Author: Momo Chan

1 On our wedding anniversary, my husband updated his food blog, Memos for Evie. The post featured a photo of the Beef Wellington he had just placed on the table. The caption read: “Year three, a new creation. May you always love the simple joys of this world.” The top comment was from a fan: “What amazing dish did Eddy cook for his wife this time? You’re so lucky!” He replied: “She loves it.” But the thing is, I don’t eat beef. … “Have a taste?” Eddy slid a small, perfectly sliced piece of steak across the table to me, his eyes filled with anticipation. He was wearing a new white shirt I’d bought for him, his features soft and gentle in the candlelight. A single serving of Beef Wellington at a restaurant costs a fortune, yet my husband had spent the entire afternoon recreating that expensive delicacy just for me. A warmth spread through my chest. I picked up my fork but hesitated. “Eddy… I don’t eat beef. Did you forget?” The smile on his face flickered for a fraction of a second. “Sorry, I forgot.” His apology was smooth, natural. “Things have been so hectic with the new project at work, my mind’s a mess. How about I make you some pasta instead?” I shook my head and smiled, telling him it was fine. There were plenty of other dishes on the table. He’d prepared an entire feast for our anniversary: escargots de Bourgogne, cream of mushroom soup, and even my favorite, a fluffy soufflé. But that flawless Beef Wellington, sitting silently in the center of the table, made my stomach clench. In all our years together, he had never once cooked beef. My gaze drifted to his phone, which he’d left on the table beside him. The screen was lit up, displaying his food blog with its million followers: Memos for Evie. On a strange impulse, I picked it up and tapped on the latest post. “Year three, a new creation. May you always love the simple joys of this world.” I scrolled down through the three thousand comments. Beyond the sea of envious replies at the top, one bolded comment from a “special follow” caught my eye. The username was EvieNeverLooksBack. “Eddy, happy anniversary to me too, from across the ocean.” Eddy’s hand shot out to snatch the phone back, but I was faster. I tapped on her profile. The background of her page was a hazy photo of a couple on a school field at dusk. A boy in a white shirt and a girl in a pleated skirt. Even through the blur, I recognized him. It was eighteen-year-old Eddy. And the girl… I happened to know her, too. Evelyn Monroe. Eddy’s college ex-girlfriend. The one his friends still talked about with a wistful sigh—his old flame, the one that got away. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. So, Evie was Evelyn. Eddy once told me that we would have a beautiful daughter one day. Evie, he’d said, was the name he had picked out for her. I turned the phone to face him, my voice barely a whisper. “So, Memos for Evie… it’s memos for Evelyn?” “And Evie was never a name for our daughter, was it?” The color drained from Eddy’s face. His lips moved, but no words came out. I couldn’t stop myself. I kept scrolling through Evelyn’s feed. Her latest post was from three days ago, a picture of her feeding pigeons in Paris. The caption: “Missing the taste of roasted sweet potatoes from that little street corner vendor.” And Eddy’s blog, just two days ago, had a new post. A photo of a perfectly roasted sweet potato, glowing with warmth. The caption: “Some flavors never change.” Further back, Evelyn mentioned she was craving something sweet. Eddy made a soufflé. Caption: “A little sweetness for you, always.” Evelyn complained about not sleeping well. Eddy simmered a calming herbal soup. Caption: “May you sleep soundly every night.” Post after post, year after year. For three whole years, over three hundred entries. Every meal he had ever made for me was documented on this account, Memos for Evie. I had been so moved by what I thought was his unique, romantic gesture just for me. My colleagues envied me, saying I’d married the perfect man—a handsome, devoted chef. It was all a lie. A complete and utter joke. Eddy’s silence shattered the last of my illusions. I looked up at him. “Eddy, I’m pregnant.” I pulled the crumpled test from my purse and laid it on the table between us. “Six weeks.” I had planned to give it to him as a surprise, the best anniversary gift of all. Eddy’s pupils contracted. He stared at the test, then at me, his face ashen. “Claire…” he finally choked out, his voice raw. “I’m sorry, I…” “So, when you wrote ‘she loves it’ on your blog,” I cut him off, my voice steady, “who is ‘she’?” Eddy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His breathing grew heavy and ragged. He looked at me, his eyes a swirling mess of panic, guilt, and the cornered anger of being exposed. “Claire, it’s not what you think.” He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “Then what is it?” My voice was quiet, but every word was sharp. “Tell me. Am I misunderstanding, or have you been lying to me this whole time?” Three years of marriage, all those tender moments, now felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. I finally understood. All his kindness, all his care for me, had been filtered through the shadow of Evelyn Monroe. He wasn’t taking care of me. He was reliving his memories of another woman through me. The light from the crystal chandelier overhead felt blindingly bright. Eddy finally gave up trying to explain. He slumped into the chair opposite me, burying his hands in his hair, a portrait of defeat. “It’s over between us. It has been for a long time,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Claire, that’s all in the past. I love you now.” I laughed. The sound was harsh and jarring in the quiet room. “You love me?” I pointed at the steak. “You love me, but you don’t know I don’t eat beef?” “You love me, but you planned on naming our child after your ex-girlfriend?” “Eddy, don’t you dare insult the word ‘love’.” My eyes fell back to the phone screen. Eddy, happy anniversary to me too, from across the ocean. The words sliced at my heart. I pushed the phone back to him. “You should reply to her. You don’t want to keep your old flame waiting.” As if on cue, the phone began to ring, shattering the heavy silence. The caller ID read: Evie. Eddy froze, his thumb instinctively moving to reject the call. I watched him. “Answer it,” I said slowly. “Why wouldn’t you?” His finger hovered over the red icon for a long moment before finally swiping to green. I couldn’t hear what was said, but the tension instantly drained from Eddy’s body. His voice, when he spoke, held a tenderness I had never heard before, an unconscious doting tone. “Evelyn.” That one name was enough to shatter my last defenses. He always called me Claire. Only for her was it the intimate, bone-deep Evelyn. I couldn’t make out her words, only piece together the story from his replies. It seemed she was alone abroad, had just broken up with her boyfriend, and her chronic stomach issues were flaring up. “Don’t cry. I’m here,” Eddy murmured, his voice low and soothing, like he was comforting a heartbroken child. “You want my soup? Okay, I’ll figure something out.” “Be good. Don’t eat anything you shouldn’t. Wait for me.” I sat at the table, methodically eating the now-cold soufflé. The dessert that once tasted like pure bliss was now just a bitter paste in my mouth. Finally, he hung up. He turned and met my gaze, a flicker of discomfort on his face. “Claire, Evelyn… she just broke up with her boyfriend. She’s not in a good place.” I said nothing, just stared at him. “She has really bad stomach problems, and she’s all alone in Paris. I’m just… worried.” “And?” I asked. Eddy pressed his lips together, as if making a difficult decision. “Christmas is in two days. We promised we’d go to my parents’ for dinner,” I reminded him. “I know.” He strode over to me and knelt, trying to take my hands. “Claire, I know this sounds horrible right now. But Evelyn… she really can’t handle this alone. Can I just…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “You want to go to Paris?” I finished for him. Silence. My heart sank, stone by heavy stone. I was pregnant. Our home, our promised holiday with family—none of it mattered more than a single phone call, a few tears from her. “Can you please not make this a scene?” Seeing my silence, Eddy’s patience seemed to wear thin. His brow furrowed, his tone shifting to one of annoyance and accusation. “Claire, I admit I was wrong about the blog, and I apologize. But Evelyn is sick. She’s been through a lot. I can’t just abandon her.” “She’s been through a lot?” I repeated the words, a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. “What about me? Has my life been easy?” I pointed to my stomach. “Eddy, your child is in here! And you’re going to abandon your pregnant wife to fly across the world to take care of your so-called ‘troubled’ ex-girlfriend?” “I’m not abandoning you!” he snapped, his voice rising as if I’d hit a nerve. “I’ll only be gone for a few days, just until she’s stable. I’ll explain everything to Mom and Dad. Why can’t you just be a little understanding?” I looked at this man—so familiar, yet suddenly a complete stranger—and felt the sheer absurdity of it all. “Eddy, are you asking me to be understanding about you leaving to take care of your ex?” “She’s not just an ex-girlfriend!” he blurted out. The words hung in the air. He realized his mistake instantly, his face paling. I seized on it. “Then what is she?” I pressed. “Tell me, Eddy. What, exactly, is Evelyn Monroe to you?” He clenched his jaw, a vein throbbing in his temple. The silence was suffocating. Finally, as if all the fight had gone out of him, he deflated. “Claire, I’m begging you.” His voice was laced with exhaustion. “Are you really going to go?” I saw the desperation in his bloodshot eyes, the undisguised urgency. “And you won’t regret it?” He didn’t answer. He just walked past me and into the bedroom, where he began to pack a suitcase. His movements were quick, decisive, without a hint of hesitation. I watched him throw his passport, a charger, a jacket into the bag, as if he were rushing off not to a disaster, but to a grand, romantic rendezvous. The moment he clicked the suitcase shut, I spoke. “Eddy.” “Take that passport. And don’t ever come back.” He paused for a second, then walked out the door without a backward glance. The only message I received was one sent from his phone two days prior, in the dead of night: “Landed safely. Don’t worry.” Don’t worry. What a joke. He didn’t send another message for days. Soon, the morning sickness hit me, hard. I couldn’t keep anything down, eventually subsisting on just sips of water. I sent Eddy a text. No reply. I took a leave of absence from my job at the bakery, told my mother-in-law that Eddy was away on a business trip, and quietly packed my own bags, planning to go to my parents’ house. Just as I finished packing, a wave of nausea hit me. I ran to the bathroom and was violently ill. As I pushed myself up, the world went black. I stumbled forward, my head cracking hard against the edge of the sink. Blood streamed down from my temple, blurring my vision. I lay on the cold tiles, a sharp, twisting pain ripping through my lower abdomen. I fumbled for my phone and dialed Eddy’s number. It rang and rang. Just as I was about to give up, someone answered. But the voice was a sweet, feminine coo. “Hello? Are you looking for Eddy?” It was Evelyn. My blood ran cold. “Where’s Eddy?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Put him on the phone.” “He’s making soup for me. He can’t come to the phone,” Evelyn said, her tone a mixture of smugness and impatience. “Who is this, anyway? Don’t you have any sense? He flew all the way to Paris to take care of me, and you keep harassing him with calls.” The pain in my abdomen was getting worse, more frequent, like a thousand knives churning inside me. I ignored her venomous tone and pleaded, “I’m his wife. I fell… I’m bleeding… please, tell him to come home…” A soft laugh came from the other end of the line, dripping with contempt. “Ma’am, I’ve seen this little sympathy act a million times. Faking an illness to guilt a man into coming back? Do you really think Eddy will fall for that?” “I’m not… I really…” “Yeah, yeah,” she cut me off impatiently. “My stomach is delicate. Eddy is busy perfecting a new soup recipe just for me. If you’re really in trouble, call an ambulance. Stop bothering us.” With that, she hung up. Listening to the dial tone, my heart, in that single moment, died completely. The bleeding was getting heavier. My consciousness began to fade. With my last ounce of strength, I hung up and dialed 911. Lying in the back of the cold ambulance, listening to the wail of the siren, my mind was a blank slate. The cramping in my abdomen grew more intense. I knew I was probably losing my baby. And maybe that was for the best. I didn’t want my child to have a father who would abandon his wife and child for another woman. At the hospital, they rushed me into an examination. “There are signs of a threatened miscarriage,” the doctor said gently. “Where is your husband? We need his signature to discuss options for saving the pregnancy.” I looked at the doctor and managed a smile that was more painful than a sob. “He’s dead.” The doctor stared, a look of pity in his eyes. “Then… are there any other family members?” “No one. It’s just me.” I looked at him calmly. “Doctor, this baby… I don’t want it.” He was aghast. “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what this could do to your body? If you terminate now, you might never be able to conceive again!” “I know.” “Then why would you…” “Doctor, there’s nothing to discuss.” I cut him off. “Do the procedure. Now.” The surgery was a success. When the anesthesia wore off, the pain was excruciating. Not just physical, but a deep, hollowing agony in my soul. I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, sleepless through the night. The next morning, the door to my room was thrown open. Eddy burst in. His eyes were shot with red, his face contorted in a panic I had never seen before. He rushed to my bedside and grabbed my hand. “Claire! The baby? Where’s our baby?” His voice was shaking. I looked at him and found it all so laughable. “The baby?” I said softly. “It’s gone.” A violent tremor wracked Eddy’s body. “Gone…?” he whispered, his face as white as the sheets. “How could it be… how could it be gone…?” Watching him shatter, a strange, vindictive pleasure coursed through me. “Eddy, I killed your child with my own hands.” “NO!” he roared, a guttural scream tearing from his throat as tears streamed down his face. He collapsed to his knees beside my bed, his hands clutching the sheets. “Why… Claire, why would you do that…? That was our baby…” He sobbed like a child, asking me why over and over. I looked at him, my expression cold as ice. “He was already dead the moment you chose to abandon your pregnant wife and fly to Paris for Evelyn.” My words were the final blow, extinguishing the last flicker of hope in his eyes. My body felt hollowed out after the procedure. I was curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a thick blanket, when Evelyn appeared at my door. The doorbell rang for the third time before I could muster the strength to answer it. It was her. Dressed in a chic, tailored cashmere coat, a large paper bag in her hand. “Claire,” she said, her voice sweet with a practiced familiarity. “Long time no see. I heard you weren’t feeling well, so I came to visit.” “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Her smile widened as her eyes swept past me, taking in the empty living room. “Eddy told me I could use the key to this place anytime.” Before I could react, she had already wheeled her suitcase into my home. She pulled a stack of photo albums from the bag and began to show them to me. The images were like poisoned daggers, stabbing into my eyes. One was at the airport.

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Every entertainment journalist asks the same question: Who is Eason Schnapp’s Row 8, Seat 27 reserved for? As one of the world’s top rockstars, that seat has remained empty at every single one of his concerts. But only I knew the truth. It marked our anniversary—mine and Eason’s. After the curtain fell on his 200th show, I was doing my usual late-night scan of the online chatter. Then, a single comment sliced through the noise. “You guys know nothing. I went to high school with him. That’s the day he and a certain someone broke up.” I frowned, trying to get a better look, but the comment vanished, deleted in an instant. Just then, my assistant’s frantic call came through. “Ava! Eason got into a fight! The cops picked him up!” My heart hammered against my ribs. Forgetting everything else, I tore out of my apartment, my car swerving as I nearly caused an accident. But when I arrived and looked through the bars of the holding cell, the sight that greeted me sent a chill through my soul. It was Eason, clutching a woman in a purple dress, his arms wrapped tightly around her. His eyes were bloodshot with a raw, protective fury I’d never seen before. And in that single moment, the entire world I had built around him shattered. 1 When I walked into the station, Eason’s brow furrowed at the sight of me. He didn’t loosen his grip on the trembling woman in his arms. “Ava, just get us bailed out.” My fingers curled into a fist. I stared at the woman’s face. She looked familiar. But now wasn’t the time for questions. The moment the media got a whiff of Eason in a police station, they’d descend like a pack of wolves. After signing the release forms, they were let out. Only then did I notice the tear in the woman’s dress, her fragile, trembling frame hidden beneath Eason’s tailored suit jacket. She looked so painfully vulnerable. At the station’s entrance, she glanced at me, her eyes red and swollen. She handed the jacket back to Eason, whose jaw was clenched tight. “Eason, thank you for tonight. I’m sorry for all the trouble.” He took a deep breath, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “It’s no trouble. If it wasn’t for—” “Well, well, little thing,” a slurred voice interrupted. A drunk, bruised man stumbled out behind them. “Still dressed like that? Waiting for a real man to take care of you?” The girl flinched, her body shaking. Eason’s face went cold. A feral snarl twisted his lips, and he lunged, a blur of motion, his fist connecting with the drunk’s face again and again. The sheer violence of it stunned me. I’d never seen this side of him. “You want to die, you son of a bitch?” he roared, his voice guttural. “I’ll beat that filthy mouth of yours shut!” My heart leaped into my throat. “Eason, stop! Do you know where you are?!” We were right outside the police station! I rushed forward to pull him back, but in his blind rage, he shoved me, sending me sprawling onto the pavement. A sharp pain shot through my knee as blood began to seep through my jeans. The woman in purple gasped and ran to him, her voice choked with tears. “Eason, please! Stop! I’m okay!” At the sound of her voice, he froze. My lips parted, but no sound came out. I watched, stunned, as the man who had just ignored me turned to her with a look of frantic concern. “Are you crazy? Why would you run into a fight!” His voice, harsh at first, softened as he took in her tear-streaked face. “Did he hit you? Are you hurt?” Then, as if just noticing me, his gaze flickered in my direction. He walked over and helped me up. “How’d you fall over? Your pants are covered in blood, you okay?” I shook my head, numb, as a tiny crack formed in my heart. For starting another fight on police station property, Eason was detained again. The drunk threatened to press charges, but I handled it with a hundred thousand dollars. “You know what to say and what not to say,” I told him coolly. “Consider this a hundred grand for your silence.” The man’s eyes lit up, and he eagerly signed the settlement. In the car on the way home, Eason stared out the window, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Ava,” he said finally. “I’m worried that guy might go after Amanda. Can she stay with us tonight?” Amanda. So that was her name. A lump formed in my throat. I wanted to scream, to refuse, but the words wouldn’t come. For years, I had given Eason everything he wanted. I was his rock, his constant… his yes-man. I set Amanda up in the guest room. Later that night, in our bedroom, I finally broke the silence. “Don’t you have anything to explain to me?” Eason, toweling his hair dry, paused. He seemed to finally register the storm brewing inside me. He came over, wrapping his arms around me with a soft laugh. “Getting a little jealous, are we?” He gently kissed my furrowed brow. “That’s Amanda Summers. An old classmate. We’re not close, it’s not what you think.” I looked down, letting the acid of doubt churn in my stomach. Long after his breathing evened out into a deep sleep, I unlocked my phone. I found the profile of the person who’d posted that comment and sent a direct message. “Excuse me, the person you mentioned from Eason Schnapp’s past… was her name Amanda?” The reply was almost instant. “Yeah. Everyone at Northwood High knew about them.” I turned to look at the man sleeping beside me, my heart twisting in my chest. The person on the other end, thrilled to have found a curious ear, spilled everything. One message after another, they painted a picture of a past I never knew. Eason getting into fights for her. Eason studying relentlessly for her. Eason writing his first songs for her. And the story of their breakup—of Eason, begging her to stay, crying without a shred of his pride left. Each detail was another twist of the knife. But the final blow, the one that shattered me completely, was this: the day they broke up, August 27th, was the day he and I got together. 2 I had chased Eason for so long. That day, he just showed up beneath my apartment window, his eyes red-rimmed as he asked, “Do you want to be with me or not?” I was so stunned I couldn’t speak, caught in a daze of disbelief and joy. He looked at me impatiently. “Well? Yes or no?” “Yes!” I blurted out, terrified he’d change his mind. My eyes shone as I looked at him. It was the happiest day of my life. Now, I can only wonder: that photo he took of us kissing, moments after I said yes… who did he send it to? Was it for her? Was I just his revenge? So, August 27th wasn’t a celebration of me. It was a memorial for her. The thought squeezed the air from my lungs, my heart feeling like it was being crushed in a vice. All these years together, I had defied my family to follow him across the country, from one dingy club to another. He said he didn’t want to rely on his family’s connections, so I became his manager. I’d forced down drinks at sleazy meetings and endured the wandering hands and leering smiles of industry vultures, all to get him a deal, a stage, a chance. I never told him about the worst of it. I knew if I did, he’d go after those men like a mad dog, and I couldn’t let him ruin his career. So, as long as it wasn’t too much, I swallowed the humiliation and kept smiling. His career exploded. He became a superstar. And through countless sold-out arenas, that one seat, Row 8, Seat 27, always remained empty. I’d asked him about it once. He’d paused for a fraction of a second, then tapped my head playfully, his voice laced with affection. “You dummy. Did you forget our own anniversary?” His words had filled me with a dizzying sweetness. Now, that same memory was a bitter poison corrupting my heart. That momentary pause… he was inventing a lie for me. As the night deepened, a soft murmur from the man beside me sent ice through my veins. “Amanda… don’t leave me…” A bitter smile touched my lips. I was nothing but a fool in this play. The next morning, Eason woke up and instinctively pulled me into his arms for a kiss. I turned my head, avoiding him. His motion froze. He frowned. “Who pissed you off now?” “Get Amanda out of our house,” I said, my voice flat. “Don’t think I don’t know about your history.” He stood up, his expression turning cold, his voice dropping to a low, warning tone. “You investigated me?” “Ava, don’t cross the line. It’s not a good look.” I almost laughed. “Cross the line? I’m your girlfriend. What line is there to cross? Don’t I even have the right to ask?” His jaw was tight, his face a mask of anger. We stood there in a silent standoff. “Think whatever you want,” he finally said. “Nothing happened between Amanda and me. Ava, don’t be dramatic.” My lips trembled as a metallic taste rose in my throat. Just then, a soft knock came from the bedroom door, followed by Amanda’s apologetic voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to listen. I just needed to talk to Eason about something.” My face hardened. Eason sighed and went to the door. “Ava, you’re the only one for me,” he whispered, as if that could fix everything. He opened the door and introduced me to Amanda. I saw her smile falter, the expression she forced onto her face painfully strained. “Hi, Ava. Please don’t misunderstand. Yesterday, I was nearly assaulted, that’s why E… Eason helped me.” As she spoke, a look of real fear crossed her face, as if reliving the trauma. “Eason… could I possibly stay here for a little while?” “No.” “Yes.” Our voices overlapped. I stared at Eason, who shot me an annoyed look. “Ava, stop being unreasonable. Amanda has nowhere else to go right now.” I forced a brittle smile and turned to the woman before me, holding out a credit card. “Why don’t you get a nice hotel suite? Miss Summers, the bill’s on me.” Humiliation flashed across her face, as if I’d slapped her. “Ava Sinclair!” Eason snatched the card and threw it at me, the plastic stinging my cheek. “That’s enough!” He then took Amanda’s hand and led her away. A moment later, a text message lit up my phone. It was from her. I’m sorry, but I truly love him. I won’t give him up to anyone. That night, Eason didn’t come home. And the next day, I found out exactly what Amanda meant by ‘not giving him up.’ 3 The top floor of Apex Records was Eason’s exclusive domain. “Everyone, I want you to meet the new bassist for the band.” He gently pushed a tall, slender woman forward, standing behind her in a clearly protective stance. “Amanda Summers.” “She’ll be joining us from now on.” The room went silent. The other band members exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes darting between me and Eason. “Eason,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I’m your manager. Did you run this by me?” He glanced at me, his eyes filled with indifference. “If you have a problem with it, you can quit.” His gaze was challenging, almost mocking. “You wouldn’t, would you, Ava? You couldn’t leave me. So just accept it.” A cold dread washed over me. I stared at him in disbelief. He was actually using my love for him as a weapon against me. But he miscalculated. I’m not the kind of person you can threaten. “Fine,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “I quit.” And with that, I turned and walked out, leaving him standing there with a look of stunned surprise on his face. The air in the room felt like it had turned to ice. Eason caught up to me in the hallway. The sight of me walking away without a second glance had sparked a strange panic in his eyes. “Ava!” He grabbed my arm, stepping in front of me. He froze when he saw the tears welling in my eyes. I never cried in front of him. He’d only ever seen me cry in moments of passion, never in anger or sadness. “You…” He let out a defeated sigh and pulled me into his arms. “I’m sorry, okay? I screwed up. I wasn’t thinking about your feelings. Forget I said anything. Amanda won’t join the band.” I pressed my lips together, a foolish sliver of hope flickering back to life in my chest. “Hey, don’t be sad,” he murmured. “Tomorrow’s our anniversary. I’ve got everything planned. Let me pick you up, okay?” I nodded, giving myself one last chance to be a fool for him. The next evening, I sat on the sofa, waiting, my heart fluttering with anticipation. But the night grew deeper. The silence in the villa grew heavier with each passing minute, crushing my hope into dust. My phone remained dark. Then, it pinged. The sound was jarring in the dead quiet. It doesn’t matter if I’m not in the band. I told you I wouldn’t give up on him. The text was accompanied by a photo: Eason and Amanda in the practice room, her body nestled against his. I glanced at the call log. Ten missed calls to him. I stood up, grabbed my keys, and drove. As I reached the top floor of the record building, the sound of music and their laughter drifted down the hall, each note a needle in my ears. My legs felt like they were filled with lead, each step an agony. My face was pale as I crept closer, peering through the crack in the door. The sight inside stole the breath from my lungs and the blood from my face. Amanda was sitting in Eason’s lap at the drum set. He was wrapped around her from behind, his hands covering hers as they beat out a rhythm. “How are you so clumsy? You still can’t get this?” he teased, but his eyes were full of a soft, smiling tenderness. When the music stopped, they leaned closer and closer, until their lips met. My strength gave out. I stumbled back against the wall, my fingers digging into the drywall to keep from collapsing. In that instant, the love I had nurtured for ten years finally, irrevocably, shattered. I closed my eyes, forcing back the broken light in them. “Looks like I came at a bad time.” My voice made them jump apart. Eason whipped his head around, instantly pushing Amanda away from him. When he saw the cold mockery in my eyes, his voice trembled. “Ava?” He rushed toward me. “Don’t misunderstand. I was just teaching her the drums.” I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. I strode past him to face the triumphant smirk on Amanda’s face. With my left hand, I shoved a cymbal crashing to the floor. With my right, I slapped her, hard, across the face. “Really?” I spat. “Since when do you teach the drums with your tongue?” Eason instinctively moved to shield Amanda, pulling her behind him as she clutched her cheek. The force of his movement sent me stumbling back into a wall, the sharp pain in my back mirroring the one in my heart. “Ava! Calm down! We can talk about this at home.” I looked at him, at the man I had once loved, and felt nothing but the bitter clarity of what a colossal fool I had been. “Eason Schnapp,” I said, my voice ringing with finality. “We’re over.”

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1 My mother and Jenna were on the sofa when a news report came on. The anchor, visibly upset, announced that a boot camp had abused its students, leading to a quiet, depressed girl’s death. Before it finished, Jenna laughed. “Kids are so fragile these days. A few smacks and they die? They just need discipline.” My mother agreed, feeding her a chip. “Exactly. My Chloe was the same, always pretending to be depressed. But since I sent her to that camp, she’s improved. She even writes letters now.” As she spoke, she took my blood-stained final letter and, without reading it, tore it up and threw it away. A sharp pain tore through my soul. Mom, if you knew the dead girl was me, would you feel satisfied? If so, I’m glad. It’s the last thing I can do for you. … My younger brother, Leo, came home from skipping class to play basketball, bursting through the door and making a beeline for the kitchen fridge. He grabbed a can of Coke and started chugging it down. Mom immediately dropped the chips and hurried over with a damp towel for him. She gently wiped the sweat from his brow, her voice full of adoration. “Oh, look at our Leo, all grown up! With a body like that, you could be a model. Who cares about school? Tell your homeroom teacher it doesn’t matter if you’re at the bottom of the class. You’re destined for great things.” After finishing his Coke, Leo glanced around the house. “Is that useless girl not here? No wonder I can drink this out in the open. Where’d she go?” Mom scoffed, the disdain in her eyes impossible to hide. “Hmph. Sent her off to a behavioral boot camp. That sister of yours has a stubborn streak that needs to be broken. The camp and her school have called a few times, but I haven’t bothered to answer. So annoying.” Hearing those words, my ghostly form, standing right beside them, flickered with a sudden awareness. A fragile hope sparked within me. If Mom had just answered the teacher’s call, maybe they would have brought my body home. Just bring me home. Lay me to rest. Then I wouldn’t have to be a lost soul, forever trapped in this place. The thought filled me with a desperate longing. Talking about me always irritated Mom, but with Leo in front of her, her expression softened back into that of a loving, gentle mother. “She’s not like you. You might not get good grades, but you’re a good, sweet boy. Your sister, on the other hand… always walking around with a face like death, like someone owes her a million dollars. What good are her grades then?” “It’s so frustrating,” she went on. “Last weekend, I went to her parent-teacher conference. Her teacher told me I should pay more attention to her, that she seemed a little depressed. As if we’re neglectful parents or something.” Jenna stood up, passionately agreeing. “Exactly! It’s not like you starve her or anything. She’s just faking this depression to make you look bad!” She covered her mouth with her hand, a mischievous smirk on her face. “No offense, but don’t you think your Chloe is just like those girls we used to hate in high school? The ones who acted all fragile and innocent just to get all the guys to fall for them?” Mom erupted in laughter, her body shaking. “You know, you’re right. What rotten luck, giving birth to a two-faced little actress. Who else has my luck?” Ashley, the girl with the worst grades in our class, couldn’t stand me. She hated that I did well, and she especially hated that her favorite biology teacher always praised me in class. One day, during the long lunch break, she dragged me into a bathroom stall. Her eyes were filled with contempt as she grabbed my chest, her fingers digging in hard. “No wonder all the guys in class are obsessed with you, writing you all those love letters. You’re just a little slut who developed faster than the rest of us, huh?” She leaned in, her voice a cruel whisper. “What do you do at night? Get yourself off under the covers?” I kept my head down, too scared to say anything. A curtain of dark hair fell over my eyes, hiding the world from my view. But my silent, submissive posture only seemed to infuriate her more. “Still faking it! You think playing the innocent victim is going to make me feel sorry for you? A girl knows a girl.” She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face, her eyes blazing with hatred. “You’d better watch yourself. Stop putting on that slutty act. The next time I see you asking my favorite teacher a question, it won’t be just a slap.” The incident left me with deep psychological scars. From that day on, I grew more and more withdrawn. I avoided eye contact. I was afraid to speak more than a few words to anyone, terrified of accidentally setting someone off. That was why my homeroom teacher thought I was depressed. After the parent-teacher conference, she had pulled my mother aside, her voice filled with genuine concern, suggesting she take me somewhere to relax. But what awaited me outside the school gates were words far more painful than any slap or taunt. In the car, after my mother asked why I was so quiet and I tried to explain, she just laughed. Jenna, sitting in the passenger seat touching up her makeup, smirked. Her voice dripped with disdain. “What, is depression some kind of fashion statement for you kids now? Everyone’s got some kind of psychological issue. If you ask me, you just haven’t been hit enough.” She turned around, looking down at me as I cried silently in the back seat. “Besides, if you’re getting bullied and people are spreading rumors about you, don’t you think maybe, just maybe, you’re part of the problem?” “Look at you right now. Who are you trying to fool with this weak, pathetic act? Playing the victim. If you ask me, you had it coming.” My mother heard the venom in Jenna’s words and froze for a second. She glanced back at me, a flicker of pity and regret in her eyes. Her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. Jenna caught the look instantly. “Tsk,” she clicked her tongue, her face hardening. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for her. That’s not how you raise a kid. You’ve got to stamp out these dramatic tendencies, or you’ll end up with a manipulative little monster on your hands.” “I know a great behavioral boot camp I can recommend,” she said. “Thirty-four hundred a session. Send your daughter there for a good workout. She’ll come back obedient as a lamb. You can thank me later.” Ever since their school days, my mother had been the least popular one in their friend group, while Jenna was the undisputed queen bee. There were a few years, before I started elementary school, when I remember being cherished by my mother. The memories are hazy, but I recall sunlight warming my skin as I sat on a grassy lawn. My mother’s face was wreathed in smiles as she lifted me high into the air, her perfect teeth flashing as she cooed and made me laugh. Her perfume was the sweet scent of summer peaches, and I would giggle uncontrollably, a carefree little duckling. Then, one day, Jenna saw me, and the ridicule began. “Look at the way your daughter stares. Did you see that? She was totally checking out that cute guy.” My mother was stunned. As a mother, she knew her five-year-old daughter was simply captivated by the colorful pinwheel the man was holding. But the thought that her friend, the one she was always trying so hard to please, was actually talking to her, made her fold. She went along with it, her voice timid. “You’re right. Already looking at boys. So shameless.” The memories tumbled through my mind, fragmented and sharp. I suddenly remembered my first day at the boot camp. The first thing the instructors made us do was shave our heads on the drill ground. Some of the girls refused. Their punishment was a cattle prod that left no visible marks. One of the older male instructors zapped a girl in front of him, sending her crashing to the ground. He leered at her crumpled form. “Listen up. Any girl sent here is not some pampered little princess anymore. You need to remember your place. You’re nothing but filth in this camp.” “Follow the rules, you get to eat. Don’t, and all that’s waiting for you is pain.” The terrified girl choked back her tears. Her hands trembled as she picked up the electric clippers and began hacking away at her own hair. Her beautiful, waist-length locks fell to the ground in clumps, until she looked like one of the shorn, docile sheep from my childhood memories of the countryside. What’s the difference, I wondered, between us and livestock here? In that moment, I knew. This wasn’t just some ordinary boot camp. It was a hell designed to break our spirits and trample our dignity. For dinner that evening, we were given a small bowl of white rice with a spoonful of white sugar sprinkled on top. A few girls who had been there longer than us devoured their food like starving animals, their eyes vacant as they mechanically shoveled the rice into their mouths, like robots performing a programmed task. Even though I wasn’t hungry, I copied them, forcing mouthfuls of rice down my throat. In a strange and hostile place, the best way to avoid trouble is to blend in, to not stand out. The rain outside hammered against the glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows, a dense, rhythmic drumming like a thousand tiny nails. A sudden clap of thunder startled me, pulling me from my memories. I looked down at myself and realized my form was so transparent, almost like I was made of rain. For some reason, after death, my spirit was confined to this house. I think it was because of my last words. The agonizing, desperate cry echoed in my ears again, and I trembled uncontrollably. I was so scared. I curled my spiritual form into a ball and hid in the closet. But the wish I made as I died still reverberated around me: “I want to go home. Mom, I want to come home.” In the living room, Jenna was lying with her head in my mother’s lap, whining like a child for Mom to peel grapes for her. She was a completely different person from the one who had slapped me at the camp. Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring. The sudden shrill of the phone cut through the air. My mother glanced at the caller ID and her face lit up. But the voice on the other end, my father’s voice, was tight with urgency. “Where’s Chloe? Isn’t she home? Why are the police telling me to fly back? They said they couldn’t reach you. Chloe… they said something happened to her, but they wouldn’t say what over the phone.” My mother panicked at his accusatory tone. Her eyes darted around the room as she scrambled for an excuse. “Chloe? She’s right here at home! She’s fine! You must have gotten a scam call.” Hearing my father’s voice, a warmth spread through a cold corner of my heart. My nose stung, and I felt something wet drip down my face. Can ghosts cry? My father had been working in London ever since I was in elementary school. He only came home for the holidays, and every time, he would bring me beautiful dresses and special layer cakes from the city. His voice trembled now, low and terrifying. He demanded she start a video call and show him where I was. “Where is she? Why can’t I see her?” “You said Chloe was at home! Where is she? What have you been doing all day? How can you not even take care of your own daughter? Did you send her to one of those awful boot camps?” “The police said she was hurt at a camp. They told me to come back immediately.” Hearing that my father already knew part of the truth, Mom finally started to panic for real. But she quickly composed herself, forcing a casual tone. “Chloe’s just at a camp to learn some social skills. A little scrape is no big deal. She wrote home just a few days ago saying everything was fine. I just finished reading it today and threw it in the trash.” As she spoke, she rushed toward the trash can, intending to fish out the letter and show it to him. “Chloe’s a timid little thing, she wouldn’t even fight back if someone hit her. I’m sure she’s fine…” She reached into the trash can to retrieve the letter she had torn to pieces. My heart, or what was left of it, swelled with anticipation. I was sure that once she saw the letter, she would come get me. They would piece me back together. And then I could finally leave this place that held my soul captive and be reborn. But just as her fingers were about to touch the paper… The unthinkable happened.

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The memorial service my best friend arranged was utterly destroyed. Trolls swarmed the funeral home, livestreaming with their phones. “Serves her right,” they chanted. The comment section flooded with messages: Is she really dead this time? My ex-husband and his lover celebrated on a yacht for a week straight, champagne in hand. It seemed everyone believed I deserved to die early. Until one day, my diary was made public. And everyone finally learned the truth. That in my entire life, I had only been happy for a single, fleeting moment. 1. On the talk show, the host suddenly veered off-topic. “Rick, Mr. Brown. Your ex-wife recently passed away from an illness. How did that make you feel?” Rick Brown, the A-list actor, just scoffed. “I felt nothing. I heard her memorial service was trashed. Good.” The host smiled, lowering his gaze. “You don’t mind if we talk about your ex-wife, do you? After all, her death is a very hot topic right now.” If he were trying to capitalize on anyone else’s death, the backlash would have been merciless. But it was my death. And no one online cared. “Ask whatever you want,” Rick said. “I’m curious,” the host began. “Everyone says Zara Hale was a terrible person. So why did you two get married in the first place?” The superstar fell silent. He probably couldn’t remember why himself. The host chuckled. “Well, as it happens, we have a copy of Ms. Hale’s diary right here. You wouldn’t mind if we shared it with everyone, would you?” Rick smirked. “A high school dropout? Did she even know how to write? Go ahead. I couldn’t care less.” But when the slightly worn diary was opened for the cameras, a hush fell over the studio. The handwriting was neat and elegant, not at all what you’d expect from the madwoman the media had painted me as. “Well then,” the host said with a smile, “allow me to read.” 2. October 3rd, 2020 I’m getting married today! And who’s the groom? My Rick, of course. Who else would I ever want to marry? And who else would he ever dare to marry? If he tried, I’d tear him limb from limb. We’ve been together for six years. Today, I finally married the boy I fell in love with when I was eighteen. Oh, Diary, you should have seen how nervous Rick was when he put the ring on my finger. The tips of his ears turned bright red, and his eyes weltered up immediately. It’s true what they say… a man’s tears can make a woman’s heart soar. Seriously, I couldn’t stop smiling. But, Diary, I’m not afraid to tell you the truth. Later, when Rick was drunk and collapsed into my arms, I was the one who cried even harder. He whispered in my ear, “Zara, I love you. I love you so, so much.” “Thank you for being my wife.” Honestly, I’m the one who should be thanking him. Because of him, for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere. At the wedding, Rick’s mom gave me a hug. As she held me, my nose started to sting. It was the first time an elder had ever hugged me. So, this is what a mother’s love feels like. Growing up in an orphanage, I never knew what a hug was. For us orphans, it didn’t matter how good you were; no one was going to hug you. When we cried, we just lay on the mats on the floor until we stopped. At school, our teachers always said we were such well-behaved kids. The truth is, we learned early on that crying got you nothing. And just being quiet never earned you a hug. So, we learned to hide what we felt. It wasn’t until I met Rick that I learned I could just be myself. And he would still love me. Now, Rick and I finally have a home. We’re broke, sure. But things will get better. I told him, “This is the happiest moment of my life.” He held me tight, his voice thick with emotion. “What do you mean, the happiest? From now on, every day will be happy.” Getting married is the best. I have someone to share my life with. I have a family. I’m not alone anymore. P.S. Here’s a wedding photo. It’s small, only a 5×7. I’m wearing a twenty-dollar tulle skirt I bought on Amazon, and Rick’s in the only decent suit he owns. Our clothes are simple, but our smiles are the brightest you’ve ever seen. Rick promised me. When he makes it big. He’ll take me to the beaches of Bali for a proper wedding photoshoot. The host finished reading and took a deep breath. No one had expected that I, the venomous villain, could have shared memories like these with Rick. The words on the page were playful, sweet. Anyone could see how happy I was back then. There’s nothing more devastating than a love that’s expired. Rick stared, stunned, for a long moment. Those memories had been buried for so long. Back then, marrying me had felt like the greatest victory of his life. He had forgotten all of it. The viewers were confused, too. This was nothing like the vicious Zara Hale they knew. “Reading this, she just sounds like a normal girl in love.” “It’s gotta be fake. That handwriting doesn’t look like hers.” “So she was an orphan. No wonder she had no class.” The host turned to Rick. “Mr. Brown, it sounds like you two were very happy when you got married.” Rick seemed to snap out of his trance, a bitter, self-mocking smile twisting his lips. “She used to be a good person, yes. But you can never truly know what’s in someone’s heart.” The host smiled thinly. “Perhaps. Let’s move on to the second page, shall we?” “Honestly, I’m quite curious myself to see what happened to turn Ms. Hale into the monster everyone despises.” 3. January 6th, 2021 Sorry for ignoring you, Diary. I’ve been busy working as an extra. But I need to ramble today. How do people make a lot of money? What if I started spending ten dollars a day on a lottery ticket? A meal on set costs ten dollars. If I skip dinner, I can save that much. What if I actually won? I know I shouldn’t be fantasizing about winning the lottery, Diary. But I’m just so broke. I can’t ask Rick for money, though. He’s already under so much pressure. He’s filming late into the night, every night. And during the day, he takes on freelance editing jobs to make extra cash. He’s so exhausted, but he always pretends to be fine, telling me, “Don’t worry, baby, I’m not tired.” It breaks my heart. I’ll figure something out on my own. Attached photo: Rick’s perfect sleeping face. Something to look at when the days feel hopeless~ The host paused. “Mr. Brown, I have to ask. Did you know Zara was so desperate for money at this time?” Rick shook his head. “I was her husband. If she needed money and didn’t tell me, it must have been for something shameful.” “Then again,” he added with a sneer, “it’s no surprise, considering all the disgusting things she did later.” “She’d do anything for money. It’s pathetic.” The host sighed and continued reading. 4. January 10th, 2021 Diary. My best friend is dead. We spent more than a decade together in the orphanage. And now she’s gone. All because we couldn’t scrape together five thousand dollars. I told her I’d find a way. I told her to just hold on. I would have delivered food, done anything to get the money for her treatment. But while I was on set, she pulled out her own oxygen tube. She left me a voice recording. “Zara,” she said, “we were abandoned as kids. Most of us aren’t very healthy. I’m just happy I made it to 25.” “Don’t be sad for me. Maybe in heaven, I’ll finally get to meet the parents who threw me away.” “I’ve got a bone to pick with them.” “You and Rick need to be happy together.” “And hey, remember to get regular check-ups. People like us can’t afford to get sick.” I cried until I couldn’t breathe. We were so close. If she had just waited a little longer, maybe I could have earned it. Diary. Why is life so unfair? Today on set, I heard the producers gave the lead actress several handbags that were each worth over five thousand dollars. A single handbag could have saved my friend’s life. Writing this reminds me of something. When I was little, I had another friend at the orphanage. Her name was beautiful, Maeve. She had a round face, and when she smiled, her eyes curved into beautiful crescent moons. Compared to the rest of us, she just radiated life. She was so bright that when she was eight, a wealthy family adopted her. I was so happy for her when we said goodbye. But a year later, she came back. She was so much thinner. And she never smiled anymore. Worst of all, she couldn’t speak. She wrote on a piece of paper and told me what had happened. She had been subjected to unspeakable abuse for a year. Her adoptive parents were afraid she would tell someone. So they cut out her tongue. I ran to the director of the orphanage, trying to get help, but he beat me half to death. He had taken money from that family to keep quiet. Maeve… she killed herself not long after that. And now my other friend is gone, too. There aren’t many of us left from the orphanage. Diary, I want so badly to tell Rick all of this. But when I look into his tired, smiling eyes… I just can’t. I’ll wait until things get better. I don’t want to be another burden for him. Goodnight, Diary. I hope I wake up to news about my audition. The host’s voice trembled as he read. Online comments flooded in. “So she needed the money for her friend.” “Forget that, what the hell kind of orphanage is that? Someone needs to investigate.” “This feels like a PR stunt to make her look good. But you can tell she was just a jealous person, getting angry over a five-thousand-dollar bag.” The host sighed and looked at Rick. “Mr. Brown, did you know your wife needed five thousand dollars?” “You were both 25 by then. Did you really not have that much in savings?” Rick’s pupils constricted. His mouth moved, but no sound came out at first. “That year… we had saved ten thousand dollars together. I had promised her I’d buy her a gold bracelet…” “But… at the end of the year, my mom got really sick.” “It took every penny we had…” “After that… she never mentioned the bracelet again, and I never bought it.” Rick’s voice grew quieter as he lowered his eyes. The comment section exploded. “So you’re telling me Zara gave all her savings for her mother-in-law’s treatment, and then had nothing left for herself?” “What are you talking about? When you’re married, you’re family.” “If she’d had that gold bracelet, maybe she could have sold it and saved her friend.” The truth is, Rick didn’t tell the whole story. His mother had insurance, which covered most of the medical bills. When the reimbursement check came, I didn’t see a cent of it. When my friend got sick, I gathered my courage and asked my mother-in-law for help. I offered to borrow the money, but she just ridiculed me. “Marrying you was the greatest charity we could offer.” “And you have the audacity to ask me for money?” “You’re an orphan. You have no one to stand up for you.” I stood there, frozen. My ears were ringing. The woman who, at my wedding, had promised to treat me like her own daughter, was now looking at me with pure contempt. We never had a real wedding, just a small gathering of friends and family. I didn’t get any jewelry, no dowry. And in the end, I didn’t even get respect. I learned later. Once a wife moves in, everyone’s true colors come out. Especially a wife with no one in her corner. The pain that never made it into my diary was far greater than anything Rick knew. 5. The host gave a bitter smile, tinged with sarcasm. “So, the reason Zara had no money was because she gave it all to pay for your mother’s medical bills, correct?” The question was sharp. The online comments devolved into a screaming match. Some people were starting to realize something was wrong. The feed was scrolling too fast to read. Rick’s face stiffened. He unconsciously tugged at his tie. “That’s right. And if she hadn’t… if she hadn’t done all those disgusting things later, I would have paid her back, of course.” His voice grew louder, more self-righteous with each word. The host just smiled. “Is that so?” “Then I’ll keep reading.” “Let’s see how Zara ‘changed.’” 6. May 20th, 2021 Diary! I have great news. I passed my audition! I got the role of the fourth female lead in the big-budget production, Veil of Smoke! It’s my first time in a major production! But when I went to share the happy news with Rick… I found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his face clouded with worry. When he saw me, his expression turned guilty. “Zara… we were supposed to make a down payment on a house next month. I don’t think we can anymore.” “I failed another audition. They wouldn’t even take me for a supporting role.” “I think… I think I’ll have to go back to being an extra.” His eyes were red, filled with uncertainty about the future. In that moment, I remembered four years ago. When we first broke into the industry. His eyes were full of stars, burning with passion for what was to come. Now, failure was extinguishing that fire. My heart ached for him. I wrapped my arms around him and told him everything would be okay. The news about my own successful audition stayed locked inside me. Maybe the house we wanted wasn’t that great anyway. Maybe my role wasn’t as good as I thought. Maybe something better was just around the corner. I never doubted my Rick. He’s so talented. Sooner or later, he’ll be the brightest star of them all. As the host read this entry, the screen filled with question marks. Rick’s expression froze. Because everyone knew. The actress who became a star playing the fourth female lead in Veil of Smoke wasn’t me. There had been rumors that I was originally cast, but everyone had laughed them off, assuming it was just a story I had paid to have planted in the tabloids. No one had ever imagined. I had been so close to making it. 7. May 25th, 2021 Veil of Smoke is about to start filming, but the actor cast as the fourth male lead was just exposed in a scandal. A lightbulb went off in my head. My Rick. Maybe this was his chance. I stayed up all night putting together a reel of his best performances, and first thing in the morning, I sent it to the director. Diary, you have no idea how nervous I was. The moment I hit ‘send,’ my whole body was shaking. That same day, Rick got a call for an audition. But after he finished… The director pulled me aside. He looked uncomfortable. “Zara, we’re very impressed with Rick, the actor you recommended.” “But… you and Rick are with the same agency. And as you know, for a hit show like this, the number of slots per agency is strictly limited.” “Your agency only gets one actor in this show.” He looked at me, his gaze heavy. “To be honest, the reason I’m asking you is because I think you’re the more talented one.” Diary. What was the director even talking about? Was this even a choice? Of course I gave the role to Rick. I’m talented. I’ll get another chance. But my Rick… he needed this confidence boost more than I did. When Rick found out he got the part, he picked me up and spun me around and around. My Rick was back. When he’s happy, I’m happy. Hearing this, Rick’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s impossible… my role… how could it…” The internet went into a meltdown. “HOLY S**T, RICK’S CAREER TOOK OFF BECAUSE OF VEIL OF SMOKE.” “Wait, so the key point is, Rick’s big break only happened because Zara gave up her spot for him?” “This has to be fake. I’m going to go dig up the old gossip threads right now.” The host looked at Rick. “Mr. Brown, is there anything you’d like to say now?” Rick’s throat worked, but it was a long moment before he could speak. “She… she really was a good person back then. But…” He didn’t finish the sentence. But I knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to say: But what happened to you? How did you change? 8. June 13th, 2022 Diary. Am I being too sensitive? Veil of Smoke was a massive hit. Rick became a star overnight playing the fourth male lead. His character in the show was just so perfect. His tragic, unrequited love for the fourth female lead made countless viewers cry their eyes out. A lot of people started ‘shipping’ them in real life. I’ll admit, even I shipped them when I was watching. But… seeing Rick and Delilah working so hard to sell their fake relationship… I still got a little jealous. Oh, well. I’m a generous person. I’m not going to get mad. After all, if Rick is famous… I’m even happier. Oh, and Diary! I’m auditioning for the second female lead in a small web series tomorrow. Wish me luck! Attached news clipping: “Hmph. Rick is smiling so sweetly at Delilah in this picture.” “If he doesn’t smile at me that sweetly from now on, he’s going to get an earful.” 9. June 14th, 2022 Diary! Today was an amazing day! I passed my audition! I’m the second female lead in Dream’s Darkest Shore! The second lead! I have so many scenes! I was going to tell Rick the Cabbage first. But he’s been secretly having dinner with Delilah behind my back. Attached photo: Paparazzi shot of the two of them. One looking shy, the other’s ears bright red. They look so perfect together! Hmph. A man who doesn’t respect himself… Is like a rotten cabbage. I’m not going to be the one to tell Rick the Cabbage my good news. He can see it for himself when the studio makes the official announcement. Although… If he explains himself today… Maybe I’ll tell him. Fine, I’ll give him three days. After the host finished, the tide of public opinion began to turn. “Okay, does anyone else find this really cute?” “Am I the only one who finds this heartbreaking? They were so sweet back then. How did it end with them never speaking again?” “She’s faking it.” Rick stared at the screen, lost in a daze. He had never realized. Back then, I had really, truly loved him so much.

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I was at my poorest when I met the city’s most notorious playboy. He’d already burned through thirty-five girlfriends; I was number thirty-six. He asked me out three times, and I said no. The fourth time, I threw myself into his arms and sobbed, “It’s you I like, not your money.” Asher Wolfhard held me, deeply moved. But in private, he complained to his friends, “I’ve seen all her tricks before. I’m just playing along because I’m dying to get in her pants.” When I overheard that, I went to bed with him without a word. Unsurprisingly, he dumped me right after. A few days later, my roommate became his thirty-seventh girlfriend. Everyone laughed at me, but I didn’t care. Not long after, Asher was diagnosed with HIV, and I found out I was pregnant. Suddenly, the child in my belly became the most precious treasure of the Wolfhard family. 1 Every Friday, a spectacle unfolded at the gates of Northwood University. A fiery red Maserati would roll up, dropping off a different beautiful woman each time. The car’s owner was Asher Wolfhard, Northwood’s most infamous playboy heir. Every woman who slept with him was said to be left utterly obsessed. But he never went back for seconds, never lingered on any woman for a moment longer than necessary. He would conquer one and, without missing a beat, move on to the next. Three months into the semester, he’d already had thirty-four girlfriends. Number thirty-five was my coworker at the bubble tea shop, Felicity. The moment she got the invitation text, she quit her part-time job on the spot and rushed off to a salon to get her hair and nails done. “Oh my god, my golden ticket finally landed on me,” she said, changing her clothes. “Thank you, universe.” “Willa, seriously,” she went on, “you should buy some nice clothes, maybe get a haircut. Your bangs are too long; they’re hiding your supermodel good looks. That’s why Asher hasn’t noticed you yet.” “If he saw your face and knew you were hiding a rare 36D under that jacket, he’d fall head over heels for you.” I just smiled and said nothing. After she left, I bent down and picked up the panda hair clip she’d dropped. The soft white fuzz trembled in the breeze, just like my restless heart. I was so poor. I’d never owned a single nice piece of clothing in my life. My father was a simple farmer who knew nothing but the soil. My grandmother was sick and needed medicine constantly. My mother… she had left a long time ago. She went to find work in the city, met a construction worker, and never came home. Since I was a little girl, the weight of money had been suffocating me. Now in college, while everyone else was enjoying campus life, I was constantly scrambling for part-time jobs just to eat. The first time I heard the name Asher Wolfhard, a plan began to form in my mind. The Wolfhard family was influential in Northwood City. His mother was a famous entrepreneur, his father a distinguished university professor. Asher was their only child, born late in their lives, and they had spoiled him rotten. A purely physical relationship with him would be fleeting, and I’d be forgotten. Any payout would be minimal. So I waited, biding my time, observing, looking for a better opportunity. The next day, that fiery red Maserati pulled up in front of the tea shop. Felicity got out, dressed in a Chanel knockoff and carrying a designer bag, but her expression was anything but bright. After the car sped away, she grumbled, “I can’t believe it. I didn’t even get his number.” I recalled the fleeting glimpse I’d caught through the car window. “Whose? Asher’s?” “Yes! He slept with me, gave me ten thousand dollars and this outfit, and that was it. The girl from the dance department got twenty thousand! What, am I not as good as her?” I had no answer for that. Felicity sat and fumed for a while longer before her anger finally subsided. “Damn it, I’m so pissed. I need to go get something nice to eat,” she said. “Whatever. With this ten grand, at least I don’t have to work for the rest of the semester. I’ll figure out the rest later.” She smiled at me. “Willa, I’m not trying to lead you astray, but you really don’t have to make things so hard on yourself.” “Just lie back, have some fun, and make some money. What’s so bad about that? It’s a hell of a lot better than shaking bubble tea until your arms fall off for less than three thousand a month.” 2 I didn’t close the shop until 11 PM. On the way back, Felicity’s words echoed in my head. Was I making things too hard on myself? Everyone else was taking shortcuts. Why shouldn’t I? If I couldn’t lock down Asher as a long-term investment, I could just find someone else. At least I could get a quick ten thousand to solve my immediate problems. My head started to ache. I almost laughed at myself. Willa, Willa, you’re getting desperate. The thought of killing the goose for a single golden egg was something I was actually considering. As I turned down a small side street, I saw a car stopped by the road, smoke pouring from the hood. It had crashed into a guardrail. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious. I ran to the driver’s side and saw it was Asher Wolfhard. There was no time to think. Terrified the car might catch fire, I started pulling him out. I wasn’t strong enough. It took all my strength to drag and haul him to a safe distance. While I was on the phone with 911, Asher started to come to. He looked at my face, a flicker of surprise and awe in his eyes. “You…” I quickly pressed him down. “Your head is bleeding. Don’t move.” I used my handkerchief to apply pressure to the wound. Soon, the paramedics arrived and loaded him onto a stretcher. I used his phone to contact his family, then turned and walked back to campus. A few days later, as I was leaving class, Asher blocked my path, holding a bouquet of flowers. He still had a bandage on his forehead, and his lips were pale, but his eyes were shining. “You were the one who saved me the other day, right, Willa?” I nodded. “It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.” “How could I not? You saved my life. I’m a pretty big deal, you know. So what you did was a pretty big deal, too.” He thrust the flowers into my arms and then held out a credit card. “There’s ten thousand on here as a thank you. I was wondering if you’d do me the honor of having dinner with me tonight?” He was asking me out. I looked into his charming, almond-shaped eyes, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind. But after a few seconds, I shook my head. “I can’t have dinner with you. I have to go to my part-time job.” “What’s so great about that job? I’ll just give you the money.” “No, thank you. I have hands and feet. I don’t need to take advantage of you.” I fought to keep my racing heart in check, coolly rejecting his offer before turning to leave. I knew he was watching me, probably seeing right through my act. But I was playing the long game. Even if the chances were slim, I had to try. 3 Sure enough, at 7 PM, Asher showed up at the bubble tea shop where I worked. He’d probably never been rejected by a woman before, and he didn’t look happy about it. His face was a thundercloud when he saw me. “You turned me down to work in this dump?” he sneered. “How much do they pay you an hour? Twenty? Thirty? Fifty?” My expression turned even colder than his. “That’s none of your business. Either order something or get out. I don’t have time to play games with you.” Asher was taken aback. He took a deep breath. “I’ll give you one last chance. Ten thousand an hour. Are you coming with me or not?” My face was a mask of indifference. “Get. Out.” Furious, Asher spun around and stormed off. But he only made it to the door before whirling back. He slammed a card on the counter, followed by his hand, slapping it down with a sharp crack. “Everyone in here gets the most expensive drink on the menu. My treat.” “You like shaking bubble tea so much? Tonight, you can shake until you drop.” He was ruthless. For two straight hours, I made over 180 drinks. My hands were trembling, but I didn’t say a word. His face grew darker and darker. When he saw me shaking as I tried to carry in a new container of toppings, he blocked my path. “Fine, that’s enough. Stop.” “There are still three drinks left on your order.” “So I’m canceling them! Just stop, damn it. I’ve never seen anyone so stubborn.” Asher turned and left, and this time, he didn’t come back. Not only that, but he had tipped five thousand into the shop’s account. The ten-thousand-dollar card was still on the counter. On my way back, I stared at the card, a storm of emotions churning inside me. So this was what a shortcut felt like. The money came so fast. What had I been doing all those years, working myself to the bone? Just then, I saw Asher sitting on a bench on the side street. The late autumn night was cold, and he was still in his hospital gown, his head bowed. I had already walked past him, but I hesitated, then turned back. “Here,” I said, holding out the card. “You forgot this at the shop.” Asher looked up, his face deathly pale. “It’s for you.” I pushed the card back into his pocket. I started to walk away but couldn’t stop myself. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” Asher stared at me for a long time. “I’m fine. Just a headache.” He pursed his lips, looking unhappy. “Leave me alone. You don’t have to care. It’s not like anyone cares if I live or die.” What a load of crap. His parents doted on him, and he had a legion of girlfriends who would have done anything for him. I didn’t argue. I just moved behind him and started gently massaging the back of his neck. “It’s a side effect of the accident. You should be resting, not running around and getting angry.” He grabbed my hand, his voice weak. “If you hadn’t refused to go out with me, I wouldn’t have gotten so worked up.” “…Then I guess you’ll just have to stay angry. I don’t have time for this.” The Wolfhard family car arrived to pick him up. As he got in, he pushed the card back into my pocket, a rare look of disappointment on his face. “This money is just to thank you for saving my life. Please, take it.” “Okay.” The car sped away. I turned, a small smile playing on my lips. Inside the luxury car, Asher was smiling too. “Sly little fox, playing hard to get with me. We’ll see who’s better at this game.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “A faint, milky scent… soft 36Ds. Even though I was out of it, I couldn’t have been mistaken. She’s a masterpiece.” The driver had seen it all before. “If you like her, sir, just go after her. There’s no one you can’t have.” Asher chuckled. “What do you know? Beautiful women are a dime a dozen. But a sly fox like her… that’s rare. I haven’t met a woman who could get under my skin like this in a long time. I’m going to have some fun with this one.” 4 When I got my paycheck of three thousand, I sent two thousand home. My grandmother’s heart was getting worse, and she was back in the hospital. My father had no money, so her medical bills fell to me. After paying a school activity fee and buying some necessities, I was left with only five hundred dollars. I lay on my dorm bed, staring at the credit card, my mind at war with itself. I knew its owner, Asher Wolfhard, was also waiting for a notification that it had been used. Just then, the door opened, and my roommate, Tara, walked in. She’d been out at a club all night and reeked of smoke and stale alcohol. The smell quickly filled our small room. A moment later, she stumbled to the bathroom and started vomiting violently, leaving the door wide open. The sour stench was overwhelming. I wrinkled my nose. “Tara, can you please close the bathroom door? The smell is awful.” No answer. When she was finished, she staggered out, ripped open my bed curtain, and snarled, “Mind your own damn business!” Then she collapsed onto her bed and started snoring. Sleep was impossible. I went to the library to catch up on my studies. Time passed, and I almost forgot about Asher. Then one day, as I was leaving the tea shop, I saw him leaning against his car, holding a bouquet of flowers and a cake. “Happy birthday, Willa,” he called out. My eyes welled up. No one had ever celebrated my birthday before. How did he know? As if reading my mind, he said, “Don’t ask how I know. Just come make a wish and blow out the candles.” My first instinct was to walk away, but then I saw the little panda drawn on the cake. My nose stung. “Why a panda?” “Because when you saved me, I saw you were wearing a panda hair clip. I thought it was cute.” “…Thank you.” We found a spot on the curb, made a wish, and cut the cake. We sat side-by-side, and I asked him, “Is your head all better?” “Yeah, it’s healed.” “Let me see.” I leaned in close to look at the wound on his forehead. The stitches were out, leaving only a faint red line. Without thinking, I blew on it gently. I looked up and saw that Asher was blushing. He cleared his throat, his eyes shining. “What… what are you doing?” I quickly looked away, embarrassed. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to.” We were both a little flustered. We finished the small cake in silence. I stood up, brushing off my pants to leave. Asher grabbed my hand and pointed to his red sports car. “Let me drive you.” I pursed my lips stubbornly. “No. I won’t get in.” I knew how many other women had sat in that passenger seat. Asher seemed to understand. His eyes flickered, and he ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he pulled out his phone. “Fine. But can I at least get your number?” 5 I had finally gotten Asher Wolfhard’s number. His social media was simple: a few birthday photos, an occasional picture of his car or a party. None of the thirty-five other women had ever made an appearance. I casually liked one of his posts. A message came through almost immediately: [Home yet?] Me: [Yeah.] [Get some rest.] [Okay.] [Want to get dinner sometime?] [We’ll see. I’m a little busy lately, picked up another tutoring job.] [Let me know when you’re free.] [Okay.] I turned off my phone and closed my eyes. There was no tutoring job. I just needed more time to figure out my next move. Asher stared at the screen, a smirk on his face. This damn little fox. One lie after another. He’d given her the card over a month ago, and she hadn’t spent a dime. Her clothes were frayed, her shoes were falling apart, but she was still playing her game. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested. The way her eyes faintly gleamed whenever she saw his car, the way she unconsciously touched her nose when she lied—Asher had been around the block enough times to know. She was playing the long game. And even knowing that, he wanted to see what this seemingly innocent girl would do next.

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1 The Hilton Corporation’s long-lost heiress had been found. As the family’s adopted daughter, I was just about to step forward to welcome her when a tiny, indignant voice echoed in my mind. This brain-dead heiress has been reading too many trashy novels. She’s going to frame my mom as the wicked adopted daughter, turning this into some cheap drama! My poor mom has no idea she’s about to be shoved down the stairs! She doesn’t even know I exist… and our time together is about to be cut short! It’s true, I’m the Hiltons’ adopted daughter. But my own parents are every bit as powerful as the Hiltons, if not more… And… wait a minute. Am I… pregnant? I’m carrying the sole heir to the Vance family—a decorated military legacy four generations in the making. I watched as Isabelle Hilton took two deliberately clumsy steps toward me. Just as she lunged, I took a sharp step back, my eyes cold as I watched her let out a shriek. And tumble down the grand staircase. … Isabelle, the girl who had meant to push me, was now a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. Her face was a mask of pain, but her eyes, when they met mine, were blazing with theatrical fury. “I can’t believe it,” she declared, her voice ringing with manufactured disbelief. “The whole ‘real vs. fake heiress’ drama from the novels is actually happening to me.” “Nora,” she said, her voice dripping with accusation, “I know you’re upset that my parents found me. I know you’re terrified I’m here to steal the life of luxury you schemed your way into!” She pushed herself up, wincing. “But have you ever stopped to think that this was always my home? You’re the one who stole my parents, who stole eighteen years of my life! And I haven’t even blamed you yet! How dare you treat me with such hostility!” Her eyes glistened with a ‘defiant’ light, as if her every word was a righteous truth. But when did I ever steal her life? The little voice in my head scoffed. Isabelle dropped out of middle school, fantasizing about being a secret heiress. Now that her dream’s come true, she’s determined to play the part. My poor, innocent mom is being forced to swallow this crap. I gently touched my stomach, a faint flutter confirming it. There really was a baby in there, and somehow, I could hear its thoughts. While I stood there, stunned, Mr. and Mrs. Hilton rushed to Isabelle’s side, their faces etched with concern. “Isabelle, darling, get up. No one is trying to take your place.” “Nora would never push you on purpose. She has her own…” They were trying to explain my background. My grandmother and Mrs. Hilton’s mother had been the dearest of friends. When the Hiltons’ daughter vanished, my grandmother, heartbroken for her friend, had me spend time with them, even calling them ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ to comfort the grieving family. The tradition continued even after our grandmothers passed, a testament to the bond between the Hayworth and Hilton families. But Isabelle cut them off before they could finish. “Mr. Hilton, Mrs. Hilton! Stop!” she cried out. “I know that compared to a stranger like me, Nora is the one you truly have a bond with! I’m not trying to compete with her, so you don’t have to make excuses for her!” The formal address was like a knife to their hearts. They had spent years searching for their daughter, and this reunion was everything they had dreamed of. Their hearts ached for her, but I wasn’t about to be her stepping stone. “You’ve misunderstood, Isabelle,” I said, my smile vanishing. My voice was calm but firm. “I have my own parents. I have no need to steal yours.” I tilted my chin toward a security camera in the corner. “And as for whether I pushed you or you fell… the camera recorded everything.” I mimicked her earlier sarcastic tone. “I know you just got here, and you’re feeling insecure, worried you won’t be loved. But you can’t build a connection by framing others for sympathy, can you?” She wanted to play the strong, misunderstood victim. I was going to expose her pathetic little game. Isabelle’s face froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to call her out so directly, disregarding the Hiltons’ feelings. I crossed my arms, my gaze unwavering. “So, are you going to apologize, or should I have the butler pull the security footage right now?” Whoa! A tiny cheer erupted in my head. I thought Mom was going to be a pushover to keep the peace with the Hiltons, but she’s a total badass! Looks like this is gonna be an easy win! A small smile touched my lips. My mother always taught me to avoid trouble but never to run from it. Now that I had my own baby to protect, I had to be an even better role model. Isabelle’s neck stiffened, but before she could retort, the Hiltons had regained their composure. “Isabelle, dear, Nora has her own family. She just comes to stay with us from time to time,” Mrs. Hilton explained gently, trying to smooth things over. “You must have lost your balance and thought she bumped you. It’s all a misunderstanding…” They reached down to help her up, offering her an easy way out. But as soon as they touched her, she let out a pained cry, “Ouch!” Isabelle had deliberately rolled up her sleeves, revealing a canvas of horror on her arms: ugly purple bruises, the circular scars of cigarette burns, and the faded white lines of old cuts. The Hiltons gasped. Before a word of pity could escape their lips, Isabelle began to tremble violently. The next second, she threw herself at my feet, groveling. “Mom and Dad are right, it was all my fault! I was just so nervous, I thought my sister pushed me. It’s all my fault! Please, Nora, forgive me…” She seemed to have snapped, frantically slapping her own face. “It’s my fault!” “I’m so sorry! I’ll do anything to make it up to you!” “Think whatever you want of me, sister! Just please, don’t let this little incident upset Mom and Dad. Don’t make things difficult for them…” I stared at her, utterly bewildered by her sudden transformation. Did she hit her head and develop a split personality? A moment later, a diagnostic report fell out of her purse, seemingly confirming my theory. Stress-induced psychosis. Dissociative identity disorder. She really did have multiple personalities. Through her sobs, Isabelle recounted a story of abuse after being abducted. “Every time I was hurt, I wished someone would protect me… and then… ‘she’ appeared.” The weaker Isabelle collapsed into Mrs. Hilton’s arms, whispering, “She told me to hide… that she would protect me, like a parent… I know she can be harsh and sometimes lashes out… but when I had no one, she was the one who kept me safe… Mom, if she does something wrong, can you promise not to blame her?” Clutching the report, the Hiltons held her tight, their hearts breaking. “It’s okay, baby, you’re home now!” “You’re safe in your own home!” “With Mom and Dad here to protect you, no one will ever hurt you again!” Isabelle peeked at me timidly. “Nora… sister… I need to apologize to you, too. Please, be the bigger person and forgive me!” She started bowing her head to the floor again, and Mrs. Hilton’s eyes filled with tears as she tried to stop her. Mr. Hilton, however, fixed his gaze on me, his brow furrowed. “Nora, Isabelle hasn’t had the same life you have. She must have endured unimaginable horrors to become this ill. If you’re going to hold a grudge over something so small and force her to apologize… then I will apologize to you on her behalf!” He actually bowed to me, his voice holding a cold distance I’d never heard before. Mrs. Hilton was openly weeping now. “Nora, please, for the sake of all the years your father and I have cared for you, show some compassion for Isabelle. I’m begging you!” It was as if I was the one who had driven her to this state. As the Hiltons escorted Isabelle to her room, I felt like I’d been force-fed poison. But how could I argue with someone who was clearly mentally ill? I was about to say something to comfort them when I looked up and a chill ran down my spine. As Isabelle turned her head, our eyes met. A cold, mocking smirk twisted her lips. For a second, I couldn’t tell if I’d imagined it or if her other personality was back online. Just as fear began to grip me, the angry little voice in my head snapped me back to reality. Those bruises are self-inflicted! She pinched herself to look pathetic! The burns and scars are from her edgy teen phase! Mom is the one who was wrongly accused and humiliated, so why is she being treated like the bully?! I placed a hand on my roiling stomach, trying to soothe my unborn child. I didn’t know if Isabelle’s illness was real or fake, but one thing was certain: anything that upset my baby was something I needed to get away from. After all, my husband, Ethan Vance, came from a family that had given three generations to this country. When he chose to follow in their footsteps, our lives became complicated. We’d married in secret due to the classified nature of his work, and I’d longed for a child, but it never happened. To my astonishment, this little miracle was conceived just before he left for his latest mission. I would let nothing and no one disturb its peace. Besides, no matter why Isabelle was targeting me, her goal was simple: she wanted me gone. I called my assistant. “Have the villa cleaned and prepared. I can’t stay at the Hilton manor any longer.” I’d only been staying here because my parents were overseas on business and Ethan was away. It was meant to give everyone peace of mind. But the moment I announced my departure, Isabelle was the first to object. She fell to her knees before me, weeping. “Sister, are you leaving because you’re still angry with me? I know you’ve been pampered your whole life and can’t stand the slightest grievance! If you’re still upset about the other day, please, just slap me again!” She gritted her teeth, a picture of grim determination. “I’m used to being hit! I’m not afraid of pain!” Her melodramatic performance sent a ripple of murmurs through the household staff. “Miss Hayworth is so petty! Miss Isabelle is sick! How could she blame a patient?” “An adopted daughter, bullying the real one into a corner like this!” “This isn’t even her house! Who is she trying to threaten by storming out?” Isabelle’s act of noble suffering made it seem as if she were the one who had been tormented these past few days. But in reality, her constant personality-switching had been exhausting. The “strong” Isabelle claimed she wasn’t used to being “served.” “I’m not a useless parasite like Nora Hayworth! I don’t need someone to clean my room!” she’d shouted, snatching a rag from the cleaning lady and throwing it in my face. “Do it yourself! A fake heiress with a princess complex!” Then, when the Hiltons returned, she would dissolve into tears, snatching the rag from my hands and kneeling at my feet. “I’m so sorry, sister! When I get scared or stressed, I just lose control… Let me scrub the floors for you…” The “weak” Isabelle was no better. Complaining that the house lacked warmth, she invited a mob of the staff’s children into my room. They tore apart my limited-edition collectibles and rare designer toys, leaving a trail of destruction. Then she’d ask me with wide, innocent eyes, “Don’t you like children, sister? They say their innocence is healing. I just adore them.” In front of the staff, she was all gentleness. But when I coldly kicked them out, her face would contort with malice. “Toys are meant for kids to play with! Are you really going to be a bitch and fight a child for a toy, Nora?” My specially ordered prenatal supplements were “gifted” away. The gentle Isabelle would say, “Mrs. Gable’s mother is in the hospital and needs nutrition. It was an emergency… I’m so sorry, sister! Blame me!” The strong Isabelle would spit at my feet. “I know you look down on the ‘help.’ You think they don’t deserve nice things! But you’re just a leech sucking the Hiltons’ blood! What gives you the right to be such a snob?” The vintage convertible my boyfriend gave me for my birthday? The weak Isabelle “kindly” lent it to the driver’s son to impress his girlfriend. It came back with deep scratches down the side. The strong Isabelle then blocked my path, arms crossed. “The car has full insurance coverage! Just let them handle it! Why make things difficult for him? Does seeing someone suffer over a little money satisfy your rich-girl ego?” No matter which “Isabelle” was on display, her calculated acts of generosity quickly won over the staff. “The real heiress is so much better than the fake one!” they’d whisper. Now, their whispers had turned into a chorus of condemnation, solidifying my reputation as an “arrogant, entitled bully.” The weak Isabelle was sobbing, her voice thick with despair. “It’s all my fault that sister is leaving! If you have to leave to make a point, to worry Mom and Dad, then I won’t stop you! I will simply die to atone for my sins!” In front of the Hiltons, Isabelle put on a life-or-death performance. Mr. Hilton’s voice was heavy with disappointment. “Nora, you’ve always been such a sensible girl. You and Julian always got along so well.” Isabelle wasn’t their only child. They had a son, Julian. He and I were raised together by our grandmothers and were as close as real siblings. He was the main reason I ever stayed at the manor. I never expected them to welcome a newcomer while he was away on a business trip. For the first time ever, Mr. Hilton’s voice held a note of reprimand. “Why is it that when it’s your sister, you become so difficult? Isabelle just came home, full of hope, and you’ve already scared her into a relapse. Now you’re using this ‘leaving home’ stunt to terrify her even more? You know she’s ill, yet you keep pushing her! Are you really so jealous of the affection we show her? You need to remember, Nora—Isabelle is our biological daughter!” Mrs. Hilton’s eyes were full of pain. “Nora, if you insist on throwing a tantrum and leaving now, Isabelle will be consumed by guilt. Please, I’m begging you. Can’t you stop competing with your sister for attention, just for now?” I felt a furious churning in my stomach and fought back a wave of nausea. “Mr. and Mrs. Hilton,” I began, my voice steady, “it’s perfectly understandable that you dote on your long-lost daughter. But you cannot demand that I sacrifice my well-being for her. I am my parents’ treasure, too, and they would be heartbroken to know I was being mistreated.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “And if, as Isabelle claims, my presence truly puts her under so much pressure, then my leaving is the best thing for her. It will save her the daily paranoia of competing with me and prevent her condition from getting worse.” They still didn’t know me. I don’t respond to emotional blackmail. As I walked toward the door, I paused. “And Mr. and Mrs. Hilton, if you truly care about Isabelle’s well-being… you should really consider getting her a second opinion.” After leaving the Hilton manor, the little voice inside me let out a sigh. You’re not supposed to wrestle with a pig… but seeing Mom put up with so much crap still makes me furious! A smile tugged at my lips, but the baby’s sigh grew heavier. And when I think about the huge blow Mom is going to suffer at the Hilton’s recognition banquet in a few days… I wish I could just jump out right now and tell her the truth! A blow? The truth? My eyebrows shot up. I didn’t know what my little one was referring to, but after all the humiliation Isabelle had forced on me, I never said I would just let it go. A recognition banquet, you say? Sounds like the perfect stage for a comeback. According to my little informant, I had a few days. That should be more than enough time to uncover the truth my baby couldn’t tell me. Once I moved out, life without Isabelle’s constant drama was blissfully peaceful. My brother-figure, Julian, even called me. “I heard everything,” he said, his voice warm with concern. “Don’t you worry, Nora. I don’t care if she’s a Hilton—even if she were the queen of England, she can’t bully my Nora.” He suggested I unwind at a new private spa he’d opened. “Wait for me to get back, and I’ll make things right for you.” But I never imagined I’d run into my nemesis there. It was the sharp-eyed, aggressive Isabelle, her face a mask of contempt. “I almost thought you had some backbone and actually left. So my brother is keeping you on the side, is he? No wonder he called my parents, reading them the riot act. You’ve been whispering poison in his ear behind my back!” Behind her stood a gang of her ‘friends,’ who immediately cornered me. My baby informed me these were her old crew from her rougher days. A bunch of girls who used to pool their money to buy one cup of lemonade. Now that Isabelle’s hit the jackpot, they’re all riding her coattails. One of them, with nails like talons, blew a puff of smoke in my face. “So you’re the shameless fake who stole Isabelle’s place?” “You took advantage of grieving parents and leeched off them for years! You really think that makes you a lady?” another one jeered, poking my cheek. The others chimed in, their words like venomous darts. “Isabelle is the real daughter! She comes home and has to walk on eggshells around a fraud like you!” “I hear you were all buddy-buddy with the young master, Julian, calling him ‘brother.’ How come you’re so threatened by a real sister?” “You’re a woman, yet you’re pulling this pathetic mean-girl crap! You have no shame!” “Did you think you could push Isabelle around because she just got back and doesn’t have anyone to back her up? Well, think again! We’re here now, and we won’t let you bully her!” Isabelle glanced at a nearby security camera and gave her friends a subtle nod. “Take her to a private room.” Mom! Run!

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1 I am bound to a transmigration system for the terminally ill. My new home is the body of Seraphina Vance, the universally despised ‘real’ heiress. Everyone in this family adores Pearl, the girl they lovingly raised for sixteen years. My three new brothers, terrified I’ll steal what is rightfully Pearl’s, greet me only with scorn. My biological parents, desperate to shield Pearl from any hurt my presence might cause, lavish her with affection. No one ever considered my feelings. They saw my craving for love as a threat, as jealousy. And then, I was dying. And then, my second brother found the diary I kept hidden under my pillow. And their world shattered. I woke up as Seraphina Vance, six months after she’d been brought home by the wealthy Vance family. On my very first day, a plate of food was thrown in my face. Scalding curry sauce streamed from my cheek to my neck, and meatballs rolled from my dress onto the floor. The heat was searing. I stared blankly at the boy in front of me, my dark eyes empty of emotion. The others at the table were stunned into silence by his outburst. “Neo, what the hell are you doing?” Mrs. Vance cried out. A flicker of regret crossed Neo’s face, but his words were a lash of accusation. “It’s her fault! She has that dead-inside look on her face all the time. Pearl was talking to her, couldn’t she hear?” At the mention of her name, Pearl’s face crumpled with guilt. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize this was because of me…” She turned to me, her expression a mask of apology. “My brother didn’t mean it, Sera. Can I apologize to you on his behalf?” Neo bristled. “Why are you apologizing to her? Who does she think she is? Pearl, don’t waste your time on her!” A faint, bitter smile touched my lips. I wondered the same thing. In their eyes, who was the girl whose body I now inhabited? I looked at Pearl, surrounded by her three adoring brothers, a vision in a pristine white dress, her hair styled to perfection. And then there was me, stained yellow with curry, the smell of cheap takeout clinging to me. Pearl. The pearl of the family. A name that was never meant to be hers. I ignored her. I picked up the lone meatball that had landed on my lap, mixed it with the sauce still on my lips, and swallowed. It didn’t taste like I remembered. I stood up. “I’m full. Thank you for the meal. I’m going to my room.” As I turned, I met the worried gaze of the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. I offered her a small, tight smile. Silence descended upon the dining room. Mr. and Mrs. Vance’s faces were grim. My eldest brother, Liam, spoke, his voice low and stern. “Neo, you went too far this time. Seraphina did nothing wrong.” In my old world, I was already dead. Stomach cancer, terminal stage. I died at eighteen. The pain had been unbearable. I died alone. Except for that single meatball, I hadn’t eaten solid food in nearly three months. Perhaps the system took pity on me, bringing me here. This body had stomach cancer, too. But it wasn’t yet at the point of no return. The system told me the original girl, Seraphina, had killed herself with sleeping pills today. The constant abdominal pain and coughing up blood had made her realize something was terribly wrong. But she was too scared to tell the Vance family, afraid of being a burden, afraid of making them hate her even more. So she chose to simply leave this world. She was so foolish. The Vances were powerful. With proper treatment, she might have had a chance. What an ironic family. Their biological daughter had been home for six months, and they never even noticed she was seriously ill. “Why did you bring me here?” I asked the silence. To another girl who shared my fate. An orphan from birth. A victim of stomach cancer. Perhaps she was luckier than me, reunited with her birth parents at sixteen. Or perhaps she was far more unfortunate, dying before she ever experienced a single moment of unconditional love. The system was silent. “Did my arrival make the symptoms worse?” I asked, tasting the metallic tang of blood in my throat. “Yes,” the system’s voice was mechanical. “Just like with your original body, you likely won’t make it past eighteen…” “But if you undergo treatment…” “Don’t treat it,” I said flatly. It didn’t matter. I was going to die anyway. Besides, I didn’t want to live. In the middle of the night, the pain in my stomach was excruciating, and I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. It felt just like my previous life, curled into a ball, staring into the darkness until dawn. My throat was parched. I crept downstairs in the dark, looking for water, and ran into my second brother, Caleb, in the living room. Caleb was a professional gamer; it was normal for him to be up at two or three in the morning. He noticed me immediately, his expression souring. He was the quietest of the Vances. In the six months Seraphina had been here, he’d never once looked at her with anything other than disdain. I ignored him. My very presence seemed to annoy him. I hunched over, making my way to the kitchen, unaware of the shock on Caleb’s face. In the dim glow of the living room’s nightlight, he could clearly see the sweat beading on my forehead, my lips drained of color. Except for the angry red burn on my cheek, the rest of my face was a terrifying, waxy white. I was so used to the ghastly complexion caused by my illness that I paid it no mind. I leaned against the sink, trying to catch my breath, when a wave of nausea rose in my throat. I coughed, and blood splattered into the basin. “Gahk—” The force of it brought tears to my eyes. A noise from the doorway told me Caleb had followed me in. I quickly turned on the faucet, washing the blood down the drain, and cupped my hands to drink some cold tap water. I heard Caleb’s deep voice behind me. “You should drink warm water. Cold water will mess up your stomach.” I mumbled a soft “mm,” keeping my head down, and tried to slip past him. The original Seraphina had barely spoken to him, and I had no desire to get entangled with this family. But his hand shot out and gripped my wrist. I turned my head, my voice raspy. “Caleb? Do you need something?” Up close, he could see the burn on my cheek more clearly. He frowned, silent for a moment. “Why haven’t you treated that burn?” His expression was one of impatience. He probably thought it was just another pathetic ploy for attention. I pulled my wrist free, nodding vaguely. “Right. I’m going back to bed.” As I left, Caleb, his brow still furrowed, flipped on the kitchen light. Though the blood was diluted, his sharp eyes caught the faint crimson streaks left behind in the sink… The next morning, I bumped into Neo at the top of the stairs. As the third brother, he was the most hostile. He and Pearl were close in age and had the deepest bond. To his young, simplistic mind, the sister he had cherished and protected his whole life was being replaced. This newcomer was here to steal everything that belonged to Pearl. He directed all his frustration onto his real sister, blaming her for disrupting their perfect life, never realizing that she was the most innocent one of all. Neo’s eyes darted away when he saw the prominent burn on my face. He said nothing, stubbornly waiting for me to greet him first. I didn’t even glance at him. I just walked around him and continued down the stairs. “You’re a grown girl, can’t you take care of a simple burn?” Mr. Vance’s voice was cold. “What will people think if you walk around looking like that?” He was a traditional patriarch, more concerned with profit than family. He was only worried I would embarrass him. After all, in his eyes, I was a useless girl, brought back for six months, with no discernible talents in arts or music, abysmal grades, and no value to exploit. Mrs. Vance’s expression was equally disapproving. I laughed internally. If it had been Pearl, she would have been rushed to the hospital immediately. But last night, not a single person had come to check on my burn, or to see if I was hungry after eating so little. Their favoritism was blatant and absolute. “There’s no first-aid kit in my room,” I stated simply. The Vances fell silent. In their mansion, the family’s rooms were fully stocked with every amenity. But when they brought me back, they had put their biological daughter in a guest room. And a guest room, naturally, had the bare minimum. I even had to use the public bathroom down the hall. Not one of them had ever suggested I be given a proper room. Seeing the red, angry mark on the face that so closely resembled her own, Mrs. Vance felt a momentary pang of unease. If Pearl had so much as a scratch, the entire family would flock to her side. Why was her real daughter so quiet, so… unlovable? “Well, you should have said something if it was that serious,” Neo muttered defensively. A sharp pain began to pulse in my upper abdomen. I instinctively bent over, the taste of blood rising in my throat again. I clutched the strap of my backpack. “I’m leaving for school,” I rasped. Neo frowned. For a second, he thought there was something strange about the way I was standing… Seraphina had been transferred to the same school as Neo and Pearl. But Pearl refused to ride in the same car as her, terrified someone would discover she wasn’t a real Vance. So, Seraphina always went to school alone. And for the past six months, thanks to Pearl’s subtle instigation, she had been a target of constant bullying. But the foolish girl had endured it all in silence, probably knowing that even if she spoke up, no one would care. Her family certainly wouldn’t believe that their perfect Pearl was behind it. I had just pulled my textbook from my desk when I saw the fake cockroach glued to the cover. The girls who were waiting for my reaction were already trying to stifle their smirks. If I were the original Seraphina, I would have swallowed my fear and anger. But for me, dealing with this kind of nonsense was second nature. I had come to this world to die in peace. But if they insisted on provoking me, I was no pushover. I grabbed the textbook, cockroach and all, and marched over to the nearest girl who was enjoying the show. I slapped it across her face. Before she could scream, I dumped the contents of her desk onto the floor and found her copy of the same book. Seraphina had always been a quiet, invisible presence in class. Today, with my burned cheek, I had already drawn more attention than usual. This sudden explosion of aggression silenced the entire room. The girl, recovering from the shock, lunged at me, her nails like claws. I grabbed her by the hair, my voice cold. “I’ll let the past slide. But don’t ever mess with me again.” I shoved her away and went back to my desk, slumping over it. It wasn’t just the dull ache in my stomach; a wave of nausea was washing over me. The girl wasn’t finished. She raised her hand to slap me, but her wrist was caught in a firm grip. “You’re noisy,” said Jax Ryder, the boy who sat behind me. His handsome, rebellious face was dark with annoyance. The girl froze. Jax was the undisputed king of the school. His family was powerful, and no one dared to cross him. She scurried back to her seat, exchanging knowing glances with her friends. Pain shot through me. I bit down hard on my lip, trying to fight back the nausea, my forehead beaded with cold sweat. My brow was furrowed in agony. This wasn’t right. The cancer shouldn’t have progressed this quickly. This felt like the mid-to-late stages. The next thing I knew, the world tilted as I was swept into the air. The screech of my chair scraping against the floor made everyone turn to look. I struggled weakly in Jax’s arms, but he held me tight. The tall, lean boy seemed to have an endless supply of strength. “Stop moving,” he grumbled. He seemed to be seeing me for the first time. “I thought you were just a timid little mouse. Guess even rabbits bite when they’re cornered.” As he carried me down the hall, he sighed. “How are you so light?” We hadn’t even reached the nurse’s office when Neo appeared, blocking our path. His face was contorted with rage. “Seraphina, are you that desperate?” he sneered. “Ditching class to hook up with some guy? I guess you can’t expect someone with no upbringing to have any class. You’re nothing like Pearl.”

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As the poorest scholarship student at Aethelgard Preparatory Academy, I took up livestreaming to make ends meet. Somehow, in the annual “Campus Prince” poll, I ended up in first place. And then Aimee Monroe, the daughter of the school’s biggest benefactor, made a grand, school-wide spectacle of asking me out. Just like that, she was my girlfriend. “Aimee, if that pretty boy finds out you’re just using him for a bet, he’ll be heartbroken.” Aimee scoffed. “If it wasn’t to piss off Ethan, who would even look at him?” A clique of heiresses, all trying to avenge their dear friend Ethan. They made a bet: whoever got a nude photo of me first would win a million dollars. A month later, Aimee told me the sports car was a rental, and that she was actually broke. My eyes welled with tears. “Babe! It’s okay. I’ll take care of you!” That night, I went live wearing a crisp white shirt and a black vest, a pitiable look on my face. “I have to buy my girl a sports car,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “So she can take me for a drive.” The chat exploded. Been saying that girl of his was bad news. Thought she was some heiress, turns out she’s just a poser. Broke and pathetic, and she lied about owning a Maserati! What a bitch! I let a small, grateful smile touch my lips. “Thank you, AAA_Cathy, for the Constellation gift.” Just out of frame, Aimee’s face was turning a pale shade of green. Every single one of the top donators had a username she knew all too well. 1. If being handsome were a crime, I’d be serving a life sentence. My family was dirt poor. The year things got really bad, when we could barely afford to eat, a talent scout spotted me. I did a magazine shoot and earned my first real paycheck. After covering household expenses, every cent was gone. We were still three hundred thousand dollars in debt for medical bills. So I accepted the full ride to Aethelgard Prep. Scholarship students paid nothing. Better yet, participating in campus activities, big or small, came with hefty cash prizes. On the first day of school, I started a livestream: My Daily Grind. I cranked up the beauty filter so high that someone took a screenshot and posted it on the school forum. What does he actually look like? Drop the filter settings. The wall behind him is literally warped. Who is paying to vote this guy with the razor-sharp chin onto the Campus Prince list? He’s actually really good-looking! I’ve seen him in person. Lmao, is he paying for bots in the comment section now? Heard he’s a scholarship kid. Which sugar mama is funding his campaign? Curious, I clicked on the poll. The photo of my filtered, uncanny-valley face was ranked thirteenth. Number one was Ethan Vance, with a sun-drenched, handsome shot of himself on the basketball court. And below, in fine print: the top three winners would receive a prize of one hundred thousand dollars. I silently started my stream, maxed out the beauty filter, and wrote a new caption: “A face so handsome it can bend space-time.” All hell broke loose. I was the laughingstock of the entire campus. But then, the coffee shop where I worked was suddenly packed to the rafters. Everyone, driven by a morbid curiosity, wanted to see the real-life freak with the reality-warping face. The manager was ecstatic. To keep the customers coming, she strictly forbade anyone from taking my picture. If they wanted to see me, they had to come in person. The forum split into three factions: one camp trashing my looks, one camp praising my handsome face, and a third camp of trolls who just wanted to watch the world burn, voting for me just for the chaos of it all. In the end, with a devil-may-care smirk, my distorted, filtered photo claimed the top spot. Hell yes. Ten grand in my first week of school. Ethan Vance stormed into the coffee shop, his handsome features twisting in rage the moment he saw my real face. “You… you shameless, scheming bastard!” He threw his coffee straight at my head, his eyes glinting with a vicious light. Gasps echoed around the shop, but no one stepped in. The Vance family was powerful. No one here dared to cross them. A wad of cash fluttered down from above. The rich boy sneered. “You broke piece of trash. This isn’t over.” I said nothing, just quietly bent down to pick up the money from the floor. My livestream was still running. Ethan’s face, grotesquely twisted by the same beauty filter, was now broadcast for the entire school to see. I turned the filter off, revealing my unfiltered, striking features to the camera. “Sorry you all had to see that.” I’m no saint with a pretty face. On the contrary, I hold a grudge like no one else. This kind of petty power play? I’d seen it all before. The stream was silent for a moment before a wave of gift donations flooded the screen, a cascade of digital comfort. Ethan had been trying to build a brand as the charming, popular campus athlete. After this little fiasco, he saw my popularity soar even higher and was so furious he skipped school for three days. The manager pulled me aside, her expression worried. “These people are on another level, Leo. You’re just a scholarship kid. You can’t afford to make enemies with any of them.” I nodded obediently, tugging at my sleeve. “We need the money at home. I’ll be more careful.” She knew about my situation. An abusive father, a frail, sick mother. She glanced at the old bruises on my arm and sighed, offering a piece of advice. “Sometimes, you know, it doesn’t hurt to play the victim a little.” I forced a shy smile. All these marks, I always told people they were from falling down. Playing the victim now would be too obvious, it might even backfire. Knowing the elite, they wouldn’t let this go. That was a card I had to save for last. 2. Once the Campus Prince poll ended, the buzz around my work-stream started to fade. Watching you work all the time is getting boring, streamer. Can you do a talent show or something? Don’t be so proud. With a face like that, you could just strum a guitar and get followers. Just another pretty face. Nothing interesting here. Unfollowing. My viewer count stabilized at around a hundred loyal fans, mostly here for my looks, all of them more worried about my channel than I was. I wasn’t panicking. I just kept to my routine. I had a feeling that rich boy, Ethan, was about to bring me a “surprise.” Logically, in a school like this, being poor was the real anomaly. But today, I’d somehow run into three beautiful, broke girls. The first told me she was an orphan and laid on a thick sob story, but she was wearing a Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet. The second was a senior, her white dress faded from countless washes, who claimed she was also on scholarship, but the shoes on her feet cost eight hundred dollars. The last one was dressed head-to-toe in no-name brands, but she’d never even heard of Amazon. When things are this strange, something wicked is brewing. I turned down all their advances, cold and detached. Around the corner from the coffee shop, I heard familiar voices. What a coincidence. It was the three “broke” beauties I’d just rejected. “Ethan said Leo was a total gold digger who would never go for a poor girl. I confessed today and, surprise surprise, he shot me down.” “Me too. What’s with the high-and-mighty act? It’s obvious he only wants someone with money.” “Ugh, same here. I asked him to show me how to use Amazon, and he said it was too much trouble. I mentioned I couldn’t afford designer brands, and he just walked away.” Just then, a woman with an electrifying presence walked into the shop. She was stunningly beautiful, with a figure that could stop traffic. I recognized her. Aimee Monroe. She’d caused a stir on the first day of school, pulling up in a supercar, looking like a goddess. Ethan, decked out in designer streetwear, trailed behind her, his eyes red-rimmed. “How can a guy like that get worshiped as a Campus Prince? It’s a total embarrassment for me!” “I told you all he was a pretty boy for hire, but you didn’t believe me. You had to go and confess. You believe me now, right?” “You guys have to help me expose him!” Aimee casually draped an arm over his shoulder, a playful glint in her eye. “And how exactly do you want us to help?” Ethan’s voice was a mix of childish spite and venom. “Leo’s so handsome, and he has no money. To look that good, he must have a bunch of sugar mamas on the side.” “I’ve seen marks on him, like from… hooking up. He claims he just fell.” “Once we expose his true colors, we’ll get a nude photo of him and blast it all over the forums!” They laid out a detailed plan. Aimee would lure me in with money, then, after a month, pretend her family had gone bankrupt. The other heiresses, still pretending to be poor, would then reveal their wealth, trying to seduce me into a compromising position so they could get their picture. Finally, Aimee would expose the whole thing online. They would solidify my reputation as a two-timing gold digger, utterly ruining me. The heiresses started a betting pool. The first one to get the photo would win a million dollars. Aimee’s captivating eyes held a flicker of boredom. “Not much of a challenge. What if he actually falls for me? He’ll be impossible to get rid of.” Someone patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Pretty boys only love money.” I smiled. The next day, when the group of heiresses appeared at the coffee shop, I was ready. I’d changed into a clean, white shirt, the top button artfully undone. Carrying a tray of steaming coffee, I pretended to stumble, crashing right into Aimee. She winced in pain, but before she could show her annoyance, she noticed her so-called best friends had all scattered. Her eyes met mine, and recognition dawned, her pupils shrinking slightly. I clumsily tried to wipe the coffee off her, letting the cup slip from my hand and crash onto her expensive high heels. Aimee let out a stifled groan. My eyes went wide with panic, my expression a perfect mask of helplessness and guilt. “I’m so sorry. Your shoes… they look expensive.” “I just got paid today.” “I… I don’t know if my wages will be enough to cover it.” The other girls were watching from a distance, soaking in the drama. Aimee, gritting her teeth against the pain, put on a magnanimous air. “It’s fine. They were only eight thousand.” “You don’t have to pay me back. But I was wondering if I could have the honor of buying you a coffee?” I feigned a moment of stunned silence, my eyes lingering on her eight-thousand-dollar shoes. I didn’t recognize the brand. Probably custom-made. Aimee couldn’t be bothered to waste any more time. She told me it was love at first sight. As she “casually” let her Maserati keys dangle from her fingers, a subtle display of her immense wealth, I put on my most innocent, harmless smile. “Okay,” I said. Aimee shot a triumphant look at her friends. Her pursuit was anything but subtle. Every day, I was greeted with imported flowers, chauffeured in sports cars, and showered with luxury goods. Ignoring the cold indifference in her eyes, I accepted every single gift. I’d offer her a few sweet nothings each day, but the rest of my time was still spent diligently working my part-time job and livestreaming. Aimee was more than happy that I didn’t have time to cling to her, only sending perfunctory texts: Don’t work too hard. You have me to take care of you now. 3. I was sweating inside a giant teddy bear costume, handing out flyers. When I spotted a familiar group, I slowly shuffled after them. They were plotting so loudly they never noticed a large, furry bear eavesdropping nearby. Aimee was boasting to her friends. “What untouchable god? He came running with a snap of my fingers.” “Did you see it? I didn’t even have to do anything. He just threw himself at me in that white shirt.” Another heiress giggled. “He’s got a good eye, knows how to pick a big fish. You must be spending a fortune on him, Aimee.” Aimee clicked her tongue. “It’s nothing. The watch I gave him is a fake anyway. He’s just a pretty boy, easy to fool. He wears knock-offs himself.” “Just don’t let Ethan get jealous and start another scene.” A wicked smile played on her lips. “In a little while, I’ll tell him my family’s gone bankrupt and we’re three million in debt. Let’s see how long he keeps up the act.” Cathy, the girl with the Van Cleef bracelet, raised an eyebrow. “Who do you think he’ll try to hook up with first among us?” Victoria, the one who didn’t know Amazon, sneered. “He’ll probably try for all of us. He’d do anything for money.” “Don’t get mad, Aimee. We’re just doing this for Ethan.” Aimee let out a cold laugh, her voice dripping with disdain. “Who cares about him? It’s not like he’s actually my boyfriend.” The other girls, all of whom I’d rejected, were still holding a grudge. In all my time with Aimee, I hadn’t given them a second glance, a deep wound to their fragile, aristocratic egos. Now, they were more convinced than ever that I was a gold digger who would do anything for a price. I ambled over in my bear costume, pretending to be just passing by, and placed a flyer in each of their hands. Patek Philippe Nautilus—perfect 1:1 replica for only $999. Top-tier super-clones, satisfaction guaranteed. Aimee playfully patted my costume’s shoulder, bragging to her friends, “I got my watch from this place. Even Ethan couldn’t tell the difference at first. You should have seen that pretty boy Leo’s face when he got it. He was so happy.” The others were intrigued. “We should give him fake watches too when we make our move.” “Let’s buy a few, just make sure we don’t get the same model.” “He’s so obsessed with money. He’ll be devastated when he finds out.” Using a burner account, I added each of the heiresses as a contact. These arrogant girls couldn’t be bothered to wonder who was inside the costume. They just picked their watches and told me to deliver them to their dorms. Ten payments of $999 hit my bank account. I was starting to see just how easy it was to make money here. I immediately contacted the actual replica dealer and sent him ten payments of $99. “Boss, I need these models, rush delivery!” A clean ninety-thousand-dollar profit in one day. Nice. Aethelgard was crawling with rich people; you couldn’t walk ten feet without bumping into an heiress. Aimee had been deliberately vague about her identity. Now, the whole school knew that some mysterious, wealthy girl was passionately pursuing the handsome but poor scholarship student. I placed the fake watch from Aimee in the most conspicuous spot in my dorm room. My roommate, Julian, also a rich kid, eyed the watch with a sneer. “That thing doesn’t look real. Some girls are masters at faking it.” Compared to his own authentic model from the boutique, the engravings and hands on my watch looked crude. My face fell, my voice laced with disappointment. “Honestly, I don’t care about her money. It’s just… this is the first time a girl has ever liked me this much.” Julian scanned me from head to toe and rolled his eyes. “God, you’re hopeless. Fine, whatever. Not my problem. Just win these next few matches for me in-game, and I’ll give you these limited-edition sneakers.” I beamed, accepting the new shoes. Julian looked away, flustered. “Wipe that sycophantic smile off your face! I’m only helping you because I can’t stand Ethan Vance.” He then added a warning. “I’ve heard that everyone who’s crossed Ethan before ended up being forced to transfer. If you get into any trouble, don’t you dare try to handle it alone.” I nodded meekly. 4. The girls of Aethelgard had seen their fair share of handsome men. I wasn’t banking on them falling for me just because of my face. Using my burner account, I meticulously scoured the social media profiles of the “poor” heiresses, digging up their likes and dislikes. They all ran in the same circle as Aimee. Later, when they were buying the fake watches, each one had asked which model Aimee got before ordering a more expensive one. These women pretending to be poor had one major benefit for me. To flirt with them, I didn’t have to grovel or play the subordinate. All I had to do was exude my natural charm. After confirming that each heiress harbored a strange sense of rivalry with Aimee, I stopped ignoring them. I even secretly added them as friends. They were all a little surprised. According to their plan, as a gold digger, I should have only shown interest after they revealed their wealth. But these morally bankrupt women felt no shame about trying to steal their friend’s boyfriend. In public, they’d join their friends in calling me a pretty boy, but in private, their messages were syrupy sweet and full of confessions. For the sake of the bet, they were using every trick in the book to get close to me. Every day, my phone was flooded with photos of beautiful women from every conceivable angle. It was easy on the eyes and saved me a lot of effort. Since they were pretending to be poor, they had nothing to offer me but their looks. On the very first day after I officially started dating Aimee, I sent a mass message to the other three. The truth is, I really like you. But I’m too poor, and I didn’t want you to have a hard life with me. That’s why I rejected you. But now, I have a way to support you!

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The million-dollar deal was dead, and for the first time, Caleb turned his fury on me. In front of the entire office, he tore me to shreds. When we got home that night, his tone was cold and clinical. “At work, there’s no room for personal feelings. You screwed up. It’s your fault.” My phone buzzed. It was a text from his new favorite intern, his junior from college. Clara, I’m so, so sorry. It’s all my fault the deal fell through. Caleb bought me a cupcake to cheer me up—it’s actually really good. Should I order one for you? The next morning, Caleb mechanically scraped the breakfast I’d made into the trash. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t eat breakfast.” Later at the office, Brenda from the next cubicle leaned over, a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “That new intern has some nerve. She actually went up and talked to Mr. Hayes this morning. Even brought him a coffee and a bagel. And you know what? He not only ate it, he told her it was good.” I was so done. Forget it. On my phone, another man was still trying his best to poach me. “Hey, if all else fails, I’m not above being the homewrecker. Say the word.” I pressed my lips together. No need for that, I texted back. You’re getting a promotion. 1 One second, I was handing my resignation letter to HR. The next, I was being summoned to Caleb’s office. The moment I walked in, a cup of coffee hit me square in the chest. The force of it felt like a slap to the face, stinging my skin. Over on the leather sofa, a woman was crying, her eyes red-rimmed, the picture of pitiable innocence. “Caleb, please don’t blame Clara,” she sobbed. “It’s my fault. I was responsible for that deal falling through, too. I’m the one who should be leaving, not her.” Caleb’s voice was thick with a rage I rarely saw him display. And it was, once again, because of Jenna. “Is this because I criticized you yesterday? Are you trying to pressure Jenna by running to HR and threatening to quit?” he snarled. “You were her supervisor. Botching that deal was your responsibility. How dare you shift the blame onto her?!” “Do you have any idea what people in the office are saying about her now? They’re saying you couldn’t stand working with the ‘disruptive intern’ and that she drove you out! I want you to go out there right now and clear the air!” I thought he might actually be upset about his girlfriend of seven years leaving him. I should have known better. He was just worried that after I left, people would look down on his precious Jenna. Jenna sniffled dramatically, blew her nose into a tissue, and casually tossed the snot-filled wad onto the other end of the sofa. Caleb’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. After a three-second pause, he walked over, picked up the tissue with his fingertips, and dropped it into the trash can. I froze. A tight, sharp pain clenched around my heart and spread through my chest. In our second year together, we were at home watching Hachi: A Dog’s Tale. I was a wreck, sobbing uncontrollably, tears and snot everywhere. He shoved me out of his arms in disgust. “Sorry, I’m a germaphobe. You need to clean yourself up.” He then disappeared into the bathroom and scrubbed himself from head to toe, at least three times over, as if he’d just touched something contagious. A cold laugh escaped my lips. So, his germaphobia was selective. I took a long, hard look at Caleb. “I’m resigning because I don’t want to work here anymore. It has nothing to do with anything else.” He didn’t believe me. “Then why today? Why not yesterday or tomorrow? It has to be about the deal.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low threat. “Clara, don’t you dare pull your petty little games on Jenna. If you do, don’t blame me for forgetting our history.” I sighed, feeling none of my usual desire to argue with him. When it came to Caleb, my emotions were like a sieve. They poured in and drained right back out. He had been there when the deal imploded. We were at the final stage, the client had all but agreed to our terms. Then Jenna burst in, insisting on personally toasting the CEO. The CEO was already visibly annoyed. But she acted like she couldn’t see it. A brand-new intern, forcing a CEO to drink with her—I still don’t know where she got the audacity. When the CEO lost his temper, I held her back and plastered on a smile, apologizing profusely. I told her to drink three shots as an apology, but she burst into tears, louder than anyone. “Clara, why are you doing this to me? Women shouldn’t tear each other down! Why do you always force me to do things I don’t want to do?” At the time, Caleb’s face was so dark he looked murderous. I thought it was because of the deal we’d just lost. I never imagined it was because I’d told Jenna to apologize. I was just so tired. “I’m not playing games, Caleb. Let’s break up.” Without waiting for his thunderous expression to change, I turned, gathered my things, and walked out of the company. Back at our apartment, I started packing. This was the downside of breaking up—so much stuff, it would take forever to pack. Suddenly, my hand froze. In the back of a drawer, I found a pair of red stockings that weren’t mine. They were torn to shreds, a testament to a very eager, passionate encounter. I tossed them into the trash, snapped a photo, and sent it to Caleb. My phone was already buzzing with his texts, full of explanations I didn’t bother to read. Instead, I dialed another number. “Didn’t you say you wanted a promotion?” 2 On the other end of the line, Wyatt was practically screaming with excitement. He offered to come help me move, but I turned him down. If Caleb saw him, I was afraid he’d start a fight. It was better to keep things simple. I had a condo on the west side of town. Once this month’s bonus came in, I could finally pay off the mortgage completely. I would finally have a place of my own. The thought warmed me, chasing away some of the chill. The doorbell rang. I thought it was the movers and opened the door to find Caleb standing there. For a second, I was so surprised I thought I was imagining things. Last year, my appendix burst. I was in so much pain I passed out. I called him, begging him to come home and take me to the hospital. His voice was ice. “I’m at work, Clara. You’re a grown woman. Can’t you dial 911?” But last week, when Jenna spilled some warm water on her leg at the office and yelped in pain, he had scooped her up in his arms in front of everyone and driven her to the hospital himself. He never left work early. Unless it was for Jenna. She was the exception to all his rules. I guess today I was lucky enough to be an exception, too. His eyes scanned the packed boxes, and a flicker of panic, barely perceptible, crossed his face. “What is this?! What are you doing? Are you trying to force my hand by threatening to break up?” “Didn’t you see my texts? I explained everything. Jenna left those here by accident. It was raining that day, so I told her to come up for some ginger tea. Her stockings got snagged, so she just changed before she left.” I narrowed my eyes, thinking back. That was the week before last, when I was on a business trip. I’d flown back into a torrential downpour and asked him to pick me up from the airport. He’d said he was working late and told me to get a cab. When I got home, I saw the half-finished mug of ginger tea on the coffee table. I thought he’d made it for me. Turns out I was just drinking someone else’s leftovers. Maybe the same thought occurred to him, because his expression turned awkward. “Don’t overthink it.” I shook my head, my face calm. “I’m not. It doesn’t matter anymore.” A strange look crossed Caleb’s face. He stared at me for a long time. Finally, his voice was raspy, testing the waters. “Why aren’t you angry anymore?” So he knew I’d been angry before. He just hadn’t cared. Instead, he’d always scolded me, called me petty, said I had a dirty mind that saw the worst in everything. I was about to tell him I was moving out when his phone rang. It was Jenna, crying hysterically on the other end, claiming someone was bullying her. Caleb shot me a furious glare and sneered. “So this is your game. Nice move, Clara.” Before I could figure out what was happening, he grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, and hauled me out to his car. The car smelled of a woman’s perfume. It was the same scent Jenna wore. Dangling from the rearview mirror was a cute little monster keychain, the same one as Jenna’s profile picture. I hadn’t been in his car since I started working at his company. He’d said he didn’t want people to gossip, so we had kept our entire relationship a secret. The territory that had once been off-limits to me was now completely occupied by someone else. I no longer felt that familiar ache in my chest. There was only a dull sense of inevitability. The moment we arrived at the office, Caleb roughly yanked me out of the car. My heel twisted, and I fell to the ground. He acted as if he didn’t even see it, letting out a cold laugh. “What’s with the act?” He grabbed me by the back of my collar and dragged me into the building like a bag of trash. 3 He dragged me all the way to my old desk. My wrists and knees were scraped and bleeding. I was on all fours on the floor, like a stray dog. Caleb pulled Jenna into a protective embrace, his voice a low warning to the onlookers. “I don’t care who put you up to this, but this is still my company, not Clara’s. Bullying an intern is not acceptable.” “If you want to keep your jobs, you’ll show me where your loyalties lie.” Brenda’s face was white as a sheet. She stood frozen, not daring to move. She had already texted me on the way over. After I left, Jenna was assigned to her team. An intern who loved to slack off and cut corners—what good could she possibly be? She’d messed up a simple lunch order for a client, and Brenda had said a few words to her. That was all it took for Jenna to call Caleb and tattle. Jenna buried her face in Caleb’s chest, the two of them oblivious to the world. “Caleb, I don’t even know what I did… I just saw the client was a little overweight, so I ordered him a salad. And Brenda just started yelling at me…” Caleb stroked her hair, promising to get her justice. His cold eyes swept across the room. “I know Clara was good friends with many of you. You saw she left, and you wanted to stand up for her. But she left because of her own professional failure, because she was too ashamed to stay. It has nothing to do with Jenna.” “I’ll say it one more time. Show me you want to be here, or you can all get the hell out.” Everyone’s face paled. They all understood his ultimatum. Amy, a junior associate I had personally trained, walked up to me. She squeezed her eyes shut, whispered, “I’m sorry,” and slapped me across the face. Caleb stood there, unmoved. “And the rest of you?” A line formed. One after another, they stepped forward, slapping me. Some were people I had helped, others were people who had helped me… Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. My head was spinning, my ears were ringing, and the world was starting to go fuzzy. Jenna let out a giggle. “Caleb, look at her. She’s so pathetic. She looks like a swollen pig.” Caleb’s eyes were like ice. His words were even colder. “Someone this manipulative, who only knows how to play office politics, doesn’t deserve to be in our company.” “Her resignation is denied. She’s fired. And this year’s bonus is forfeited. It will be transferred to Jenna.” My eyes widened in disbelief. Rage, like a spider’s web, spread through my body, trapping my heart. “Caleb! I earned that! On what grounds?!” Company policy was to calculate bonuses based on the projects each person landed. From negotiations and drafting proposals to closing the deal and haggling with clients, I had done it all myself. To secure one more percentage point, I had drunk until the early hours of the morning. That bonus… that was the money I was going to use to pay off my mortgage. My parents divorced when I was young. Neither of them wanted me. They passed me back and forth like a soccer ball. I was left with my uncle, whose wife hated me. She was always threatening to kick me out if I didn’t behave. As a result, I grew up with a deep-seated fear of having nowhere to go. After I got with Caleb, I clung to him desperately, terrified he would leave me. I had to know where he was at all times. But even the most passionate love can be extinguished. I started putting my faith in money. I would use it to buy a house of my own. That way, if Caleb and I ever broke up, if he kicked me out, I wouldn’t be homeless. I worked like a madwoman, scraping together a down payment. All these years, I had scrimped and saved to make the mortgage payments. The stress was immense. I was losing hair, finding gray strands far too early. Caleb saw it all. He knew exactly how much this bonus meant to me. But now, his voice was mocking. “On the grounds that I own this company. And on the grounds that you bullied Jenna. You owe her this as compensation!” The words were stuck in my throat. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach, rising up my esophagus. A fifty-thousand-dollar bonus. He handed it over to an intern who had done nothing, just like that. I gritted my teeth against the dizziness as Caleb’s security guards threw me out of the building. The moment I was outside, a text from him arrived. What happened today was your fault. When I didn’t reply, another one came through. Fine, maybe I went a little too far. But that was because you showed Jenna no mercy. She’s my junior, after all. When you let people bully her like that, of course I’m going to get angry. I’m leaving for a business trip tomorrow. To France. That new bag you wanted is launching there. How about I buy it for you to make it up to you? He didn’t know that just a minute earlier, Jenna had already posted on her Instagram story. “Someone’s pulling some strings and taking me on his business trip, just because I said I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower~ Such a good boy~” I blocked them both without a second thought. A week later, Caleb returned from his trip. He held the new designer bag in his hand, a nervous feeling churning in his gut. He had planned to be gone for three days, but Jenna had dragged him from one sight to another, and he had completely forgotten to let Clara know. He’d come back today hoping to surprise her. The thought of Clara waiting for him at home warmed him, and he quickened his pace. He pushed open the door, calling her name twice. Silence. The boxes Clara had packed were gone. Everything that belonged to her was gone. Caleb’s breath hitched. His face went white. An unbelievable thought clawed its way into his mind. 4 A massive wave of panic washed over him. “No…” He knew how much Clara cared about him. Over the years, she had brought up marriage more than once. When a woman does that, it means she’s decided to spend her life with you. That’s why Caleb had always seen her as a sure thing. He never worried she would leave. All he had to do was say the word, and Clara would drop everything to meet him at the courthouse. Where else could she go? She had cut ties with her parents long ago. She was in touch with her uncle occasionally, but she knew his wife didn’t like her, so she would never go there. What about that small condo she’d bought with her down payment? Caleb’s eyes lit up for a second. He grabbed the bag and drove towards the west side of town. But when he got there, he stopped. Where was her condo? He didn’t know. A flash of annoyance crossed his face. He’d never thought she would actually move into that little place, so he had never bothered to learn the address. She had asked for his opinion when she was buying it, but he had just glanced at the brochure and said he didn’t know. And now, he had no way of finding her. It was only when he was driving that he realized Clara had blocked him on social media. He had no idea when she had done it. He hadn’t messaged her all week. Had she done it because she was jealous? He couldn’t be sure. He pulled out his phone and called her. The robotic voice of an AI operator that answered sent a jolt of pure panic through him. He had never dreamed that she would actually block him on everything. His mind flashed back to her face in his office that day, her calm expression as she’d said they should break up. He finally realized she had been serious. Caleb felt a thick rope slowly tightening around his chest, suffocating him. He clutched his shirt, squatting on the sidewalk, gasping for air. “Clara…” He was about to call in a favor to find her address when his phone rang. Wyatt’s triumphant voice filled his ear. “Caleb, I’m getting engaged. My girl just said yes.” “We’re having a party tonight. You should come.” A throbbing pain started in Caleb’s temples. He could hear the gloating in Wyatt’s voice, but he was in no mood for an engagement party. “I have something to do, I can’t…” But the man on the other end seemed to have anticipated his refusal. “You have to be there. You’re looking for someone, right? Come, and I’ll help you find her.” Caleb ignored the uneasy feeling in his gut and agreed. He didn’t know Wyatt that well—they’d just been classmates in college—but he knew Wyatt was the youngest son of the wealthy Nash family. He had resources. Finding one person should be easy for him. That evening, Caleb had planned to go to the party alone. But Jenna had somehow heard about it and insisted on coming along to “see the world.” After a moment’s thought, he agreed. I watched with amusement as Wyatt, like a peacock in full display, tried on five or six different suits in front of me. “Which one looks best?” I thought for a moment. “They all look good.” “Why did you have to invite Caleb?” Wyatt looked a little flustered. He quickly came over and took my hand. “You heard that? Are you mad? I’m just so happy…” I shook my head, smiling as I linked my arm with his, and we walked out together. The moment we entered the ballroom, a pair of eyes locked onto me. I followed the gaze and saw Caleb, trembling, all the color drained from his face. Under the bright lights, he looked like a ghost that had just been pulled from the water.

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Chapter 1 My roommate’s shirt was always soaked during freshman orientation, and it always smelled faintly of sweet peach. Seeing every guy on campus—even the wealthy class president—go wild for it, my roommate, Brooke, was thrilled. I recognized it immediately: it was the discharge from a rare form of skin cancer. I urged her to get medical help fast. My roommate called me jealous, but, uneasy, she secretly checked it out. The result was cancer. She had to undergo a double mastectomy to save her life. Without the “peach scent,” the rich class president, Brandon, who was obsessed with her, never looked at her again. Her entire cohort of admirers vanished. My roommate couldn’t handle the fall from grace. She blamed it all on me. “If you hadn’t been nosy, making your mom cut off my breasts, Brandon never would have dumped me!” She shoved me into a septic ditch and drowned me alive, laughing hysterically. Even my mother, the surgical expert who performed her operation, was dragged through a social media smear campaign, fired from the hospital, and died of depression. I opened my eyes, finding myself back on the exact day my roommate’s “peach scent” first became known. … “What is that smell? It’s amazing!” My roommate, Brooke Scott, walked into the dorm carrying a bag of snacks. She inhaled deeply, her eyes wide with excitement. “Is that a peach perfume? Or a new energy drink?” Then, she spotted the open yogurt bottle on Layla’s desk. “Smells delicious! Let me try some first!” Before Layla could say yes, Brooke grabbed the bottle and gulped down a huge mouthful. The next second, the expression on her face froze. She bent over, retching violently. “What the hell is this?! It tastes awful!” Layla rolled her eyes and muttered, “Some people wish they had some!” Brooke’s face went pale. “Layla! Are you trying to poison me?!” “If I die, I’m taking you with me!” She rushed to the bathroom, desperately trying to gag herself. Watching this familiar scene unfold, I confirmed that I had indeed been reborn. The suffocating sensation of drowning in the putrid water in my past life felt terrifyingly close. “Patrice! It’s all your fault, you jinx! If you hadn’t interfered, making your mom cut off my breasts, Brandon never would have left me! All those guys wouldn’t have avoided me!” “You ruined my chance at a rich life! You deserve to die!” The person who killed me was my roommate, Layla Reed. In my past life, I recognized that the liquid oozing from her chest, which all the boys on campus went crazy for, wasn’t some kind of innate body fragrance. It was the discharge from an extremely rare, aggressive form of breast cancer! I urged her to seek treatment immediately and had my mother, a surgical specialist, take care of her. She called me jealous but secretly went for a checkup. She was diagnosed with cancer and had to have a double mastectomy to survive. Once her ‘peach milk’ scent was gone, the rich class president, Brandon Hayes, who had been madly obsessed with her, immediately dumped her. All the guys who had hovered around her vanished without a trace. She blamed me for all of her failures and resentment. She stubbornly believed that I was jealous of the attention she got from Brandon and that I conspired with my mother to intentionally remove the source of her charm. But I’m back. I’ve returned to the exact moment her peach-scented secret was first discovered, triggering a dorm conflict. In my last life, seeing Brooke accidentally drink the “peach milk” and throw up violently. I rushed over to hold her, demanding that Layla take her to the hospital immediately, genuinely worried Brooke had been poisoned by an unknown substance. I never imagined my concern would plant a seed of hatred in Layla. And when the truth came out about her cancer, Brooke never spoke up for me once. She joined the keyboard warriors, kicking me while I was down. A cold laugh escaped me. I spoke up. “Brooke, what’s with the attitude? Layla didn’t do it on purpose.” “Besides, who told you to be a greedy pig and drink it without asking?” Chapter 2 Brooke froze, looking at me in disbelief. “She leaves this disgusting mess on the table and makes me drink it! And you’re defending her?!” “Patrice, are you crazy?” I smiled. “Brooke, you can’t talk like that. Layla said it was an accident. And anyway,” I paused, glancing at Layla’s chest, “this peach-scented body fragrance is something many people would kill for. It’s certainly better than some people’s sweaty stench, right?” Layla saw me take her side, and her eyes lit up. “Exactly! I didn’t mean to! Patrice is right, this smell is lovely!” “I think you’re just jealous of me, Brooke!” She rolled her eyes spitefully at Brooke. Brooke was completely enraged. She pointed at Layla and me. “You… you…” she stammered for a long time, unable to form a coherent curse. Finally, she stomped her foot and stormed out, covered in vomit. Seeing Brooke leave, Layla smirked and pulled something out from the back of her closet. My pupils narrowed. It was that light pink bra. It was lace-trimmed, with a slightly sexy design. I’d bought it online during my freshman year, looking for a bargain. I quickly found the underwire dug painfully and the straps were too thin. I tossed it to the bottom of my drawer and never touched it again. Now, it was in Layla’s hands. And there was a small, unmistakable pink stain on it! When I discovered this in my past life, I was sickened and confronted her, demanding why she stole my things. That fight became one of the reasons she later decided to kill me. This time, seeing her hold up the bra, she asked me coyly, “Patrice, I want to take a few photos wearing this bra and post them in the freshman group chat. What do you think?” I immediately put on the most genuine smile, exaggeratedly praising it. “That bra is perfect for you! The color, the design—it’s tailor-made for your style! It’s sexy but still innocent!” “It really highlights your best assets! If Brandon sees it, he’ll be completely hooked!” I knew she wanted to use this to attract more male attention. In my last life, she blamed me for ruining her dating prospects. In this life, I would ensure she got exactly what she wished for. Layla’s face flushed with excitement. “Really, Patrice? You think it looks good?” “Of course!” I nodded emphatically, decisive and convincing. At that moment, our other neutral roommate, Jen Wu, suddenly spoke up. “Patrice, why does that bra look like yours? Didn’t you say it was uncomfortable and put it away?” “Did Layla steal it?” Layla’s smile froze instantly. I quickly put on a sincere expression, covering for Layla. “Oh! That one! It does look similar, but mine was such cheap quality; I don’t know where I threw it. ” “The one Layla has looks much higher quality than mine! Besides, if Layla likes it, what’s the big deal if I give it to her? Good things should go to the person who suits them best, right?” The alarm in Layla’s eyes instantly turned into wild joy. She seized the opportunity, lifting her chin at Jen. “Exactly! Jen, what are you talking about? Patrice said it’s a gift!” “Besides, this bra has a big cup size. Patrice could never fill it out.” “If you talk nonsense again, you’ll regret it!” Layla rushed into the bathroom to try it on, desperate to prove Jen wrong. As she closed the door, I quickly started packing my things, planning to move out immediately. The peach-milk scent in the dorm was sickly sweet. It made me nauseous. If I stayed any longer, I’d definitely be implicated. I hadn’t even finished packing when Layla discovered me. Chapter 3 “Lana? What are you doing? You’re not moving out, are you?” Layla yanked open the bathroom door, half-emerging. She had indeed changed into the cheap underwear. The low-quality lace strained to contain her noticeably swollen chest. The straps were pitifully thin, digging into her flesh. The pink spots below her collarbone seemed more obvious under the light, like a small, spreading patch of mold. A barely perceptible tension was on her face. She was probably afraid her only ally was abandoning her. I stopped packing, my eyes shifting. I put on a look of professional awkwardness. “Well, I have a rare skin condition. It’s not serious, but I can’t risk passing it to you guys in a crowded dorm…” Layla instinctively stepped back. The tension on her face instantly shifted to alarm. “A skin condition?” “Yes,” I sighed, looking genuinely helpless. “But if you don’t mind, I don’t have to move out…” Layla quickly interrupted me. Though she pretended to be concerned, her tone screamed get out now. “Oh, you should definitely move out! Go back when you’re cured! A skin condition is serious! Your health comes first! We’ll wait for you!” I sneered inwardly. The truly sick one was standing there in stolen underwear, dreaming of seducing a rich boy. Before leaving with my luggage, I pretended to be gossipy, leaning in toward Layla, who was posing provocatively for a selfie. “Oh, by the way, I heard Brandon is planning something big!” Layla’s eyes lit up. “What? Tell me, tell me!” Jen also leaned in. I decided to keep them in suspense, saying slowly, “The guys in the dorm were talking. Brandon apparently ordered nine thousand roses! He’s going to propose to a girl!” “I bet the goddess is right here with us. After all, anyone who warrants that kind of spectacle has to have something particularly appealing, right?” I deliberately glanced at Layla’s swollen chest. Layla’s face turned crimson with excitement. She covered her mouth, her voice trembling. “Really?! Nine thousand roses?! Oh my God! It has to be for me!” “Patrice, you’re my good luck charm! I need to get ready now! I’m going to be the dazzling main character tonight!” She rushed to her closet, frantically searching for the perfect outfit. “Which one? This one’s too plain. This one doesn’t show off my figure enough. Ah! This sheer one! Paired with the bra Patrice gifted me, Brandon will definitely…” Watching her excited back, Jen gave a look of undisguised contempt, her fingers flying across her phone screen. The next second, my phone vibrated. “Are you serious? Brandon is proposing to her? With nine thousand roses? Who are you kidding? Her? The weirdo with that gross disease and whatever’s leaking out of her? Is Brandon blind?” I replied quietly. “Who knows? A crazy rich kid with a bizarre obsession and a weirdo with ‘peach milk’—they sound like a match made in heaven. Two of a kind. Let’s watch the show!” I was eager to see if, this time, without my interference, she could actually realize her dream and snag a rich boy. Chapter 4 The school’s main plaza was already packed by evening. Brandon Hayes, wearing a well-tailored white suit, walked toward Layla, who stood in a sea of flowers, holding a huge bouquet of red roses. Layla had definitely taken my advice. She wore a nearly transparent black lace camisole, with my low-quality lace bra underneath! I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination, but her face looked flushed, almost sickly. She was walking strangely, occasionally holding her chest, as if enduring some discomfort. The crowd roared in excitement. “Nine thousand roses! So romantic!” “Layla looks so hot tonight! Brandon is gorgeous!” Hearing the praise, Layla’s face was beaming. The pain seemed to lessen. She tilted her chin up, waiting for Brandon to approach, ready for her spotlight moment. But the obsession and eagerness on Brandon’s face froze the moment he got close to her. He smelled it. The stench emanating from Layla—a mix of sickly sweet and rotten—was nothing like the previous “peach scent.” It made sense; Layla’s condition was much worse now. And with the high temperature, how could she still smell like a mild, early-stage infection? She was actively rotting. Brandon’s facial muscles twitched. He instinctively stepped back, covering his nose. His voice held a barely concealed disgust. “What is that smell?” Layla’s smile instantly froze. She instinctively covered the increasingly dark and widespread pink stain on her chest. “I… Brandon, let me explain…” But before she could finish, something erupted from her chest. Followed by a ripping sound. The cheap, strained lace bra suddenly split open. The two bulging mounds, covered in large, dark red patches and visible subcutaneous veins, were violently exposed to everyone! Countless eyes shifted from curious envy to shock and disbelief, finally settling on a look of indescribable horror, mixed with disgust and fear! Then, under everyone’s horrified gaze, the infected areas—several extremely swollen, translucent pustules at the center of the dark red skin—began to burst sequentially! A large stream of pinkish-white fluid, mixed with clumps of pus and blood, and carrying a nauseating, potent odor of decay, violently sprayed out! The primary target was Brandon, standing closest to her! He was completely drenched, head to toe, in the scalding, foul-smelling, decaying pus! A few drops even splashed into his widely agape mouth. Brandon froze on the spot.

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