Author: Momo Chan

Four months pregnant, and my husband, Liam, a renowned OB-GYN, was with me to pick up my prenatal test results. The smile on his lips vanished the moment his eyes landed on the report, his face freezing in horror as he seized my hand, intent on forcing me into an abortion. I stood there, stunned. Just moments ago, Dr. Miller, the attending physician, had clearly stated that the baby was perfectly healthy! I pulled my hand free, confronting him. “Why an abortion?!” He didn’t answer, but I could see he was already booking the procedure. When I tried to run, he clamped down on my arm, his grip like steel. “This child absolutely cannot stay!” Clutching my stomach, I quickly called my parents, both also OB-GYNs. My father, who had always adored me, raised his fist, ready to strike my belly. Mom’s face was a mask of terror, as she shook her head frantically. “No, this won’t do.” “Find a few men, and lock them in a room with Aria.” I couldn’t understand why they wanted to get rid of my baby like this. I tried to escape. But they still managed to drag me into a dark, secluded room and lock me inside. As the bleeding started, I knew my baby was gone. Mom came to pick me up, smiling. I frantically demanded to know why they had done this to me. She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned around and admitted me to a mental institution. I was tortured to death in that hospital. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back on the day we were supposed to pick up the prenatal test results.

Liam looked at me, his face beaming with joy. “Sweetheart, this is our first child. I can’t wait for the day they’re born.” “Come on, love, let’s go. The hospital will get crowded soon.” Hearing Liam’s urging, I snapped back to reality. It was only when my hand brushed against my slightly rounded belly that I knew for sure: I had been reborn. And I had returned to this exact day—the day we were going to the hospital for my prenatal test results. In my previous life, ever since I got pregnant, Liam had been incredibly careful, looking after my body. He bought a new baby item every single day and even chose hundreds of names. The hospital where I had my check-ups was his workplace, yet he would still take time off specifically to accompany me. Liam’s anticipation and affection for our baby were undeniable. Four months into my pregnancy, we went for our usual check-up. After Dr. Miller confirmed the baby was healthy and ruled out Down syndrome, Liam, being an OB-GYN himself, glanced at the report. But his smile suddenly froze, replaced by a look of sheer terror. Without a word, he grabbed my hand, intent on booking an abortion procedure. I stood there, stunned, and yanked my hand away. “Liam, the baby’s fine, isn’t it? Why would we terminate?” But Liam didn’t answer me. He continued to tap away on his phone, navigating the abortion appointment process. I tried to snatch his phone away. His breathing grew ragged, his eyes bloodshot, as he roared at me, “Aria, this child absolutely cannot stay!” His actions terrified me. My heart pounded against my ribs, threatening to burst out, and my legs felt weak beneath me. While Liam was busy arranging the procedure, I quickly messaged my parents, who were also OB-GYNs. Mom and Dad arrived quickly. Seeing them, Liam didn’t seem nervous at all. In fact, a faint smile played on his lips. I shrank back, seeking refuge in Mom’s arms. Dad immediately punched Liam in the face. “The baby’s perfectly healthy! Why are you trying to abort it?” Liam said nothing, simply handed the prenatal report to Dad. The moment Dad saw the report, the anger on his face turned into terror. His eyes widened, and his hands trembled as he held the paper. He raised his fist, about to strike my stomach. Luckily, Mom stepped in front of me. The punch landed on Mom instead, and she yelled, “Are you out of your mind?!” “Aria’s carrying your grandchild!” Dad sneered, then handed the prenatal report to Mom. Mom, who had been protecting me moments before, went pale as if she’d seen a ghost. She pushed me out of her embrace, shaking her head frantically. “No… no, this won’t do.” By now, I sensed something was terribly wrong with that report. I quickly asked Mom, “Mom, what’s going on? What’s wrong with my baby?” But Mom ignored me, still lost in her own panic. “This won’t work!” She grabbed Dad’s hand. “It’s too obvious here at the hospital. I have an idea.” “Find a few men, and lock them in a room with Aria.” I stood frozen, my entire body numb. I couldn’t understand why they all changed so drastically after seeing that one prenatal report. What was the truth? Why wouldn’t anyone tell me? Seeing Mom and Dad preparing to take me away, I turned and ran. But Dad caught me with a swift move, pulling me back. I cried, begging them to let me go, to at least tell me the truth. But they forcibly shoved me into the car and gagged me. 2. Moreover, they locked me in a dark, secluded room with five naked men! I was so terrified I nearly collapsed, frantically pounding on the door, begging them to let me out. But outside, there wasn’t a sound. The men dragged me to the floor. The moment I resisted, they hit me. My baby, just a pool of blood, dried on the floor. A week later, Mom, Dad, and Liam came to pick me up. Mom smiled at me. “Aria, we’re going home.” I sneered, unable to comprehend how she could pretend nothing had happened. I raged, questioning, “Why? Why did you do this to me?!” Mom’s face instantly went cold. Dad slapped me across the face. “You ungrateful slut!” I was stunned. Then, Mom’s gaze turned chillingly dark, piercing right through me. “Aria’s confused. Take her to a mental institution.” From the moment I was forcibly admitted, Liam arranged for someone to torture me every single day. My husband, who once adored me, now practically wished me dead. Three months later, I was tortured until my last breath. But even at the moment of death, I still didn’t understand why they all wanted me dead after seeing that prenatal report. The fear from my previous life flooded my mind, my hand instinctively caressing my slightly warm lower abdomen. I took a deep breath. This time, I was determined to find out exactly what happened! Upon arriving at the hospital, I made sure to get the prenatal report first. Even after Dr. Miller confirmed the baby was healthy, I immediately took the report from her. I thought, as long as Liam didn’t see the report, nothing bad would happen. But to my surprise, as soon as I stepped out of Dr. Miller’s office, Liam asked for the report, just like in my previous life. My heart skipped a beat, but I forced a smile and asked, “Why do you want my report?” Liam smiled back. “I’m the baby’s father, and an OB-GYN. Isn’t it normal for me to look at it?” “Dr. Miller, your colleague, just confirmed that both the baby and I are perfectly healthy. Don’t you trust her professional judgment?” “No, it’s not that. I just want to understand the situation so I can take better care of you.” But I deliberately put the report into my bag right in front of him. “Well, I’m not letting you see it today.” Liam probably thought I was just being playfully stubborn, so he went along with it. “Alright, if you don’t want me to see it, fine. As long as you’re healthy.” I smiled and hugged his arm. “I’m just going to the restroom. We’ll head home when I get back.” I grabbed my bag and headed for the bathroom. I had indeed scanned the prenatal report earlier, but because I was so quick, I hadn’t noticed anything unusual. I decided to take a good look in the restroom, to figure out what was so wrong that it made them all change completely. But the moment I reached the restroom, my heart pounded: the prenatal report was gone! I rushed out, and from a distance, I saw Liam, his face pale. The prenatal report that should have been in my bag was now in his hand! Liam saw me and strode quickly towards me. My first instinct was to run, but he still managed to grab my arm. His eyes were bloodshot, staring intensely at me. “Aria, this child can’t stay. We’re getting an abortion right now!” In my previous life, I died without ever understanding why my usually gentle husband turned into a completely different person after seeing that report! The cruelty in Liam’s eyes was something I had never witnessed before. My body trembled, but because this wasn’t my first time experiencing it, I quickly screamed, “Help! Someone’s trying to get rid of my baby!” Hospitals are usually bustling, and my cry instantly drew a crowd. Liam seemed shocked by my outburst. But then, I sank to my knees, right in front of him. “Liam, Dr. Miller clearly said this baby is healthy. Why are you forcing me to get an abortion?” Liam gritted his teeth, hissing, “You slut, shut up!” He tried to drag me away, but onlookers had already stepped in. A man forcibly pulled him away from me. “What do you think you’re doing?!” “Oh my God, trying to abort a healthy baby? Don’t want to raise it?” “If you didn’t want a child, why didn’t you think about that when you were having fun?” “Forcing a pregnant woman to abort is illegal! Call the police!” Liam’s breathing was ragged, his jaw clenched, glaring fiercely at me. But amidst the crowd, there was nothing he could do. To my shock, he suddenly smiled at me, then turned and called my parents. 3. Mom and Dad arrived to find Liam and me surrounded by a crowd. They didn’t need to ask; it was clear something had happened. Mom protectively pulled me into her embrace, but the moment she touched me, I shivered. The kind strangers explained what had just happened to my parents. Dad raised his hand, ready to slap Liam. But before his palm could land, Liam held up the prenatal report. “Dad, don’t look!” I tried to rush forward and snatch the report away. But Dad was faster, taking it and glancing at it. Instantly, his eyes flickered. I hesitantly called out, “Dad?” When he looked at me again, Dad’s eyes were bloodshot. His raised hand came down, without hesitation, across my face. “You animal! Liam telling you to abort was for your own good!” I was completely crushed. But I gritted my teeth, trying to reason, “But Dr. Miller already said the baby in my belly is perfectly healthy!” “I’m an OB-GYN too! How dare you argue with me?!” Seeing Dad about to punch my stomach, Mom quickly rushed over, shielding me. “Are you insane? Your daughter is pregnant!” Mom yelled at Dad. But Dad wasn’t angry; he just sneered. “You pity her? This slut doesn’t deserve to be our daughter! She doesn’t even deserve to be our child!” After Dad said that, everyone around us was shocked. They started pointing fingers at Dad, criticizing how a father could speak to his daughter like that. Mom was gasping for air, but she knew Dad was usually gentle. There had to be something terribly wrong with that prenatal report. “Let me see that prenatal report!” I quickly stepped forward to stop Mom, my eyes pleading with her. “Mom, Dr. Miller already said the baby is healthy, please don’t look, okay?” “Mom, if you don’t believe me, you can go ask that doctor.” I knew that if Mom saw the report, she would disown me instantly, just like them. Mom hugged me, trying to soothe me. “Don’t worry, it must be a mistake by your father and Liam, those incompetent doctors.” “Your mom used to be the head of Obstetrics and Gynecology. Trust my expertise.” I shook my head frantically. “No, Mom, please don’t. You don’t have to look. I believe you, just please don’t look.” But the more I tried to stop her, the more curious Mom became about what was on that report. Seeing that Mom insisted on looking, I suddenly dropped to my knees. “Mom, if you look at that report, you’ll stop loving me instantly, just like them.” “No, Aria, I’ve been working for years; I’ve seen all kinds of reports. And even if the baby isn’t Liam’s, I’ll still stand by you without hesitation. You’re the person I love most in this world.” Her gaze was gentle, urging me to trust her. Ultimately, I couldn’t stop Mom. The moment she saw the prenatal report, that gentleness vanished, and a sinister glint flashed in her eyes. It made me tremble all over. Mom’s face turned pale, and she gave me a bitter smile. She wasn’t as overtly emotional as Dad and Liam. And that, paradoxically, made her even more terrifying. Her voice was icy. “It’s nothing, Aria. The baby is fine. Get up, let’s go home.” Mom said everything was fine, but the hand she reached out to me was trembling uncontrollably. She was clearly suppressing her emotions. “No, I’m not going home.” I quickly stood up and retreated further into the crowd. Mom frowned, her expression turning menacing. “Aria, what are you doing? You’re pregnant; what if something happens to you out here?” 4. Seeing Mom and Dad about to grab me, I quickly clutched onto two passersby, kneeling and begging them. “Please, save me! I can’t go back with them, they’ll make me lose my baby!” The passersby hesitated. Though I was pregnant, I clearly seemed emotionally unstable. And they were my family, so the strangers weren’t sure how to intervene. Fortunately, someone finally stepped forward to speak up for me. “She’s pregnant, after all, and clearly emotional right now. You shouldn’t force her.” “Exactly, what if you hurt the baby?” But Mom and Dad seemed deaf to their words, their faces distorted as they advanced on me. “Aria, do you have a persecution complex?” “Come home with us now, stop disrupting the hospital’s order!” Mom and Dad forcibly grabbed me. The kind strangers tried to block them. “You’re in a hospital right now. She’s a pregnant woman, she’s distressed. She should see a doctor to check if the baby’s affected.” “We’re OB-GYNs! Does she still need to see a doctor?!” Dad roared at the man. The kind strangers hesitated. Liam took the opportunity to yank me out of the crowd, dragging me mercilessly across the floor. Even the most well-meaning bystanders didn’t dare to physically fight my family. But just then, a hand blocked Liam’s path. “Who told you to drag a pregnant woman like that?!” A police officer barked, and Liam finally let go. Mom and Dad quickly said, “Officer, this pregnant woman is our daughter. She has some mental issues, we’re just taking her home.” The officer looked at me suspiciously. I quickly denied it. “No, they want to kill my healthy baby!” The three behind me froze, but a triumphant smirk appeared on their faces. I continued, “If you don’t believe me, you can check the hospital’s surveillance footage. They really all want to kill my baby.” The officer had the hospital staff pull up the footage. After watching it, a female officer shielded me behind her. She questioned them, “Why are you trying to terminate this healthy pregnancy?!” Mom and Dad sneered. Liam just looked at me coldly. “Forcing a pregnant woman to abort is against the law!” Liam remained unfazed. I grabbed the officer’s hand. “Let me see my prenatal report.” Every one of them had changed after seeing that report. I believed the truth had to be on it. At the officer’s request, Liam reluctantly handed over the prenatal report. But when I saw the report again, I finally understood why this child had to be terminated.

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Everyone thought I was dead. A perfectly timed car crash, a funeral live-streamed across every platform. My supposed best friend, Serena Thorne, stood before my memorial photo, wearing my favorite black dress, her face streaming with tears. She choked out that she would carry on my legacy, completing the screenplay we had co-written. Flashbulbs, like a galaxy of stars, twinkled for her from the audience. Later, that screenplay won an Oscar for Best Screenplay. She became a celebrated genius writer, showered with fame and fortune. She moved into my house, drove my car, and even my usually aloof cat seemed to adore her. She had stolen almost everything from me. Almost. I stood in a quiet corner of the funeral, masked, watching the grand spectacle with a cold gaze. I wasn’t dead. I just wanted to see how ugly a person’s greed could become when unbound. Now, the performance was over. It was time for the “dead woman” to make her entrance. At my memorial service, Serena cried so hard she nearly fainted. She wore the custom-made black velvet gown I’d designed, its hem trailing on the floor like a dark, blooming rose. I hadn’t even had the chance to wear it once. “Ava, how could you just leave like this…?” She clung to my memorial photo, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Her voice, amplified by the microphone, filled the hall, broken and heart-wrenching. Cameras zoomed in on her face. Every angle, every tear perfectly timed. You’d think *her* mother had died, not me. I stood in the least conspicuous corner, hidden behind a baseball cap and a mask, watching her perfectly made-up, sorrowful face on the big screen. I almost burst out laughing. A entertainment reporter, Maya, whispered to her colleague, Chloe: “Serena is truly devoted. Ava Hayes was lucky to have a friend like her.” Chloe sighed, “Absolutely. I heard Serena painstakingly organized every word of Ava’s posthumous screenplay. She’s even going to star in it herself, to fulfill her best friend’s last wish. It’s incredibly touching.” As I listened, I pulled a mint from my pocket, peeled back the wrapper, and popped it into my mouth. The cool sweetness melted on my tongue. Touching? I thought it was pretty “touching” too. Using my life, my script, to secure her fame, fortune, and a stellar performance of grief? What a profitable deal for her. The somber music continued to play in the hall, and guests wore expressions of profound sorrow. My agent, the company CEO, directors I’d worked with. Even a few so-called “friends” from the industry took turns giving eulogies. Each one echoed the same sentiments of regret and remembrance. I was almost falling asleep. Until Julian Maxwell stepped up to the podium. The room suddenly fell silent. He was the industry’s top investor, and the biggest financier behind my “posthumous work.” A man who rarely appeared even for high-profile business interviews was here in person today. He didn’t use notes, just stood there. His dark suit accentuated his broad shoulders and long, lean frame, a towering presence. His gaze swept across the room, finally resting on my enormous black and white memorial photo. “Ava Hayes was a genius.” He spoke, his voice deep. It resonated through the speakers with a compelling authority. “Her passing is a loss for the entire industry.” He didn’t say much else, just those two sentences, then bowed slightly to my photo. Serena immediately rushed to meet him, her eyes red as she looked up, a picture of utter vulnerability and dependence. “Mr. Maxwell, thank you for coming. Ava, wherever she is, would certainly be grateful.” Julian’s gaze skimmed over her, utterly devoid of emotion. “How are the preparations for the script coming along?” “You needn’t worry,” Serena immediately assured him, “I will certainly fulfill Ava’s last wish and make ‘The Cage’ a masterpiece.” Julian nodded, said nothing more, and turned to step down from the stage. He passed the corner where I stood. For a fleeting second, as he walked by, his footsteps faltered, and his gaze seemed to drift towards me. My heart pounded, and I pulled the brim of my cap lower. He couldn’t have recognized me. My current appearance was starkly different from my public image. Short hair, thick-rimmed glasses, a faded tracksuit. And a few strategically placed freckles. Not just him, even my own mother would probably hesitate. He paused for only a second before continuing on his way, long strides eating up the distance. I exhaled slowly. The most poignant part of the service was over; what remained were just formalities. I wasn’t interested in staying any longer and turned to slip away. Just as I reached the exit, I heard Serena’s voice behind me. “Miss, please wait.” My steps faltered, but I didn’t turn around. A hand rested on my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you a friend of Ava’s?” Her voice, just behind me, was perfectly modulated—a touch hoarse and polite. I slowly turned. When she saw my face, a flicker of something almost imperceptible—disappointment—crossed her eyes. As if she was surprised by how ordinary I looked. “No, I’m not,” I mumbled, my voice deliberately muffled, “I’m just a fan of hers, came to pay my respects.” “Oh, I see,” Serena instantly adopted an emotional expression, gripping my hand. “Thank you. Ava would be so happy to know she had fans like you.” Her hand was cold, her nails adorned with sparkling rhinestones. “She was a great actress,” I said. “Yes,” Serena sighed, tears welling up again. “She always said her biggest dream was to win the Golden Lion for Best Screenplay, but… it’s okay. I’ll fulfill it for her.” As she spoke, she squeezed my hand, as if trying to convey some profound connection. A truly stellar performance. Well, she did learn from the best – me. I pulled my hand away, nodded at her, and walked out. Another second, and I swear I would have ripped her hair extensions right out. Stepping out of the funeral home, the sunlight stung my eyes. I hailed a taxi and gave an address. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror: “Heading to the cemetery, miss?” “Yes.” “Isn’t that where the big star Ava Hayes’ memorial was held today? It’s all over the internet.” “It is.” “What a shame, so young.” The taxi driver was quite chatty. “I heard her best friend, Serena, is going to finish her legacy project. What a good person.” I leaned against the window, watching the city blur by. “Yes,” I echoed. “Quite the… wonderful person.”

I didn’t go home. That “home” was now Serena’s. I rented a small apartment in the suburbs, old but clean. My landlady, a woman in her fifties, didn’t follow celebrity news and had no idea who I was. My new identity was Lynn Miller, a freelance writer. Back in the apartment, the first thing I did was open my laptop. Out of the top ten trending topics on social media, five were about Serena and me. * Serena Vows to Honor Ava’s Legacy Project * Ava Hayes Memorial Service * Julian Maxwell Makes Surprise Appearance at Ava Hayes Memorial * Serena and Ava: A Heartfelt Friendship * #PitySerena I clicked on the #PitySerena hashtag. The comments section was flooded with her fans and an army of paid trolls. “Don’t cry, Serena! You have to live well for Ava!” “OMG, what an epic friendship, I’m ugly-crying right now!” “Am I the only one who noticed the way Mr. Maxwell looked at Serena? I’m sensing some serious chemistry.” “Hold up, no baseless rumors! Our Serena is focused on her career and honoring Ava’s memory. Don’t spread false gossip!” I scrolled through the comments, eating an entire bucket of instant noodles, my face devoid of emotion. My stomach burned, a sensation far more potent than any chili ever could be. My phone vibrated. It was a message from my private detective. [That Serena woman moved the last few things out of your house today, including your Ragdoll cat, Mochi.] Attached was a photo of Serena, holding Mochi, smiling gently at the camera. The background was my familiar living room. Below the photo, there was a video clip. In the video, Serena shoved Mochi into a cat carrier. Her assistant, Jessica, asked, “Serena, are you really taking the cat? Aren’t you allergic to cat fur?” Serena waved her hand dismissively. “Allergic or not, I have to take it. Ava’s fans all know how much she doted on this cat. If I don’t take it, how will I maintain my ‘devoted friend’ image? Just a few days on allergy meds, it’ll be fine.” I closed the video and tossed my phone aside. Mochi was a rescue cat I’d adopted, severely injured and almost dead. I’d nursed her back to health, feeding her spoonful by spoonful. She was only affectionate with me. Serena was severely allergic to cat fur; even a touch would bring out a rash. She was willing to endure that for an image. She truly was ruthless. I stood up and walked to the window. Outside, apartment buildings stretched endlessly, a sea of twinkling lights, none of them mine. On the day of the crash, I was driving home from my studio. A large truck suddenly swerved into my lane from the side. I instinctively swerved the steering wheel hard to the right. My car hit the guardrail and flipped over. Before losing consciousness, I saw the truck driver jump out and glance in my direction. Then he ran off without looking back. His eyes held no panic, only the cold satisfaction of a completed mission. When I woke up, I was in a remote private clinic. My rescuer was my college mentor, now a doctor at this clinic. He said I was brought in covered in blood, with no identification. Meanwhile, the news was already plastered everywhere, screaming “Award-Winning Actress Ava Hayes Dies in Car Crash.” The police announced that the “victim” was a woman roughly my height, but whose face was tragically mangled. Where did this poor body double come from? I didn’t need to think to know whose doing it was. Serena. She probably thought I was a goner, so she decided to finish the job, making sure I was “dead” beyond any doubt. That way, no one could ever compete with her for that screenplay. The script I’d poured three years into, the one destined for the Golden Lion Award: ‘The Cage’. I sneered. Did she really think that if I died, all those things would become hers? Naive. I opened my laptop and logged into an encrypted email account. There was one unread email, one I’d scheduled to send to myself a few minutes before my “car crash.” The email contained only one attachment. It was the complete screenplay of ‘The Cage’, from the first draft to the final version. Every revision record, my creative process, photos of my handwritten notes, everything was there. The file’s timestamp was the best evidence. I backed up the file again, saving it to an even more secure hard drive. Serena, you want my things? Fine. I’ll give them to you. I’ll even be the one to lift you up, place you in the brightest spotlight, and let you bask in everyone’s praise and adoration. And then… I’ll let you experience what it’s like to fall from the highest pedestal, straight into the dirt. The real show was just beginning.

For the next month, I didn’t leave my apartment. Every day, I watched the news, observing Serena’s meticulous steps as she claimed ‘The Cage’ as her own. She gave a deeply intimate interview on the country’s most prestigious talk show. On the program, she tearfully recounted her “creative journey” with me. “This screenplay, it was truly something Ava and I conceived together. Many late nights, we’d be curled up on the sofa, snacking and chatting. I’d throw out an idea, she’d expand on it, then I’d build on that… Now, she’s gone, and I’m left to raise our shared child alone.” The host, visibly moved, offered her a tissue. “What was the hardest part of the creative process for you?” “The loneliness,” Serena dabbed at her eyes. “Before, when I hit a wall, I could just turn and see her. Now, I can only hold her photo and imagine her still beside me.” After that episode aired, Serena’s social media followers skyrocketed by five million. She became synonymous with “talent, beauty, and profound devotion.” The production team for ‘The Cage’ was officially established. The lead actress was Serena herself. The director was Director Thompson, renowned in the industry for his commercial blockbusters. Everything proceeded smoothly. I watched Serena’s triumphant smile on my laptop screen during the kick-off ceremony, then closed the browser. The time was right. I made a phone call. It rang for a long time before someone picked up. “Hello? Who’s this?” A young, wary male voice answered. “Is this Director Liam Reed?” I asked. “Who are you? Why are you calling my private number?” His voice was impatient. “I have a screenplay here I’d like you to take a look at.” “A screenplay?” He scoffed. “I’m busy right now. Don’t bother me.” He sounded like he was about to hang up. “A screenplay about plagiarism and betrayal.” I said slowly. “The protagonist is an unknown young director whose idea is stolen by a popular actress, and he’s then blacklisted by the entire industry. What do you think of that story?” The other end of the line went instantly silent. Several seconds passed before Liam’s voice returned, carrying a barely perceptible tremor. “Who are you?” Liam Reed. A truly talented emerging director. He had been Serena’s college classmate and had openly pursued her. A year ago, a short film he directed even picked up a minor international award. Upon returning home, Serena had approached him, expressing interest in collaboration. Liam, deeply touched, had unreservedly shared a screenplay concept he’d been developing for a long time. But Serena immediately took his concept and used it for a web series she was starring in. The web series became a massive hit. Serena’s career advanced significantly. When Liam confronted her, she slandered him, accusing him of riding her coattails. She then used her connections to ensure Liam couldn’t get any work in the industry. No one in the industry knew about these details. I had my private detective dig them up. Serena had climbed over too many bodies to reach the top, and she’d left too many fingerprints. “My identity isn’t important,” I said into the phone. “What *is* important is that I want to give you a chance to reclaim what’s rightfully yours.” We met in a secluded coffee shop. Liam looked far more haggard than his actual age. Heavy dark circles under his eyes, messy hair, and an expression filled with wariness and distrust. “How do you know all this?” He stared intently at me. I didn’t answer. Instead, I pushed a brown envelope across the table. “This is the original screenplay for ‘The Cage.’ Take a look.” He paused, then suspiciously opened the envelope and pulled out the script. After only a few pages, his expression shifted. From shock, to anger, then to disbelief. “This… this can’t be…” He looked up at me, his voice trembling. “I saw the synopsis Serena released, and it’s completely different in its details from this… This version… it’s far superior to hers!” “Because this is the original,” I said. “Written by Ava Hayes.” “Then Serena’s version is…” “What do you think?” I countered. Liam wasn’t stupid. He understood instantly. “She… she even dared to steal Ava Hayes’s work?!” “What wouldn’t she dare?” I said flatly. “Dead people can’t speak.” Liam’s breathing grew heavy. The script in his hands was clutched tightly. Betrayed by the person he trusted most, stripped of his most important creation. He understood that feeling better than anyone. “Why are you looking for me?” He asked, two sparks igniting in his eyes. “What do you want me to do?” “It’s simple.” I leaned slightly forward, looking into his eyes. “I want you to use this original screenplay to enter the ‘Emerging Talent Director Program’ hosted by the Maxwell Group.” Julian Maxwell’s company had recently launched a competition. Its purpose was to discover promising new directors and invest in their projects. This was Liam’s only chance. And the first step in my plan. “Using Ava’s screenplay?” Liam frowned. “What does that make me? A thief too?” “No,” I shook my head. “The copyright for this screenplay is legally mine.” I pulled another document from my bag and slid it across to him. It was a copyright transfer agreement, bearing Ava Hayes’s handwritten signature. Of course, it was forged. But it was convincing enough for others to believe it was real. The beneficiary line bore my new name. Lynn Miller. Liam stared at the contract, utterly stunned. “You… what’s your connection to Ava Hayes?” “An old acquaintance,” I gave him a vague answer. “You just need to decide whether to do it or not.” I stood up. “If you do, you’ll not only get a chance to create a great work but also personally bring Serena Thorne down. If you don’t, you’ll stay cooped up in your rented apartment, watching the person who stole your hard work bask in glory.” I placed the choice in his hands. But I knew how he would choose. For a genius pushed to the brink, nothing was more tempting than revenge.

Liam didn’t disappoint me. Three days later, he registered for the “Emerging Talent Director Program” with the original screenplay of ‘The Cage’. In the preliminary round, the judges only reviewed the screenplays. I knew better than anyone how undeniably strong that script was. It effortlessly stood out from hundreds of other projects, advancing to the semi-finals. This news quickly spread through the industry. An unknown young director entering a competition with a screenplay sharing the same name as popular actress Serena Thorne’s “posthumous work.” It was inherently sensational. Serena’s team reacted immediately. Her studio posted a statement on Ins. [Some clowns are always trying to ride coattails with clumsy, laughable tactics. We have already instructed our lawyers. We advise certain individuals to act wisely. @LiamReed] Attached was a photo of a legal letter. The implication was clear: Liam was a plagiarist. Serena’s fans swarmed Liam’s Ins account, tearing into him online, relentlessly slamming him. [Shameless! Exploiting the dead for clout?] [Do you know how hard our Serena worked to organize her best friend’s legacy project? And you plagiarize it?] [Get out of the directing world! Scumbag!] Liam’s Ins account was overwhelmed within a day. He called me, his voice trembling with suppressed rage and a hint of panic. “They… how can they spread such lies!” “You’ll get used to it,” My tone was calm. “This is just the appetizer.” “So, what do I do now? Should I respond?” “No,” I said. “You don’t have to do anything. Just focus on preparing for your semi-finals. I’ll handle the rest.” After hanging up, I logged into an old, rarely used social media burner account. I used this account to discreetly monitor competitors; it had few followers, and no one knew it was me. I drafted a post and published it. [Interesting. Whose screenplay is it really? One says it’s a best friend’s legacy, the other claims it’s their original work. One is already successful, the other is a newcomer. On the surface, it looks like the newcomer is just trying to ride someone else’s fame. But what if? What if the newcomer is telling the truth? Now *that* would be a story. Waiting for the results of the Maxwell Group competition. Money talks, right?] I didn’t mention any names, just posed a possibility. But the internet never lacked for drama-lovers and self-proclaimed online sleuths hungry for justice. My post was quickly picked up and shared by several gossip accounts and influencers. [Intriguing, whose script is this anyway?] [Chilling thought… if a celebrity really stole from a rookie, that’s seriously messed up.] [Ava Hayes is gone, so there’s no way to confirm anything. It’s all up to her ‘best friend’ now.] The tide of public opinion began to shift subtly. Of course, this level of public speculation wasn’t enough to shake Serena’s foundation. Her team’s PR was highly effective, quickly suppressing these “dissenting voices.” But it didn’t matter. I never expected to take her down with a few guesses alone. I just needed to muddy the waters. To draw everyone’s attention to the Maxwell Group competition. I wanted this showdown to play out on a completely public, authoritative stage. I wanted Serena to be utterly disgraced in front of the entire world. A week later, the semi-finals began. The format required directors to present their screenplays in person to the judges. And this time, there was an additional judge. Julian Maxwell. He was personally presiding over the judging panel. This instantly elevated the competition’s profile even further. I didn’t go to the venue. But I had people on the inside. Not long after Liam entered, I received a message. [Serena Thorne is here too, with her legal team.] I looked at the message on my phone, a faint smile playing on my lips. She’d come. The fish had taken the bait. She probably thought that by showing up, by adopting the stance of the original creator. And by having her lawyers pressure the Maxwell Group, that nobody, Liam, would be scared into withdrawing. Unfortunately, she miscalculated one thing. Julian Maxwell, of all people, absolutely detested being threatened. Another thirty minutes passed. My phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered. “Miss Miller?” A clear, cold male voice came from the other end. It was Julian Maxwell’s assistant. “That’s me.” “Mr. Maxwell would like to meet you. Now, in his office on the top floor of the Maxwell Tower.” What had to come, would come. Julian wasn’t foolish. With such a commotion, it was impossible he wouldn’t investigate. Given his resources, it was only a matter of time before he uncovered Lynn Miller’s identity and my connection to Liam. “Alright,” I replied calmly. “I’ll be there in half an hour.” After hanging up, I changed my clothes. A simple white blouse, a pair of jeans. I washed off the freckles and put on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. It made me look sharper, more formidable. I was going to meet the biggest player in this game. I had to make him believe that the cards in my hand were stronger than Serena’s.

Maxwell Tower, top floor. Julian Maxwell’s office was as vast as a small soccer field. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of half the city’s nightscape. When I entered, he was on the phone, his back to me, standing by the window. His tall figure, silhouetted against the glittering city lights, seemed somewhat solitary. His assistant led me to the sofa area, poured me a glass of water, then quietly exited. I sat still, not looking at him or surveying the surroundings. About five minutes later, he finished his call. Footsteps approached, stopping in front of me. A faint scent of cedarwood wafted over. It was his signature cologne. He didn’t sit, just stood, looking down at me. His gaze was like an X-ray, trying to see right through me. “Miss Miller.” He spoke, his voice giving nothing away. “Mr. Maxwell.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. He was strikingly handsome, with a kind of aggressive good looks. Sharp brows, piercing eyes, a high nose bridge, and thin lips. They say men with thin lips are heartless. I never believed it before, but now I did. “The screenplay for ‘The Cage’ is in your possession.” He stated it as a fact. “Yes,” I nodded. “Ava Hayes gave it to you?” “You could say that.” He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if judging the truthfulness of my words. “What’s your relationship with her?” “Someone she trusted.” These were the same questions Liam had asked me. Julian was silent for a few seconds, then sat down on the single armchair opposite me. His legs crossed, his posture composed. But the more composed he was, the more I knew he wasn’t calm inside. “Serena Thorne was also here today,” he said. “She told me the script Liam Reed has was stolen, that it’s corporate espionage.” “Of course, she would say that,” I smiled faintly. “False accusations are her specialty.” “What evidence do you have to prove yours is the original version?” Julian stared at me, asking each word precisely. “Evidence?” I took a small USB drive from my bag and placed it on the coffee table. “Mr. Maxwell, perhaps you should take a look at this first.” He gestured, and the assistant immediately stepped forward. He took the USB drive and inserted it into Julian’s desktop computer. Soon, the projection screen on the wall lit up. Playing was a video. The scene was a warmly decorated study. Ava Hayes—or rather, *I*—was wearing comfortable loungewear, sitting at a desk. Manuscript paper and a laptop were spread out on the table. “…Regarding the male lead’s childhood trauma, I feel the previous setup was too simplistic. If we made him witness his mother being domestically abused as a child, wouldn’t it have more impact? That way, his later-life paranoia and insecurity would have a clear origin…” The video showed me talking to the camera. It was as if I was discussing the plot with someone, or perhaps just thinking aloud. This was a habit I had when writing. I would record my inspirations and ideas on video. It made it easier to review and organize later. This video was recorded when I was brainstorming the core concept of ‘The Cage.’ It detailed the male lead’s character backstory. This specific detail, in the “censored” version of the script Serena had released, was changed to a cliché “divorced parents, lack of love from childhood.” The difference in quality was instantly undeniable. The video was short, only a few minutes. After it finished, the office was utterly silent. Julian Maxwell’s face had gone beyond mere annoyance. He looked at the familiar face on the screen, his eyes swirling with complex emotions. “How much of this do you have?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse. “Enough to meticulously reconstruct the entire creative journey of the script,” I replied calmly. This was my trump card. I never go into battle unprepared. Serena thought she had stolen a printed manuscript. She didn’t know how many backups, how many records of the creative process, I had kept. Each piece of evidence was enough to drag her to hell. Julian leaned back on the sofa, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a long while, he opened his eyes again and looked at me. “What do you want?” He was smart. He knew I hadn’t shown him these things to make him “seek justice” for Ava Hayes. I was here to negotiate. “I want the Maxwell Group to invest in Liam Reed,” I said. “Is that all?” “Of course not.” I smiled faintly. “I want the Maxwell Group to withdraw all investment from Serena Thorne’s version of ‘The Cage.’ And, Mr. Maxwell, I want you to personally attend the launch event for Liam Reed’s version of ‘The Cage.’” This was my true objective. I didn’t just want Serena’s project halted. I wanted Julian Maxwell, the man at the pinnacle of capital, to personally endorse my screenplay. I wanted everyone to know who the chosen one was. This was undoubtedly a direct slap in Serena’s face. And in the most brutal way possible. Julian looked at me, his eyes unfathomably deep. “Miss Miller,” He suddenly changed the subject. “The ring on your hand is very unique.” I instinctively glanced at my right hand. On my index finger, I wore a very plain silver ring. The design was simple, with a single letter engraved on the inside. A ‘Z’. *Zhao*. It was my own name. I had worn it for many years, almost never taking it off. My heart plummeted. He… recognized me?

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On our wedding day, Julian went live across all social media, delivering a passionate declaration: “Happy wedding day, my beloved wife.” The very next second, he brutally ripped off my veil, a wicked smirk on his face: “Happy divorce, Aurora.” The tears of joy I’d been shedding froze on my cheeks. The entire ballroom erupted in laughter. As I stared in horrified disbelief, he pulled his assistant, stunning in a slinky gown, into his arms. “If you hadn’t insisted on fighting her for that necklace a week ago, I wouldn’t be doing this to you. “When you finally apologize and she’s calmed down, *then* I’ll actually marry you.” But he forgot, that necklace was a family heirloom, left to me by my mother. The Vance family’s legacy. I became the internet’s biggest joke. Meanwhile, Julian and his assistant’s ‘couple’ went absolutely viral. It was three months later, after he’d finished globetrotting with his assistant, that he casually asked: “Has she apologized yet?” “Mr. Caldwell, Ms. Aurora… she got married.”

“Mr. Caldwell, he’s the one who didn’t want to marry me.” The study was dimly lit. Julian’s father sat at his desk, his face etched with worry. He sighed. “I truly believed, with how close our families have always been, that our children could also… “Never mind, never mind… “Matters of the heart truly aren’t something you can force.” He handed me the engagement agreement and a check, both clearly marked “VOID.” “You should leave. Fill in whatever number you want on the check.” I walked out. Leaving the check behind. Our families had been close for generations, arranging my engagement to Julian. Of course, it was also about status and mutual advantage. But truthfully, aside from Julian himself, the Caldwell family had never wronged me. And I wouldn’t take a single dime from Mr. Caldwell. Stepping out of the mansion, I looked at the blazing sun, vaguely recalling that my first meeting with Julian had also been on such a bright, sunny day. He was like a rose on a high cliff, formidable and unapproachable, and I fell for him at first sight. But he sized me up, then sneered: “You’re not bad looking, but don’t even *think* about things that aren’t meant for you.” I thought he was talking about the Caldwell family fortune. He thought I was a gold-digger. For three years, I tried to make him understand I wasn’t after his money. It wasn’t until Seraphina returned from overseas and he eagerly brought her in as his personal assistant that I finally understood. He was talking about *his love*. I couldn’t accept that I’d wasted three years, so I clung to our engagement. But now. I tore the agreement to shreds and threw it into the trash. Then, a new message popped up on my phone: 【I’m leaving. If you’re really sure you won’t say yes, we won’t ever see each other again.】 【I agree.】 Not long after I sent the message, my phone rang. “You’re not just playing hard to get with him, are you?” “I swear, as Eleanor Vance’s daughter, I’m not lying to you.” On the other end, he took a few shaky breaths. Finally, he choked out one sentence: “I’ll treat you well.” I smiled. For Arthur, that was the biggest declaration of love he could make. My flight ticket arrived soon after. Departing tonight. I returned to the mansion to pack my bags. As I pushed open the door, I found Julian, who rarely showed his face at the mansion, actually waiting for me. “Have you thought it over?” In the darkness, his voice was chillingly low. “The necklace, are you going to give it to her?” I clutched the necklace around my neck. “Seraphina comes from a humble background; she’s only just started to experience luxury these past couple of years. She’s not even upset you *usurped her position*, she just liked your necklace. What, that’s not enough for you?” He walked closer, leaning over me. “Do you want me to really cancel our engagement?” That was his biggest threat to me. I used to feel so unwilling to let go. I felt like I was here first. Even if Seraphina had met him earlier, she had never truly loved him. Otherwise, why would she marry a rich old guy? Why would she instantly divorce him when she found her name wasn’t in his will, only to come back to Julian? I smiled. “Wouldn’t that be… exactly what you wanted?” I looked into his eyes. He frowned. Then, he turned and picked up two round-the-world tickets. One was his. The other… My heart seized up – It was my name? I was stunned – I had once said I wanted to travel the world before getting married. Would he actually buy me a ticket? The next second, the ticket was ripped to shreds. He tossed them carelessly, and the pieces fluttered down, landing on my hair, on my shoulders. He picked up his phone. “Rebook the tickets, for Seraphina and me. “Yes, I changed my mind.” With that, he glanced down at my astonished face, a sneer playing on his lips. He brushed past my shoulder, walking away from me.

As for Julian buying me a ticket, I was more inclined to believe he was just putting on a show of a loving couple for his father. Someone who hated me as much as he did would never genuinely do something good for me. I touched the necklace around my neck. I closed my eyes – This was the only memento my mother left me. It was also the Vance family’s legacy, passed down through generations. I would never, ever give it to anyone. I took off the necklace, carefully placed it in a velvet box, and packed it into my suitcase. I had planned to leave that night, but an electronic invitation landed in my inbox. It was for my mother’s fifth anniversary memorial concert. Inviting me, her only descendant, to perform her classic compositions. I hesitated for a moment. I called Arthur. “Can I come a couple of days later?” A moment of silence. “Are you having second thoughts?” “How could I?” I laughed. “I have something I absolutely must do.” “…Alright, I trust you, and I’ll wait for you.” A warm feeling welled up in my heart. I nodded. “Okay.” The concert was in two days. During these two days, I didn’t send Julian a single message. And he, as always, never contacted me first. I enjoyed the peace, focusing on practicing my mother’s pieces. Though I knew them by heart, I still wanted to present my best at my mother’s memorial concert. That morning, I woke up early, washed, and did my makeup. But, the moment I opened the red velvet box, the necklace was gone. I froze. A bad premonition crept into my heart. I called Julian. Through the phone, the background music of a concert hall sent a chill down my spine. “Are you at a concert? Did you take my necklace?!” Julian’s voice was nonchalant. “Seraphina has never performed at an event like this. She’s always dreamed of being a musician, but due to her family circumstances, she never had the chance. For you, a descendant of a renowned musical family, these occasions are plentiful. Seraphina’s birthday is coming up; just consider this your birthday gift to her.” “Julian!!” My furious shout echoed through the room. But then, the dial tone ‘beeped’ through the receiver. He’d hung up. I called again; no answer. I rushed to the venue as fast as I could. The moment I stepped out of the car, the music emanating from inside made my blood run cold – No! This song absolutely cannot be played in this setting!

On the concert stage, a familiar figure, wearing a mask, elegantly sat at the piano. And around her neck was my mother’s necklace! Under the expectant gaze of the audience, Seraphina’s graceful fingers lifted, pressing down on the first note. “No!” I tried to shout for her to stop. But the venue was too large; my voice couldn’t reach far enough. By the time I rushed to the VIP seating, someone suddenly stood up. “What song is that?! Don’t you know the composer of that melody promoted hateful ideologies?!” “Eleanor Vance was a celebrated humanitarian composer, a symbol of peace! You’re playing music by a composer known for hate speech – what does that mean?!” “This is a concert to honor Eleanor Vance! As her daughter, you’re not playing her classic compositions, but instead a controversial melody – what are your intentions?!” Audience members started standing up. If it weren’t for security holding them back, they would have likely stormed the stage by now. Seraphina stood up, startled. I could almost imagine the terrified expression beneath her mask. Julian rose from the VIP seating, giving a few quick instructions to his bodyguards. The next second, the furious crowd was held back by Julian’s men, five meters from the stage. He, meanwhile, escorted Seraphina backstage. I pushed aside the backstage curtain. “Seraphina!” Without a word, I lunged for her neck. But a hand firmly grabbed my wrist. “Let go!” I desperately tried to get to Seraphina, when Julian’s voice came from above me: “Have you made enough of a scene?! “Seraphina doesn’t mind you taking *her* place in my life, yet you’re constantly targeting her! What’s wrong with you?! “She’s not asking for anything valuable, just a simple apology and a cheap necklace! This concert might be insignificant to you, but it’s *her dream*! “Can’t you have a heart?!” “Slap!” My hand landed hard on his face. “Julian, darling!” Seraphina shrieked and threw herself at him. Julian looked at me in disbelief. “You… hit me?” I was breathing heavily. “First, this is a concert to honor my mother. “Second, that necklace is the Vance family’s legacy! Only I, a Vance, have the right to wear it!” Julian flinched. But Seraphina burst into tears. “Aurora, you’re lying! Why aren’t you usually celebrating, but suddenly you are now that it’s almost my birthday and I want to hold a concert? “You just look down on me, you don’t want me to achieve my dreams! You could have just said so, I would have stepped aside! Why lay a hand on Julian, darling?!” She cried even harder after that. I was furious and about to speak, but the organizer’s voice from outside interrupted me. “Excuse me, everyone, that’s not Ms. Vance’s daughter at all; our staff made a mistake. Please, calm down.” “Impossible!” The angry voices of the audience roared through the microphone across the venue. “She’s wearing the Vance family heirloom around her neck! I recognized it immediately!” “Exactly! Who else but a Vance would have that necklace?!” “Unless you bring out the *real* one, we won’t believe you! Do you dare? Do you dare?!” The organizer was extremely flustered. “We’re coordinating, we’re coordinating right now…” “Julian, darling!” Seraphina shrank into Julian’s arms. I glared at him. “Julian, make her go out there.” “Julian, darling…” Seraphina’s tears fell instantly. She pressed even closer to Julian. “Julian!” I gritted my teeth. “This is entirely her fault!” Julian paused. He raised his hand. And took off Seraphina’s necklace. “Aurora, switch outfits with her.” I thought I’d misheard. “You… you want me to admit that I played *that* song?” Julian gave a silent affirmation. “My mother was a humanitarian composer! How could I play that kind of music?! “It’s Seraphina’s poor judgment and lack of understanding! What does that have to do with me?!” “Seraphina was just careless for a moment!” Julian raised his voice. He pulled Seraphina closer. “She’s not a trained musician; her knowledge of composers isn’t as extensive as yours. You can’t be so harsh on her. “I promise you, just this once. After this, I’ll marry you.” “I refuse!” With that, I strode forward, trying to snatch the necklace. But Julian was too tall. He easily dodged me, extending the necklace out the window. “No!”

Julian held the necklace out the window with one hand, effortlessly restraining me with the other. “Are you going to let her bear all the rumors and scorn?” My eyes welled up. “So *I* can bear it, then?” A flicker of reluctance crossed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I will marry you. No one will dare bully Julian Caldwell’s wife.” I clutched the lapel of his jacket. “But,” he changed his tone, “If you don’t agree, I’ll just have to destroy this necklace.” “Wait!” Watching the necklace hang precariously from his fingers, swaying with the breeze. My hands trembled. “I’ll go out…” The curtain was pulled back, and I, wearing Seraphina’s dress, was pushed out. A microphone ‘thumped!’ against my forehead. Angry shouts filled my ears. “Traitor! How could you betray your mother’s legacy?!” “How can your mother rest in peace in her grave knowing you played *that* song?!” Tears streamed down my face. I bit down hard. “I’m sorry…” “What good is ‘sorry’?! If you’re truly remorseful, go die!” “That’s right! Die!” “Die!” My body trembled. I gritted my teeth. I bent down. “I’m sorry…” Rotten vegetables, shoes, and even phones were hurled at me. My forehead was bleeding from the impact. I looked up, and a familiar figure appeared behind the crowd. Julian stood behind everyone, watching me. For a moment, I actually thought I saw a flicker of heartache in his eyes. I guess… I must have been concussed. Julian turned and left. When I stumbled back backstage, the necklace was indeed resting perfectly in the red velvet box. It had even been polished, looking brand new. “Here, Julian, darling, left it for you.” Seraphina reluctantly pushed the box towards me. My hands trembled. Just as I was about to touch the necklace, another hand snatched it away. Seraphina’s chilling smile flashed before my eyes. The next second. “Smash!” The necklace hit the ground, shattering into pieces. “Did you really think I’d give it to you?” Seraphina laughed mockingly. “Dream on!” “Slap!” A bloody handprint appeared on her face. She fell heavily to the ground. “Bitch!” I raised my hand again. But my wrist was suddenly yanked. “Slap!” My face burned. I fell to the ground. Julian never hit women. Even when he couldn’t stand me, at most, he’d just mock me. Even when I slapped him, he wouldn’t hit back. This time, for Seraphina. He laid a hand on me. His leather shoe ground harshly on the shattered fragments of the necklace. “The necklace was already given to you, why did you still hit her?” “Julian…” “Enough!” He gritted his teeth. “I thought you were just a bit willful, but I never realized you were even more despicable than I imagined! It’s a miracle your mother didn’t live to see your monstrous face!” “You!” I coughed up a mouthful of blood. I was already injured. Now, consumed by anger, my vision completely blurred. The previous voices became panicked. “Aurora?” “Aurora, wake up!” I was pulled into an embrace. Hazily, I thought I heard Seraphina’s voice. “Julian, darling! Where are you going, leaving me behind?!” I woke up again, my cheek being gently stroked. Feeling me stir, the hand quickly withdrew. “When you’re better, go apologize to her.”

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On the third day my son went missing, I hacked into every smart system in our building. All 202 residents, from octogenarians to infants, were locked inside their homes. I sent my first message to the residents’ SnapChat group: “My son, Leo, is somewhere in this building. From now on, every hour, I’ll expose one family’s secret. If we don’t find Leo, we all die.” A multi-millionaire CEO in the group exploded in rage: “Are you insane?! What does your son being missing have to do with us?! I demand you stop this immediately!” I typed out my second message, attaching a screenshot of an encrypted financial statement. “@Mr. Henderson from 1502, you have fifty-nine minutes left. Friendly reminder: check your offshore accounts. See if the IRS would be interested.” I knew my son was watching someone in this building. … Three minutes earlier, the group chat was still full of fake sympathy. “@Sarah Miller from 801, any news on Leo? We’re all so worried.” “Yeah, Sarah, just say the word if you need help. We can even crowdfund for you.” “Did building management check the surveillance footage? What did the police say?” I leaned against the cold wall, staring at the warm words on my phone screen. Leo had been missing for 72 hours. Three days. The critical hours were slipping away, second by second. The police said the last surveillance footage showed Leo in the ground floor lobby. He was waving, seemingly at someone he knew, then skipped into the elevator of Tower B. “The Zenith Tower” is one of the most exclusive residential buildings in the city, with tight security; you need facial recognition to get in and out. The police checked all visitor logs. Nothing. So, whoever took Leo had to be a resident of this building. They went door-to-door, but everyone claimed they hadn’t seen him. The officer tried to calm me: “Please, don’t get too agitated, ma’am. We’ll expand our search.” Expand the search? My son was in this cage of steel and concrete! I took a deep breath, typed the last string of code into my laptop, and hit Enter. Instantly, the entire building emitted a low hum. All elevators stopped, all electronic door locks engaged automatically, the central air conditioning ceased, and I physically cut off the internet signal, leaving only a private network I’d set up. The residents’ SnapChat group blew up. “What the hell?! Did the power go out?!” “It’s not a blackout! All smart home systems are haywire!” “The doors won’t open! Management! Where the hell is building management?!” I calmly sent my first message to the group. After a second of dead silence, curses and panic erupted like a burst dam. Mr. Henderson from 1502 was a flashy CEO who’d made his fortune in fintech. He was the first to lash out: “You’re effing crazy! This is illegal detainment! I’m calling the police right now!” I sent out the screenshot I’d prepared. It was an internal financial statement from his company, showing a massive sum of money routed through a dozen shell companies, ultimately ending up in an offshore tax haven. I typed: “Mr. Henderson, you can certainly call the police. But when they arrive, they might want to talk to you first about commercial fraud and tax evasion. After all, the amount looks like enough to get you a life sentence.” Mr. Henderson went silent instantly. The group fell quiet again. I looked at Leo’s photo on the wall; he was smiling, showing his adorable little fangs. “Fifty-eight minutes left,” I whispered to the empty air. “Mommy will find you.” Chapter Two Ten minutes later, police sirens wailed downstairs. Detective Hayes, leading the team, shouted through a megaphone: “Sarah Miller! Calm down! Your actions constitute a serious crime! Restore the building’s systems immediately, and we can discuss everything!” I walked to the window and pulled open a sliver of the curtain. Downstairs, police lights flashed, the area was cordoned off, and media reporters, like sharks smelling blood, were trying to break through the perimeter. I didn’t respond to Detective Hayes. Instead, I sent my second message to the residents’ SnapChat group. “Dear neighbors, I know you’re innocent, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want my son back. From now on, I need you to do three things. First, you can knock on each other’s doors to confirm if your neighbors are okay. Then, think back carefully to three days ago, between 4 PM and 6 PM. Who did you see? What unusual sounds did you hear? Finally, send any clues to me or hand them over to Detective Hayes downstairs.” “Remember, you’re not just saving my son; you’re saving yourselves. After all, no one wants their deepest, darkest secrets to become everyone’s favorite scandal.” Those words hit a raw nerve for everyone in this building. What kind of people lived in The Zenith Tower? Entrepreneurs, doctors, lawyers, celebrities… Everyone wore a dazzling mask, but how much filth and disgrace lay hidden beneath? Someone in the group immediately responded. “@Professor Thorne from 1204, why is there so much noise from your place? Are you renovating?” “@Mrs. Davies from 1808, isn’t your husband away on a business trip? I thought I heard a man’s voice from your apartment.” “@Everyone, who can get into the building’s surveillance room? I can’t possibly see every corner on my own!” Panic and suspicion began to spread. The thin facade of neighborly harmony was ripped apart by my single act. Detective Hayes was still pleading downstairs: “Sarah Miller, we understand how you feel, but you can’t solve problems the wrong way! You’re defying the law!” I picked up a Bluetooth speaker, placed it by the window, and turned the volume to maximum. “Detective Hayes, you heard them. The power of the people is immense. My neighbors will find the clues you couldn’t find in three days, in just one hour.” “And don’t even think about breaking in or cutting the power. The building’s fire safety system and gas lines are also connected to my network. I wouldn’t want any ‘accidents’ to happen.” Detective Hayes went silent instantly. A young officer next to him whispered: “Detective, the tech team says the subject is a top-level expert. The firewall is too complex; it’ll take at least six hours to crack.” Six hours? It’ll be too late by then. Detective Hayes picked up his megaphone, his voice hoarse: “Alright! We’ll search! We’ll help you search! Just don’t do anything reckless!” I watched the countdown on the screen: thirty-five minutes. Chapter Three The first hour’s countdown ended. In the residents’ group, there were over a dozen clues, some believable, some not, but none pointed to Leo. Mr. Henderson sent an angry emoji to the group: “Sarah Miller! Time’s up! What the hell do you want?!” Many people chimed in, thinking I was just bluffing. I didn’t reply. Instead, I dropped a link directly into the group. It was a cloud drive with only one video file. The video’s thumbnail showed Mr. Henderson from 1502 and a new female intern from his company. The location: his office’s breakroom. The time: last week, when his wife was abroad visiting their daughter. The entire building heard a roar of rage and crashing sounds coming from unit 1502. I calmly typed the next line. “Next up, @Dr. Reed from 2101. Fifty-nine minutes left.” Dr. Reed from 2101 was a famous cardiac surgeon in the city, highly respected, and often appeared on TV shows. He immediately replied in the group: “Ms. Miller, I don’t know why you’re targeting me. Everything at my home is normal, and I’m willing to cooperate with any police investigation.” His posture was humble, seeming completely above board. Detective Hayes shouted downstairs again: “Sarah Miller! You’re already breaking the law! Publishing someone else’s private information is a crime!” I sneered. Talk about privacy with a scumbag who might have killed my son? I replied to Detective Hayes: “If Dr. Reed’s privacy can buy back my son’s life, I’m willing to go to jail.” “Detective Hayes, I advise you not to just focus on me. Check my neighbors too. The killer might be among them.” That statement instantly shattered any semblance of shared outrage that had just started to build in the building. Yes, someone in here, or a group of people, took my Leo. Who was it? My gaze fell on the most insignificant clue. It was from Chloe, a young tenant in 703. She said that three days ago in the afternoon, she thought she heard the faint, intermittent sound of a child playing with marbles in the hallway. It was very clear. Marbles? Leo’s favorite toy was a set of glass marbles. I remembered he had a few in his pocket when he left that day. What floor did the sound come from? The girl said she wasn’t sure. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs, or maybe downstairs. The soundproofing in this building was excellent. Hearing it meant the source wasn’t far. I immediately pulled up the hallway surveillance for the 7th, 8th, and 6th floors. But just like what the police had seen before, there was nothing. No, wait. I rewound the surveillance footage from my door at 801, back to 4:30 PM, three days ago. In the frame, the rug by my door was empty. I fast-forwarded the timeline. 4:40 PM. A cleaning lady pushed her cart past. 4:41 PM. The cleaning lady left. And on the edge of the rug by my door, something new appeared. A blue glass marble. Chapter Four My heart pounded. This marble was the first physical evidence since Leo disappeared! Why was it at my door? Was it a signal left by Leo himself, or a taunt from the culprit? The cleaning lady! I immediately @ the building manager in the group: “Send me the list and photos of all cleaning staff on duty recently! Now!” The building manager was terrified and didn’t dare to delay. Within seconds, a list came through. The cleaning lady in the photo was Mrs. Stone, in her fifties, with an honest, trustworthy face. I sent the surveillance screenshot to the group: “@Everyone, who knows this Mrs. Stone? Which floors does she clean? Where is she now?” Someone in the group immediately replied. “Mrs. Stone is a lovely lady, very hardworking.” “She usually handles the higher floors, 12th to 22nd.” “I don’t think she came in today?” I immediately had a bad feeling. I switched my computer screen and began to hack into the city’s traffic surveillance system. My husband, Ryan, is a cybersecurity architect. Over the years, being around him, I’d picked up a few things. And the tools he left on his home computer were top-notch. I entered Mrs. Stone’s ID number, which I’d gotten from the building manager. Soon, I located her address: an old, run-down neighborhood. At the same time, Detective Hayes’s team was in motion. “Sarah Miller, we’ve sent officers to find this cleaning lady! Don’t get agitated, it might just be a coincidence!” A coincidence? There aren’t that many coincidences in the world. While tracking the police car’s route to the old neighborhood, I kept a close eye on the residents’ group chat. Only ten minutes remained on the second hour’s countdown. Dr. Reed from 2101 suddenly posted a very long message in the group. He said: “Ms. Miller, I understand your feelings as a mother. How about this: I’m willing to offer a one-million-dollar reward for anyone who can provide information about Leo. I’ll pay for it myself, just please stop doing things that harm everyone.” His words instantly won him a lot of goodwill. “Dr. Reed is such a good person!” “Sarah Miller, did you hear that? Dr. Reed said he’d pay! What more do you want?” If I didn’t have dirt on him, would he be so kind? I ignored him and said to my computer: “Ryan, are you ready?” From the computer’s speakers, my husband’s tired but resolute voice replied: “Ready. Can activate anytime.” Ryan was in the USA, across the Pacific. He was my backup, and my last resort. Countdown, final minute. In the group, everyone held their breath, waiting to see what earth-shattering scandal would be exposed about Dr. Reed. Dr. Reed himself was so nervous he sent countless “please” emojis in the group. Time was up. I didn’t send any link. I just sent one sentence. “@Dr. Reed from 2101, your wife just threw all three of your computers and all your hard drives out the window.” Downstairs, there were gasps and the loud crash of heavy objects falling. Immediately followed by Dr. Reed’s hysterical roar from unit 210 I closed the residents’ SnapChat group. I knew Dr. Reed was finished. The records of all the illegal organ transplants he’d performed over the years were enough to get him a life sentence. Finally, I got a call from Detective Hayes. His voice was filled with shock and disbelief. “Sarah Miller… we found the cleaning lady.” “She hanged herself… in her home.” Chapter Five My mind went blank with a loud 嗡. The lead was gone, again. Detective Hayes’s urgent voice came through the phone: “Sarah Miller! Listen to me! This might be more complicated than we thought! You need to lift the system lockdown immediately! We need to get in and investigate! Mrs. Stone’s death might be directly connected to your son’s disappearance!”

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On the night of my 50th birthday, after years of our marriage being little more than a formality, my husband, Michael, actually came to my bed. I thought it was his birthday gift to me, but as soon as he was done, he said: “Let’s get a divorce. Just like last time, you can have all the assets.” Tears streaming down my face, I nodded in agreement. The woman he’d been seeing five years ago was back, and she had a child with her. The day we finalized the divorce, I handed him a paternity test report. This wasn’t the first time Michael had asked for a divorce. The last time was five years ago. He claimed he’d racked up gambling debts and wanted a “fake” divorce to protect our family assets. But there’s no such thing as a “fake” divorce in this world; a divorce certificate is always real. Back then, I was foolish enough to believe him, mostly because we divorced but didn’t separate. I still stayed home, managing the household and caring for our large family. Only, he rarely came home, and his phone was often unreachable. I worried, but then I thought, *this is just how it is when you’re hiding from debt*, and I settled my mind. About half a year later, he told me the gambling debts were sorted, and we remarried. I always thought he’d handled the whole thing quite cleverly. Until one evening, Michael’s friend, David, called, saying Michael was too drunk and I needed to pick him up. I stood outside the private room and overheard their conversation: “Dude, I told you long ago, those massage parlor girls are unreliable. It’s normal for them to run off.” “Exactly, those kinds of women are just for fun, not worth getting upset over. Move on.” “I can’t! I poured ten grand into her ‘services’ to boost her numbers! She just left, treating me like a fool!” “Come on, Michael, stop drinking. Sarah’s so good to you – sweet, understanding, and she keeps your home perfect. Go back to her.” The sound of a glass shattering inside jolted me awake from my dream of a happy marriage. My lip was bleeding where I’d bitten it, and tears rolled down my cheeks uncontrollably. So, there had been *her* between us. Who was she? When did it start? So many times, I wanted to ask, but the words caught in my throat. I was terrified that if I asked, this family would truly fall apart. That incident became a knot in my heart, a constant ache in my chest. Now, who was he divorcing me for this time? My grandson’s cries pulled me back to reality. I was about to go comfort him when Michael grabbed my arm. “Why aren’t you asking *why*? Why are you agreeing so easily?” It seemed he had a whole list of excuses ready, but I couldn’t be fooled a second time. I pretended to be concerned and asked: “How much do you owe this time?” He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he hugged me tightly: “Those bastards ganged up on me. This time, I might have to hide out for a while. The family’s all on you.” Seeing my tears, he seemed convinced he’d fooled me. He let out a sigh of relief and fell peacefully asleep. Soon, his snores filled the room. I quietly picked up his phone. There were no strangers on SnapChat. But on TikTok, all his recent likes were for the same woman. I tapped on her profile. Her videos were almost all daily clips of a little boy. Just as I was wondering about it, the woman’s profile picture flashed.

“Baby’s birthday tomorrow. Can you come be with him?” My heart pounded. I didn’t need to think twice; the woman from five years ago was back. The next morning, Michael whistled as he combed his hair, shaving his beard with unusual care. I quietly followed him out the door. He, who was usually so stingy, actually walked into a high-end department store. After buying two sets of kids’ clothes, he entered a fancy bakery, pointing to a cake decorated with an Ultraman figure and asking the price. The clerk enthusiastically asked: “Is it for your grandson’s birthday, sir? How many candles do you need?” Michael’s face flushed, embarrassed, and he nodded, holding up four fingers. Watching his face, beaming with happiness, my heart ached as if pierced by needles. He’d lecture Chloe if she bought clothes for Leo that cost more than twenty dollars, but he ordered a hundred-dollar cake without batting an eye. Afraid I’d be suspicious if he didn’t come home for dinner, he arranged to have lunch with Jessica and her son. The moment he saw the boy, his face lit up, and he picked him up, spinning him around. They went into the children’s play area at the mall. I stood by the entrance, looking at the price list, a bitter feeling rising in my chest. Two adults and one child: $39.99. My hands trembling, I sent him a text: “Let’s go to the courthouse to schedule our divorce tomorrow.” His reply came quickly: “Okay.” I stared at that single word, stunned and numb for a long time. All these years of our marriage, ultimately, couldn’t compete with their mere six months together. The next day, Michael took my hand as we walked out the door. When the city hall clerk asked the reason for the divorce, Michael blurted out: “Irreconcilable differences.” The clerk smiled, shaking her head: “Sir, you’re just discovering irreconcilable differences after 30 years of marriage? Marriage isn’t easy; maybe you should think it over before deciding.” But I couldn’t wait. The thought of that woman’s face made it hard for me to breathe. “I have cancer. I don’t want to burden him. Just get it done for us.” At that, the room fell silent. The clerk looked at Michael, shook her head, and sighed deeply. The moment I walked out of city hall, I suddenly felt a wave of relief, as if a huge boulder had been lifted from my chest. Michael grabbed my hand, tentatively saying: “Then I’ll move to David’s place for now, to hide out. With a grandson now, we can’t let those people find our home.” “Okay. Will you come back in 30 days?” “Of course, I will. Without the divorce certificate, those guys won’t believe me.” “Alright, I’ll wait for you right here then. You must come.” That night, Michael packed some personal belongings and hurried out of the house. Before he left, he even reminded me not to forget to change his paralyzed mother’s adult diapers. The very next day after he left, a group of men suddenly showed up at our recycling yard, carrying bats. They shouted loudly, “Michael! Come out!”

I was inside, doing the accounts, when the shouting outside startled me. As soon as I reached the door, the men surrounded me, their faces menacing, as if ready to strike at any moment. Seeing me, the bald leader barked: “Get Michael out here!” “He’s not here.” “Not here? Then *you* pay the money he owes!” With that, two men grabbed my arms, while the others started rummaging through everything. A drawer full of cash and the money from my fanny pack were taken to their boss. The man looked at it—all small bills, only a few hundred dollars in total. Enraged, he grabbed a handful of money and savagely flung it at my face. “Tell Michael, if he doesn’t pay up, I’ll kill him!” As soon as he spoke, a black bag was thrown over my head, and I was shoved to the ground. “What are you doing!” I shrieked, but no one answered. A flurry of punches and kicks came without warning, pain assaulting me from every part of my body. A heavy kick landed on my stomach, and I gasped, unable to make another sound, one thought repeating in my mind: *Maybe I was wrong about Michael. This time, he really is in debt.* My consciousness slowly blurred, and I lay motionless on the ground. They took the black bag off my head, checked my breathing, confirming I wasn’t dead. “Boss, I think she’s passed out.” “Alright, Old Michael just said to scare her a bit, not kill her.” The footsteps gradually receded into the distance. But my heart ached more than my body. Michael would go to such lengths, even having me beaten, just to make me believe he was truly in debt. Five days in the hospital, my phone was eerily silent. Only Daniel called once, about Leo. Hearing I was in the hospital, he just said he’d visit when he had time, but he never showed up. After being discharged, I immediately bought a plane ticket.

The plane landed in an unfamiliar southern city. Humid air washed over me. I went to my best friend Brenda’s house. She had just retired, her husband had passed away, and she had no children. It was the freest time of her life. It had been years, but Brenda was as warm as ever, holding my hand and asking endless questions. When she heard I was divorced, she cheered: “You should’ve left him ages ago! That jerk never deserved you.” Her words surprised me. For 30 years, I’d always felt like I had married above my station. Michael and I both came from humble backgrounds, introduced and married. Everyone in our village said I’d hit the jackpot; Michael’s family was one of the wealthiest there, and he was tall and good-looking. In front of him, I always felt a bit insecure, so I just tried my best to take care of him. Not long after we married, we followed his father thousands of miles away to the city to start a business. After Daniel was born, the recycling yard business thrived, and more and more rumors of Michael’s shenanigans reached my ears. But they were always just rumors. Michael had always been gentle and attentive to me, so I never truly doubted him. Brenda poured me a glass of red wine and asked about my plans. “Take me to a spa. I want to know what a foot massage feels like.” “No problem.” In the private room at the spa, the lights were dim, the music soft. Brenda saw my cautious demeanor and couldn’t help but tease: “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to a spa before.” My face flushed, and I gave an embarrassed smile. Brenda scoffed in disbelief: “A guy like Michael, he’s probably had hundreds of massages outside, if not thousands. You, Sarah, you’re just too naive.” The masseur was a young guy in his twenties. Every time he called me “ma’am,” I got goosebumps. *Is this how Michael got caught, with all those “sirs” from the massage parlor girls?* Lost in thought, I drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, my phone had a dozen missed calls and dozens of messages. Daniel and Chloe were frantic: “Mom, Leo’s still crying after his milk. What should we do?” “Mom, Grandma Martha’s adult diapers are gone. Where do you buy them?” “Mom, when are you coming home?” Before I could finish reading the messages, Daniel’s call came through again: “Mom, where are you? When are you coming back?” Leo’s crying could be heard in the background. My nose tingled. “I’m out enjoying myself for a few days. I’ll be back soon. You two handle it for now.” Daniel fell silent. The sound of Leo’s crying and dishes clattering grew clearer. Afraid I’d give in, I immediately hung up, but tears still flowed stubbornly. After three days of fun with Brenda, Daniel’s messages started to change. From anxious inquiries, they turned into subtle reproaches. The last message was a direct accusation: “How can you be so selfish, Mom? At your age, you’re still not home, not acting like a grandmother should.” Reading those words, my heart felt like it had been brutally stabbed. Since marrying Michael, I had never rested. Even with a fever, I would get up in the middle of the night to feed Leo and change his diapers. I raised Daniel, and then came Leo. Both Daniel and Chloe worked, so Leo had slept with me since he was born. Every two hours, I’d get up to warm the breast milk Chloe had stored in the fridge for him. After six months, half my hair was gone. I touched my thinning hair and asked Brenda: “Where can I get a hair treatment?” Brenda laughed at me: “Hair treatment? Seriously, Sarah? That’s so old school. Leave it to me.” Brenda took me to a hair salon. Soon, my hair was dark again, making me look 10 years younger instantly. When it was time to pay, I suddenly thought to check my bank balance. Seven figures! I stared at the number, counting it several times. I couldn’t believe Michael was so rich! Yet I’d been picking through discount vegetables at the supermarket, waiting until 8 PM for meat sales, taking the bus instead of a taxi, haggling with grocers over a few cents. All these years, Michael and I had been living in two completely different worlds. As Brenda and I were binging a show with face masks on, Michael showed up. “You’ve had your fun. Come home with me. Everything’s a mess.” Seeing Michael’s anger about to boil over, Brenda stepped between us, smiling at Michael. “Oh, it’s all my fault. I asked Sarah to stay with me for a few days, I forgot she had a whole family to take care of.” She politely invited Michael in and specifically brewed him tea. “Michael, have some tea first. I’ll help Sarah pack her bags.” Brenda winked at me, and I followed her into the bedroom. I thought she was going to encourage reconciliation, but instead, she leaned in and whispered: “You haven’t gotten the divorce certificate yet, don’t burn your bridges too soon. Figure out a way to make him leave with nothing, otherwise, won’t that woman and her kid just get everything?” “But he gave me all the assets, didn’t he?” “You’re naive! He definitely didn’t give you everything. He’s tricking you into this divorce so he can be with that woman. If he gave *you* all his money, how would he support his child?” Her words hit me like a revelation. I quickly packed my bags and went home with Michael. I didn’t have proof of his infidelity, but I was going to make sure he left with nothing. Back home, Michael was still out all the time. I hired a daytime housekeeper and stopped doing any chores myself. With my free time, I followed Michael and found Jessica’s house. After two days of staking out their apartment complex’s recycling room, I successfully retrieved the trash she’d thrown out. With only a week left until the final divorce, the DNA test results for her child came back. The result was a huge shock! 6 I arranged to meet Jessica at a coffee shop, and she readily agreed. She was wearing a dress, her figure curvy, looking around 30 years old, with a composed demeanor.

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“Dad went to pick up sis today,” my son, Leo, said from the backseat. “What sis?” My hand tightened on the steering wheel. “Just sis!” He fiddled with his backpack. “Dad said I couldn’t tell you, Mom.” Red light. I slammed on the brakes. “Honey, what does sis look like?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “She’s really pretty, with long hair. And she has a big Mickey Mouse backpack.” “How old is she?” “I don’t know. A little bit older than me, maybe.” My son is five and a half. “Mom, what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” I forced a smile. “Mommy’s just a little tired today.” My phone rang. It was Mark. I didn’t answer. Friday, 5:30 PM. As soon as we got home, I asked Leo directly, “Where is this sister?” “Over on Willow Creek.” He said innocently. “Dad took me there, and he bought me fries.” “What’s the address?” “I don’t know the house number, but it has a really big slide.” Willow Creek. That’s an upscale neighborhood in the East District. Properties there cost a fortune. “How many times have you been?” “Three times, I think.” Leo mused. “Oh, wait, four! Last time Dad even bought sis a cake.” My hands were shaking. “Go to your room and play with your toys, sweetie.” As soon as I closed the door to his room, I called Mark. It connected on the third ring. “Amelia.” “Willow Creek?” Silence on the other end for three agonizing seconds. “How…how did you know?” “So it’s true?” “Amelia, I can explain…” “Explain what? That you have a daughter? Or explain how long you’ve been hiding her from me?” “It’s not what you think…” “Then what is it?!” I sneered. “How old is the child?” “Five.” His voice was barely a whisper. Five. We’ve been married for six years. “Who is she?” “That…” “Tell me!” “You don’t know her.” “Her name.” “Sarah Harris.” My mind went blank. “I’ll go see the child this weekend.” I heard myself say. “Send me the address.” “Amelia, please don’t get agitated…” “I’m perfectly calm.” I hung up. My phone immediately rang again. It was him. I turned it off. Just then, the front door opened. It was my mom, Eleanor. She’d said she’d come over to help with Leo today. “What’s wrong, honey? You look awful.” “Mom…” I burst into tears. An hour later, I’d told her everything. My mom’s face went from red to white, then white to red. “Divorce.” She uttered only one word. “Mom…” “Divorce immediately.” Her voice was eerily calm. “I’ll have your brother, David, come over tomorrow.” “But what about Leo?” “Leo stays with you. You take the house, the cars, everything.” She spoke with absolute certainty. “And that woman and her child? They won’t get a single penny.” Just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock. Mark was home. He saw my mom and froze. “My mother-in-law is here too.” “Too?” My mom scoffed. “Wouldn’t it be more convenient if I wasn’t here?” “Mother-in-law, please let me explain…” “Explain what? Explain that you’re keeping a mistress and a child outside our home?” “It’s not like that…” “Then what is it like?” My mom stood up. “Tell me clearly, what exactly is going on with that child?” He glanced at me. “Speak!” My mom slammed her hand on the table. “She’s an old girlfriend.” He finally began. “After we broke up, she found out she was pregnant, but she didn’t tell me. Not until the child was three, and she found me…” “And then?” “And then I… I couldn’t just abandon them.” “Couldn’t abandon them?” My mom laughed, a chilling sound. “So you secretly kept them, mother and daughter, behind my daughter’s back?” “I only gave her child support…” “How much?” I cut in. “What?” “How much every month?” He stayed silent. I opened my banking app and typed in my password. In the transaction history, on the 15th of every month, there was a fixed transfer: $8,000. “Eight thousand.” I said. “Eight thousand a month, for five years. How much is that?” “Four hundred eighty thousand.” My mom calculated for me. “Four hundred eighty thousand! Your son’s kindergarten costs $20,000 a year, and he’s giving that bastard child eight thousand a month?” “Mom, don’t talk about the child like that…” He pleaded. “I’m not your mom!” My mom pointed to the door. “Get out. Get out now!” “Mother-in-law…” “I said get out!” Just then, Leo’s bedroom door opened. My son stood in the doorway, his eyes red-rimmed. “Mommy, why are you fighting?” My heart sank. “It’s nothing, sweetie…” “Is it because of sis?” He started to cry. “I shouldn’t have said anything, Daddy said not to tell…” Mark’s face changed. “Leo, you…” “You taught your son to lie?” My mom looked utterly disgusted. “I didn’t…” “You made a five-year-old child keep your secret. What is that if not lying?” I picked up Leo and retreated to the bedroom. I closed the door, but the arguing outside continued. My phone rang. An unknown number. I answered. “Is this Mrs. Miller?” A woman’s voice. “It is. Who’s this?” “This is Sarah Harris.” My hand trembled. “We need to talk.” She said. “Tomorrow at 3 PM, at the Starbucks on Willow Creek.” “Okay.” I heard myself say. After hanging up, my phone vibrated again. It was a bank text: “Your joint account just had an outflow of $100,000. Current balance: $23,678.” One hundred thousand?! I immediately stormed out of the bedroom. “You just transferred a hundred thousand dollars?” He froze. “To whom?” “I…” “Tell me!” “Sarah needed to change apartments. She was short on the down payment…” I laughed. I finally laughed. “Mom, you’re right. Divorce.” My voice was eerily calm. “We’ll go tomorrow.” “Amelia…” “Don’t call me Amelia.” I looked at him. “From now on, we’re strangers.” “Just listen to me…” “I won’t.” I grabbed my purse. “Tomorrow at 3 PM, I’m meeting Sarah. After that, I’m going to see a lawyer. The day after tomorrow, we’ll go to the courthouse.” “What about Leo?” “He stays with me.” “I have parental rights too…” “You want parental rights?” My mom sneered. “Fine, we’ll see you in court. Let’s see if a judge will award custody to a man who has an illegitimate child, transfers marital assets, and deceives his wife!” His face went white. “And,” my mom continued, “this house was bought by my daughter before marriage. You have no claim to it.” That was true. When we bought the house, I paid the down payment. He only added his name to the deed. “Mom, let’s go.” I took Leo’s hand. “Where are we going?” “A hotel.” “Good.” The moment the door closed, I heard him say, “Amelia, I’m so sorry.” I didn’t look back. In the elevator, my mom suddenly asked, “Can we get that hundred thousand back?” “Probably.” I said. “It’s a joint account; large expenditures require both parties’ consent.” “Good.” She nodded. “Tomorrow, I’ll have your brother, David, go with you to see that woman.” “No need.” I said calmly. “I’ll go by myself.” The elevator reached the ground floor. As we walked out, Leo suddenly asked, “Mommy, will I not have a sister anymore?” I crouched down, looking at him. “Honey, you’ll always be Mommy’s only precious one.” “What about Daddy?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to. Friday, 9:30 PM. In the hotel room, Leo was already asleep. My mom was on the balcony, making a call, probably to David. I stared at my phone. Thirty-seven missed calls, all from Mark. And SnapChat messages, 99+. I didn’t look at a single one. My phone rang again. This time, it was Mark’s mom, Brenda. I hesitated, then answered. “Amelia, dear…” Her voice sounded a little panicked. “Mom.” “Did you… have a fight?” More than just a fight. I sneered. “Mom, do you know about that child?” Silence on the other end. “You knew?” My voice rose. “Amelia, listen to me…” “You knew all along?” “I… I only found out last year…” Last year. Last year, the child was four. “So you hid it from me for a year?” “I was doing it for the good of the family…” “For the good of the family?” I laughed. “So letting me stay in the dark, letting my husband transfer eight thousand to another woman every month, was for the good of the family?” “But after all, that’s also our family’s child…” I hung up. My mom came in from the balcony. “Who was that?” “Brenda.” “What did she say?” “She knew all along.” My mom’s face darkened. “She knew and didn’t tell you?” “She said it was for the good of the family.” “For what family?” My mom laughed, bitterly. “Her son has another woman and child outside, and she thinks that’s good? Letting my daughter be a fool, that’s for the good of the family?” I didn’t speak. My phone rang again. Still Brenda. I didn’t answer. She sent a SnapChat message: “Amelia, please don’t get upset. Can we meet and talk tomorrow? Some things aren’t what you think…” Not what I think? Then what are they? I threw my phone onto the bed. “Mom, I want to sleep for a bit.” “Okay, you sleep.” She sighed. “You’ve been through so much these past years.” I closed my eyes. Been through so much? It was more than that. I thought of these six years of marriage. I thought of our wedding, when he told me he would take care of me for a lifetime. I thought of the day Leo was born, when he said, “Thank you for giving me a family.” I thought of every month when he said he was handing over his entire salary, and I believed I had everything. Turns out, all I had was a lie. No. I didn’t even have a lie. All I had was ignorance of the truth. My phone vibrated non-stop. I opened my eyes, picked it up, and looked. It was Mark’s SnapChat messages: Amelia, please don’t be like this. I really know I messed up. Can we just talk this through? Leo is still small, we can’t get divorced. I swear, I’ll never see Sarah again. I’ll get that hundred thousand back. Amelia, we can’t just end like this. I read them, deleted the chat history. Blocked him. At 2 AM, my mom’s phone rang. She answered, then handed it to me. “It’s David.” “Hey sis.” My brother’s voice was grave. “Mom told me everything. Don’t worry, I’ll go with you tomorrow.” “No need, I can handle it myself.” “Don’t be stubborn.” “I’m not. I’m calm. I just want to face this alone.” “Alright then, but I’ve already contacted a lawyer for you. Tomorrow at 5 PM, after you see that woman, go to the law firm.” “Okay.” “Also, about that hundred thousand, go to the bank and freeze the joint account first.” “I know.” “Sis, don’t be scared. You still have me.” After hanging up, I suddenly started to cry. For six years, I thought I had a family. Only now did I realize, my real family had been behind me all along. Saturday, 10 AM. I went to the bank. “Madam, freezing a joint account requires both parties to be present…” the staff member said. “Here’s a lawyer’s letter.” I handed it over. “My husband is suspected of illegally transferring joint marital assets.” The staff member read it, and their attitude immediately changed. “Please wait.” Half an hour later, the account was successfully frozen. And the $100,000 transfer? A recall request had been initiated. Stepping out of the bank, I sent Mark a SnapChat message: Account frozen. $100,000 recall initiated. After meeting Sarah at 3 PM, I’m seeing a lawyer. See you at the courthouse the day after tomorrow. After sending it, I blocked him again. My phone immediately rang. It was Brenda. “Amelia, how could you freeze the account?!” She yelled into the phone. “That’s my money.” “That’s your joint marital property!” “Exactly. So he can’t unilaterally dispose of it.” “But if you do this, how will he live?” I laughed. “Mom, are you worried about how he’ll live, or are you worried he won’t be able to transfer money to Sarah anymore?” “Amelia, how can you talk like that?” “How am I talking? Mom, I ask you, these six years, have I ever wronged your family?” She fell silent. “I haven’t, have I? Every holiday I give you money, I take care of your daily needs, I gave you a grandson, and I still have to work to support the family. Have I ever complained?” “No, but…” “But what? But I shouldn’t have found out about his illegitimate daughter? But I should have pretended not to know and continued to be a fool?” “That’s not what I mean…” “Then what do you mean? Mom, just tell me directly.” A long silence on the other end. “Amelia, can you please, for Leo’s sake, give him another chance?” “I can’t.” “Why not?” “Because he’s not worth it.” I hung up. Back at the hotel, my mom had already packed Leo’s things. “Honey, how about going to the amusement park with Grandma today?” “Yay!” Leo jumped for joy. “What about Mommy?” He suddenly asked. “Mommy has something to do, I’ll pick you up tonight.” “Is Mommy going to see sis?” I froze. “No.” I crouched down, looking at him. “Honey, how much do you remember about sis?” “I remember!” He tilted his head, thinking. “Sis lives in a very beautiful house, and there’s a very gentle auntie there.” “What does the auntie look like?” “Very pretty, long hair, and she speaks softly.” “Dad and the auntie…” I gritted my teeth. “How do Dad and the auntie interact?” “Dad hugs the auntie.” Leo said naturally. “And he kisses her cheek.” My heart felt like it was being sliced by a knife. “Just like Daddy used to kiss Mommy.” He added. Used to. Yes, used to. Now he barely touched me. I thought it was because of work. Turns out, there was someone else. “Alright, honey, go have fun with Grandma.” I stood up, trying to keep my voice normal. “Mommy, are you crying?” “No, something got in my eye.” After seeing my mom and Leo off, I started to get ready. Makeup, change of clothes, organize my purse. The woman in the mirror looked perfectly calm. But only I knew, my hands were shaking the whole time. 2:30 PM, I arrived at Starbucks early. Ordered a coffee, sat in a corner. Every second of waiting felt like a year. Exactly 3 PM, a woman walked in. She was young, looked no older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Long hair, white dress, carrying an LV bag. She saw me and walked over. “Mrs. Miller?” “Ms. Harris.” She sat down and ordered a latte. Then, she looked at me and smiled. “You’re calmer than I expected.” “You’re younger than I expected.” I smiled back. We stared at each other for a few seconds. “So?” I spoke first. “What did you want to talk about?” “I think we need to talk.” She was very calm. “About Mark.” Mark was my husband’s name. “Talk about what?” “His allegiance.” She was direct. “Mrs. Miller, you must know that Mark is in a lot of pain right now.” “Oh?” “He’s stuck between us, it’s very difficult for him.” I laughed. “He’s finding it difficult? He didn’t find it difficult when he was secretly keeping another woman and child from me, did he?” “That’s because he hadn’t figured out how to tell you yet.” “Hadn’t figured it out? For five years, hadn’t figured it out?” She fell silent. “Ms. Harris, I don’t want to beat around the bush.” I looked at her. “What exactly do you want?” “I want a complete family.” She said. “I want Chloe to have a father.” “Chloe is the daughter’s name?” “Yes.” “Pretty name.” I nodded. “But, that’s not my problem.” “What do you mean?” “Your daughter needs a father. That’s between you and Mark. It has nothing to do with me.” “But Mark is your husband.” “Yes, so?” “So you divorce him, and he can marry me.” I finally understood. “You want me to initiate the divorce?” “Yes.” She was very frank. “Mrs. Miller, I know this sounds impolite, but we’re both adults. Let’s just be straightforward.” “Fine, let’s be straightforward.” I leaned back in my chair. “What do you want to say?” “Mark says your marriage has been a sham for a long time.” “Oh?” “He says you haven’t had marital relations for over a year.” “And?” “And he says he’s always wanted a divorce, but you wouldn’t agree.” I chuckled aloud. “I wouldn’t agree?” “Yes, he says you threatened him that if he divorced you, you’d make him leave with nothing.” “What else did he say?” “He said you’re very materialistic, and you only married him because of his house.” My smile froze. “He said that?” “Yes.” She was serious. “Mrs. Miller, I have no ill will, I just want you to know that your marriage is meaningless. It’s better to part amicably.” “Part amicably.” I repeated. “And then let him marry you?” “Yes.” “You know, Ms. Harris.” I suddenly said. “Not a single word you’ve said is true.” She flinched. “I bought the house, I paid the down payment, and I’m paying the mortgage.” I spoke slowly, distinctly. “These six years, I handed over every cent of my salary to him. He said he wanted to start a business, and I used all my savings to support him. Marital relations? We were intimate just last month. A sham? Last week he said he wanted to take me on a trip.” Her face changed. “You…” “And there’s more.” I cut her off. “Do you know where that eight thousand dollars he gives you every month comes from?” “It’s… it’s his salary…” “No, it’s my salary.” I smiled. “He’s been unemployed for a long time. I’m supporting him now.” “Impossible…” “You can choose not to believe me.” I pulled out my phone. “Here are our bank statements. See for yourself.” She took my phone, her face growing paler and paler. “How could this be…” “How could this be? Because he’s a liar.” I took my phone back. “Ms. Harris, I don’t know what he told you, but I can tell you that every word he said was a lie.” “I don’t believe it!” She stood up. “He wouldn’t lie to me!” “Then ask him.” I said calmly. “Ask him if he’s unemployed, ask him if the money he gives you every month is my salary, ask him if that hundred thousand dollars was from my savings.” “You…” “And, I’ve already recalled that hundred thousand dollars, and the joint account is frozen.” I stood up. “Ms. Harris, it was nice to meet you, but I’m afraid we won’t be seeing each other again.” “What do you mean?” “It means, your business with him, you two solve it yourselves.” I picked up my bag. “I’m getting a divorce, but not to make things easier for you two. I’m doing it for myself.” “Wait!” She grabbed my arm. “What about Chloe?!” “Your daughter, you’re responsible for her.” I pulled my arm away. “Just as I will be responsible for my son.” Stepping out of the coffee shop, my legs were shaking. But I forced myself to walk to my car, got in, and closed the door. Then, I collapsed onto the steering wheel and cried. Saturday, 5 PM. The law firm. “Mrs. Miller, based on your description, this case is quite straightforward.” The lawyer was very professional. “Firstly, the house was purchased by you before marriage; it’s your personal property. Secondly, your husband had an affair and unilaterally transferred joint marital assets, which is legally very advantageous for you.”

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Last life, my best friend gave me a longevity lock, a beautiful gold charm. Little did I know, once I put it on, it couldn’t be taken off. And then, I had a fever for seven straight days. When I finally recovered, bad luck haunted my every step. That’s when I found out: my life of fortune had been swapped with her husband’s fate of an early death. From then on, they lived a blissful life where money seemed to roll in effortlessly, while I was left broke, struggling, and unlucky in everything. I barely lived to thirty before I was hit by a car and died in an accident. As I lay dying, my older brother, Tyler, who suffered from XYY syndrome, let out a heart-wrenching cry and tried to shield me. But it was no use. We both died that day. Reborn, I opened my eyes to find myself back at the moment she was about to give me that longevity lock. A cold smile touched my lips. If she wanted my prosperous life so badly, then I’d give her a husband with XYY syndrome. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!” The dorm door burst open with a bang, and my best friend, Brittany Hayes, walked in, holding a cake with lit candles. That’s when my other roommates, Chloe and Ashley, realized it was my birthday. “Oh my God, Brittany, you’re so thoughtful!” Chloe exclaimed. “Cassidy, I’m so jealous you have a best friend like her,” Ashley added. … Brittany suppressed a smug grin, pretending to be bashful. “Oh, it’s nothing, isn’t it just what best friends do for Cassidy?” She handed me a gift box and told me to open it to see if I liked it. Inside was a golden longevity lock. Everyone gasped in awe. “Wow, that must’ve cost a fortune!” In my last life, I was first thrilled that Brittany remembered my birthday, and then utterly moved by such an expensive gift. But I had no clue that this lock was a cursed charm! Once it was on, it would swap my life with her boyfriend’s! Back then, I suffered from a high fever for a whole week, with no warning, no reason. Doctors were stumped. But once I got better, my luck turned sour. I became impoverished, couldn’t even afford food. Meanwhile, her boyfriend started living the good life, with money literally falling into his laps, winning the lottery left and right. I only lived ten more years after that before a car crash ended my life. When I died, a fortune teller who had once read my future happened to pass by. He said my life was destined for immense prosperity and boundless wealth. How could it have ended so miserably? It was then I realized: my fate, from the moment she placed that lock on me when I was twenty, had been swapped! Now, in front of me, Brittany’s eyes flickered with a ruthless smile, but she gently took out the lock. “Cassidy, let me help you put it on.” “I picked this gift out for so long; it’ll definitely suit you.” My heart seized. This lock had been custom-made. If I put it on, I wouldn’t be able to take it off for the rest of my life!

I quickly stepped back, dodging her. She paused, then her face crumbled into a look of hurt. “Don’t you like my gift?” “But I saved up my allowance for half a year, penny by penny.” “Never mind. I guess I’m just not someone people like, and my gifts are trash, always getting rejected.” Hearing this, my roommates immediately felt sorry for her and started scolding me. “Cassidy, this is her heartfelt gesture! How cold-blooded are you to ignore her feelings?!” Chloe cried. “I totally misjudged you! Fine, then we won’t give you presents either.” Ashley chimed in. … I could only say that I appreciated her intention and accepted the gift, but I already had a necklace on. Brittany’s eyes welled up. “Mine is more expensive than yours. Doesn’t it deserve to be around your neck?” Just then, my brother Tyler’s gruff voice boomed from downstairs. “Sis! C-come down!” I suddenly remembered that my family had planned to take me out for a dinner party tonight to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. I used it as an excuse to slip away downstairs. But Brittany followed, grabbing my arm. “Cassidy, just try it on! You’ll definitely love it!” Even though I’d already accepted it, she wouldn’t give up until she’d put it around my neck. Tyler’s eyes widened, and he abruptly shoved Brittany away. “She said she doesn’t want to wear it! Stop bothering her!” Brittany was startled, standing rooted to the spot. I quickly made an excuse that we had to go and pulled my brother away. But I never expected that same night, she’d post my brother on the campus gossip page. The accompanying picture, taken by a passerby, showed her face full of panic when my brother pushed her away. “I was just kindly giving a gift, but her brother yelled at me. Was I really in the wrong?” Below, several comments were clearly instigating trouble. “That guy has XYY Syndrome; there’s something wrong with his head. That girl is sweet and kind; her best friend should stay away from her.” “Isn’t that the Miller guy… honestly, every time I see her brother, he looks terrifying.” “Why are XYY people even alive? They should just be snuffed out!” … The post’s popularity soared, clearly boosted by paid promotion. Hundreds of comments piled up instantly, all attacking me and my brother. I clicked on a few and realized they were Brittany’s alt accounts. And the third comment, the one advocating for strangling XYY people, was from Brittany’s boyfriend, Jason. I trembled with rage. During my mother’s prenatal check-ups, nothing had shown up. It was too late when Tyler was born with XYY Syndrome. Even with all the challenges of his condition, our family had never given up on him. But now, manipulated by Brittany and her boyfriend, he was subjected to this kind of online abuse. I looked at that life-swapping longevity lock and a thought, sudden and chilling, began to form.

But I didn’t know if this thought was right or wrong. Did I really have the right to decide someone else’s life? My brother Tyler sat on the sofa, eyes vacant, drooling. His eyes were wide-set, his pupils small, making him look somewhat unsettling at first glance. For so many years, our family hardly dared to let him out alone. If we could, we would have kept him on a leash. Mom had even quit her job to be by his side constantly. I suddenly hesitated, murmuring, “Is this really the right thing to do?” “If I give Jason Reed’s life to you, you’ll become normal, but you’re also destined not to live past 35…” “But if things stay as they are, when you get older…” In my last life, my brother remained XYY syndrome-affected and intellectually disabled his entire life. He was cursed at every time he went out. Later, he would tremble when he met strangers and would lock himself in his room, hurting himself when he was upset. Jason Reed’s fate, though not bringing wealth, was destined for a peaceful life. Now facing such a choice, I was at a loss. Suddenly, Tyler stammered, “G-good, Sis…” I froze, realizing he was actually responding to me. Tears streamed down my face in an instant. My brother, trapped in that body, must have been suffering even more than I imagined. And so, I solemnly placed that longevity lock on him. As graduation approached, Brittany and Jason had secretly gotten their marriage license because Brittany didn’t want to spend money on a wedding reception. Two years ago, when Brittany and I went to a temple to pray, we coincidentally met a fortune teller. After analyzing our birth details, he marvelled at my fate, saying I was destined for wealth, and after graduation, I would enjoy thirty years of immense fortune. Money, both legitimate and windfalls, would pour in; I’d be swimming in cash without lifting a finger. At the time, Brittany didn’t believe him, but over the next two years, everything the fortune teller predicted for me came true. So, she must have coveted my fate for a long time. In my last life, she took my prosperity, enjoyed a lifetime of luxury, and caused my early death. This life, it was time for her to pay the price. I’d give her a husband with XYY syndrome, and we’d see if she could handle it! I went to a jewelry store and picked out an identical longevity lock to wear myself. That way, those people couldn’t say anything. Brittany happily took a photo with me and posted it on Ins, with a caption hinting at something else: “Bringing fortune home.” And Jason commented below: “Honey, wait till I get rich and take care of you (thumbs up).” She replied: “Okay, hubby (tongue out).” I was very much looking forward to seeing how they would get rich.

Just when I thought everything was going smoothly, I started experiencing the same symptoms as in my last life. A persistent high fever, a hoarse throat, and I was bedridden. How could this be!? I grew more worried each day. Because fate is a fickle thing. If my destiny truly included windfalls, then even if I tripped and fell outside, I’d somehow stumble over gold necklaces! But if I had still swapped lives with Jason this time, what was the point of my rebirth? My heart pounded with increasing panic, but I had no one to confide in. Brittany, once assured that I had the lock, quickly grew tired of me and moved out of the dorm, not even bothering to pretend anymore. She told everyone she met: “I had someone read my fortune, and Cassidy is going to be a magnet for bad luck, sick all the time. I’d advise you all to stay far away from her.” I gritted my teeth, propping up my ailing body, and found the same fortune teller who had read my fate in my last life. After hearing the whole story, the fortune teller said there must be something I hadn’t discovered and told me to go back and search thoroughly. I had no choice. I rummaged through everything she had ever given me, but found nothing. Just as I was despairing, I shook out my pillowcase, and a small paper doll fluttered out. It was drawn to resemble Jason, and on its back, his birth details were written! The fortune teller said, “That’s it! Both the lock and the paper doll work together. And since you touched the lock, the effect was stronger on you. But luckily, you found it early.” A cold sweat broke out over me. That same day, I placed the paper doll under my brother’s pillow and instructed my parents to watch him as he slept. The next day, my fever gradually subsided. This time, I was eager to see how Brittany could enjoy a life of luxury as she did in my last life.

Soon, my brother developed a fever, which terrified my parents. They wanted to rush him to the hospital, but I managed to persuade them otherwise. I told them this fever would soon pass, and they would have a normal son. My parents hesitated, hardly daring to believe. After all, my brother had been intellectually disabled for over twenty years! To keep Brittany from suspecting anything, I continued to feign illness. I SnapChatted her: “Can you bring me lunch?” She didn’t even bother to pretend anymore. “Don’t you have hands? You think people are your mom?” “I thought we were best friends, but why are you treating me like this now that I’m sick?” “Best friends, my ass! I’ve been sick of you for ages! We’re done!” “What did I ever do to you?” The message went out, but it came back with a red exclamation mark. She had blocked me. I immediately screenshotted the chat and posted it on Ins. “My best friend won’t even bring me food when I’m sick and cut off our friendship. Is it wrong for me to feel heartbroken?” Instantly, my Ins comments section buzzed with discussions. “She’s actually like that behind the scenes? No wonder…” “This woman is such a drama queen, two-faced. Who would ever be friends with her?” … Besides that, I received many comforting messages from “little angels.” An hour later, a pounding knock echoed at the door. Brittany, her face full of impatience, opened the door and tossed the meal onto my desk. “There, happy now? You’re so much trouble.” “And I’m telling you, delete that Ins post right now, or I’ll rip your mouth off!” She threw it so hard that the soup and rice spilled across my desk, dripping onto the floor. I captured the scene with my phone and posted it on Ins again. “My best friend intentionally spilled my food on my desk and threatened to rip my mouth off if I kept talking. What should I do?” “Can this friendship even continue?” The comments below piled up, calling her a gangster and giving her the nickname “Mouth Ripper.” She became infamous overnight. Mention her name, and everyone would respond with sarcasm. My phone started ringing off the hook. It was Brittany, furious, spitting mad. She called to reach me. But I expressionlessly hung up and blocked her number. I secretly went to the hospital to check on her boyfriend, Jason, who was still recovering from his initial illness. Brittany was there, clutching her phone tightly. “She’s ruining my reputation!” “That b****! I hate her!” Jason comforted her. “It’s okay, baby. The master said the life swap is in progress. Just a few more days, and I’ll have her fortune. Then we’ll never be short on cash.” “I’ll buy you houses, cars, planes, yachts! Will you still be mad about such small things then?” Brittany was captivated by the pipe dream he was spinning, holding her breath. “Hubby, you have to promise me you’ll love me forever.” “Of course, I will.” A cold laugh echoed in my heart. Too bad their wishes were destined to fall flat. In this world, nothing truly comes for free. After all, every destined gift already has its price marked in the shadows. Soon, Jason was discharged from the hospital. The life swap was a success. They walked hand in hand, ecstatic.

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The Mayor’s son was held captive by a serial killer in an abandoned slaughterhouse. I set up my sniper rifle, the crosshairs steady on the killer. But just as I was about to pull the trigger, my husband, Commander Ryder Hayes of the SWAT team, suddenly cut off my comms. “Hold your fire! Wait for Dr. Monroe to arrive for psychological negotiations!” It was just like in my past life. After the criminal psychologist rushed to the scene, she droned on for forty minutes with her long-winded psycho-babble. That only enraged the madman, and he cut off one of the hostage’s ears right there. I couldn’t stand it. I took the shot, killing the killer instantly. Dr. Monroe immediately threw up and fainted, her reputation as an “incompetent expert” irrevocably tarnished, leading to a complete mental breakdown. And my husband? He transferred me to an organ trafficking team, undercover. On the night of the operation, he deliberately called my burner phone. “Love showing off, don’t you? Let’s see how tough you are when you’re vivisected!” In my final moments, I saw him with Celeste Monroe, his arm around her, his face twisted in feigned grief. Reborn to this exact moment, the killer’s blade was still pressed against the hostage’s neck. I slowly lowered my sniper rifle, a cold sneer playing on my lips. This time, let’s see how you two manage to put on your show.

Over the comms, Celeste Monroe’s voice reached each of our ears. Her tone was soft, as if soothing a tantrum-throwing child, not a mentally unstable kidnapper holding a sharp blade. “I understand you’re in a lot of pain right now… a lot of anger. We’ve all heard your demands…” “But harming others won’t truly solve your problems. We can find a better way, together…” “Damn it!” In my earpiece, an assault team member, hidden on the flank, couldn’t help but snarl, his voice thick with suppressed rage. “What the hell is she talking about? Can’t she see that son of a bitch is about to slice him open?!” “Command, target’s emotional state is clearly deteriorating! Negotiations are ineffective! Requesting authorization to fire!” Another urgent voice cut in, it was Hawk, the spotter. Silence hung on the channel for a second, then Commander Ryder Hayes, my husband and the mission lead, spoke, his voice unnervingly calm. “Maintain patience. Dr. Monroe is establishing trust! No one moves without my direct order!” “Screw his trust! If we wait any longer, the hostage will be dead!” The team member’s voice was low, but the fury was unmistakable. Celeste’s voice resumed, still slow and deliberate. “Your current actions… perhaps they are a repetition of the trauma you experienced in childhood? We can talk about that…” “F**k!” Someone in the channel couldn’t hold back a curse. The kidnapper seemed enraged by her words, letting out a hoarse scream. “Shut up! What the hell are you? One more word, and I’ll kill him right now!” The killer’s blade pressed another fraction deeper into the Mayor’s son’s trembling neck, a thin line of blood snaking downwards. The young man let out a choked sob, his pupils dilated with extreme terror. The Mayor’s hoarse roar practically blew out our comms, followed by a chorus of frantic pleas for him to calm down. “Ryder Hayes! If my son loses a single hair, you can kiss that badge goodbye! Shoot! Save him!” After a brief silence, Ryder’s voice finally returned. “Layla, report target’s real-time dynamics.” Everyone’s earpiece went silent for a moment. In the past, I’d provide the calmest, most professional assessment, giving him the basis for his decisions and often shouldering the heaviest burden of responsibility. But now… Through my high-magnification scope, I watched the trembling young man. And I watched the madman, visibly growing more agitated with every word Celeste spoke. I spoke, my voice steady, without a hint of tremor. “My expertise is marksmanship, not psychoanalyzing a madman.” “That judgment, Commander, is yours to make.” The channel went dead silent. I could imagine Ryder Hayes’s expression right then. His usual calm facade would’ve instantly frozen, perhaps even a flicker of incredulous shock crossing his face. “Layla! Watch your tone! This is an active operation!” His voice was laced with reprimand, attempting to regain control. I responded instantly, my tone respectful, but my words hard as steel. “Yes, Commander. My finger will not touch the trigger until you give the order.” “After all, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for disrupting Dr. Monroe’s ‘trust-building process.’”

In my past life, my shot was clean, a headshot. The hostage was rescued, the Mayor was endlessly grateful, and I became a hero. That life-saving act earned me a promotion and commendations, but it also became the catalyst that pushed me into hell. Ryder couldn’t tolerate a wife who was uncontrollable, too competent, and might even overshadow him. Especially since I’d humiliated his idealized Celeste Monroe and caused her mental breakdown. So, he threw me into the dirtiest, most dangerous organ trafficking syndicate as an undercover agent. Then, during the critical take-down operation, he deliberately exposed me. I still remember that last look he gave me, full of hypocrisy and malice. A scream pulled me back to reality. It was Celeste. Her face was frantic. “You… you mustn’t get agitated! I’m only trying to help you, if you act like this, it’s hard for us to communicate…” “Help me?” The kidnapper let out a grating, insane laugh, and the tip of his knife slashed violently! “Ah!” A shrill, distorted scream echoed in the air. The next second, a bloodied finger rolled onto the ground. The Mayor’s son’s left pinky finger had been severed. He rolled his eyes, almost passing out. “You psycho! You absolute madman! How could you?” Celeste’s shriek echoed, laced with sobs and incredulous condemnation, her professional demeanor completely shattered. “I was trying to help you! Why didn’t you listen?” Her screaming undoubtedly fueled the fire. The kidnapper’s facial muscles twisted frantically, seemingly utterly enraged by her accusation. His blood-stained knife was raised again. This time, it was aimed at the hostage’s eyes. “Help me? Sending some bitch to lecture me? Are you messing with me? Believe me, I’ll gouge out his eyes right now!” Everyone’s blood seemed to freeze in that moment. However, the expected decisive order from Commander Ryder Hayes for a full assault or a shot didn’t come. “Celeste, fall back! Watch your safety!” His priority was protecting the woman whose incompetence was actively sabotaging the mission and endangering the hostage. The Mayor’s frantic roar almost shattered our eardrums. “Ryder Hayes! My son’s hand! Did you see it?! Shoot! Kill that madman now!” “Otherwise, I’ll relieve you of your command! Without mercy!” Ryder’s breathing grew heavy over the comms. “Celeste, immediately retreat to a safe distance!” He prioritized her safety again, then, as if forced, gritted his teeth and squeezed out an order. “Sniper team, prepare…” “Ryder!” Celeste’s tearful voice cut in, full of indignant protest, stubborn certainty, and a hint of calculated desperation. “They just don’t understand, this is classic trauma response!” “Violence will only escalate the tragedy! We need empathy, we need to build a bridge of trust!” “Enraging him now will only make him more extreme!” She seemed to conveniently forget whose ‘empathy’ had enraged him enough to make him lop off a finger just moments ago. “Everyone’s yelling at me… even you don’t trust my professional judgment anymore?” She even had the nerve to pout and whine at Ryder. Just then, Hawk’s urgent voice broke through. “Commander Ryder…” “Recon team just reported, the area around the perp, under his feet… might be booby-trapped with explosives!”

“Explosives?!” A collective gasp went through the channel, and Ryder Hayes’s breath hitched. Hawk’s voice was urgent and clear. “Wires extend from his feet, covering an unknown area! A direct assault is extremely risky!” The situation instantly escalated. This wasn’t just a hostage crisis anymore; it was a powder keg threatening to blow us all to smithereens. “Damn it…” A team member cursed under his breath, his voice heavy with helplessness. Celeste seemed terrified by the news. Her sobbing stopped abruptly, leaving only faint, startled whimpers. But the next second, her voice suddenly took on that infuriatingly professional tone again. “See…? See? I told you not to provoke him!” “He lacks security, he’s terrified, that’s why he resorts to such extreme measures for protection!” “We must first understand his inner turmoil, build trust…” “Screw his trust!” A furious, barely contained roar exploded over the comms – it was Captain Diaz, from the forward assault position. “I wanted to put a bullet in that son of a bitch moments ago! Now look! This damn shrink has dragged us all into a death trap!” “Shut up!” Ryder snapped, but a faint, undeniable tremor of panic was in his voice. He took a deep breath. “Celeste, continue to attempt communication, keep him calm!” “Bomb squad! Assess the situation! Assault teams, fall back and find cover!” His orders were chaotic, both telling Celeste to approach and ordering the teams to retreat, clearly rattled by the sudden turn of events. Celeste, receiving her directive, seemed to swell with self-importance, her voice rising several decibels. “You actually don’t want this, do you? We can help you…” “Just release the hostage…” The kidnapper’s facial muscles twitched, his eyes wildly scanning his surroundings. He pressed the knife harder against the hostage’s neck, beads of blood oozing out. The kidnapper’s wild laughter ceased, replaced by a furious rage, a man completely humiliated. “Understand me? Help me? That’s pure bullshit!” He spat, his emotions boiling over. “You’re all a bunch of hypocrites! Is there anything in your heads besides how to kill me?!” “Sending some bitch to drone on endlessly? Do you really think I’m an idiot?!” Celeste’s face paled from his yelling, and she instinctively took a half-step back. But then, as if to prove something, she forced herself forward, her voice shrill. “How can you speak like that! I am trying to save you! You, with your antisocial personality…” “To hell with your antisocial personality!” The kidnapper violently kicked a rusty metal frame nearby, creating a deafening clang. “Get away from me! Or I’ll slit his throat right now!”

He pressed down on his wrist, and the hostage let out a whimper. “Ah!” Celeste shrieked, terrified by the direct death threat, her composure completely gone. She whirled towards her comm, her voice shrill and piercing with tears, utterly devoid of any semblance of professionalism. “Ryder! Did you hear that? He cursed at me! He actually cursed at me like that! I was trying to help him!” “He’s just an irredeemable psycho! A barbaric, vulgar animal!” “Go arrest him! Teach him a lesson!” The channel went dead silent. Only her aggrieved, furious sobs and the kidnapper’s heavy breathing intertwined. Ryder’s voice immediately came back, full of bias and urgency. “Celeste, evacuate now! Assault Team One, cover Dr. Monroe’s retreat!” His order was clear and decisive, a stark contrast to his hesitation during the initial hostage crisis. Several assault team members quickly moved, forming a protective barrier. They escorted Celeste rapidly back behind cover. The kidnapper watched the scene, letting out a string of mocking, wild laughs. “Hahahaha… Aww, did the little princess get her feelings hurt? Her knight in shining armor is so upset!” “Damn it! You phony, self-righteous bastards are what I hate most!” His gaze returned to the almost-collapsed hostage, the madness in his eyes growing more intense. “Show’s over, little rich boy. Looks like your life isn’t worth as much as the expert’s whimpering.” He licked his chapped lips, the blood-stained knife tip slowly moving down, sliding from the Mayor’s son’s neck to his chest. The Mayor’s roar in the comm channel had turned into a guttural scream. Ryder’s voice was taut as a wire, desperately trying to suppress the chaos. “Bomb squad! Report! How much longer?!” “The wiring is complex, coverage area too large. At least ten minutes to locate the core detonator!” “Ten minutes!” Ryder’s voice was almost a shriek. Celeste was practically dragged back behind the makeshift command cover by the assault team members. Her hair was disheveled, her face still streaked with tears, her eyes filled with humiliation and resentment. “He dared… he dared to treat me like that!” Her voice trembled as she clutched Ryder’s arm. “Ryder! I can’t let this go! He has to pay!” Ryder’s brows were deeply furrowed. He watched the bomb squad’s progress while trying to soothe her. “Celeste, just calm down for a moment, it’s very dangerous here…” “No!” Celeste violently shook off his hand, a flicker of madness in her eyes. “I want to finish him myself!”

She suddenly pointed at me, where I was concealed at my sniper position. “Layla! Give me your sniper rifle!” Every team member in the channel held their breath for a moment. Ryder was stunned too. “Celeste, stop. This isn’t a time for games!” “I’m not playing games!” Celeste straightened her back, trying to project a professional, calm demeanor, but couldn’t hide the tremor and excitement in her voice. “Criminal psychology involves behavioral prediction!” “I’ve studied his micro-expressions and body language; I know what his next move will be! I’m confident I can hit him!” She looked at Ryder, her tone pleading. “Ryder, make her assist me!” “Layla’s the best sniper, right? Have her calculate wind speed, distance.” “Together, we can take him down before he hurts the hostage!” “Nonsense!” Over the comms, Captain Diaz couldn’t help but snarl. Ryder, however, fell silent. He looked at Celeste’s stubborn, tear-streaked face, his eyes filled with a blind indulgence and trust. He was actually considering it. In his mind, perhaps this was the only way to salvage Celeste’s pride and confidence? Or maybe he simply couldn’t refuse any of her demands? “Layla.” Ryder’s voice came through the channel, a tone of undeniable command. “You will assist Dr. Monroe in the shot. She will determine the timing, and you will provide data support.” “Ensure a clean shot, and rescue the hostage.” The sheer absurdity almost made me laugh out loud. Me? The three-time consecutive SWAT sniper champion, assisting a psychologist who probably couldn’t even hold a rifle steady? In my past life, he caused my brutal death. In this life, he wanted to drag everyone down to sacrifice for Celeste’s ego. “Commander, I refuse.” My voice was cold as ice. Ryder’s voice instantly rose, laced with anger. “Layla! That’s an order!” My words were steady, each one clear. “Dr. Monroe lacks sniper qualifications. Her emotional state is highly unstable. Allowing her to lead this shot would be tantamount to murder.” “Layla! You…!” Ryder was furious. Celeste’s shrill voice cut in, tearful and accusatory. “Ryder! Look at her! She’s just jealous of me!” “She’s afraid that if I succeed, she’ll look incompetent! She doesn’t want to save the Mayor’s son at all!” “I don’t have time to listen to your arguments.” I coldly cut her off, my scope never leaving the target. “Commander, if you insist on Dr. Monroe taking the shot, please inform all active personnel and the Mayor himself.” “This shot will be entirely Dr. Monroe’s responsibility, and all consequences will be jointly borne by you and her.” My words were like a bucket of ice water, instantly dousing Ryder’s impulsive idea. Jointly borne consequences. Did he dare? He didn’t. He knew better than anyone that Celeste couldn’t do it. He just wanted her to try; if she succeeded, it would be his credit. If she failed… he would likely push the blame onto me. Sure enough, Ryder fell into a dreadful silence. Celeste continued to whine incessantly. “Ryder! You promised me! Make her help me, I can do it…” “Enough!” Ryder finally roared, his voice filled with irritation and internal struggle. Just then, Hawk’s urgent voice broke through again. “Commander Ryder! The kidnapper has pulled out the detonator! He’s counting down: Ten! Nine! Eight…” The bomb squad’s alarmed shouts came simultaneously. “No! Too late!” “Seven! Six! Five!…” Everyone’s hearts were in their throats. “Four! Three!…” In that split second. “Bang!”

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Ten years into my marriage, Marcus Hayes’s first love, Chloe White, suddenly returned from abroad. He brought her straight to our home. Marcus looked at me, his face etched with guilt. “Chloe left the country for me all those years ago. She went through so much.” “I have a responsibility to take care of her.” Even my stepson, whom I’d raised and painstakingly nurtured, now looked at me with open resentment. I calmly suggested a divorce. He sneered, reminding me, “Don’t forget our prenup. If you’re the one who files for divorce, you’ll walk away with absolutely nothing. Every cent of the assets in your name will be forfeited.” He was so certain I’d never give up the wealth and prestige I’d worked ten years for, that I’d never dare to leave. But what he didn’t know was that while he was spending all night with that woman, I was signing away every last penny, preparing to gracefully exit the Hayes family. I already had what I truly wanted. And him? I was done with him. When Marcus Hayes walked into the living room of our house with Chloe White, I was in my study, reviewing the foundation’s quarterly report. His face held a plea. “Vivian, Chloe was forced to leave the country because of me back then.” “She’s been alone all these years, suffering so much. I can’t just abandon her.” Chloe, by his side, wore a simple, elegant dress. She instinctively recoiled behind Marcus, making her appear even more delicate and helpless. “Marcus, don’t make things difficult for Vivian… I can stay at a hotel.” Marcus immediately shielded her, and his gaze towards me sharpened with annoyance. I closed the file in my hand, my eyes calmly sweeping over the two of them. This scene felt eerily familiar. Years ago, Marcus’s grandfather, old money through and through, fiercely disapproved of Chloe’s lack of social standing. Marcus had an explosive fight with his family over it. Ultimately, Chloe took a sizable settlement and quietly left for another country. At that time, my family, the Reeds, was facing a major financial crisis. We desperately needed the Hayes family’s connections and resources to overcome it. When the strategic marriage proposal was presented to me, I initially refused. Vivian Reed’s life had never required her to rely on anyone else. But seeing my parents’ hair graying with worry, I finally nodded. On our wedding day, Marcus Hayes’s face showed no joy. He looked at me coldly and said, “Vivian Reed, this is just a marriage of convenience. Don’t expect me to love you.” I replied calmly, “I understand. I will fulfill my duties as Mrs. Hayes. I also hope you remember our agreement, Marcus.” Ten years. We went from mutual annoyance to peacefully sharing a dinner table. He gradually recognized my capabilities, entrusting me with the full management of the foundation jointly established by Hayes and Reed Corporations. We were like a pair of perfectly synchronized business partners. Four years ago, Marcus even brought a child back to the house—a son he’d had from an affair years ago. When that timid child stood in the living room, looking at everyone with hostility, it was *I* who reached out to him first. His name was Leo Hayes. No one else in the Hayes family liked him. I was the one who patiently taught him manners, staying up all night when he was sick. When other kids at school mocked him for being an illegitimate child, I was the one who unhesitatingly stepped up to protect him, telling him, “You are Leo Hayes, the future of this family. No one can look down on you.” I never imagined this delicate balance would one day be shattered.

I watched Marcus shielding Chloe, and my heart sank, piece by agonizing piece. In the suffocating silence, a light, quick footsteps echoed from the entryway. “I’m home!” Leo Hayes had just returned from school, his eyes sparkling as he searched for me. However, when he saw the scene in the living room, his steps abruptly halted. The moment Chloe saw Leo, tears instantly welled up in her eyes. She covered her mouth, her voice trembling as she murmured, “Leo… Is that my Leo?” The next second, Leo lunged towards Chloe, burying his face in her embrace. “Mommy! Mommy, you came for me!” I stumbled backward, caught off guard, frozen in place. I whipped my head around to Marcus, my voice raw and husky. “Marcus Hayes, what is going on?” He first calmed the two, who were now crying in each other’s arms, then escorted them upstairs. As I watched the two figures, one large, one small, disappear up the stairs, my voice turned cold as ice. “Now, you can explain.” Marcus turned to me, his guilt deepening, but now mixed with a resigned, almost defiant honesty. “Leo is Chloe’s son.” “She was already pregnant with my child when she left back then.” “Later… she couldn’t raise him, so she contacted me and sent him back.” “And why didn’t you tell me?” I could barely control the volume of my voice. “I treated him with genuine sincerity, I raised him as my own son!” Marcus offered a bitter smile, about to speak, but I cut him off. “Leo knew everything, didn’t he?” Marcus was silent for a moment, his silence a confirmation. “Last year… Chloe occasionally FaceTimed him. A child’s longing for his mother is natural…” So that was it. No wonder, for a while last year, Leo kept hiding to make calls and started acting strange around me. This was why. Marcus took a step forward, trying to soothe me. “Chloe is only staying temporarily. Once I find a suitable place, I’ll send them away.” “You’re always so generous and understanding, don’t make things difficult for me, okay?” My chest ached, a deep, suffocating pain. Suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to question him further. I simply pulled at the corner of my mouth, a smile utterly devoid of warmth. “Marcus Hayes, you both make me sick.” With that, I walked straight back to my room. The world fell silent, and only then did I feel a faint, heavy ache in my lower abdomen. I leaned against the door, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the subtle yet undeniable pain. Over the next few days, Chloe and Leo stayed in the guest room on the second floor. Leo seemed like a completely different child. When he saw me, his eyes held a stubborn hostility, completely lacking the closeness and dependency he used to show.

A few days later, the Hayes family hosted a corporate gala. As Mrs. Hayes, I had no choice but to force a smile and socialize. Marcus stayed by my side, playing the part of an affectionate husband, but his gaze constantly drifted to a corner of the room. Chloe sat there, Leo nestled close to her, forming a bond that no outsider could penetrate. Midway through the evening, feeling a bit tired, I headed to the terrace for some fresh air. Just as I reached the edge of the pool, Leo, who I hadn’t noticed following me, appeared behind me. I turned around. His face held a hatred and coldness utterly unsuited for his age. “Vivian Reed.” He called me by my first name for the first time, his voice sharp and cruel. “My mom is back. This family doesn’t need you anymore. Why aren’t you leaving?” I looked at his face, contorted by fury, and felt only weariness mixed with a chilling disappointment. “Leo, do you know what you’re saying?” “Of course, I do!” He suddenly became agitated, taking a step forward and pushing me hard! “You took my dad! And now you’re trying to bully my mom! I hate you! Get out of my house!” I was caught off guard, my high heel twisted, and I tumbled backward! *Splash!* The icy pool water instantly enveloped me. A sharp, agonizing pain shot through my lower abdomen. I could feel a warm, uncontrolled gush of fluid beneath me. Gasps and commotion erupted around us. Marcus quickly heard the noise and jumped into the pool, pulling me out. I was soaked, shivering violently. My hands instinctively clutched my lower abdomen, the pain so intense I could barely speak. “Vivian! Are you okay?” Marcus’s voice was urgent, laced with a hint of panic. He wrapped his jacket around me. I gripped his arm, my voice broken. “Marcus… the baby…” I was pregnant. I had only found out yesterday, and I planned to tell him once the pregnancy was stable. Just then, Chloe rushed over. Marcus’s gaze was drawn to her. She grabbed the equally stunned Leo, weeping dramatically, her voice even louder than my faint moans. “Marcus, Leo didn’t mean it…” “It’s my fault, all my fault for coming back and upsetting Vivian. The child just acted on impulse…” She hugged Leo tightly, as if I were some terrifying monster. “Leo is so scared, he’s so small, he was just so upset…” Marcus looked at the sobbing Chloe and Leo, then at my pale face. The brief flicker of panic and shock in his eyes was replaced by irritation and disappointment. He cut me off before I could finish speaking, his voice cold and stern, laced with责备. “Vivian, Leo is still young. He didn’t do it on purpose.” “Can’t you… just be a little more understanding?”

At his words, the guests’ eyes filled with surprise, and then thinly veiled mockery. They watched me, the usually poised and elegant Mrs. Hayes, sitting there by the pool, utterly disheveled. “A little more… understanding?” I gritted out the words through clenched teeth. The agonizing cramps in my lower abdomen made cold sweat stream down my face. The warm, trickling sensation below grew more distinct. “Mr. Hayes, perhaps you should take Mrs. Hayes to the hospital first?” Finally, a bystander, unable to watch any longer, whispered a suggestion. Chloe, however, sobbed even harder, clutching Marcus’s arm tightly, terrified he would leave her side. “Marcus, Leo really didn’t mean it…” “Vivian, I apologize on Leo’s behalf. Please don’t blame him…” Leo, hidden in her embrace, showed no fear in his eyes, only a triumphant stubbornness and hatred. Marcus’s brows were deeply furrowed, clearly annoyed by the chaos. He looked at the pale Chloe and the frightened Leo. Then he looked at me, curled up in pain, unable to speak. The brief flicker of panic at my potential injury was completely replaced by pity for the mother and son. He sighed, his voice carrying an undeniable finality. “Enough! It was just a small accident. Vivian isn’t that delicate.” “Mr. Jenkins, help Mrs. Hayes upstairs to change into some dry clothes. She’ll be fine after resting.” His callousness and stupidity utterly crushed me. I didn’t even have the strength to argue. I let the butler and maids, who had rushed over, clumsily help me up. I was escorted back to the master bedroom, but the bleeding beneath me showed no signs of stopping, staining the sheets crimson. The pain intensified with each passing moment, and I couldn’t help but cry out. The maids were terrified. This time, they didn’t dare to delay and immediately called an ambulance. I was rushed to the hospital. The constant wetness below me told me I was losing something precious. When I woke again, the doctor stood by my bed, his voice filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hayes, we couldn’t save the baby.” “You’re still young. Please accept our condolences.” Outside, the sky had shifted from dark to light, and then back to dark. The phone on my nightstand was eerily silent. No calls from Marcus, not a single word. Later, from Mr. Jenkins’s hesitant report, I learned that Marcus had calmed the frightened Chloe and the momentarily clumsy Leo. He hadn’t even followed me to the hospital to check on my condition. In his eyes, perhaps it truly was just an accident caused by my lack of generosity. After recuperating for a week in the hospital, I discharged myself. Instead of returning to the Hayes estate, I had my driver take me directly to the company.

When I returned to the office, a subtle silence hung in the air. Employees quickly lowered their heads, pretending to be busy. I pushed open the door to Marcus’s office. He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, talking on the phone. His tone was one I’d never heard from him – gentle and patient. “Make sure you spend time with him… Don’t overthink things, it’ll be okay…” He didn’t even notice my arrival immediately. It wasn’t until I walked to his large desk and tapped my finger on the surface, creating a sharp sound, that he turned around. Seeing me, a flicker of surprise, then a brief, almost imperceptible shame crossed his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by his usual calm, tinged with a slight distance. He hung up the phone before looking at me again. “You’re discharged? Why didn’t you rest a few more days?” His voice was a perfunctory greeting as he walked around his desk and sat down. “Everything’s normal here at the company, no need to rush back.” I didn’t sit. I slammed the divorce papers onto his desk. My voice was utterly flat, as if stating an unrelated fact. “Marcus Hayes, we’re getting a divorce.” The air thickened for a few seconds. He looked up, as if he’d heard the most absurd joke. “Divorce?” “Vivian, do you know what you’re saying?” My gaze didn’t waver. “I’m very clear.” Marcus leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed and confident. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing now? Is this about the gala?” “Leo didn’t mean it, he’s just a child.” “Chloe has already apologized on his behalf. What more do you want?” He tapped the divorce papers with his finger, his eyes cold and contemptuous. “Don’t forget the prenup we signed.” “It’s in black and white, crystal clear. If you, Vivian Reed, initiate the divorce, it’s a breach of contract, and you must walk away with nothing.” “You won’t take a single penny of anything related to the Hayes family, including all the assets you’ve acquired over these years in your name.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice, full of threat and absolute certainty. “Are you willing to lose it all?” “Are you willing to give up everything you’ve fought for these ten years? Without the Hayes family, what is Vivian Reed?” I looked at the absolute conviction on his face, the way he thought he controlled everything, and suddenly, I gave a faint, soft laugh. My laughter seemed to anger him. Marcus picked up the divorce papers from the desk, tore them into shreds without even looking, and flung them at me. The white pieces of paper scattered at my feet. “I’m busy. I don’t have time for your self-pitying drama.” “Just say what you want directly, but divorce? Absolutely not!” With that, he didn’t spare me another glance. He grabbed his jacket and phone, striding out of the office. I slowly knelt down, picking up the torn pieces of paper.

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The Chief of Staff’s daughter had fallen from the fourth floor, and I was ready, waiting to head into surgery. The ambulance screeched into the hospital, and the patient was rushed to the operating table. But in that critical moment, my husband, Dr. Marcus Thorne, the Chief Physician, suddenly called a halt. He did it just to wait for his first love, Dr. Serena Wells, the acclaimed doctor who supposedly studied abroad, to be the lead surgeon. It was the same exact scenario in my previous life. But that celebrated overseas specialist had no real surgical skills – all theory, no practical experience. She almost missed the golden hour for the surgery. It was only my insistence on the original treatment plan that turned the situation around. Humiliated, Serena jumped from the hospital’s rooftop, ending up a quadriplegic. And my husband? He had me exiled to a struggling clinic in a neglected neighborhood, even arranging for thugs to assault me there. I tried to hide and call for help, but his reply was chilling. “Vivian Vance, it was just one surgery. Did you really have to steal Lili’s thunder?” “Then you, too, deserve to experience torment.” My location was exposed through the phone call, and I was ultimately brutalized to death. When I opened my eyes again, the gurney was already being wheeled in front of me. This time, I didn’t rush. Hands in my pockets, I waited. Let his overseas specialist show off her supposedly masterful surgical skills and save that patient.

“Why is this overseas specialist taking so long? We’re racing against death here!” “The patient’s body temperature is already rising, and her limbs are swelling.” “If she starts convulsing, we might not be able to save her.” The surgical team huddled behind me, frantic with worry. But no matter how anxious or how much they urged, all they got was Marcus’s harsh reprimand. “What’s the rush? Do you really think any of you can save this patient?” “Lili graduated with a PhD from the best hospital abroad. As long as she’s on the table, there won’t be any problems.” Marcus’s shouting left the team bewildered and unsure what to do. But he always had full control over major surgeries, and no one dared to question him. Chloe, my university roommate from Neurosurgery, who was standing behind me, couldn’t help but speak up. “If we wait any longer, we might not save her at all. Let’s get her into the OR and intubate her; at least that’ll buy us some time.” Doctors from every department across the hospital had rushed over for this consultation, hoping to finalize the best surgical plan immediately. But Chloe’s words didn’t sway Marcus; they only irritated him further. “This surgery falls entirely under my discretion. You Neurosurgery folks just wait for my orders.” Chloe bristled. “How dare you speak to me like that? All medical staff are colleagues here!” “Besides, I’m giving you professional advice!” But Marcus’s face turned cold. He glared at the Chief of Neurosurgery. “Replace her. Send her back to Neurosurgery. We don’t need her here!” Chloe spun around in a rage, stomping away, but not before shooting Marcus a furious glare. Then, Marcus’s gaze fell on me. “Vivian, what do you think?” Chloe was my college roommate. He’d just chastised her and sent her away, yet only after she left did he ask me. The implication was clear. I looked at him, a faint smile touching my lips. “You’re the Chief of the department and the one in charge of this surgery. I’ll naturally follow your lead.” Marcus hadn’t expected me to be so compliant today. He gave a satisfied chuckle, then looked at the consulting doctors behind him. “See? This is the obedience a doctor should possess.” I stood calmly behind him, watching it all unfold. In my previous life, I chose to fight him to the bitter end, and what did I get? He had me killed in a deprived area, all for Serena Wells. This time, I certainly wouldn’t be that foolish.

In the midst of everyone’s eager anticipation, Serena Wells finally arrived. She wore perfectly applied makeup and sauntered along, completely unhurried. The Chief of Staff’s daughter’s body temperature was steadily climbing. Serena approached, glancing around. “Did you get X-rays? Without them, how can I determine the fracture points?” The nurse promptly handed her the imaging scans. Serena’s words were stuck in her throat. But she still didn’t admit she couldn’t do the surgery. “Just images aren’t enough. I also need to know the blood loss volume and if it’s suitable for an incision.” Nurse Miller finally lost her patience. She looked at Serena, her eyes filled with undisguised contempt. “Dr. Wells!” Nurse Miller emphasized the “Doctor” with biting sarcasm. She continued, “Can you actually perform this surgery?” “This isn’t the time to assess blood loss! We need to get her into the operating room immediately. Every minute she’s out here increases the danger.” Serena bristled. She glared at Nurse Miller, her voice cold. “Am I the lead surgeon or are you?” “You’re just a head nurse; how dare you speak to me like that!” Nurse Miller had worked in the hospital for over twenty years, accumulating knowledge and experience no less than any doctor. Serena, acting like she owned the place, then turned to Marcus, with a hint of playful reproach. “Marcus, since everyone here looks down on me so much, I might as well leave.” Marcus quickly stopped Serena, then glanced at me. He whispered something in Serena’s ear. Whatever they exchanged, Serena finally conceded. “Fine, let’s go into the operating room.” Everyone finally breathed a sigh of relief, swiftly wheeling the patient into the operating room. But then, another long wait ensued. The surgical team looked at me, hoping I would take charge. I looked at the girl’s weakening heartbeat on the monitor, feeling helpless. “Dr. Vance, at least get her breathing so her lungs don’t suffer any more damage.” I hesitated for a moment, just about to nod. Serena, now dressed in surgical scrubs, walked in. All eyes turned to her, their gazes filled with an unspoken resentment. If a life was lost because of this incompetent quack, they would surely tear Serena apart. But Serena remained oblivious. She arrogantly strutted forward, glanced at the girl’s body, and spoke indifferently. “It’s not as serious as I thought. You called me here for this? I hadn’t even finished my face mask.” Nurse Miller gritted her teeth in rage, but she bit back her retort. Marcus then walked in. Serena scoffed, then went to Marcus’s side. “Marcus, with you here, this surgery is bound to be a success.” Marcus gently caressed her cheek. “Of course, darling. You’re the best doctor in the world.” Their intimate familiarity made the other surgeons in the room exchange glances, their eyes inevitably settling on me. My mask hid my face, but the turmoil in my eyes was still visible. It wasn’t for their private affections, but for the life on that operating table. I finally couldn’t help but speak. “Can we start now?” Serena shot me a disdainful glance, then scoffed. “What, you want to take over?” “Now you’re bossing me around? I’m the lead surgeon!” “If you’re so capable, why don’t you go get a PhD abroad yourself?” I didn’t reply, but the heart monitor suddenly screamed. Nurse Miller shouted in panic. “No! The patient is in ventricular fibrillation!”

The atmosphere in the operating room instantly turned desperate. “Quick! Prepare the defibrillator!” “Asynchronous cardioversion, 200 joules!” “One! Two! Three! Clear!” The nurses moved frantically, everyone working in tandem to extend a life. Serena, however, was terrified by the chaos. She ran into Marcus’s arms, whimpering and crying. “Waaah, Marcus, this is too scary.” “I don’t want to be here anymore, I want to leave.” The surgical team had no time for her overly dramatic performance, and neither did I. Marcus, however, protected Serena like a precious treasure. “It’s alright, darling. Just wait for them to revive her, then you can continue.” Finally, after more than two minutes of CPR, the girl’s heart resumed beating. But there was no more time to waste. Nurse Miller could barely control her internal panic. “Dr. Wells, can you or can’t you operate on this patient?” “If not, then get out of here, now!” Serena shot her a venomous glare, then turned to me. “This surgery isn’t worthy of my touch.” “You.” She raised a hand, pointing at me, “You do it.” I frowned slightly. A jolt of alarm went through me. I had been keeping a low profile, waiting until the very last moment when I absolutely had to intervene. But not only had Marcus pointed me out earlier, now Serena seemed to have a GPS tracker on me too. She had her sights on me. I pressed my lips together. In my moment of hesitation, Marcus also spoke. “Vivian Vance, since Lili wants you to do it, then you do it.” Marcus’s face was impassive; I couldn’t discern their intentions. But the other people in the operating room, hearing Serena name me to perform the surgery, felt a glimmer of hope. Nurse Miller quickly ushered me to the operating table. “Dr. Vance, we truly can’t let them mess around anymore.” “This is a human life! They’re just wasting precious time!” I subtly reassured Nurse Miller with my eyes, then began to prepare for surgery. Incision, intubation – seamlessly and efficiently. Nurse Miller stood by, handing me the surgical instruments. I didn’t need to speak; a mere gesture would bring me the perfect tool. Although I had performed this surgery once in my previous life, I still dared not be careless this time. The child was severely injured. She had fallen from the fifth floor, suffering skull damage and comminuted fractures in both arms and legs. I could only proceed slowly, step by step. My forehead was already beaded with sweat. I waited for the neurosurgeon to complete the skull repair, then I would take over for the arms and legs. Skull complete, the neurosurgeon passed the baton to me. I nodded, ready to pick up an instrument to open the arm, when Serena, who had been silent, spoke again. “Marcus, I want to learn from Vivian how to perform surgery.” I looked at Serena, confused. Her face held a smirk of pure provocation. Marcus didn’t hesitate. “Of course, darling. Lili can go wherever she wants, see whatever she wants.” “Vivian, you don’t mind, do you?” I couldn’t refuse, nor could I. Serena came to my side, squeezing Nurse Miller away. “Vivian, let me be your assistant.”

I knew the person beside me wasn’t truly interested in watching my surgery, despite what she said. But I looked at the monitor; the patient’s vitals were gradually worsening. There was absolutely no time to waste. I forced myself to focus all my attention on the surgery. “Forceps.” I spoke coldly, reaching my hand to the right for the instrument. But I waited and waited, and the tool never came. Serena’s shrill voice cut through the air. “Oh, Vivian, there are so many forceps here. Do you want the toothed forceps or the non-toothed ones?” “Non-toothed.” Only after getting a definitive answer did she pick up the forceps and place them in my hand. And that was just the beginning. Anything else I requested after that wasn’t immediately provided. Finally, on the fifth time, she asked me. “Sister, do you want the laser scalpel or the ultrasonic scalpel?” I shot her a cold glance. The triumphant look on her face made me want to plunge my scalpel into her heart. How could anyone have such a blatant disregard for human life? “Can you do this, or not? If not, just stand aside and watch.” I spoke calmly, “Nurse Miller, please, you take over.” I didn’t have time for her childish antics. Since this surgery had fallen to me, I was determined to complete it and save this child’s life. Serena scoffed dismissively. She stomped over to the other side and wouldn’t stop chattering while watching my operation. “Vivian, I wonder, if all the doctors in this country were as professional as you, would our national medicine have long been leading the world?” “Vivian, why don’t you teach me? I’ve only studied these things; I haven’t actually practiced them.” I frowned, not looking at her. “If you haven’t practiced, watch videos and train.” She was put in her place, biting her lip before scoffing disdainfully. “If you won’t teach, you won’t teach. Why so arrogant?” “You’ve just been in the hospital longer, that’s all. You’re not even half as capable as Marcus.” “He’s the Chief Physician now, and you’re just some broken surgeon.” I completely ignored her, which only made Serena even more defiant. She raised her hand and gave me a shove. “Hey, I’m talking to you! Why aren’t you answering?” The shove itself wasn’t the problem; the problem was that she pushed me just as I was about to excise the necrotic tissue. My hand was jostled by her force, and the scalpel accidentally nicked an artery. Blood immediately began to spray, throwing everyone in the room into a panic. “Quick, stop the bleeding!” “No! The patient’s blood pressure is down to 60! We need to stop the bleeding immediately!” Such an unexpected turn of events even shocked Serena. She froze, not daring to move. And Marcus finally spoke up. “It’s fine, as long as we stop the bleeding.” Serena seemed to gain some comfort. She continued her insolent and unreasonable chatter in my ear. “Oh, Vivian, what a colossal mess you’ve made!” “If the Chief of Staff finds out you further injured his daughter, do you think you’ll get punished?” I finally wasn’t indifferent anymore. My eyes glared at her. “What do you mean?” Just then, more bad news came from the anesthesiology team. “Dr. Vance, the patient’s blood oxygen is dropping rapidly! We need to suture the wound immediately!” Serena bent close to me, whispering in my ear. The warning beeps of the instruments and her words sounded like a whisper from hell. “I don’t think this kid will make it.” “But it’s okay. Even if the surgery fails, you’ll be the one taking the fall.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “299250”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic #惊悚Thriller #重生Reborn