…” She feigned a slip of the tongue, her apology dripping with insincerity. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just have no filter, you know? Not like you, Sera. So poised, even after your family went bankrupt, still pretending to be a lady of leisure. You won’t hold it against me, will you? After all,” she purred, “I’m the one who’s Mrs. Shelton now.” It was a blatant provocation. My expression remained cool. I had no interest in their little performance. I gathered my few remaining chips, ready to find another table. “Wait.” Adrian’s hand shot out, pressing down on mine, covering my chips. His eyes were cold. “Seraphina, what do you think you’re doing? Did I say you could leave?” I met his gaze evenly. “Mr. Shelton, I’m moving to another table. Let go.” The “lie” about the black card had clearly gotten under his skin. He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “What’s the matter? Your ‘husband’ didn’t give you enough to play with? Or is it that he doesn’t exist at all?” He leaned forward, his voice a low challenge. “Since your husband is so wealthy, why don’t we play a few hands?” The woman, whose name I now remembered was Isabella, chimed in, her voice sharp. “Yes, Sera. Adrian has been talking about you for years, saying how sorry he is.” She snuggled against him. “Just think of it as giving us a chance to make it up to you.” Her tone shifted, becoming oily and suggestive. “Or are you just a liar? Tell me, which gentleman’s club is your ‘husband’ the main attraction at?” I had no desire to get dragged into this. “I’m not interested.” Isabella deliberately raised her voice, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. “Everyone, come and see! This woman is a sore loser, pretending to be some rich man’s wife!” Heads turned. Whispers started to ripple through the room. “Isn’t that Adrian Shelton? The CEO of Shelton Industries?” “And that must be his new flame, Isabella.” “Who’s the other woman? Daring to cross Mr. Shelton?” “Never seen her before. Probably some social climber.” “Look at what she’s wearing. How did she even get in here?” The murmurs pricked at my ears. Isabella, seeing she had an audience, grew bolder. “Are you looking down on my Adrian, Miss Lind? We’re offering you a way out, and you’re too proud to take it. Or is it that you stole that black card?” Adrian’s face was a thundercloud. He was convinced I was putting on a show, trying to spite him. He stood up, towering over me. “Seraphina, let’s make a bet.” “You win,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll believe you. I’ll believe the card is real.” “You lose,” he continued, “and you’ll admit the card is fake. You’ll apologize.” He paused, his eyes glittering with a cruel light. “And you’ll admit that you’re still in love with me.” “Admit that for the last three years, you’ve been waiting for me to come back.” “Admit that you never got over me.” Every word was a poisoned dart, designed to humiliate me. Isabella fanned the flames. “Adrian, she’d never dare. She’s a fraud. Look at her clothes—do they even cost a hundred dollars?” Adrian waved her off impatiently, his eyes locked on me. “Do you dare? Or is your ‘husband’ just a figment of your imagination? If you don’t have the guts, then get on your knees and apologize, and I’ll pretend this never happened. My patience is wearing thin, Seraphina.” I watched their tag-team performance. They were so certain. So sure I was the same girl from three years ago, the girl they could manipulate and discard at will. A slow smile spread across my face. I nodded. “Alright,” I said. “You name the game. I’m just worried you’ll lose everything you have.” Adrian scoffed. “You? Against me?” 2 We moved to the VIP room. Adrian and Isabella were clearly regulars. The manager bowed and scraped as he ushered them in. “Mr. Shelton, Miss Vance. The usual?” Adrian waved a dismissive hand and gestured toward me. “Miss Lind here would like to play a few hands tonight.” The manager’s gaze fell on me, a flicker of contempt in his eyes. “Is this young lady a member of our casino? She doesn’t exactly look the part for the VIP section.” “Stop wasting my time,” Adrian snapped. “Put it on my account.” The manager immediately fell silent. Isabella draped herself over Adrian’s lap, a clear display of ownership. They were a team, united against me. “What shall we play, Sera?” she cooed. “You decide.” Before I could speak, Adrian “decided” for me. “Let’s play poker.” Isabella clapped her hands. “Oh, perfect! I remember you used to be terrified of poker, Sera. You always said the rules were too complicated.” She looked at Adrian, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Darling, aren’t you being a little mean?” Her words said one thing, but her eyes danced with malicious glee. Adrian knew I never touched the game. This was deliberate. He wanted to watch me squirm. “Do you dare, Seraphina?” “I have no objection,” I said, my voice flat. The dealer began to shuffle. Adrian and Isabella exchanged a triumphant look. They were sure I was finished. After I lost the first two hands, Isabella started her victory lap. “Adrian, darling, do you remember three years ago?” she murmured, tracing a finger over his chest. “You were so handsome that day, just walking out with me. Leaving her standing there all alone on the stage… tsk, tsk.” Her words were a needle, piercing through my carefully constructed walls. Three years ago. The wedding day. I was in my gown, the hall filled with guests. I thought I was the happiest woman in the world. Then Isabella burst in, clutching her stomach. “Adrian, I’m pregnant with your child!” she’d sobbed, falling to her knees. “You can’t marry her!” The room erupted. Adrian’s parents’ faces turned to stone. I looked at him, waiting for an explanation. Waiting for him to tell everyone it was a mistake. But after the initial shock, he let go of my hand. He took Isabella’s. And in front of everyone, he announced, “The wedding is off. Isabella is carrying my child. I have to do right by her.” I became the laughingstock of the city. Standing alone on the altar, watching them walk away together. The officiant awkwardly announced the ceremony was over. The guests stared at me with a mixture of pity, scorn, and contempt. “The Linds have been thoroughly disgraced.” “I heard he had someone on the side. Seraphina acted like he was a prize.” “Well, look at her now. The groom ran off.” Their stares were a physical weight, threatening to crush me. My father, watching from the front row, collapsed on the spot. “Call.” A cold voice snapped me back to the present. I pushed a stack of chips forward, my face a mask. Adrian frowned. “You’ve changed. You used to cry if you lost this much. Now you’ve lost almost everything, and you’re so calm.” Isabella giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t scare her, darling. She’s not the Lind heiress anymore. She’s poor. She can’t afford to lose.” She pulled a wad of cash from her purse and tossed it on the table in front of me. The bills landed with a soft thud. “Take it. A little something from me. Don’t say we bullied you. Go on, is it not enough? Adrian said he’d make sure you had a good time tonight.” 3 Her tone was one of pitying disdain. “Or is it that your ‘husband’s’ black card has been declined? Do you need me to lend you some money? The interest rate is very low.” My pile of chips dwindled. Adrian and Isabella worked in perfect sync. She’d check her cards, and he’d raise the bet. The dealer’s technique was also suspect; he always seemed to give me a useless card at the most critical moments. Isabella kept glancing at the dealer. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm beneath the table. They were using signals, cheating. They thought I wouldn’t notice. Too bad for them. The first thing my husband taught me in these past three years was how to spot every single cheat in a casino. But I didn’t call them out. I was waiting. Isabella, drunk on her success, began to show off the massive diamond on her finger. “Isn’t it beautiful, Sera? Adrian gave it to me last month. Five carats.” She held her hand out, the ring so close it almost touched my face. “He said I’m the love of his life. He said marrying you was just a business arrangement. He said you could never compare to even a single one of my fingers.” Adrian, watching my “distress,” feigned concern. “Seraphina, just admit it. You don’t have a husband. Why keep up the act? If you concede, I’ll cover all your losses tonight.” He even reached out, as if to touch my face. “Sera, be good. I know you still hate me. But this act will only make me lose more respect for you. Your father is dead, the Lind fortune is gone. What are you trying to prove?” He put on a show of deep sincerity, but there wasn’t a shred of guilt in his eyes. It was as if my father’s death, my family’s ruin, had nothing to do with him. “It was my fault back then, but I was forced into it,” he sighed. “You know what my parents are like. I couldn’t fight them. If you want to blame someone, blame your father for not being strong enough to save his own company. Just come back to me, and I can give you a good life again.” His hypocrisy was nauseating. I let out a cold laugh. “I could never compare to you, Mr. Shelton. Abandoning your fiancée and then swallowing her family’s last hope of survival.” Adrian’s face changed instantly. Isabella went pale. It was the one part of his past he never wanted brought to light. After the wedding fiasco, my family’s company had its credit lines cut overnight. My father, his hair turning white, went with me to beg the Sheltons for help. After all, our families had been allies for generations. We had a marriage contract. My father knelt outside their gate for a day and a night. But Adrian’s parents not only refused to help, citing my “shameful” behavior, they actively worked against us, pulling their own investments and encouraging others to do the same. “The Linds deserved to go bankrupt for raising such a shameless daughter!” “Adrian was wise to call off the wedding!” Overnight, we lost everything. My father couldn’t take the blow. He jumped from the roof of his office building. The ground was stained red with his blood. And Adrian, the man I had loved for ten years, was nowhere to be seen. He was in Europe with Isabella, waiting for their child to be born. They had absorbed my family’s assets. He had built his new life on the bones of my family. Back in the present, I pushed my last few chips into the center of the table. “My only regret is that I was blind.” “All in.” “My father’s regret was saving a snake.” “Adrian Shelton, does the money you bought with my father’s life help you sleep at night?” 4 The barb hit its mark. Adrian’s eyes turned venomous. The mask of civility was gone, his face a mask of rage. He signaled to the dealer. “Deal!” he snarled. “I want to see what you have left to fight me with! I’m going to make you crawl out of here tonight!” As expected, I lost the final hand. Adrian revealed his pocket aces. The dealer swept away my last chips. I had nothing left. Isabella shot to her feet, her voice shrill with triumph. “You lost! Seraphina, you lost! Admit you were lying! Apologize to us! Admit that black card is fake! Admit you don’t have a husband!” She cackled, pointing a finger at me. “Apologize! On your knees! You bitch, you thought you could compete with me for Adrian? You’re not worthy!” Adrian also stood, his superior air restored. He adjusted his cuffs and said, his voice smooth as silk, “As I said, I’ll cover your losses. But you have to admit you have no husband, and that card is a fake.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. “And that you still love me. Stop pretending, Seraphina. I know how hard these past three years have been for you. Come back to me. I’ll take care of you. Isabella is just a toy. You’re the one I want.” His eyes were full of a possessive, arrogant confidence. “Tell me,” he murmured, “have you been selling your body to survive?” The onlookers whispered among themselves. “So she was faking it.” “No money and she dares to come to the VIP room. Shameless.” “I thought she’d landed some big fish, but she’s just Shelton’s ex.” “Look, she’s lost everything.” “Hurry up!” Isabella shrieked. “Or we’re calling security! Throw this liar out! Women like her should be thrown out on the street! Security! Where the hell is security!” Seeing my lack of reaction, she lunged, her hands reaching for my hair. “You shameless bitch, you’re still smiling? I’ll tear that smile off your face!” Adrian didn’t move to stop her. He watched, a look of cruel amusement on his face, clearly enjoying the spectacle of my humiliation. Under their expectant gazes, I slowly stood up. I looked at them, and a real smile touched my lips. The smile seemed to unnerve them. They thought I’d finally snapped. “What are you smiling at?” Isabella spat. “Have you gone mad? Lost your mind from losing?” I was just waiting. Biding my time. My husband was due for his nightly inspection of the casino floor. And he hated it when people were late. Bang! The doors to the VIP room were thrown open. The casino manager stood there, bowing, his forehead beaded with sweat. “Sir…” A cold, magnetic voice came from behind him. “Get out of the way.” The manager scrambled aside as if he’d been electrocuted. A tall figure stepped into the room, blocking the light. His presence was a physical force, instantly silencing the room. The color drained from Adrian and Isabella’s faces. “Who… who are you?” Adrian stammered. The man didn’t even look at him. He took my cold hand in his, pulling me behind him. His palm was warm and steady. His icy gaze swept over Adrian and Isabella. “Who is bullying my wife?”

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I have a brother and a sister. For eighteen years, my parents had the master bedroom, my siblings shared the second room, and I slept on the balcony. So when my parents finally decided to upgrade to a four-bedroom house, I cried tears of pure joy. After the housewarming party, we chose our rooms. My parents took the master suite. My brother, Ross, picked the room next to theirs. My sister, Mia, smiling, moved into the northern bedroom. Excited, I headed toward the last room—but Mia stopped me. “Alex, wrong way. Your room’s over there.” She pointed to the balcony, where my familiar wooden bed waited. It hit me then: the problem was never the house size, but my place in their hearts. As I stood frozen, the others gathered in the last room—now a game room. Mia squealed with delight. Ross admired his sneaker shelf. My mom showed my dad his new ergonomic chair. “I finally don’t have to work at the dining table,” he said, touched. “Thanks, Mom! We love you!” they chorused. I watched them—a perfect, happy family—through the doorway. Tears streamed down my face. Even after ten years on the balcony, in this new house, there was still no room for me. An hour later, the novelty of their new shared space wore off, and they trickled out of the room. They finally noticed me, still standing in the same spot, my eyes red and swollen from crying. Mia, oblivious as ever, came over and poked my arm. “What’s wrong, Alex? Did the new house break your brain or something?” Ross let out a short laugh, but it died in his throat when he met my gaze. He walked over, trying to sound magnanimous. “Look, if you really don’t want the balcony, I guess we could switch.” Before I could even speak, my parents shot him down in unison. “Absolutely not! You’re studying for your grad school exams. You need proper rest.” A bitter wave washed over me. So they knew. They knew sleeping on the balcony meant you couldn’t rest properly. “But I have my college entrance exams coming up,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I thought that might spark a flicker of guilt, but their expressions remained unchanged. “You’ve done it for ten years, you’re used to it,” my mother said. “Your brother isn’t.” My father’s stern gaze was laced with reprimand. “He’s a light sleeper, Alex. You know that!” My mother chimed in, her tone scolding. “Honestly, this boy. Always has to compare everything. You’re being so immature!” The tears I’d just managed to stop started flowing again, hot and unstoppable. Immature? How much more mature could I possibly be? There were three kids, and I wasn’t even the oldest, yet I was the only one who ever did chores. Even during my middle school finals, studying until midnight, I still had to find time to wash the dinner dishes, do the laundry, and mop the floors. With Ross’s offer vetoed, all eyes turned to Mia. She shrieked instantly. “You even think about making me sleep on the balcony, and I’ll make sure none of you get a wink of sleep, ever!” My mother stroked her hair with a look of helpless adoration. “Don’t you worry, my little princess. We’d make anyone sleep out there before you.” “That’s more like it,” Mia said, smugly. “I’ll let you off the hook for now. No need to call Grandma and Grandpa to complain.” I stood my ground, refusing to move my things to the balcony. The silence in the hallway was thick with tension. The urge to just turn around and walk out, to leave it all behind, pulsed through me, but I forced it down. Eight years of living as a guest in my aunt’s house had given me a desperate, bottomless craving for a real home. Even if this family didn’t cherish me the way I’d imagined, at least it was my home. At least I wasn’t a beggar living under someone else’s roof. Swallowing my hurt and resentment, I tried one last time, my voice trembling. “But what about the last room? Can’t I just stay there for a little while…?” “No!” This time, all four of them said it at once. The last, fragile flicker of hope for their affection died in my chest. With a furious roar, I swept my arm across the dining table, sending the carefully constructed pyramid of soda cans crashing to the floor. “If that’s how it is,” I choked out, my eyes burning, “then there’s no reason for me to be in this house at all.” I grabbed my worn-out duffel bag and stormed out without a backward glance. Just as I reached the elevator, a hand clamped down on the back of my collar. “Stop right there! Where do you think you’re going?!” my father yelled, his face purple with rage. “None of your business!” I shot back, my voice cold. It was the first time in my life I had ever spoken back to him, the first time I had ever defied him so openly. He froze for a second, stunned. Then, the sound of the slap was deafening. I stumbled backward, the force of it sending me crashing to the floor. The contents of my duffel bag spilled out around me. “Over a single room? You’d abandon your own parents over a room? Is it really worth it?!” he roared. I looked up at his furious face and screamed back, my voice even louder than his. “Yes! It is!” In the past, no matter how wronged I felt, I would have only offered a quiet, timid defense. I was weighed down by the shame of being the outsider, the latecomer to the family. I thought being obedient and invisible would earn their acceptance. But now I saw it clearly. All it ever got me was more pain. There was no point in trying to fit into a space where I would never belong. My mother rushed out after him. “What is wrong with this child? Do you only get happy when you’re making your parents miserable?” Her anger escalated until she was pointing a shaking finger at me. “Fine! You want a room so badly? You can have the master bedroom! Your father and I will sleep on the balcony! Are you happy now?!” She spun around as if to start packing, but Ross and Mia grabbed her arms. “Mom, you and Dad are the elders. We can’t have you sleeping on the balcony,” Ross said, then shot a resentful look at me. “Seriously, this was supposed to be a happy day, and it’s completely ruined by one selfish person.” Mia’s glare was pure poison. “Just keep it up, Alex. Maybe Mom and Dad will send you away again!” A violent tremor shot through my entire body. The hellish memories of my life at my aunt’s house before I was eight flooded back, replaying in horrifying detail. When I was four, I accidentally broke my cousin’s doll. My uncle’s face darkened, and he shoved me out the door. I spent the entire night curled up in the corner of the stairwell, sobbing until the sun came up. When I was eight, my cousin was playing with matches and burned half the apartment down, but she blamed it on me. My aunt and uncle tied me up and beat me with a leather belt until I was half-dead. That was the year my parents finally took me back. I thought the nightmare was over. I never imagined I would still be the one who didn’t belong. I couldn’t take it anymore. “You don’t have to send me! I’m leaving myself!” I tore myself from my father’s grasp, my face streaked with tears, and slammed the down button for the elevator. I ran out of the building, out of the complex, just ran. It was ten o’clock at night. All I had was a cheap phone that could only make calls. Not a single change of clothes. I stared at the thousands of warm, glowing windows in the distance, then collapsed onto the curb, sobbing uncontrollably, letting out all the years of bottled-up misery. “Alex? Is that you?” A familiar voice cut through my grief. I looked up. It was my classmate, Leo. Standing beside him were his parents, a kind-faced middle-aged couple. I’d been so excited about the new house that I’d told practically everyone I knew, so of course, he knew. “I thought you guys were moving in today,” he started, confused. “What are you doing out here so late…?” His mother cut him off. “Leo, didn’t you say you had some tough homework problems you needed Alex’s help with? This is perfect. Why don’t you invite him over?” Then she turned to me, her voice gentle. “Alex, our place is just around the corner. Would you mind coming over to help Leo out for a bit?” Leo, who knew bits and pieces about my family situation, caught on immediately. “Please, Alex? You’ve gotta help me,” he begged. Thinking of my cold family and my empty pockets, I numbly accepted their kindness and went home with them. Later that night, Mrs. Dallas sent a text to my parents for me, explaining that I’d be staying with them for the month leading up to the final exams. I overheard her on the phone with my mother. I heard my mother’s shrill voice rattling on about how immature and shameless I was, how I shouldn’t be imposing on another family just to “tutor.” She never once mentioned the balcony. She never once asked me to come home. For the next month, I became part of the Dallas family. Leo and I ate together, slept in his room, and went to school together. We studied late into the night, quizzing each other. I silently etched their kindness into my heart and swore I would ace my exams. I had to build a future for myself, a bright one that didn’t depend on anyone else’s approval. The month flew by, and the exams were over. In all that time, my parents had made a few half-hearted calls to Mrs. Dallas, offering to transfer money for my expenses, which she refused. When she did, they never tried to send it to me directly. They never called me once. But I saw them. Whenever I used my phone to look up study materials, their social media posts would pop up. Ross posted: Mom’s been making me a different kind of gourmet soup every day to keep my strength up for GRE prep. Best mom in the world. Mia posted: Dad promised me the new-gen console no matter what my final grades are! Love my family! Best parents ever! My parents were the first to like and comment: Our little family of four, always together. I also saw on my mother’s page that she had dismantled the wooden bed on the balcony and replaced it with two tiers of flower shelves. Her caption was heartfelt: Finally cleared out that eyesore. Now it’s just birdsong, fragrant flowers, and my two wonderful children. My life is finally perfect. So that was it. The days without me were their happiest. I finally understood that from the moment I was born, I was destined to be the extra piece that never fit. A sharp pain lanced through my chest, but it vanished as quickly as it came. The exam results were out. “Alex, did you see it? You’re number one! You’re the top scorer in the entire state!” Leo yelled, grabbing me in a hug and spinning me around. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I said, grinning. “Eighth in the city.” Leo’s parents walked over, smiling warmly. “It’s all thanks to you tutoring him this past month. With his old grades, he would’ve been lucky to get into any state college.” Leo stuck his tongue out sheepishly, then turned to me with genuine gratitude. “Seriously, man. Thanks.” “By the way,” Mr. Dallas said, “we’re planning Leo’s graduation party at The Grand Regency Hotel. If you don’t mind, we’d love for you to celebrate with us, as our guest of honor.” I immediately tried to refuse. I’d already imposed on them for a month; I couldn’t possibly crash their party. But Leo got angry. “You said yesterday you thought of me as a brother, and now you won’t even celebrate with me? Fine! I’m not talking to you anymore!” He pouted, turning his back on me. I was cornered. I had to give in. “Okay, okay, Leo, don’t be mad. I’ll be there.” “You know,” I added wistfully, “I’ve never had a party like that.” Leo’s face was a mask of disbelief. “What are you talking about? You were first in the city in middle school…” He trailed off, suddenly realizing. The three of them looked at me for a long moment. Their eyes held no surprise, no pity. Only a deep, aching sympathy that warmed me to my core. The emotions I had suppressed for so long surged up again. Strangers could see my pain, could care for me, could feel for me. But my own flesh and blood saw me as a burden, something to be ignored and mistreated. It was clear then. Blood isn’t what makes a family. I knew, with absolute certainty, that some people weren’t worth holding on to. On the day of the party, wearing a new shirt and slacks Mrs. Dallas had bought me, I went with them to The Grand Regency. During a trip to the restroom, I took a wrong turn and ended up in a different ballroom. I was about to leave when four familiar figures caught my eye, and I froze. There, on the main stage in the center of the room, were my father, my mother, Ross, and Mia, huddled together, beaming. “This son of mine has been brilliant since he was a boy,” my father announced, slinging an arm around Ross’s shoulders and holding up his grad school acceptance letter for all to see. “He’s bringing honor to the Clarke name!” “And our Mia is incredibly talented too!” my mother added. “Even if her grades weren’t the best, she’s a genius at dance. Just yesterday, she won a national junior dance award!” She finished by planting a proud kiss on Mia’s forehead. “You will always be your mother’s greatest pride, sweetie.” The room erupted in applause. Guests swarmed them, congratulating my parents on their good fortune, praising Ross and Mia for being so accomplished. The atmosphere was electric; everyone was radiant with joy. And then there was me, a lonely shadow in the doorway, completely out of place. I panicked, desperate to escape, but just as I turned to leave, a voice called out. “Alex? What are you doing here?” It was Ross. He was standing right in front of me, and behind him were Mia, and my parents. It had been over a month, and the look in their eyes wasn’t happiness or surprise. It was pure, undiluted disgust. As if I wasn’t their son, but the filthiest, most repulsive thing in the world.

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Seven months pregnant, I found a hidden compartment in Philip Hayne’s study. Inside was an expired asset transfer agreement. Twenty percent of the Hayne Corporation’s shares, valued in the billions, plus three overseas manors and a private island. All of it, gifted to my stepsister, Stella Monroe. No strings attached. When Philip and I got married, all he gave me was a prenuptial agreement. “It’s a business merger, a formality,” he’d said, his tone casual. “Just sign it.” I signed. And I walked into the Hayne family with nothing to my name. Ten years of marriage, and I still don’t even know his bank account password. “Who gave you permission to be in my study?” Philip’s voice, sharp and cold as ice, cut through the silence from the doorway. I turned to face the man I had loved for fifteen years. No tears, no hysterics. Just a quiet, steady voice. “Philip. I want a divorce.” He strode into the room, snatched the papers from my hand, and threw them to the floor, the pages scattering like fallen leaves. “This is ancient history. Is it really worth making a scene over?” He didn’t even bother to explain. He just raged, telling me to get out. And so I did. I calmly left the study, picked up my phone, and made a call to the hospital. “Hello, I’d like to schedule an appointment to terminate a pregnancy for next week.” 1 The confirmation text arrived a moment later. Staring at the appointment time on the screen, a violent cramp seized my abdomen. I leaned against the bedroom wall, sliding slowly to the floor, fighting back the tears as I messaged my lawyer. His call came instantly. “Mrs. Hayne, are you absolutely certain? You want to walk away from all marital assets, with nothing?” he pressed. “Under the law, especially during a pregnancy, you’re entitled to at least…” Marital assets? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. There were no marital assets. Philip’s stock appreciation over the years was all held in proxies. Every property he owned was notarized before our wedding. My name had never once appeared on the list of beneficiaries for his family trust. He’d told me casually, the day we got engaged, that he’d never marry a woman with her hand out. That he wouldn’t give away what he’d fought so hard to build just because of a marriage certificate. At the time, I thought he was just bitter that my father had forced his hand. I knew how hard he’d battled his half-brothers, the illegitimate ones, to inherit the Hayne Corporation. So I obediently signed my name, over and over, on a thick stack of documents, waiving my rights to everything. I thought one day he would see me, truly see me, and let go of his resentment. It wasn’t until I saw that asset transfer agreement that I realized what a fool I’d been. The items on this transfer agreement matched, one for one, the list of assets I had signed away at the notary’s office all those years ago. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to share. It was just that the wife he wanted to share it with was never me. “Mr. Davies,” I cut him off, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hand. “Please prepare the divorce papers. My only condition is that I leave with nothing.” When I hung up, my hand was still shaking. Not from hesitation. From rage. Ten years of marriage. A long, elaborate con. And I had been the willing, idiotic mark for every single day of it. The password to the hidden compartment in Philip’s study was Stella’s birthday. He was willing to give Stella everything he owned, yet the credit card he gave me had a monthly limit that never exceeded five hundred dollars. Even when I was seven months pregnant, sick and dizzy from morning sickness, he was with Stella, hosting her private art exhibition. And the cruelest joke of all? I was the one who designed their love nest. Three months ago, Philip brought me the blueprints for a villa, forcing me to work despite the crippling nausea of my pregnancy. “A friend is gifting his partner a villa,” he’d said. “I need you to design it to the highest standard, as quickly as possible.” Now I see it. The “friend” was him. And the looping, ostentatious signature on the resident line, “S.M.”, was for Stella Monroe. The divorce papers arrived that evening. Mr. Davies tried one last time. “Mrs. Hayne, at least keep the money you’ve earned yourself…” I shook my head. Philip had never contributed a single cent to our household expenses. Every penny I earned went into running our home. Looking back, I suppose in his eyes, I really was cheap. As I signed my name, the baby kicked violently, as if in protest, or perhaps, in comfort. This time, I couldn’t stop the tears. I finally broke down and cried. 2 With Mr. Davies’ help, I rented an apartment that same afternoon. I wasn’t picky about the location or the size; I just needed to get out. It was eight o’clock by the time I returned to the Hayne villa. The fatigue of pregnancy made it hard to even stand upright, but I cooked one last dinner. Four dishes and a soup, all Philip’s favorites. After ten years, I knew his tastes better than my own. No matter how it ended, I wanted to part ways gracefully. Fifteen years was a long time. But Philip didn’t come home until one in the morning. He reeked of Stella’s signature perfume, and a garish smear of lipstick stained his collar. I watched him loosen his tie and noticed, for the first time, that his ring finger was bare. I don’t know when it happened, but he had taken off his wedding ring. He glanced at the untouched, cold dinner on the table, his brow furrowing in that familiar, irritated way. There was no warmth in his eyes, only undisguised impatience. “What’s with the martyr act now? You think this will make me give in?” He tossed his jacket onto the sofa and started for the stairs without a single look in my direction. “Philip,” I called out, my voice so calm it surprised even me. “The divorce papers are on the table. Sign them.” He stopped, his foot hovering over the first step. When he turned, the sarcasm in his eyes was practically dripping. “Because of some expired, useless piece of paper? Elara, when did you become so irrational?” “Your father used the fact that he saved my life to force me to marry you. I had no choice.” “Stella’s heart is weak. I just wanted to give her a blessing, a gesture, that’s all!” A blessing? A gesture? How ridiculous. Two weightless words to dismiss all my pain and suffering. I finally understood. The chasm between us for the past decade wasn’t about anything else. It was simply that he had never loved me. Fifteen years ago, on a rainy night, he was being hunted by his half-brothers. I was the one who hid him in a storage closet for three whole days. I was the one who snuck him food and medicine, nearly getting beaten to death for it. He was the one who held my hand and whispered, “Elara, wait for me. When I take control of the Hayne family, I’ll marry you with all the honor you deserve.” And he did take control, with ruthless efficiency. But he “honored” me with nothing more than a cold, calculating prenuptial agreement. “Philip,” I said, cradling my belly as I slowly pushed myself to my feet. “So you do remember that you owe me your life.” He flinched, then let out a cold laugh. “Oh, so now we’re keeping score? Fine. Name your price. How much do you want?” Name my price. A bitter smile touched my lips. The last warm corner of my heart finally turned to ice. “That won’t be necessary, Philip. I’m truly done with this relationship.” “By nine o’clock tomorrow morning, I want to see those signed divorce papers on the living room table.” I used every ounce of my strength to keep my voice from breaking. Without waiting to see his reaction, I turned and walked upstairs. Behind me, I heard the crash of something breaking and his furious, strangled roar. “Elara Thorne! You’d better not regret this!” Regret? My only regret was opening that storage closet door fifteen years ago. 3 When I came downstairs the next morning, the living room was empty. The divorce papers had been torn to shreds, scattered like confetti across the expensive, hand-woven rug. My heart seized at the sight of the confetti, then settled back into a numb calm. This was Philip’s answer, then. He wouldn’t deign to explain, but he wouldn’t let me go either. My phone screen lit up with a new message. From Stella. She had re-added me on social media about a month ago. Her first message was: Sister, long time no see! I’m back. Philip picked me up from the airport. He hasn’t changed a bit. 🙂 Since then, my phone had become a live stream of her happiness. A photo of Philip’s back as they viewed an art exhibit. A candid shot of him putting food on her plate. A picture taken from inside his car, with a deliberate shot of her slender leg… And yesterday, she sent a voice message. In the background, I could clearly hear Philip’s impatient voice on another call. “Elara? Don’t worry about her. She’s always making a big deal out of nothing. Just focus on the art.” The latest message had arrived just ten minutes ago. It was a picture. Philip, asleep in her bed, his face peaceful in profile. The bedding was a familiar star-themed set from her bedroom. The caption read: Sister, I heard you went into Philip’s study and made him angry? Sigh, that old agreement was just something he drew up to comfort me when I was sick a long time ago. It’s not valid anymore. Please don’t misunderstand. By the way, you really do look like I used to, especially your eyes. Philip said he noticed it the very first time he saw you. Oh, and how’s the baby? Philip said he hopes the baby has my eyes. A wave of cold nausea rose in my throat. I ran to the bathroom and retched violently. The morning sickness had never been this bad. I gripped the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror—pale face, red-rimmed eyes. These eyes… he liked them because they looked like hers? A fifteen-year love affair, a ten-year marriage, all born from one man’s unrequited love for another woman. And I was just the cheap, convenient substitute. The tears finally fell, hot and heavy. With a trembling hand, I replied to Stella. You always did love picking up my leftovers. You can have them. Philip included. Message sent. A second later, my phone rang. It was Philip. I didn’t answer. I declined the call and blocked his number. The world went quiet. I clutched my tightening stomach, taking deep breaths, forcing myself to be calm. This was no time for grief. I called a moving company and began to pack my things. My clothes, my design sketches, the simple kitchenware I’d bought… Everything that was mine, everything that bore my mark, I packed into boxes. As for the expensive jewelry, the gowns, the designer bags—they were all things Philip had purchased to maintain the image of “Mrs. Hayne.” I didn’t take a single one. The wedding ring I’d taken off lay on the dresser, cold and forgotten. The movers were quick. In no time, a dozen boxes were loaded onto their truck. Before I left, I took one last look at the villa I had called home for a decade. Ornate, cold, and meticulously crafted. A beautiful cage. And I was finally being set free. The new apartment was small, but it was filled with sunlight. It took me the entire day to unpack and settle in. My body ached, a dull weight pulling at my lower abdomen, but my heart felt strangely light. That evening, I received a text from an unknown number. It was Philip. Elara, come home. Now. We can pretend none of this ever happened. Stella isn’t well. Stop harassing her. And you will have this child. The Hayne bloodline cannot be abandoned. I stared at the message, a laugh bubbling up that was half sob. Even now, all he cared about was Stella’s feelings and the Hayne bloodline. My pain, my life, my death—none of it mattered. I didn’t reply. I deleted the message and blocked the new number. 4 The day before the scheduled procedure, I went to the hospital for a final check-up. In the ultrasound room, the technician squeezed cold gel onto my belly and moved the probe gently across my skin. “The baby is very healthy,” she said, pointing to the screen. “See, there’s a little hand, and there’s a foot…” The tiny figure on the screen was wiggling. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. My voice cracked. “Doctor, if I… if I go through with the induction, will the baby feel it?” The older female doctor adjusted her glasses, her expression complicated. “At this stage, a termination is very hard on the mother’s body. And yes… the baby can feel pain.” She placed her hand gently on my stomach. “Are you sure you want to give up? He seems like a very active little one.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Walking out of the examination room, I felt like I was floating. At the end of the long hospital corridor, I saw the last person I ever wanted to see. Philip. Standing there in a pristine suit, every inch the powerful CEO of the Hayne Corporation. “Come back with me,” he said, grabbing my wrist. His grip was so tight I thought the bones might snap. “Stop this nonsense.” “Nonsense?” I looked up at him. “You think this is nonsense, Philip?” “That agreement is expired and void,” he said, his voice laced with impatience. “Stella’s heart is weak, I just wanted to give her a blessing—” “So I’m just collateral damage in your epic love story?” I yanked my hand away. “Philip, do you remember our first anniversary? I had a fever of 104. You said you were too busy to come home. Later, I saw pictures on Stella’s social media of the two of you skiing in Switzerland.” “Our third anniversary. You said you had a board meeting. I saw your car in the background of one of Stella’s selfies.” “Every single one of my prenatal appointments, you said you were busy. But you had time to go to art galleries with her, buy her jewelry, celebrate every one of her birthdays.” I listed his betrayals, one by one, my voice as calm as if I were telling someone else’s story. Philip’s face finally changed. “You… you knew all along?” “I never said anything. I just kept telling myself to give you one more chance, to trust you one more time.” I smiled, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “It wasn’t until I saw that agreement that I understood what a complete and utter fool I’ve been.” He was silent. For the first time, I saw something that looked like guilt in his eyes. But it was too late. It was all far too late. “I’m going to have this baby,” I said softly. “But he will have nothing to do with you.” “From this day forward, my child and I have no connection to Philip Hayne.” With that, I turned and walked away. He didn’t follow. For the next few days, I cut off all contact with the outside world, resting in my apartment. Mr. Davies called to inform me that Philip was refusing to sign the divorce papers. “Mrs. Hayne, if you insist on a divorce, we’ll have to file a lawsuit. However, given that you’re pregnant, the court will likely push for mediation.” “Furthermore,” he added, his tone hesitant, “Mr. Hayne has made it clear that if you proceed with a lawsuit, he will use every resource at his disposal to gain full custody of the child.” I held the phone, silent for a long time. I knew he could do it. He had the money and the power. I had nothing but the baby in my womb. “Mr. Davies, how long would a contested divorce take?” “If he fights it and uses his resources, it could drag on for years.” Years? I couldn’t wait years. My child couldn’t be born into that kind of turmoil and uncertainty. I had to make Philip agree to the divorce. I had to. 5 As I was racking my brain, the doorbell rang. It was Stella, dressed in a white cashmere dress that made her look fragile and innocent. She was holding an elegant thermos. I opened the door but didn’t invite her in. “What do you want?” “Sister, I knew you’d be here.” She smiled sweetly, trying to push her way inside. “Philip was so worried about you, he asked me to check in. I brought you some bird’s nest soup. Pregnancy is hard, you need to take care of yourself.” I blocked the doorway. “Thank you, but I don’t need it. You can go.” Her smile faltered for a second before being replaced by a wounded expression. “Sister, are you still mad at me? There’s really nothing going on between Philip and me. He just looks out for me…” “Whatever is or isn’t going on between you two has nothing to do with me,” I cut her off coldly. “I’m divorcing him. Soon you can have him look out for you all you want, officially.” A flash of triumph flickered in her eyes, quickly masked by concern. “Sister, don’t be so rash! A child needs a father. Besides, Philip said he wants you to have the baby…” Her words trailed off as I snapped my head up to stare at her. “He wants me to have the baby? And then what? Give him to you to raise?” My glare seemed to startle her. She took a half-step back. “Sister, why would you think that? I just feel so sorry for the baby. If my health was better, if I could have children of my own, Philip wouldn’t have to…” She left the sentence hanging, but the unspoken words were more vicious than any blade, piercing through all my defenses. So that was it. That was why he refused to divorce me, why he was so insistent I keep this child. Because the substitute had finally become a disappointment, and his one true love was infertile. So he needed me, the woman who looked like her, to give birth to a child with her eyes, to complete their perfect little dream. A tidal wave of disgust and absurdity crashed over me. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I snatched the thermos from her hand and hurled it at her. The warm soup splattered all over her pristine dress. She shrieked and jumped back. “Get out!” I pointed at the stairs, my entire body shaking. “And you tell Philip Hayne, he wants my child? He can have him over my dead body!” Stella looked down at her ruined dress, the fragile mask finally cracking to reveal a venomous sneer. “Elara, don’t be so ungrateful! Philip wants this baby, and you are going to deliver it! Do you really think you have any choice in the matter?”

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Three years after my own brother sent me away, our paths crossed at the airport. War had broken out in Adana. I’d been severely injured protecting children in the slums and was being flown home for medical care. He, on the other hand, was about to embark on a round-the-world trip with his adopted sister. Our eyes met. His gaze swept over my injuries, and his voice was laced with the same old disappointment. “I warned you it was dangerous over there. You have no one to watch your back, so stop looking for trouble.” He paused, his expression hardening. “I can get you the best doctor, but first, you will apologize to Nina for what you did.” I lay limp on the stretcher, my gaze drifting away from him. “No, thanks,” I said, my voice a faint rasp. “We stopped being brother and sister a long time ago.” Besides, I had a new brother now, a man of immense power I’d met overseas. Seacliff City’s finest surgeon was already waiting for me. … My body was a canvas of countless wounds, big and small. The pain in my leg was so intense it was bordering on numbness. Just uttering that one sentence made the metallic taste of blood flood my throat. My brother Ethan’s face darkened. “It’s been three years. Are you still holding a grudge?” he scoffed. “You’re this torn up, and you still haven’t learned your lesson?” I tried to retort, but a sharp movement sent a jolt of agony through me, and I sucked in a breath. The two paramedics carrying my stretcher immediately tried to move on, but Ethan blocked their path. “Sophia, is it so hard for you to just say you’re sorry?” The sudden halt of the stretcher sent a blinding, bone-deep pain shooting up my right leg. I bit down hard on my lip, forcing the words out. “I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?” Beside him, Nina clutched Ethan’s arm, her voice a soft, cautious whisper. “Ethan, let it go. I was fine a long time ago…” “You’re still defending her?” Ethan’s voice was sharp with frustration. “If she hadn’t slapped you back then, would your heart condition have flared up, taking three years to recover?” He shot me another venomous glare. “Look at you. You clearly got into a fight and got beaten up. And you’re still unrepentant. Sending you to the slums was too lenient!” Adana was a chaotic hellscape, and its slums were no place for a human being. So, naturally, Ethan assumed my injuries were the result of a street brawl. He was wrong. I was hit by shrapnel from a mortar shell. I had thrown myself over two small children to shield them. It didn’t just cost me my leg. I’d lost most of the hearing in one ear, too. I looked up at him, a mocking smile playing on my lips. “You’re right. You should have just killed me back then.” “You want an apology? Maybe in the next life.” Ethan’s face turned ashen, his hands clenched into tight fists. He looked like he was seconds away from striking me. Just then, the airport announcer called his and Nina’s names, a final boarding call for their flight. My paramedics were getting anxious, their faces grim as they tried to push past him. Nina tugged on his sleeve. “Ethan, we should go, or we’ll miss our flight!” Her face was pale, her voice small and frail. That was the look he could never resist. His tone softened instantly. “Alright.” But when he turned back to me, his eyes were chips of ice. “I’ll deal with you when I get back from our trip with Nina.” The crowd swirled around us, and in a moment, he and Nina were gone, swallowed by the flow of travelers. The two foreign paramedics rushed my stretcher outside and into a waiting ambulance. At the hospital, a team of three doctors immediately began examining me, their faces grave. The only American doctor among them spoke in a low, reassuring tone. “Miss Spencer, don’t worry. You got back just in time. We can still save your leg.” “Mr. Lin gave us clear instructions. He wants you fully healed. We’re taking you into surgery now.” Mr. Lin. My new brother, Leo. Hearing his name was like an anchor in a storm. A sense of peace washed over me. I managed a weak nod before they wheeled me into the operating room. The three surgeons surrounded me, and the anesthesiologist prepped the IV. As consciousness began to fade, I slowly closed my eyes. But just then, a horribly familiar voice echoed from outside. “Where are the doctors? My sister’s having a heart attack! Get your best specialists in here, now!” My heart dropped like a stone. But before I could process it, the anesthesia took hold, and my world went black. I thought three years had been long enough to bury the past. But in my dreams, I was right back in that soul-crushing family estate. I was kidnapped at seven. By the time Ethan found me and brought me home, I was seventeen. In those ten years, he had endured my disappearance and then the sudden, accidental death of our parents. The grief shattered him, pushing him into a severe depression that led to multiple suicide attempts. His therapist suggested he adopt a sister. And so, Nina entered his life. Nina was three years younger than me and had Ethan wrapped around her little finger. I returned home at the peak of their bond. Ethan was always warning me. “Sophia, Nina has a weak heart. She can’t handle stress. Stay away from her, don’t provoke her.” “She was there for me through everything. I can’t just send her away, but don’t worry. You’re my only real sister.” I knew how much he had suffered, so I tolerated it. I swallowed my pride, again and again. But behind his back, Nina showed her fangs. At family gatherings, she’d convince Ethan to leave me at home, claiming I didn’t understand the proper etiquette. The welcome-home gifts from relatives and friends? She took them, one by one. If I dared to protest, she’d clutch her chest and gasp about how she couldn’t breathe. As it happened more and more, Ethan’s disappointment in me grew. “They’re just little things, why do you have to make such a big deal? Nina has a heart condition. Are you trying to kill her?” I endured it all, until the day Nina “accidentally” knocked over the bowl of soup I’d made for Ethan. It was a small thing, but it was the spark that lit the fuse of all my pent-up anger and resentment. “Ethan’s stomach is acting up from overworking! If you’re not going to help, at least don’t make things worse!” I slapped her. The next second, she was on the floor, clutching her heart. I’ll never forget the icy glare Ethan gave me. “We’ll settle this when I get back,” he said, before scooping Nina into his arms and rushing to the hospital. I waited, my stomach churning with anxiety. The next morning, he came home, his face a cold mask. He handed me a passport and a plane ticket. “Nina had a severe heart episode. You can’t stay here anymore. Go to Adana for a while, cool your head.” I stared at him in disbelief, tears streaming down my face. “If you send me away,” I screamed, “I’ll never call you brother again!” His face hardened. He grabbed my arm and began dragging me towards the door. “You’ve done nothing but cause trouble since you came back. Do you think you’re some kind of princess? If you can’t get rid of that rotten attitude, then don’t come back at all!” “Here, I can protect you. But over there, you’re on your own.” Even as I sat on the plane, I couldn’t believe he had just abandoned me. I was sobbing uncontrollably, my voice hoarse. “I did nothing wrong! If you send me away, you’re not my brother anymore!” His lips pressed into a thin line, and with one sentence, he shattered all my remaining hope. “Then I’m not.” After just one year back home, I was exiled to a slum worse than any kidnapper’s den. Even now, I don’t have the courage to remember how I survived those three years. I woke up crying, the bright lights of the operating room blinding me. A young intern stood beside me, scalpel in hand, her voice filled with pity. “All the senior surgeons were called away by a Mr. Ethan Spencer. He donated a hundred million dollars to this hospital, so…” Two of my ribs were broken. My body was covered in over a hundred stitches. The intern had managed to close my wounds, but because we’d missed the optimal window for surgery, my right leg was now facing amputation. “Miss Spencer, the bones in your leg are shattered, and the tissue is becoming necrotic. You don’t have much time to decide.” Someone’s voice buzzed in my ear. “Amputation is a viable option. You can be fitted with a prosthesis later.” My head was ringing. Images of the maimed and crippled from the slums flashed through my mind. They hadn’t been fast enough to run from the shelling. They were blown to pieces. We believe in keeping the body whole for the afterlife. I didn’t want to be buried missing a leg. My voice was thick with tears when I spoke. “What happens if I don’t amputate?” “The muscles will atrophy. You could lose your other leg as well. You might manage with crutches for a while, but eventually… you’ll likely need a wheelchair.” I covered my face with my hands, hot tears streaming through my fingers. A moment later, the phone under my pillow buzzed. It was a video call from Leo. I took a deep breath, composed myself, and answered, showing only half my face to the camera, a weak smile on my lips. “Hey, what’s up?” He held up a plane ticket. “Just wanted to let you know, I’ll be there in two days,” he said, his voice etched with worry. “You’re out of surgery, right? How’s the recovery going? I got you the best doctor in Seacliff City, so everything should be fine, right?” I angled the phone away slightly. “It’s fine. Don’t worry.” He let out a sigh of relief, a smile returning to his face. “Joseph and Hank are insisting on coming. They said you saved their lives.” Two familiar faces popped into the frame, waving their hands and chattering excitedly in their native Adanan. I forced another smile, exchanged a few words with them, and then ended the call, claiming I needed to rest. I had just put the phone down when I heard Ethan’s voice from the hallway. “This must be the young lady’s room, right? I was in a hurry earlier and had to pull her surgeons away. I’d like to apologize to her.” The door opened. When he saw me, he froze. “The Miss Spencer in the operating room… it was you?” I gave him a scornful look. “Let me guess. Just like every other time, Nina is perfectly fine now, isn’t she?” Before Ethan could answer, the intern spoke up, her voice urgent. “Miss Spencer, have you made a decision? Are we amputating or not? If you choose amputation, we need to operate immediately!” The color drained from Ethan’s face. “Amputation? What are you talking about?” The intern, after confirming their relationship, explained my condition to him. When he learned that it was because he had pulled my doctors away that I’d missed the crucial window for surgery, his expression became a mask of horror. But then, just as quickly, he made the decision for me. “Amputate. It’s better than losing both legs later!” My fingers clenched into a fist. “No! I choose conservative treatment!” I could deal with the consequences later. I had to wait for Leo to get here. What if he had a way? Ethan’s face was a thundercloud. “Why are you being so stubborn? Didn’t you hear what the doctor said? Amputation isn’t the end of the world. Even if you can never stand again, I’ll support you. No one will dare to laugh at you for being a cripple!” “No!” I shouted, my voice raw. “I’d rather use crutches than lose my leg! We already cut ties! You have no right to decide for me!” “Well…” The doctor looked torn. Ethan’s brow furrowed. He pulled out a stack of documents—his passport, his ID, and even our family registration booklet. He handed the booklet to the doctor, a flicker of relief in his eyes. “Good thing I brought all our documents for the trip.” “Doctor,” he said, his voice firm, “I am Sophia Spencer’s sole legal guardian. Don’t listen to her nonsense.” “We’re choosing amputation. Do the surgery. Now.”

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After the Contender’s System finally gave up and left our world, my leading lady and I got married, had a child, and settled into our happily ever after. The live comments all agreed: it was the perfect ending for a high school romance story. Until one evening, while reading a fairytale to my six-year-old daughter, she looked up at me with dead seriousness and asked, “Daddy, what’s love?” “That’s easy,” I said without hesitation. “Mommy and Daddy got married and had you. That’s love.” Her little brow furrowed. “You’re a liar.” “Mommy said that even though she didn’t marry Uncle Connor, they’re the ones who have true love.” I froze. 1. Ruby was beaming, thrilled to have proven me wrong. “Mommy said if it wasn’t for you, she definitely would have married Uncle Connor. She said if she gets a next life, she’s going to find him first. They’ll watch the northern lights, ride horses, and feed baby lambs… and then have a baby of their own.” Her eyes sparkled. “Maybe then, I’ll get to be Uncle Connor’s daughter!” The “Uncle Connor” she was talking about was the story’s villainous rival, the one who had failed to win Sophie’s heart. “What else did she say?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Ruby rattled it off instantly. “Mommy said Uncle Connor’s birthday is April seventeenth. He likes to drink sake in the hot tub, his favorite food is anything Mommy cooks for him, and… and he loves cinnamon-roasted chestnuts.” She recited the list of trivial details flawlessly, as if they were precious family heirlooms. I suddenly realized that today was Connor’s birthday. And Sophie still wasn’t home. Seeing my silence, Ruby tossed the fairytale book aside with a huff and went to her room to work on her physics problems. I started to call after her, but a few lines of text shimmered into view before my eyes: 【LMAO, the child prodigy and her idiot dad!】 【Our girl Ruby is a true main character’s kid. So cool, so savage.】 【The male lead is so lucky. A genius daughter and a wife who’s been his high school sweetheart from day one.】 【Long distance, family illness, a failed startup… she stuck by him through it all.】 【I’m crying, I want a love like that…】 2. Is it really love? I sat there, lost in a fog, for a long time. Until a warm paper bag was pressed into my hands. A new comment, punctuated with heart emojis, scrolled across my vision: 【The CEO of a publicly traded company, waiting in line for three hours just to get him the first batch of roasted chestnuts of the season.】 【Married for seven years and still this pure.】 【What is he even doubting? Can’t he see she only has eyes for him?】 “Moved?” Sophie slipped off her scarf and smiled at me, leaning in on her tiptoes. It was our customary welcome-home kiss, a ritual we hadn’t missed in a decade. But this time, I caught the faint, sharp scent of cologne on her. I pulled back slightly, my eyes stinging. “Where did that scent come from?” Sophie’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. “A male client,” she said airily. “It must have rubbed off on me.” She paused, then her smile returned. She kissed my chin lightly. “Overthinking again?” “Here, try the chestnuts I bought for you. Your favorite.” I did love chestnuts. Back when Sophie wasn’t the CEO with a sports car and a personal driver, she used to wake up at four in the morning to go to the market, just to buy me the freshest batch. Seeing me eat them happily, she would rest her chin on her hands and smile, completely content. The memory softened me. I let her slender fingers peel a chestnut and place it in my mouth. Sophie said nothing more, heading straight to the study to check on our daughter’s homework. They were in there for half an hour, longer than usual. I chewed mechanically, my mind heavy. Something about the chestnut tasted… different. It was cinnamon. The living room was dark, the lights unlit. Sophie emerged from the study and leaned languidly against the doorframe. She couldn’t see the color drain from my face. “Don’t take it so seriously,” she said, her voice low. “It’s just a kid talking.” I stared at her. The words I wanted to scream were lodged in my throat, but they dissolved into a quiet sigh. I let her curl onto my lap, a smirk on her lips, as her hot, demanding kisses fell over me. I didn’t know how to question her. Seven years of marriage. Even including our most reckless high school years, our relationship had always been smooth sailing. Just as the System that had appeared in our senior year had told us it would be. In this high school romance novel, I was the male lead, and Sophie was the female lead. We were destined to overcome every obstacle and reach our happy ending. Connor, the rival, was one of those obstacles. On the very first day of school, he reported us to the teacher for dating. The teacher separated us, moving Connor into the seat right beside her. After graduation, Sophie won a full scholarship to a prestigious university abroad. And, as the System ordained, Connor went with her. Same school, same major. For three years, Sophie kept me updated on everything. “Connor sat next to me in class today. So annoying. I didn’t say a single word to him.” “Passed a flower shop and thought of you. Bought some baby’s breath, your favorite.” “Why do I keep running into Connor everywhere! It has to be the System. I’m actively avoiding him.” “Honey, there was an earthquake in Berlin today. Connor and I almost died. I miss you so much.” … When Sophie returned, she threw herself into her work. For some reason, she kept putting off my proposals. Until one night, I got into a car accident on my way to deliver some documents to her. When I woke up in the hospital, Sophie was staring blankly at me, her face gaunt and exhausted. She gripped my hand, so choked up she couldn’t form a complete sentence. By the time I came to my senses, there was a ring on my finger. It was too big; it didn’t fit. But I was so lost in the joy of finally being with the woman I loved that I brushed it aside. By the time I remembered, Sophie had quietly had the ring resized. That was the day the System declared Connor’s mission a failure and prepared to send him back to his original world. On the day he was set to leave, he asked to see me. To everyone’s surprise, he wasn’t dejected or defeated. He just crossed his arms, looking at me with a mixture of pity and defiance. “Do you really think I lost?” 3. He hadn’t lost. After the novel’s official ending, Connor returned. When I heard the news, I was a wreck for days. But Sophie just reassured me with a lazy smile. “What’s there to worry about? I don’t even like him.” She stroked my hair, her tone teasing. “Why are you always so paranoid? Do you need me to literally cut my heart out to prove it to you?” Everyone thought she was head-over-heels in love with me. But no one could have predicted that in the seventh year of our marriage, I would be the one to seek out Connor. It wasn’t just because of what Ruby said. It was the chestnuts. I’m allergic to cinnamon. Sophie knew that. Under normal circumstances, it was a mistake she would never, ever make. In the coffee shop, before I could even state my purpose, Connor got straight to the point. “Yes, Sophie spent my birthday with me the other night.” “We rode the Ferris wheel, set off fireworks, and she waited in line to buy me cinnamon-roasted chestnuts.” I stared at him, numb. The heart that had been suspended in anxiety for so long finally crashed to the floor. “She never told you?” he continued smoothly. “For those years she was abroad, I lived right next door. We were together then.” I shook my head, my movements stiff. Connor smiled, a triumphant glint in his eyes. He held up his hand, showing me a ring on his finger. Engraved on it was Sophie’s name. Not an initial, not a monogram. Her full name, clear as day. “Sophie had this made for me herself before she came back. She has a matching one.” Connor’s smile turned sorrowful. “When she returned, we agreed to pretend nothing had ever happened. This ring is the only proof that behind your back, behind the System’s back, behind everyone’s back… we had a love of our own.” As if to prove his point, Connor had me take him to Sophie’s study. Amidst a pile of physics journals, he found it. The other ring. He stared at it, his eyes turning red. “She kept it… She still loves me.” I stood frozen. For a moment, even breathing felt exhausting. It was like a hole had been carved through my chest, and a cold wind was blowing right through it, chilling me to the bone. After a long moment, I picked up the small silver object. Engraved on it, just as clearly, was his name: Connor. The chisel marks were deep, as if etched into the very soul of the metal. The usually silent comment stream finally burst to life: 【…Wait, I thought this was a sweet romance that already ended? What is this plot twist?】 【I knew the vibe between the female lead and the rival was weird when they were abroad, especially after the earthquake. They were practically glued to each other.】 【So the female lead gained self-awareness and fell for the rival… but she was forced by the plot to have a happy ending with the male lead.】 【It’s the male lead’s plot armor. If they didn’t end up together, the System would have punished the rival.】 【OMG, this angsty, forbidden love story is so much better than the original vanilla romance!!!】 … I stared at the ring in my hand. This was the proof of their love. Then what about me? Was everything between Sophie and me a lie? But I had truly loved her. The girl I carried to the nurse’s office, the girl who twirled her pen and rested her chin on her hand while waiting for me to explain a problem. The girl who was my entire youth. And now, they were telling me I had trapped her with my “male lead” status. So what was I supposed to do now? Just… walk away? 4. A sound at the door. Connor looked up like a startled deer. “So… Sophie?” A woman stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable, her arms crossed. Her gaze passed over me, landing on Connor’s face with a complex mix of emotions. Time seemed to stop. 【Whoa, the long-awaited reunion…】 【She’s probably wanted to see him for ages but couldn’t because of her role.】 【Imagine pretending to be in a happy marriage with a man you don’t love every single day. My heart breaks for her.】 【This is so tragic. He’s the one she was willing to defy her own story for…】 【I used to say the female lead and the contender had chemistry and you all flamed me. Can I get an apology now?】 “It was my idea to come here, don’t blame him…” Connor choked out. Sophie didn’t answer. Her cold gaze shifted to me. “Give me the ring.” I slowly rose and walked toward her. As I passed the fireplace, I paused. The next second, a silver arc flashed through the air. For a split second, as it left my hand, I felt a strange sense of dissociation. “My ring—!” Connor cried out, unhesitatingly plunging his hand toward the roaring flames. Sophie lunged forward and pulled him back, her eyes filled with anguish. “Are you insane?” “Sophie…” he sobbed, “that was our ring… the only thing that proves what we had…” 【? What kind of male lead is this? He’s the real villain here.】 【Just because he’s the main character? I was starting to feel sorry for him, but now I see why she fell for the contender.】 【OMG his hand is so badly burned, she must be heartbroken for him.】 “Are you satisfied now?” Sophie gripped Connor’s wrist, turning to me with a cold sneer. “Connor is just a supporting character. I never did anything for him. I gave all my love to you…” So? I lifted my gaze. “You love him, don’t you?” My voice was slow, careful, deliberate. Just like it had been all those years ago, under the shadow of the school building, when a seventeen-year-old me had worked up the courage to confess, “You like me a little too, don’t you?” It was all a lie. 5. Sophie’s eyes were downcast. The silence stretched. The quiet in the room was like cold water being poured over me, slow and deliberate, a repeated, chilling cut to my heart. Finally, she rubbed her temples and looked at me, exasperated. “What do you want from me?” “I have tried to be the perfect female lead. I was only good to you, I married you—” “And now you can’t even tolerate the existence of a single ring?” I looked at her, at the cold, angry lines of her face, and felt nothing but weariness. Maybe when you have enough wounds, the places that were once raw and bleeding just go numb. When I didn’t answer, Sophie turned her attention back to Connor, gently treating his burn. She was so careful, so terrified of hurting him. Her eyes held a tenderness that she once reserved only for me. The only difference was, the tenderness she showed me was an act. This was real. “Don’t be sad.” A small smile touched my lips. I held my hand out to Connor. Sophie instinctively shielded him, her eyes fixed on me, wary. The next second, my palm opened. “Here,” I said, my voice strangely docile. “Your precious love token is safe and sound.” Dead silence. Connor stared at the recovered ring in my hand. “Then what did you throw in the fire?” Sophie’s gaze fell to my empty ring finger. Her eyes widened, a flicker of something sharp and cold in them. I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Just like our relationship. From beginning to end, it had never been as important as I thought it was. 6. I’m not good at fighting. Sophie knew that. Whenever we argued, our method of resolution was to give each other space. It never lasted long. Usually, by the time dinner was over, my anger would have cooled, and I’d be wrapping my arms around her with a sheepish grin. So this time, as I walked tiredly toward the door, she stood to the side and watched, not stopping me. But just as I pushed the door open, her voice, cool and detached, followed me. “Today is Ruby’s birthday.” “Are you really going to let her watch her parents fight on her birthday?” I stopped. After a few seconds of silence, I went with her to pick up our daughter from school. Sophie was always busy with work; she rarely came to pick Ruby up. When Ruby saw her, her expression didn’t change, but her steps were noticeably lighter. At the amusement park, mother and daughter were deep in a discussion about the orbital velocity of celestial bodies, talking nonstop. I found it interesting and tried to chime in. Ruby shot me an annoyed look. “Daddy, you don’t understand any of this. Don’t interrupt.” Sophie tapped her on the head. “How can you talk like that? Your father graduated from a top university with a degree in physics, you know.” Ruby’s little brow furrowed. “Daddy’s the dumbest. There’s no way he understands physics.” I froze. The comments streamed past again: 【Hahaha, poor male lead, getting dissed by his own daughter.】 【Don’t blame her, Liam. She’s just too smart. In her eyes, even you’re just a simpleton, lol.】 Ruby suddenly stopped walking. She turned to me, uncharacteristically sweet. “Daddy, can you buy me an ice cream?” Neither she nor Sophie liked sweets. I hesitated, but went anyway. The ice cream truck was on the other side of the park. Afraid it would melt on the way back, I ran. When I returned, out of breath, they were gone. 【Ruby is so smart, she came up with a random excuse just to get him out of the way.】 【What can you do? The rival is just too charming. He didn’t just win over the female lead, he won over her daughter too.】 【Stop wandering around, Liam. They went to rent a boat on the lake.】 【So wholesome. This is what a real family looks like.】

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My brother started dating a celebrity, a rising starlet, and to make matters worse, they decided to film their new reality show at our house. So I, whose only ambition was to return home and collapse into a human-shaped puddle on the couch, accidentally became her polar opposite for the whole world to see. She worked out; I stayed on the couch. She read classic literature; I stayed on the couch. She cooked gourmet meals; I remained firmly planted on the couch. The internet, predictably, lost its mind. [I feel so bad for Lisa. Imagine having a sister-in-law who’s a lazy, good-for-nothing leech!] [Ugh, get the lazy girl off the show! We just want to see Lisa and Liam’s sweet romance!] [I heard she didn’t even finish high school. She’s a total dropout just mooching off her family!] [That’s our Lisa! A certified genius who just got accepted into the master’s program at Aurelia University!] I gave a lazy stretch and rolled over, a flicker of confusion breaking through my sleepy haze. Aurelia University? Was that supposed to be a big deal? And a lazy, good-for-nothing dropout? Were they talking about me? The person who just won the International Physics Prize? 1 The day I became the internet’s most hated freeloader, I was curled up on the sofa, catching up on some much-needed sleep. My brother Liam’s girlfriend, the ever-so-popular Lisa, was dressed in chic athletic wear, gracefully moving through a series of stretches on a yoga mat. As she stretched, she murmured to the nearest camera, sharing her secrets for maintaining a perfect figure. She also casually mentioned a scientific paper she’d stayed up all night reading. The live chat was flying. [Lisa is so incredibly disciplined! Working out and reading first thing in the morning. No wonder she got into Aurelia U!] [OMG, my queen is the best! So beautiful and so hardworking!] [Where’s that Nina girl? Yesterday all she did was lie on the sofa. Where is she today?] [Where else? Still sleeping, obviously. I don’t know how a family like the Astors raised such a daughter. A total parasite.] The next second, the camera panned directly to me. I was a shapeless lump under a fluffy blanket, my hair a chaotic mess, my entire body sunk into the plush cushions. Only my eyes were visible. The cameraman seemed to have the patience of a saint, holding a close-up on me for a full three minutes. In those three minutes, I made exactly one movement: the living room lights were too bright, so I rolled over, turning my back to the lens. The chat exploded. [Is that the long-lost daughter they brought back from some backwater town? What an embarrassment to the Astor family.] [Kick her out! Don’t let her tarnish Lisa’s presence!] Ugh. Annoying. I frowned, burying my face deeper into a soft cushion, trying to block out the noise. A glass of warm milk was placed gently on the coffee table beside me. “Nina,” my brother Liam’s voice was a low whisper, laced with exasperation. “We’re still live. Could you at least… pretend?” I didn’t move. I couldn’t even be bothered to lift an eyelid. Liam sighed, his voice dropping even lower, almost to a breath. “Mom and Dad came downstairs earlier. They looked furious. If you keep this up, they’re going to lecture you again as soon as the filming stops.” I knew. From the day I was brought back to this house, they’d never stopped being disappointed in me. They hated that I lacked the grace of a high-society debutante. They hated my languid posture. They hated that I hadn’t even finished high school, making me an embarrassment to the family name. They adored Lisa, their perfect future daughter-in-law with her flawless smile. Lisa was a masterpiece they felt they had a hand in creating. I was the defective product that had somehow slipped through quality control. “Look at Lisa…” Liam’s voice was pleading now. I finally stirred. Not to sit up, but just to lift my head from the cushion and crack open an eye. Lisa had finished her stretches and was now sipping a freshly made kale-and-apple smoothie. Her posture was ramrod straight; even the way she drank seemed meticulously calculated for the cameras. Noticing my gaze, she raised her glass to me from across the room, flashing a sweet, harmless smile. The live chat erupted in another frenzy of praise for her, while simultaneously throwing more insults my way. “Nina,” Liam was still whispering in my ear. “I know you hate this, but please, just do this for me? Go wash up, get something to eat. Even just sitting up and watching TV would be better than this.” Too. Much. Effort. Those were the only three words in my brain. The next second, I pulled the blanket over my head, cocooning myself in complete darkness, finally shutting out the lights and sounds of the outside world. I could feel Liam standing beside me for a long time. Finally, there was another barely audible sigh and the sound of his retreating footsteps. The world was finally quiet. I contentedly drifted back to sleep. 2 The show was a hit. Overnight, my brother and Lisa’s reality dating series shot to the top of the trending charts. Lisa’s popularity skyrocketed. She was smart; she immediately understood the secret to viral fame. She started arranging flowers in the living room. The books she read switched from pop fiction to heavy, English-language academic tomes. She even started baking complex pastries. Each time, she would “casually” showcase her accomplishments for the cameras, then cast a look of mixed concern and helplessness toward the lump on the sofa that was me. Her audience ate it up. They praised her for being a multi-talented goddess and called me a useless waste of space. I didn’t care. I just found her constant activity a little noisy. That afternoon, for once, I wasn’t sleeping. I was sitting on the rug, a notebook open on my lap, with several pages of scribbled calculations scattered across the coffee table. I was deep in thought, wrestling with a problem, so absorbed that I didn’t even notice my brother sit down beside me. “Drawing?” Liam asked. “Mmm,” I grunted, not looking up. My pen flew across the page, leaving a trail of symbols he couldn’t possibly comprehend. The soft sound of footsteps approached. It was Lisa. She was carrying a glass of water, that perfect smile plastered on her face as she glided toward us. “Nina, you’re so busy! Here, have some water. You haven’t moved all afternoon.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. I ignored her. My train of thought was at a critical junction. And then, it happened. Crash. The glass shattered on the floor. The water instantly soaked the papers on the coffee table. “Oh! I’m so sorry! Nina, I’m so, so sorry!” Lisa immediately knelt, her voice catching in a sob, her eyes turning red with perfect timing. “I… I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to hand you the water, and I tripped… It’s all my fault…” She fumbled for napkins, tears streaming down her cheeks on cue. The camera zoomed in, capturing her perfectly distraught, guilt-ridden expression. In the live chat, her fans were heartbroken for her. [Lisa, don’t cry! It was an accident!] [It’s all that Nina’s fault!] [Seriously, look at her attitude! Lisa is crying her eyes out, and she won’t even move?] They were right. I didn’t move. I was just staring down at the waterlogged, wrinkled papers. A flash of white-hot anger shot through me, but I quickly suppressed it. Anger was a waste of energy, an inefficient use of processing power. I reached out, carefully peeling the soaked pages off the table one by one, my movements delicate, terrified of tearing them. Then I stood up, walked past the still-sobbing Lisa, and went to the window. I laid the papers out flat on the sill, in the spot with the best sunlight, and left them to air-dry. The entire time, I never once looked at Lisa. I never said a single word. My silence made her one-woman show incredibly awkward. Her sobs tapered off, leaving her with tear-streaked cheeks and a slightly comical expression. My parents came downstairs just in time to witness the scene. My mother frowned, pulling Lisa to her feet and dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief. “You silly girl, why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault. Some people just have no manners, raised like weeds.” My father shot me a look of pure, unadulterated disappointment. Only Liam moved to help. He knelt and cleaned up the spilled water and broken glass. Then, his gaze fell on the damp papers drying on the windowsill. He picked up one of the pages that wasn’t completely soaked. He stared at it for a long, long time. Then he looked up at me. His eyes were filled with a dawning, searching curiosity. 3 Lisa wasn’t about to let it go. That little “accident” had earned her sympathy, but it had also made her look clumsy. She needed to reclaim her narrative, to solidify her image as the perfect genius. So, she brought out her tablet. “Liam, Nina, come look at this.” She placed the tablet on the coffee table, her voice bubbling with excitement. “I was on the Aurelia University grad student forums, and people were discussing old problems from the International Physics Olympiad. I found a really interesting one. Let’s try to solve it together?” She then turned to me with a look of feigned concern. “Nina, you should join us. I know you never went to high school, so it might be… a little difficult, but that’s okay. I can explain it to you slowly.” Her fans in the live chat went wild. [Wow, our Lisa is a true Aurelia scholar! The stuff she reads is on another level!] [Is she tutoring her future sister-in-law? Lisa is too kind!] [What could that girl possibly understand? Don’t waste our Lisa’s precious time.] I was in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness when I felt a gentle nudge. It was my brother. “Nina, wake up. Lisa’s talking to you,” he whispered. I let out an annoyed groan, burrowing my face deeper into a throw pillow. Sleep was mankind’s greatest invention. Anyone who disturbed it was my enemy. “Nina, just take a look, please? Just one look.” Lisa’s cloying voice chimed in again. “This problem is really challenging. The standard solutions are all incredibly complex. They say fewer than ten people in the world solved it completely at the time.” Ugh. Fine. I pushed myself halfway up, my hair resembling a bird’s nest, and squinted at the screen. Seeing that she finally had my attention, Lisa brightened, launching into her explanation. “You see, the key to this problem is to construct an auxiliary function, and then utilize…” “Don’t bother,” I cut her off. Lisa’s lecture died in her throat. She stared at me, dumbfounded. I pointed a finger at the tablet from across the coffee table. “Start with the singularity. You can solve it in three steps from there.” I paused, then added as an afterthought, “Even the committee that wrote the problem probably didn’t know about that shortcut.” Lisa’s face went rigid. She had no idea what I was talking about. My brother was stunned too. He looked from me to the dense cluster of symbols on the screen, that searching look in his eyes intensifying. “Too easy,” I declared, then flopped back onto the sofa and pulled the blanket over my head. “Good for putting you to sleep, though.” The live chat fell silent. The living room was suddenly dead quiet. Lisa’s face was ashen. My brother Liam was frowning deeply. And my parents, who had been watching from the staircase, now had a new layer of angry confusion mixed in with their usual disappointment. They probably thought that on top of being lazy, I was also rude, humiliating their future daughter-in-law on national television. Ding-dong. The doorbell chimed, startling everyone. All eyes turned to the door. A moment later, the butler showed in an older man in a tweed jacket, who walked in with an urgent stride. “Dr.… Dr. Finch?” Lisa gasped, her eyes widening in shock. The President of Aurelia University, Dr. Alistair Finch! She’d seen him once, from a distance, at a university convocation. She would never forget that face. My parents were stunned too. They didn’t know him personally, but Lisa’s reaction said it all. The President of Aurelia University, here, in their home! What an incredible honor! Any lingering annoyance they felt toward me vanished in an instant. They exchanged a look of profound satisfaction with their choice of a future daughter-in-law. “Lisa is bringing such honor to the Astor name!” my mother whispered excitedly to my father. After a long pause, the live chat finally erupted again. [Did I hear that right? The President of AURELIA UNIVERSITY? In person?!] [OMG, the President himself came! Our Lisa is on another level!] [He must have seen the show and come to commend her! Her genius reputation is now set in stone!] Lisa had already straightened up, her face arranged into the most gracious smile. All the cameras, all the lights, were focused on the few feet of space between her and Dr. Finch. She had already rehearsed her lines in her head—how she would express her surprise, how she would humbly thank him for the recognition. However, Dr. Finch didn’t even glance at her. He walked straight past her as if she were invisible. Lisa’s perfect smile froze on her face. Dr. Finch didn’t slow down. He marched directly toward the sofa, stopping right in front of me. Then, under the shocked gaze of everyone in the room, and the millions watching at home, he bowed deeply to the disheveled heap of blankets that was me. “Director Astor,” he pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’m begging you. Please, come to our university. We need you to head our doctoral program!”

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1 The power cut out suddenly during the Winter Formal. In the pitch-black chaos, an arm slid around my waist. A voice, laced with a confident smile, murmured close to my ear, “Hey, beautiful. Mind if I steal a kiss?” Before I could even process the words, the lights flickered back on. The boy—the boy—saw my face. His arm dropped away as if he’d been burned, and he muttered a curse under his breath. “Sorry,” he said, his voice flat. “Wrong person.” After three years of a silent, hopeless crush, that was the first thing Miles Butler ever said to me. 2 The first time I ever heard the phrase “the golden couple” used in real life, it was about Miles Butler and his girlfriend. My best friend, Maya, filled me in. “You know that new transfer student, Sophia Lane? She actually managed to win over Miles. Damn… I guess that’s what being the most popular girl in school gets you.” Miles was in the class next door. Before they were a couple, I’d watched Sophia’s campaign unfold. She brought him coffee on cold mornings, slipped notes into his locker, and once, I saw her crying in the hallway, asking him, “Is your heart made of stone? I really, really like you.” A small, petty part of me had been waiting to see her fail. He’d turned down so many girls; she would just be another one on the list. But then, they got together. He had a girlfriend. The moment that reality sank in, I stopped stealing glances at him in the hallway between classes. I had a travel mug I’d bought from the school store in my freshman year. It had a delicate floral pattern on it—snowdrops. A few weeks after they started dating, I overheard Sophia telling her friends that snowdrops were her absolute favorite flower. I never used that mug again. But I never imagined that the first time he’d ever speak to me would be because he’d mistaken me for her. Under the harsh gym lights, his expression was cool and distant. “About what just happened…” he started, his eyes avoiding mine. “Can we just pretend it didn’t?” The spot on my lower back where his hand had rested was still burning. I found my voice, but it came out raspy. “Yeah. I won’t tell anyone.” Just as the words left my mouth, Sophia came running over. She didn’t even see me, grabbing Miles’s arm possessively. “There you are! Come on, I found us a better spot to see the stage.” As they walked away, I stood rooted to the spot, my limbs numb and tingling. I didn’t watch them go. A moment later, Maya appeared at my side, her eyes wide. “Oh my god, I just saw Miles Butler talking to you! What did he say? You guys were so close!” My breath hitched, my heart pounding against my ribs. But before I could figure out how to answer, she’d already moved on. “He is seriously so handsome, though. Like, not a single bad angle. I secretly snapped a picture. Wanna see?” I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I shook my head. “No, thanks.” 3 After that night, I poured everything I had into my studies. My personality was… quiet. A little boring, maybe. But I was good at school. From my freshman year to my junior year, I’d known Miles from afar for three years. In all that time, the only thing I looked forward to after an exam was the results. It was the only time our names could appear next to each other, publicly and legitimately, on the school’s ranking board. Shortly after the winter break, we had our mid-term exams. This time, I told myself not to get my hopes up. When the results were posted, I waited until the end of the day to check the board outside the main office. “Miles’s still number one. The guy’s a machine.” “Whoa, look! Second place changed. Holy crap, it’s Sophia.” The sun was warm that day, a gentle winter afternoon, but my heart felt like it was freezing over. She was brilliant, too. She had so effortlessly surpassed me. I stood there for a long time before turning and walking away. That evening, I stayed late in the classroom finishing homework. As I was walking back to the dorms, someone called out. “Excuse me.” I turned around. It was Miles. He was holding a large bag of snacks, some of them in fancy packaging I’d never seen before. He didn’t seem to recognize me. “Could you do me a favor and give this to Sophia Lane?” For a split second, I don’t know what I was thinking. I just reached out and took the heavy bag from him. “Oh. Okay.” As I spoke, his eyebrows shot up in recognition. “Wait a sec… it’s you.” I looked up, surprised. He didn’t elaborate, just reached into the bag and pulled out a small box of chocolates. “Thanks for this. Here, this is for you.” I was about to refuse, but he had already turned and walked away into the darkness. After a moment’s hesitation, I put the box of chocolates back into the bag. I went upstairs and found Sophia’s room. The door was ajar. “Sophia, you’re Miles Butler’s first girlfriend. A guy like that, who’s so smart—is he, like, a really good boyfriend?” I froze outside the door, my hand raised to knock. Then I heard Sophia’s voice. It was light and musical, with a distinctly girlish charm. “Him? Ugh, he’s… okay, I guess.” “Have you guys kissed yet?” “Nope. He’s like a block of wood. Makes zero moves.” I pressed my lips together. That’s not true. He had made a move. It was just under a hazy moon and a blanket of darkness. He’d mistaken the girl, and his sweet, whispered words had been for someone else.

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Three years after my death, Chris, the man I’d driven away, finally returned to Auden City. Isabelle was still by his side. He held her umbrella, carried her handbag, his devotion evident in every small gesture. The story’s ending remained unchanged: the hero and heroine lived happily ever after. The only one who met a tragic end was me, the villainess who had dared to covet the hero. They were here to visit his mother’s grave, and I was buried just a short distance behind hers. I floated nearby, watching them. Everyone always said they were a perfect match. When the incense had burned to ash, Chris made an excuse and walked away from Isabelle. He came to my tombstone and stood there in silence for a long, long time. So long that I thought he was trying to choose the right words to curse me with. Instead, Chris let out a soft laugh. His fingers traced the outline of my photograph as he whispered, “Nora, why haven’t you come to my dreams yet?” Because I’m not your Isabelle, I thought. My dreams could never reach your distant shores. … 1 Before I died, Chris had cut all ties with me and fled the country, desperate to stop me from hurting Isabelle. On my deathbed, I clung to a small box meant for him, my life sustained by a single, stubborn breath. I waited for him, but he never came. All I got was a single, relayed message. “If she’s dead,” he had said, “call the funeral home, not me.” After the call ended, my mother collapsed onto my bed, sobbing like a child who had lost everything. My last thread of hope snapped, and I died with a heart full of bitterness. Perhaps that bitterness was strong enough to anchor me here, waiting for him. I watched as my mother pulled the weeds from my grave, again and again, as three years slipped by. My obsession began to fade with the silvering of her hair. Just as I felt my form growing transparent, my earthly attachment dissolving, Chris returned. He had become gentler, more considerate, taking meticulous care of Isabelle. Without my interference, their love story was even more perfect. I laughed at myself. Even if I wanted to, I could no longer do anything to be hated. The smoke from the incense twisted in the wind. I just watched them, my ghostly form still. When they lit the incense for his mother, I crouched nearby, thinking he must have forgotten me completely by now. But after the incense burned out, he lied to Isabelle. As she walked down the mountain path, he came to my grave, my own spectral eyes wide with disbelief. He stared at my headstone for an eternity. I was sure he was deciding on the perfect insult. Slut? Bitch? The wind picked up. He gave that soft, low laugh again, his hand resting on the cold stone. “Nora, why haven’t you come to my dreams yet?” His voice was so quiet, so gentle, I almost believed that ghosts could dream. Chris pulled a wrinkled caramel chew from his pocket and bent down to place it before my grave. Then he turned and left. I stared at the candy. But Chris, I thought, I don’t like sweets anymore. I reached out to brush it away, but my hand passed straight through it. I shook my head with a sad smile and sat down on the hillside. The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet. I used to love watching sunsets. But now, my eyes were fixed on that single piece of candy. I thought a ghost’s heart couldn’t ache. But Nora’s could. I’m done, I decided. I’m done with the bitterness. I’m done with Chris. I would no longer hide from my fate. I had one last thing to do, and then I would move on, find my peace, and be reborn. This life was over. I floated down the mountain and settled into Chris’s car. Isabelle was in the back seat, so the passenger seat was empty. I sat there, finally able to look at him without hiding. As the story’s hero, he was, of course, devastatingly handsome. I couldn’t resist reaching out a translucent hand to trace the lines of his brow. There was a faint scar above his eyebrow—a mark left from when a seventeen-year-old Chris defied the will of the world to save a seventeen-year-old Nora. It was the mark I had once believed was proof of his undying love for me. My hand fell. I sat up straight. Chris drove with intense focus. The car was silent. I watched his hands on the steering wheel. As he turned, the cuff of his expensive suit slid back, revealing a sliver of his wrist. I froze. Tied around it was a cheap, simple red string bracelet. The one I had gotten for him, a token of safety and love. Once, he’d worn it proudly. Now, he had to keep it hidden. I couldn’t help but look at his face, at his thin lips. My mother used to say that men with thin lips were the most heartless. A low, bitter laugh escaped me, and I felt the phantom sting of tears. Even as a ghost, I was still so pathetic. The memories I had spent five years suppressing came rushing back in a tidal wave the moment I saw him again. It wasn’t time that had trapped me here. It was me, refusing to leave the memories of a younger Chris, a Chris who hadn’t yet met Isabelle, a Chris who hadn’t yet forgotten me. The city lights blurred past as the Maybach sped forward, but my thoughts were rewinding, racing back against the wind. Back to a time before Isabelle, when Chris still remembered me. 2 Once, Chris and I were known as the Twin Stars of Auden’s elite. One was a fiercely bright flame, the other a cold, isolated storm. We were complete opposites, yet we were childhood sweethearts. When I was five, I went with my father to visit the Cole family. I wandered off and found myself in a small, dusty attic. There, huddled in a corner, was Chris, covered in bruises. He snarled at me like a cornered animal, telling me to get out. Instead, I crouched in front of him, showed him my canines in a fierce grin, and grabbed his hand. “I’m getting you out of here,” I declared. I pulled him stumbling out of that dark little room and all the way back to my house. From that day on, we were inseparable. At school, I was always ranked first, and he was always second. He would intentionally score one point lower than me, just as he always seemed to yield to me in everything. Before we were eighteen, our worlds contained only each other. Our families were similar—loveless arranged marriages. But my mother was a powerhouse who cared only for her career. Chris’s father had a legion of illegitimate children, and Chris and his mother constantly had to endure the provocations of his many mistresses. His mother was hopelessly romantic and emotionally unstable, and she often took her frustrations out on Chris. One day, one of his father’s mistresses came to the house. His mother lost control and hurled a porcelain vase at Chris. He just stood there in his white shirt, looking broken, not even trying to move. I threw myself in front of him, taking the full force of the shattering vase on my back. The shards of porcelain felt like shrapnel. That day, Chris’s tears fell onto my heart like stones. It hurt, it hurt so much, but when I saw the dark, murderous look in his eyes, I wrapped my arms around his neck and snuggled against him. I gave him a pained, toothy grin. “Chris,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “It doesn’t hurt.” He hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe, his voice trembling with fear. “Nora, from now on, you only stand behind me.” My mother later told me that after I fell asleep, he’d driven back to his family home in a rage, smashed everything in sight, and gotten into a brutal fight with his father. He even warned his own mother to never touch him again. I knew none of that. All I knew was that when I opened my eyes, Chris was there. Later, in college, we finally made our relationship official. It was after a bizarre accident that we began to suspect the existence of a “World Will.” Through various experiments, we confirmed it: Chris was the story’s hero, and I, most likely, was not the heroine. My consciousness awakened. I was just cannon fodder, a villainess whose purpose was to highlight the epic love between the hero and heroine. But I refused to accept it. I clung to Chris, and he wanted only me in his world. For that, we were warned by the World Will. It tried everything to erase me, to force the plot back onto its predetermined course. At my eighteenth birthday party, the grand ballroom chandelier came crashing down, aimed directly at me. Chris threw himself over me without a second’s thought, shielding me with his body. The razor-sharp crystal shards rained down, one of them slicing open his brow. My ears were ringing, and I could only cling to his shirt in terror. He held me, murmuring over and over, “Nora, I’m here. It’s okay, Nora. Look at me. Look at me.” From that day on, Chris became even more possessive, more like a beautiful, dangerous madman. It seemed there was nothing he wouldn’t do to love me. But the hero’s destined love was still waiting. And she appeared right on schedule. During his graduate studies, a girl named Isabelle joined Chris’s research team. The first time I saw her, I knew. She was the one. Perhaps it was a rival’s intuition, but I disliked her instantly, for no reason at all. But she was so gentle, so kind, that I could find no excuse to lash out, no reason to demand that she stay away from him. Chris started spending more and more time with her. Their interactions were always perfectly appropriate, but my heart was sinking with a quiet panic I couldn’t control. One day, Chris mentioned her again, a casual anecdote, but the smile that touched his eyes was so unconsciously tender that the panic inside me became a tsunami. I lost control. “Enough!” I screamed, my voice raw with helplessness. “Can you please just stop talking about her? Don’t you see what’s happening, Chris? She’s getting into your heart!” He froze, a look of confusion, then dawning realization, in his eyes. His tightly pressed lips told me he knew it was true. Isabelle was like a spring rain, slowly seeping into the soil of his soul. While I wasn’t looking, he grabbed a fruit knife and plunged it into his own thigh. The shock of pain seemed to clear his head. I screamed, trying to stop the bleeding with my hands. He just pulled me into his arms, promising, “Nora, it won’t happen again. I’ll keep my distance from her. I promise.” His fierce, desperate madness made me believe that we would never let each other go. And for a while, I never heard Isabelle’s name from his lips again. But destiny is a stubborn thing. Chris wouldn’t quit his research, and as a member of his team, Isabelle was a constant presence. They went on a research trip together. At the same time, my mother was hospitalized for exhaustion, and I went to take care of her. The next time I saw Chris, he was a different person. He was standing under a streetlight, holding Isabelle in his arms. The last thread of my sanity snapped. In that moment, I could almost hear the great clock of fate swinging back into its correct position. Like his mother before me, I went mad, rushing at them, trying to tear them apart. Chris, who had always protected me, who had cherished me, pushed me away. He pulled Isabelle behind him and shoved my shoulder. I stumbled and fell to the ground. “Nora, don’t be like this,” he said, his voice laced with tired frustration. Isabelle gently touched his arm. “Chris, don’t. She’s just a girl, like me.” He told her to go on ahead, then pulled me up and walked me home. “Chris,” I asked, my voice hollow. “Are you in love with her?” He looked momentarily lost. “Nora, don’t overthink it. Her grandmother just passed away. She was upset.” A wretched laugh escaped me, and I tore my hand from his. I was consumed by bitterness. I went to find Isabelle. “You know Chris and I are together,” I confronted her. “Why are you deliberately getting close to him?” Her usual gentle smile vanished. Her eyes were cold. “Because I’m the protagonist,” she said with a dismissive smirk. “He and I are destined for each other. And you are destined to love him and lose him.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. A ringing filled my ears, and I couldn’t hear anything else. At nineteen, I was still the spoiled, hot-headed heiress. I hired people to corner Isabelle, to threaten her to leave. The first time, all I got was an annoyed warning from Chris. The second time, the love in his eyes was gone, replaced by an icy contempt. I had pushed Isabelle, and she’d scraped her knee. For that, Chris took a heavy cane and brought it down hard on my own kneecap. “Nora,” he said, his voice dripping with disgust. “This is your lesson.” His undisguised loathing was a thousand arrows in my heart. Our butler was the one who found me later, huddled in an alley. That night, drifting in a haze of pain, I thought I saw Chris sitting by my bed. He was frowning, but his hand reached out to gently touch my face. “Nora… this isn’t right… this isn’t right,” he whispered. But I was too exhausted to open my eyes. When I woke up, the room was empty. I told myself it was a dream. After that, I became a true monster. I was desperate to get my Chris back. I tried everything. But he only grew more distant, his memories of us fading like old photographs. He broke up with me. I threatened to kill myself. Chris, the boy who could never bear to see me hurt, handed me the knife himself. “Do it cleanly,” he said with a cruel smile. “And stay out of my and Isabelle’s sight.” I grabbed his hand, desperately reminding him of our promises, our past. He shook me off. “Disgusting,” he spat. Then he turned around and publicly announced his relationship with Isabelle. On his birthday, he invited his research team out to dinner. I went, carrying a cake I’d bought for him. I stood outside the door and listened. Someone was teasing him. “So, Chris, who’s better, Nora or Isabelle? You and Nora used to be so intense. Her temper is awful, how did you even put up with her for all those years…?” Someone coughed, cutting the speaker off. But Chris didn’t seem to care. He leaned back on the sofa, looking completely relaxed. “I forgot,” he said casually. “I can’t even remember why I liked someone like that. The person I like is…” He frowned, his sentence trailing off. For a split second, his eyes landed on Isabelle with a flash of something sharp, almost hostile. But she just smiled at him, and his expression softened. “The person I like is Isabelle,” he finished. I looked down at the cake in my hands. A bitter smile touched my lips, and I turned and walked away. The World Will was so powerful. It could make him forget me, even while I was still alive. On my way home, I was drugged and kidnapped. When I woke up, Isabelle was there with me. It was a classic plot device. Our kidnappers, old enemies of the Cole family, forced Chris to choose. The one he didn’t choose would have her legs broken. Chris arrived, a baseball bat in his hand, a conquering hero. He fought his way through them… and swept Isabelle into his arms. He walked right past me without a second glance. Isabelle shot me a triumphant smirk over his shoulder. I smiled back, a tear escaping the corner of my eye. The kidnappers didn’t hesitate. I felt a sickening crunch as they shattered my kneecaps. When my parents and the police arrived, I was just lying there, my eyes vacant. Chris, it hurts. My legs were broken. So were my ribs. My heart was shattered. I was so, so tired. But I had to try one last time. I used my family’s influence to get Isabelle expelled, to halt their research project. The Coles put pressure on Chris. He stormed into my office and smashed everything in sight. He raised his hand to strike me, again, for another woman. I was too weary to fight. I just tilted my head back, a tear falling from my eye onto the hand that gripped my chin. “Chris,” I whispered, “you promised you would never leave me.” He scoffed and let go. “Nora, I don’t remember anything I said to you before. I don’t love you anymore. I don’t want you. Can you understand that? If you touch Isabelle again, I swear, it will be war between us.” I looked into his fierce eyes and knew he meant it. My shoulders slumped. I leaned back in my wheelchair and started to laugh, tears blurring my vision. “Chris,” I said, “the way you protect her… it’s exactly how you used to protect me.” He frowned, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He subconsciously reached out to wipe away my tears, but I turned my head away. He dropped his hand and left without another word. I continued to pressure him, but I had forgotten one thing about Chris: once he set his mind on something, he never let go. He severed all ties with his family, took Isabelle’s hand, and left Auden City for good. I tried to follow him. There was a car accident. And as I lay dying, I received his final message. And now, here I was.

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My roommate, Serena, was the kind of person who’d chase a question to the ends of the earth. She couldn’t let anything go. One night, dead asleep, I was jolted awake by her voice right next to my bed. “Lucy? You asleep?” I cracked open my eyes, annoyed. Her response? “See? You weren’t asleep at all. Otherwise, how could you answer me?” When she skipped class, I did her a favor and checked her in on the attendance app. But just before the lecture ended, she burst into the room, phone in hand, and confronted the professor. “Professor, I wasn’t even here today. Why does the system say I’m checked in? Is there something wrong with your app?” The professor investigated, it traced back to me, and I failed the class. I had to retake it. Later, I entered a public speaking competition. In the middle of my speech, Serena stood up in front of everyone and asked why my material was exactly the same as an idea she’d had. My spot in the competition was revoked, I lost the prize money, and I was branded a plagiarist. Unable to handle the humiliation, I climbed to the roof of the tallest building on campus one night. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Serena asked me if I was asleep. 1 “Lucy, are you asleep?” Hearing Serena’s incredibly punchable voice, I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming or awake. My hand fumbled around my pillow until it found my phone. I flipped it on, saw the date, and it hit me. I was reborn. Outside my bed curtain, Serena wasn’t giving up. She kept calling my name. I quickly turned off my phone, jammed my earbuds in, and squeezed my eyes shut. Sure enough, when I didn’t answer, she yanked my curtain open. Even though it was past one in the morning, our other roommate was still gaming, and the glow from her computer screen spilled onto my face, punctuated by the frantic clicking of a keyboard. With the curtain open, Serena pressed on. “Lucy. Lucy, are you asleep?” Her voice got louder, loud enough to wake the dead, but I kept my eyes clamped shut. I refused to open them. I knew I couldn’t. Waking up would be giving her exactly what she wanted. In my last life, Serena loved pulling these little obedience tests on me. If I had opened my eyes and asked what she wanted, she would’ve just said, “Oh, nothing. I just wanted to see if you were asleep.” It would infuriate me, leaving me sleepless for the rest of the night, while she’d be perfectly happy. And her bizarre behavior didn’t stop there. When we first moved in as freshmen, she introduced herself as a small-town girl who’d aced her exams but didn’t know the first thing about the big city. She warned us she’d be asking a lot of questions. It was like she was a newborn baby, her brain as smooth as a polished stone. She knew nothing. In college, professors post everything in the class group chat. All you have to do is read the announcements. But every single time, she would ask us instead. “Lucy, how do I submit this assignment? I don’t get it.” I’d tell her to check the group chat, that all the instructions were there. She’d ignore me and keep asking, “What format does it need to be? Word or PDF?” “Either is fine. Just go look at the announcement.” It was like her brain had a filter that automatically deleted my words. She’d just keep plowing ahead on her own. “Lucy, why won’t it submit? Can you come help me?” I’d remind her again to check the group chat. She’d finally seem to hear me, only to follow up with, “Where are the announcements? How do you even see them? I don’t know how.” I nearly lost my mind. From then on, I kept my guard up around her. But that’s the thing about a person that dense—they always catch you off guard. There’s no defending against that level of stupid. 2 One morning, I had an 8 AM class. One of my roommates couldn’t get up and asked me to check her in on the app. When I got to the lecture hall, I realized I was the only one from our dorm who’d shown up. The other three were nowhere to be seen. It was an easy class, and the professor wasn’t taking attendance manually, so I figured I’d do them all a favor and check everyone in. I was feeling pretty good about myself when, suddenly, Serena burst through the main entrance. She marched right up to the professor, holding out her phone. “Professor, why am I automatically checked in even though I wasn’t here?” Every head in the room turned towards her. A cold sweat broke out on my back. The professor gave her a look, his face hardening. “You know perfectly well how you were checked in.” “I really don’t! That’s why I came to ask you. Your system must be malfunctioning. I never clicked anything, but it signed me in.” Serena’s face was a mask of pure innocence. The professor was so exasperated he almost laughed. His eyes quickly found me. For checking in three roommates, I failed the course and had to retake it the next semester. The other two just got a few points docked from their grade. I was so angry I could have spit blood. Through gritted teeth, I asked Serena why she had to make trouble out of nothing. She actually looked wounded. “How was I supposed to know someone could check in for me? It’s your fault for butting in.” I swore to myself I would never stick my neck out for anyone again and started keeping my distance from her. I thought if I just avoided the psycho, I’d be fine. I was wrong. The university hosted an English public speaking competition. The first prize came with a cash award and a shot at a major scholarship. I signed up immediately and poured everything into my research and preparation. On the day of the competition, I was on stage, confidently delivering my speech, when Serena suddenly stood up from the audience. “Why does your speech sound so similar to an idea I had?” she asked. A wave of murmurs swept through the hall. My speech was cut short. The way everyone looked at me changed. Afterward, I confronted her, asking how my speech was similar to hers. She hadn’t even entered the competition, so what “idea” was she talking about? She pointed to her head. “It’s so weird, right? I had a dream about it a few days ago, and it was exactly the same as what you said. It totally freaked me out.” Hearing that, the air left my lungs. I nearly fainted. My scholarship was gone. Soon, rumors started flying around campus that I was a plagiarist. The stress triggered a severe depressive episode, and one night, I found myself on the roof of the university library. Maybe God took pity on me and gave me a second chance. A rebirth. This time, I wasn’t going to put up with Serena’s craziness. This time, she was going to pay. Serena called my name a dozen more times, but I didn’t move. Just as she was about to start again, Kayla, our other roommate who’d been gaming, finally snapped. She ripped off her headphones. “Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. What are you doing, calling for your lost puppy? What’s with the ghostly wailing in the middle of the night? I can’t even hear the damn footsteps in my game!” Our dorm room was originally for four people, but one roommate couldn’t stand Serena and moved out to rent a place off-campus. That left me and Kayla. I couldn’t afford to move, so I endured. Kayla, on the other hand, had a fiery temper and a don’t-mess-with-me vibe that Serena was too scared to challenge. So, she picked on me, the easy target, tormenting me relentlessly. 3 Intimidated by Kayla, Serena didn’t dare argue. She mumbled, “I just wanted to wake her up and ask if she was asleep.” “Are you a bot? She’s asleep and you’re waking her up to ask if she’s asleep? Do you hear how insane that sounds? Why don’t you just peel her eyelids open and ask her then?” I almost burst out laughing at Kayla’s comeback, but my amusement died a quick death. Because Kayla’s words had apparently given Serena an idea. She decided to climb up to my bunk to see for herself if I was really asleep. It was clear she wasn’t going to stop until I was awake. With that thought, I balled my hands into fists. As she climbed the ladder and her torso leaned through my curtain, I swung. “Nngh… monster’s coming!” My fist connected squarely with her nose. She yelped in pain, instinctively covering her face, and lost her balance, tumbling off the ladder. Even through my earbuds, I heard the heavy thump. But I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be deep in sleep. After landing hard on her butt, Serena dropped the act. She scrambled up and shook me awake. “Lucy Shay! Why did you hit me?!” Now I had no choice. Faking a groggy awakening, I looked at her, bewildered. “Huh? I hit you? When did I hit you?” Serena clutched her nose. “You just punched me right in the face! It hurts like hell! Don’t you dare deny it!” I looked even more confused. “I was sleeping. How could I have hit you? And what are you doing climbing into my bed in the middle of the night? Are you trying to…?” I let the question hang in the air. Whatever Serena imagined, she immediately shot it down. “Of course not! I was just checking to see if you were asleep. I didn’t know you’d lash out like that!” I nodded slowly. “Well, you really shouldn’t try to wake me up again. I’m a very restless sleeper. This time it was just a punch. Who knows what I’ll do next time.” I added, “But I’m a nice person, so I’ll let it slide that you woke me up.” With that, I lay back down. Serena, still on the floor, looked at me in disbelief, utterly speechless. Terrified of another punch, she finally scurried back to her own bed. That punch bought me a few days of peace. At least she stopped trying to wake me up at night. But I knew she wouldn’t stay quiet for long. She was definitely holding a grudge. As long as I was in this room, my life would be a living hell. So, the next day, I went to my student advisor to request a dorm change, hoping to get out as soon as possible. Given how certifiably insane Serena was, I thought it would be an open-and-shut case. I was wrong. “A dorm change? That’s not really possible,” my advisor said. “Everyone has different personalities; you just have to learn to get along. Serena hasn’t done anything that serious, has she? You’re all students. With a little communication, any problem can be solved.” He leaned back in his chair. “Besides, all the other dorms are full. Where would you even go? You’re all adults now, you need to be more mature. Take my son, for example. He’s studying in England, sharing a flat with a few international students. At first, he wanted to move out too, but now they’ve worked things out. If he can do it, why can’t you?” Listening to his smug speech, I rolled my eyes internally. This guy had coasted through life on his wife’s success—she had a Ph.D. He loved bragging about her and his son studying abroad. To put it bluntly, he was a total phony. It was clear a dorm change wasn’t happening today. I sighed and left his office. 4 That evening, I was watching a show in my room when there was a knock on the door. Our class president came in with a stack of papers. “This semester’s mental health assessment forms,” he announced. “Just fill them out. The advisor said to just check ‘no’ for everything. You know the drill.” We had to do this every semester. It was just a formality. We were all used to it. As the class president handed out the forms, Serena piped up. “Why do we have to check ‘no’ for everything? Can’t we check ‘yes’?” “It’s just faster to check ‘no’,” he explained. “If you check ‘yes’, you have to actually read the question and see if it applies to you. Besides, even if you do have a problem, it’s not like the school is going to fix it for you. I heard some guy in another department got diagnosed with severe depression and was forced to take a leave of absence and go home.” Serena nodded thoughtfully, staring at the form in her hands. After he left, I glanced at Serena and said casually, “I doubt it’s that serious. That sounds like an exaggeration. And even if someone did have a mental illness, the school would have to provide support. The counseling center isn’t just for decoration, right?” Serena picked up her pen and started filling out the form. There were only a few questions; I was done in less than a minute. I looked over at her. She was still contemplating the third question. The next day, the class president collected the forms and gave them to the advisor. A few days later, we were all in class when our advisor suddenly appeared at the door. After a quick apology to the professor, he called Serena out of the room. Sensing drama, I slipped out the back door to see what was going on. The advisor led Serena into an empty classroom and slammed the mental health assessment form down in front of her. “Who told you to fill this out however you wanted?! Didn’t the class president tell you to check ‘no’ for everything?!” Serena looked at him, her eyes wide and innocent. “Why did we have to check ‘no’? Can’t we just answer based on how we feel?” The advisor looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. He couldn’t just say it was a pointless formality, because if a student really did have a problem, it would become a massive issue for him. “I said to check ‘no’, so you just do it! Why do you have to ask so many questions?!” Serena, completely oblivious to his rising fury, continued, “But some of the questions applied to me. If I checked ‘no’ for everything, wouldn’t that be falsifying information? The form says to answer honestly.” Before this, the advisor had been worried Serena might actually have a mental health issue. If she did something drastic, not even his Ph.D. wife and his son studying abroad could save his career. But now he was sure. Serena didn’t have a mental illness. She was just mentally ill. “Never mind that. Here’s a new form. Fill it out again, quickly. Bring it to my office after class.” Serena took the form with a quiet “Oh” and said nothing more. The advisor thought he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. He was celebrating too soon. After class, Serena brought the new form to his office. As it happened, the Dean of Student Affairs was there, checking in on the students’ psychological well-being. “Don’t worry, Dean. We’ve compiled these results carefully. We’d never be careless with something so important,” the advisor said, shooting Serena a look that screamed get out. But she didn’t get the hint. Instead, she turned to the Dean. “Dean, why do we have to mark ‘no’ for everything on this form? Is that a school rule?”

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