Author: Momo Chan

The adoptive sister Chazz Kinnear raised, the one he was sworn to protect, died because of me. He knelt all night in the funeral hall, his eyes a landscape of ash and ruin, yet he still found the strength to comfort me through my own guilt-ridden tears. “It’s not your fault,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “Lily was just too reckless.” But after we were married, he imprisoned me in Lily’s underground mausoleum for seven years. There was no sound. No light. I was consumed by fear, then by hatred, until finally, I was driven to a desperate, howling madness. I bit off my own tongue. As I lay dying, Chazz’s hot tears shattered against my skin. “In the next life,” he whispered, his voice a venomous rasp, “if you dare come near Lily again, I will kill you with my own hands.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day Chazz’s adoptive sister died. A sea of people was gathered on the mountaintop, waiting for the New Year’s fireworks. A frigid wind swept over the peak. I woke from the nightmare with a violent shiver. Beside me, Lily mumbled about being cold. Chazz took off his coat. In a single, fluid motion born of pure instinct, he draped it over my shoulders. … The air froze for a heartbeat. “Hmph. And you keep trying to tell me you and Clara are just friends,” Lily teased, breaking the tension with a laugh. But her eyes couldn’t hide the flicker of disappointment. “Now that my brother has a girlfriend, he’s forgotten all about me.” If only I had noticed the dangerous undercurrents of emotion between them in my past life, the three of us might have avoided such a tragic end. “Lily, don’t be silly. We’re just colleagues,” I said, shrugging off the heavy coat and wrapping it around her instead, carefully fastening each button. “It’s so dark up here, and we look a little alike. He must have mistaken me for you.” A strange fog clouded Chazz’s long, dark eyes as they settled on me. BOOM. A massive blue firework exploded against the black velvet of the sky, scattering into a shower of falling stars. The crowd roared with delight. In my past life, at this exact moment, I had been looking at Chazz. His head was bowed, his focus absolute, the corner of his lips curved into a slight smile. He was clutching his phone, his thumbs hovering over the screen, typing I love you in my chat window, only to delete it, again and again. In the end, all he sent was: Happy New Year. I’d found it both infuriating and endearing, and I’d called him out on it. He was caught red-handed, the tips of his ears blushing a deep crimson. After a bit of playful pestering, he finally gave in. He leaned close, his warm breath a whisper of pine against my neck as he quickly murmured, “I love you.” In that instant, the frantic thunder of my heart drowned out every other sound in the world. I was so lost in the moment that I never noticed Lily watching us, her expression lost and forlorn, before she turned and quietly slipped away into the crowd. In the early hours of the morning, the police called for the family to identify a body. I could barely recognize the battered, brutalized girl on the cold metal slab. It was Lily—the same Lily who, just three hours earlier, had been excitedly making plans with me to ride the carousel at the amusement park. This time, as Chazz watched the fireworks, his profile was etched in frost. Lily was still pressing him quietly. “Brother, do you really not like Clara?” BOOM. A cascade of pale pink and violet light washed over the sky. Chazz’s voice, cold and detached, cut through the noise of the crowd, each word a shard of ice piercing my heart. “I don’t.” “I could never love Clara.” Even though I had expected it, the words still stung. But it was for the best. Better to strangle all the suffering at its source. From this day forward, our paths would never cross again. I left without a sound. On the way down the mountain, I ran into Sophie, a friend from my department. “Clara!” she exclaimed, grabbing my arm. “What are you doing here alone? Where’s Mr. Kinnear?” “I… I had something to take care of, so I left early.” She stared at me, hesitating, before the words finally tumbled out. “You know tonight’s firework display? The one across the whole city? Chazz flew to Monaco and personally hired the lead designer from their international festival to replicate it, one for one.” “All because you mentioned offhand that you liked it.” The fireworks were fading, and the crowd descending the mountain grew thicker. Sophie pulled me aside, her expression one of utter exasperation. “You have no idea. That designer is a notoriously difficult old man. I spent two weeks just researching his personal preferences. After Chazz got to Monaco, he spent his days walking the man’s dogs and playing video games with his grandson.” “Can you even imagine it? The city’s famously cold and untouchable Chazz Kinnear, playing nanny for some stranger.” “After all that effort… you’re telling me you don’t feel anything at all?” I blinked back the stinging in my eyes. I didn’t dare. I couldn’t bear the thought of being locked away again in that endless, lightless tomb. A thing that was neither human nor ghost. … After what happened to Lily in my past life, I could never forgive myself. If I hadn’t pushed Chazz to say those words, she wouldn’t have slipped away into the night, right into the path of those monsters. But in the aftermath, Chazz had become even more attentive. A single sneeze from me would send him into a panic, rushing me to the hospital for a full check-up. If I was out of touch for even a few hours, I would return to his mansion to find the entire staff—maids, drivers, assistants—kneeling on the floor in silent terror. I truly believed he loved me more than life itself. Loved me enough to overlook the fact that Lily’s death lay between us like a chasm. Until I stumbled upon the hidden folder. Thousands of videos. Every single one was a scene of me, Chazz, and Lily, on one of our many outings together. But in every frame, my image had been completely erased. There was Lily, in a series of bizarre poses, laughing and talking to thin air. When Chazz occasionally appeared on screen, his gaze was fixed on her, his eyes overflowing with a love and adoration so intense it was almost painful to watch. The last video was of Lily, her skin unnaturally pale, lying in a crystal coffin. The audio was just Chazz’s low, desperate whisper. “She looks so much like her.” “Could she… become her?” Each word was a sledgehammer blow to my heart. So that was it. The name he whispered in the throes of passion… it was never mine. It was always Lily. No wonder he’d noticed me. On my first day, when Chazz had walked past the interview room, his gaze had swept over a dozen candidates from top-tier universities without a flicker of interest. But his eyes had stopped on me, tucked away in the corner, trying to discreetly slip out. Every moment I had felt special, every time I had been singled out for his favor, he had simply been tracing Lily’s shadow over my features, using me as a screen to hide his forbidden, incestuous love. He had watched calmly as I, in a hysterical rage, smashed everything in sight. His voice was a blade of ice. “You should be grateful you look like her.” Later, he locked me away in the mausoleum he built for her. The four walls, seamless and oppressive, were transformed into holographic screens, endlessly replaying home videos of him and Lily, from childhood to adulthood. January 15, 2003. A young Lily stands on a stool, stretching to reach a box of noodles on a high shelf. She clumsily boils a simple noodle soup, her hands still trembling as she carries the bowl to his bedside. “Brother, eat something first. The medicine won’t upset your stomach if you eat.” A feverish Chazz eats from the bowl she holds, his lips brushing against her fingertips. His face turns scarlet. May 22, 2013. He comes home late at night to find the living room light still on. Lily is curled up on the sofa, fast asleep, clutching his thick winter coat. Chazz just stares at her for a long time. Then, he leans down and presses a feather-light, reverent kiss to her forehead. … The images bathed every corner of the mausoleum in a stark, unyielding light. I would clamp my hands over my ears, squeeze my eyes shut, my nails scratching bloody trails into the walls. But it was no use. Lily’s laughter, her tears, her playful shouts… they were a swarm of tiny insects burrowing into my flesh. Day and night, it never stopped. At the height of my madness, Chazz’s deep, hypnotic voice would echo in the darkness. “Lily.” And I, numb, a marionette with its strings cut, would unconsciously repeat her name, over and over again. “Lily.” “Clara! You left without saying a word! I was looking all over for you.” Lily ran up to me, linking her arm through mine as if nothing had changed. “You look awful. Are you not feeling well? I remember you have that meeting with the Sterling Group tomorrow. Do you want me to ask my brother for some time off for you?” I fought the urge to recoil, but I couldn’t stop myself from gently pulling my arm free. “Lily, I’m resigning.” She froze, the words blurting out. “Why? I thought you loved working with my brother. You’re always using project revisions as an excuse to stick to his side. He hates the winter, but he still went on that business trip to Scandinavia with you.” “I always thought you two were…” I paused. She used to complain in that same joking tone about how Chazz and I were inseparable. I’d thought she was just annoyed we weren’t spending time with her. Only now did I hear the probing question underneath: what, exactly, was our relationship? This time, I couldn’t let that sword continue to hang over her heart. It was the only way she would live. It was the only way I would live. “Lily, your brother and I are just colleagues. Nothing more.” “Actually… I can’t stand him. He’s a complete tyrant. Every plan, every employee, has to bend to his will. I’ve had enough.” “I’m planning to study in France. If I’m lucky, I might just stay there for good.” Lily stared at me, stunned. Her eyes held a trace of reluctance, but it was overshadowed by a joy she tried to suppress, a slight upward tilt of her lips. I smiled, a sense of relief washing over me. Let it be this way. I wished us both the best in getting what we wanted. But as I turned to leave, I saw him. Not far away, a tall, imposing figure stood half-hidden in the dappled shadows of the trees. Chazz’s eyes, black as obsidian, were fixed on me. They were utterly devoid of warmth. Silent, dark, and bottomless. Just like they were in my past life, when I had begged him not to lock me in the tomb. Just as cold. The next day, my resignation was rejected. My visa application for France was denied. And suddenly, a dozen clients from projects that were already finished started lodging complaints about my proposals. I had no choice but to work late, night after night. Eventually, the entire six-hundred-person staff of Kinnear Industries had gone home, leaving only Chazz and me. We rode the elevator down in suffocating silence. When the doors opened, I practically bolted out, a weight lifting from my shoulders. But Chazz was faster. He caught up in three long strides, blocking my path, his shadow falling over me like a cage. “Why have you been avoiding me?” His presence was overwhelming, his eyes dark with a suspicious, probing intensity. My heart hammered against my ribs. My recent behavior had been so out of character that even my colleagues had joked about me no longer being Mr. Kinnear’s shadow. He’s been reborn, too. The thought struck me like lightning. He would inevitably wonder if I was still the same Clara he knew. In my past life, he had tortured me until my mind broke, until I truly believed I was Lily. I let him dress me in her clothes, coached me to mimic her every word, her every gesture. I called him “brother” with a docile smile. In the rare moments of lucidity, the horror, the disgust, the seething hatred would threaten to swallow me whole. Once, I grabbed a shard of a broken mirror and slashed it across my own face. “Chazz!” I had screamed. “You love looking at her through me, don’t you? You love this face! Well, I’ll destroy it! Look at me! I am Clara! Not your dead Lily!” Suddenly, a blood-soaked woman was dragged in front of me. Chazz brushed the matted hair from her face and, with a casual, almost bored air, sliced off one of her fingers. The woman’s scream was echoed by my own soul-tearing shriek. “Mom!” “Stop! Chazz, stop, I’m begging you!” He leaned down, his fingers digging into my chin, his eyes as cold and remote as a star as he looked at his new toy. “Tell me,” he commanded. “Who are you?” “I… I am Lily.” “Good girl. Stay with your brother, just like this. Forever.” … Was he testing me now? To see if I remembered? Was he afraid I would take my revenge on Lily? If he found out, would I be thrown back into that lightless hell? But after all the humiliation, I was paralyzed by a fear and hatred so profound I couldn’t possibly pretend everything was normal. I couldn’t fake the easy affection I once had for him. My knuckles were white from clenching my fists. Suddenly, a bright, cheerful voice broke the tension. “Brother, why are you working so late all the time? You promised you’d watch that mystery show with me. I’m too scared to watch it alone.” Lily came skipping over, clutching a warm bag of roasted chestnuts. The hard lines of Chazz’s face softened instantly. He let her pop a chestnut into his mouth. “Alright. Let’s go home now.” “Clara, you should come with us! The snowstorm is getting bad, it’ll be impossible to get a cab, and the subway has stopped running…” “She still has work to do,” Chazz cut in. “Brother, you’re such a slave driver! No wonder Clara was telling me in secret how much she dislikes you.” After they left, I tilted my head back, breathing a sigh of relief. The snow fell from the night sky in thick, silent flakes. It was just like the snow that had fallen that year we were stranded together on a deserted island in Scandinavia. Our car had been buried in a snowdrift, our phones had no signal. He’d moistened the last half of a cracker with melted snow and fed it to me. He had pressed his face against mine, his own body shivering. That was the first time I ever heard him cry. “Yesterday you were nagging me about getting back early to pick up Pudding from the sitter. If you die here, I swear I won’t ever take care of that cat.” “You said when we were old and gray, we’d race our wheelchairs.” “Don’t fall asleep, Clara. Don’t you dare.” … I couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe, once, Chazz had felt something real for me. But whatever it was, it was nothing against the bond he shared with Lily, forged over a decade of shared blood and bone. This time, all I wanted was to get as far away from them as possible. But in the days that followed, my workload doubled, and every visa application I submitted was rejected. My colleagues teased me. “Clara, looks like Mr. Kinnear plans to work you to death. He’s never letting you leave this company.” Lily, who had just arrived with Chazz’s lunch, overheard. Her face turned pale. That evening, at a corporate gala, Lily approached me, her arm linked with another man’s. “Clara, this is Ethan Cole, of Sterling Group. Remember when you went to negotiate that partnership? He couldn’t stop asking me about you.” “You were working so late the other night and had no one to take you home. Why not give Ethan a chance? He knows you want to go to France—he even booked tickets for a show at the Palais Garnier in Paris.” Ethan smiled, a warm, genuine smile, and extended a polite hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clara.” Lily’s fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress. She watched me, her gaze intense, as if terrified I would say no. If this would finally put her mind at ease, then so be it. And perhaps, with the power of the Sterling Group behind me, I could finally vanish from Chazz’s world for good. I smiled back and extended my own hand. “The pleasure is all mine, Ethan.” Across the room, Chazz’s fingers tightened around his wine glass. His gaze was a physical weight, hot and piercing. The instant my fingers touched Ethan’s palm, a furious figure strode towards us. To the gasps of the onlookers, he grabbed my arm and dragged me from the ballroom.

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My mother was a professional con artist. Her specialty was staging accidents. Every day, she’d drag me to a busy intersection, and we’d hunt for our mark. As soon as a car slowed down, she’d shove me into its path. I’d get hit, and she’d rush over, wailing and screaming, clutching me as if I were dying. She’d tell the driver they’d hit a child, and if they didn’t hand over a hundred thousand dollars, this would not end well. I’ve had three broken bones. Each time she got the money, she’d buy me an ice cream cone as a reward. But the sweetness of the ice cream could never mask the agony of a fractured bone. … 1 “Nina, are you ready?” my mother whispered, crouching at the mouth of an alley. I clutched my backpack and nodded, my eyes glued to a black sedan making a slow right turn at the intersection. My leg was still in a cast, the “trophy” from last month’s job. “Mom, my leg still hurts…” “Suck it up!” she snapped. “Look at that car. You can tell they’re rich. This one’s the big score. If we land this, we can take the rest of the month off!” Then, timing it perfectly, she gave me a vicious shove from behind. I flew forward, landing hard in front of the car. The driver’s door flew open, and a man in a sharp suit scrambled out. “Little girl, are you okay?” My mother was on him in a flash, launching into her performance. “My baby! My poor, cursed child! You bastard! Are you blind?!” I lay on the pavement, expertly shutting my eyes and letting out a low moan. Over the years, we’d perfected this routine, scamming dozens of people. The fear I’d felt in the beginning had hardened into a numb resignation. It only took two years. “One million,” my mother screeched, naming a price that was pure fantasy. “Not a penny less, or I’ll die right here with you!” The man’s brow furrowed for a moment, as if he were considering it. “Fine,” he said, stunning us both. “But not here.” He opened his car door. “Get in. We’ll go to the hospital. I’ll pay for the examination, the medical bills, the emotional distress. I won’t short you a dime.” My mother was speechless. She’d never expected it to be this easy. Overjoyed, she scooped me up and bundled me into the car. But the car didn’t head toward the city. It drove further and further into the outskirts, until it finally stopped in front of an abandoned factory. “Mister, this isn’t the way to the hospital…” I whispered. He turned, his face stripped of its earlier kindness. “I know,” he said with a chilling smile. “This is a place for teaching lessons.” 2 The man’s name was Landon Pierce. He dragged my mother out of the car. She shrieked, “What do you want? I’m warning you, don’t try anything crazy! I’ve already called the police!” Landon ignored her. He retrieved a crowbar from the trunk and tossed it at her feet. He pointed at me. Then at my mother. “Her, or you?” “What?” she stammered, not understanding. “I said,” Landon’s voice was flat, emotionless, “do you do it, or do I?” “Your daughter has one leg in a cast. The other one is perfectly fine.” “You choose. Either you break your own arm, or I’ll help you out and break your daughter’s other leg.” The color drained from my mother’s face. She looked from the crowbar on the ground to me. “Sir, please, I was wrong! I swear, I was wrong! I have a family to support, I was just desperate…” “Choose,” Landon cut her off. A single, unyielding word. I stared at my mother, the woman who always claimed I was her entire world. I waited for her to pick up the crowbar, even if it was just for show. I waited for her to shield me with her body, to scream “Don’t you touch my daughter.” She didn’t. She dropped to her knees with a thud and clutched Landon’s leg. “Please, I’m begging you, let me go! I can’t break my arm! How will I work? How will I support her?” “She’s young, her bones heal fast! She’ll be fine! Please, hurt her! Just don’t touch me!” In that moment, even the wind howling around the factory seemed to fall silent. Landon kicked her away, his face a mask of undisguised contempt. He came to the car, opened the door, and pulled me out. “Mom! Help me!” I cried, reaching for her. My mother scrambled to her feet, but not to run to me. She stumbled away, toward the factory gates. “Nina, you just be brave! Mommy’s going to get help!” She ran without a backward glance, leaving me alone with this monster. Landon didn’t follow her. He just looked at me, his expression a mixture of something I couldn’t name—pity, maybe, or disgust. He knelt and gently touched my good leg. “Does it hurt?” I was too terrified to speak, shaking my head frantically. “Don’t be afraid. Uncle will be very gentle.” He stood up and raised the crowbar. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the familiar, sickening pain. There was a sharp crack. My scream died in my throat. Landon had broken my other leg. He tucked a bank card into my pocket. “The PIN is six zeros. A lesson for you both. There’s enough money in there to live on for a long time, and enough to fix your legs.” “Tell your mother this is what she earned. I hope she enjoys the money she bought with her daughter’s two broken legs.” He got back in his car, started the engine, and the black sedan vanished down the road. My mother must have been hiding nearby. She came running back, saw me crumpled on the ground, and after a brief pause, threw herself on me, frantically searching my pockets. When she found the card, her face lit up with a grotesque, ecstatic joy. She hugged me, not with concern, but with manic excitement. “Nina! My darling girl! You’re Mommy’s lucky charm! We’re rich! We’re rich!” She spun in a circle, holding me tight, oblivious to the searing pain in my legs. Tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t tell if they were from the pain, or from the chill that had settled deep in my heart. Mom, I thought, your lucky charm now has two broken legs. 3 I spent the next six months in bed. With both legs broken, my mother could no longer use me for her scams. She hired the cheapest, unlicensed doctor in town to set the bones crudely and applied the lowest-quality ointment every day. My recovery was slow and agonizing. The breaks left me with permanent damage; on rainy days, a deep, gnawing pain would shoot through my legs. With the money, my mother bought new clothes and jewelry. She also developed a gambling addiction. The money vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Her anxiety returned. “This is all your fault,” she’d rage at me. “If you hadn’t been so useless, so scared of that man, we wouldn’t have lost our source of income!” I sat in my wheelchair, staring silently out the window. I once thought having both legs broken was rock bottom. I never imagined she could always find a new way to drag me deeper into hell. She discovered a new “business opportunity.” There was a spoiled rich kid in our neighborhood named Kyle. He was sixteen or seventeen and terrorized the community on a modified electric scooter, speeding recklessly down the sidewalks. Everyone despised him, but his family was wealthy and powerful, so nobody dared to say a word. My mother set her sights on him. “Nina, when that little punk comes around the corner, you’re going to roll yourself out there. Got it?” “Mom, I’m scared…” I gripped the arms of my wheelchair. “Scared of what? He hits you, we get a huge payout! It’ll pay for your college tuition!” She was painting her fantasies again, as if my well-being meant nothing to her. Kyle’s scooter tore around the corner in a blur. My mother shoved me from behind. The wheelchair shot out into the middle of the path. There was a screech of brakes. The wheelchair was knocked over. I was thrown out, my head cracking against a stone curb. Blood streamed down my forehead, blurring my vision. My mother’s performance began right on cue. “Oh, God! Someone help! He hit my poor daughter!” A crowd gathered, pointing fingers at Kyle, who stood there, pale and stunned. “I… I didn’t mean to…” “Didn’t mean to? Look at my daughter! Her legs were already broken, and now you’ve cracked her head open! You’re not leaving here until you make this right!” A kind-looking woman pushed through the crowd, trying to help me up. My mother shoved her away. “Don’t you touch her! We don’t need your fake sympathy! You rich people are all the same!” The woman froze, looking from my mother to me, her eyes filled with a sad pity. Her name was Maria, and she was Kyle’s family’s housekeeper. Kyle’s parents arrived quickly, their apologies profuse. “Ma’am, we are so sorry. We haven’t raised our son right. Look, let’s settle this privately. Name your price.” My mother had what she wanted. The haggling began. I lay on the ground, listening to the murmurs of the crowd. “That poor kid, having a mother like that.” “I know, right? Using her own child as a meal ticket.” “Still, that Kyle kid had it coming.” No one asked if I was in pain. They were just spectators at a circus. In the end, my mother got two hundred thousand dollars. She pushed me home, humming a cheerful tune. “See, Nina? Mommy’s smart, isn’t she? I earned you a fortune!” I closed my eyes, unwilling to speak. Mom, if I ever really do die, will you use my corpse to bargain for even more money? 4 The Kyles paid, but on one condition: my mother had to bring me to their house to sign a formal agreement, officially closing the matter. My mother saw this as a reasonable request, given the money she’d received. She dressed me in my only new outfit and pushed my wheelchair to their home. It was a mansion, dripping with gold and marble. Kyle’s mother was effusively welcoming. “Please, come in! You must be Nina. Such a beautiful child. It breaks my heart to see you suffer so.” She stroked my head and handed me an expensive-looking teddy bear. Kyle trudged down the stairs, looking mortified. “Mom, do we really have to do this? It’s so embarrassing.” “Quiet, you!” his mother snapped. “Kyle, apologize to your sister. Now.” He shuffled over and mumbled a barely audible, “Sorry.” “See? We’ve just spoiled him rotten,” Mrs. Kyle said with a laugh. “Oh, it’s nothing, boys will be boys!” my mother chirped, her smile wide. The atmosphere seemed peaceful, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a strange coldness in Mrs. Kyle’s eyes when she looked at me. After the apology, my mother was ready to leave, but Mrs. Kyle insisted we stay. “Don’t rush off! I had Maria prepare some snacks. Please, have something before you go.” Maria, the housekeeper who had tried to help me, brought out a tray of pastries and gave me a small, kind smile. We were shown to a small sitting room off the main hall. Kyle followed us in and sat opposite me, glaring. My mother was busy chatting with Mrs. Kyle, boasting about how hard her life was, raising me all by herself. Suddenly, Kyle stood up and walked over to me. “Hey, I heard your mom’s a professional scammer,” he whispered. I ignored him. “What, you deaf now? If it wasn’t for you, my dad wouldn’t have beaten me! This isn’t over!” He suddenly shoved my wheelchair, hard. There were two low steps leading out of the room. The chair tipped, and I was thrown out, my head slamming against the sharp edge of a marble tile. The world went silent. I couldn’t hear my mother’s screams or Mrs. Kyle’s gasp. I only saw Maria’s horrified face as she ran toward me. Just before I lost consciousness, I felt her press something small and hard into my hand. My mother’s reaction this time was even faster. She wasn’t just demanding money; she was throwing a full-blown tantrum. “You’re trying to murder us! If anything happens to my daughter, I’ll make sure your whole family pays!” Mrs. Kyle’s face had changed. She hadn’t expected her son to be stupid enough to pull a stunt like this. “Ma’am, calm down! It… it was an accident!” “An accident? You did this on purpose! Money! Five hundred thousand! Not a penny less!” my mother screamed a new number. This time, she got exactly what she wanted. To make the problem go away, the Kyles paid her off again. I was rushed to the hospital and diagnosed with a severe concussion and temporary hearing loss. The doctor said if it had been any worse, I might never have woken up. My mother stayed by my bedside, not out of concern, but out of fear that if I died, her golden goose would be gone for good. She only relaxed once I regained consciousness and could hear again. I looked at her, unable to speak a single word. My fist was clenched tight. Inside was a piece of fruit candy. And wrapped in the candy’s paper, I could feel something else.

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I had been with Christopher for over five years. That day, I came home with the freshly printed wedding invitations, planning to surprise him. The kitchen light was warm and inviting. He was laughing and joking with the new housekeeper. She took a spoonful of soup from his bowl, tasted it, and then playfully tapped his chest. “You’re lying. It’s not salty at all.” My fingers tightened, crumpling the invitations into a ball. I walked straight to the trash can and threw them in. “Looks like my fiancé is getting a new girlfriend.” 1 Sarah had only been with us for a month. She was the cousin of our regular housekeeper, Mrs. Davis. A few weeks ago, Christopher had gone skiing and broken his leg. The doctor had ordered two months of strict bed rest. Just then, Mrs. Davis had a family emergency and had to leave in a hurry, so she asked her cousin to fill in for her. I was away on a business trip when she arrived. With Christopher unable to travel, I, as the vice president, had to oversee the company’s out-of-state projects. During that time, he mentioned her a few times in our chats: “Sarah is really efficient. And she’s a great cook.” I assumed she was around Mrs. Davis’s age and mentally filed her under “dependable, middle-aged housekeeper.” But when I got home and opened the door, the woman I saw was only a few years older than us. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, her apron was spotless, and her expression was neutral. I set down my bag and smiled. “Sarah, I picked this silk scarf out for you at the mall. Thank you for taking care of Christopher all this time.” I took a gift box out of my bag. It was originally for Mrs. Davis. I always brought her a small gift when I returned from a trip, partly as a bonus, and partly because she’d been with us for four or five years and felt like family. Sarah looked at the box but didn’t reach for it. The silence stretched for a moment. “Please, don’t feel obligated,” I added. “It’s just a little something extra. It won’t be deducted from your salary.” She looked up. “Miss Vance, this is my job. I haven’t done anything to deserve a gift. You don’t need to give me anything; I will do my job well regardless.” The sound of our voices must have reached the bedroom. Christopher wheeled himself to the doorway. I instinctively moved to help him, but before his wheelchair had even stopped, Sarah was already there, her hand on the handle. My outstretched hand hovered in the air for a second before I pulled it back. I told myself she was just a no-nonsense, efficient person. “What’s wrong?” Christopher asked, looking up at me. I smiled. “Nothing. I was just giving Sarah a gift I bought for her.” I held out the scarf. He took it, glanced at it, and nodded. “Claire always has excellent taste. This will look great on you, Sarah.” He then handed the box directly to her. This time, Sarah didn’t refuse. She accepted it naturally. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes.” She paused, then nodded at me. “And thank you, Miss Vance.” I mumbled an acknowledgment and took my laundry to the bedroom, making a mental note of the exchange. The gift had ended up in her hands, but who it came from clearly mattered. “Claire, you’re in for a treat tonight. Sarah is an amazing cook,” Christopher said from his wheelchair, holding my hand. From the open door, I could faintly hear the clatter of pots and pans. “Did you tell her I don’t eat cilantro?” I reminded him. “Of course. You think I’d forget something like that?” he said, tapping the tip of my nose with a familiar, playful gesture. His easy manner made me smile, and I pushed the earlier flicker of annoyance aside. A moment later, the door clicked open. “Sir, dinner is ready,” Sarah announced as she walked in. I had just gotten out of the shower. The bathroom was still steamy, and my hair was dripping as I was about to change. She had entered without knocking. I quickly clutched my towel tighter, my expression hardening. “Why didn’t you knock?” It had always just been me, Christopher, and Mrs. Davis in the house. Mrs. Davis was meticulous about etiquette; she would knock even if she was just bringing a glass of water. I’d gotten into the habit of not locking my door at home. Sarah looked taken aback for a second, a hint of embarrassment on her face. “We’re all women. It’s not a big deal.” A retort died on my lips. I was still undressed. I took a deep breath. “Could you both please leave?” Sensing my mood, Christopher quickly intervened. “Sarah didn’t mean anything by it. We’ll wait for you outside.” He gestured for her to push his wheelchair out. The door closed, and I heard the sound of the wheels fading down the hallway. I took another deep breath, grabbed my loungewear from the chair, and quickly dried my hair and got dressed. My reflection in the mirror was still tense. It wasn’t just about the small incident; it was the feeling of my boundaries being so easily crossed. 2 When I walked into the living room, Christopher had already started eating. Sarah was also seated at the dining table, her head bowed over her plate. The four dishes and soup were still steaming. My spot was empty. There wasn’t even a place setting for me. “When Mrs. Davis was training you, did she not mention that you’re not supposed to sit at the table with your employer without permission?” I asked, my voice tight with displeasure. It wasn’t that I was being unreasonable. I had invited Mrs. Davis to eat with us before, but she had always insisted on following the rules, citing professional boundaries. Sarah, however, seemed unfazed. “This is how I’ve been eating this whole time. Mr. Hayes said it was fine.” Christopher chimed in. “It’s no big deal, Claire. Come on, sit down and eat.” I didn’t move. I just stood there, looking at them. In the silence, the clinking of chopsticks against porcelain sounded jarringly loud. Christopher, sensing my anger, wheeled himself over and looked up at me. “Claire, don’t be mad. Please, sit.” “Tell her to leave the table,” I said. “Claire…” he started to argue. “Tell her to leave the table,” I repeated, leaving no room for negotiation. After a tense moment, he relented. “Sarah, would you mind eating in the kitchen?” Sarah’s face tightened. She scraped her chair back, a short, sharp sound against the floor. She seemed to have grown accustomed to her easy dynamic with Christopher, and my return had disrupted it. A flicker of emotion crossed her face before she suppressed it and prepared to stand. “Wait,” I said, turning to Christopher. “Did you not tell her I don’t eat cilantro?” He finally looked down at the table. Almost every dish was sprinkled with it. “Uh…” He was at a loss for words. “Miss Vance, it’s not Mr. Hayes’s fault,” Sarah cut in quickly. “I forgot while I was cooking. I added it out of habit.” “Then remake it,” I said flatly. “Claire, let it go. Just pick it out tonight. Sarah will remember next time,” Christopher tried to placate me. I didn’t say another word. I walked to the table, picked up the dish closest to me, and dumped its contents into the trash can. The sound of the sauce splattering was sharp and clear. “Then no one eats.” Christopher’s brow furrowed. “Claire, what are you doing?” He bit back the rest of his sentence, knowing, ultimately, that this was Sarah’s mistake. I ignored them both, grabbed my car keys and purse from the entryway, and left. I didn’t go back that night. Instead, I stayed at my small apartment near the office for a few days. I’d bought it for late nights during a big project. It was sparsely furnished but was only a five-minute walk from work. For days, Christopher bombarded me with messages: What time are you getting off work? Have you eaten? When are you coming home? Normally, he would have just driven over and waited for me downstairs. But with his leg, he was stuck at home, his frustration channeled into a relentless digital assault. I didn’t block him, but I rarely replied, occasionally sending a curt “Busy.” On the sixth day, he sent a longer message, asking if I wanted to look at wedding venues with him that weekend. He said he’d contacted several planners, checked on dates and budgets, and wanted me to pick my favorite. His tone was sincere, and I didn’t want to drag out the stalemate. I decided to accept the olive branch and went home. 3 When I walked in, a floor lamp cast a soft glow across the living room. On the balcony, Sarah was watering the plants. She glanced up when I entered but said nothing. I didn’t greet her either and went straight to the bedroom. Christopher was on the sofa, a stack of brochures from wedding planners on his lap. They were filled with photos of chapels, outdoor lawns, and grand hotel ballrooms. He saw me and immediately beckoned me over. “Claire, you’re finally back. Come, see which one you like.” I sat down and flipped through a few pages, nodding as I looked. “Don’t be so hard on Sarah,” he began. “She had a tough time. Her ex-husband was abusive, and she finally got a divorce. It’s not easy raising a kid on her own.” I stopped turning the pages and looked at him. “Are you defending her?” He quickly changed his tone, a mix of pleading and placating, and took my arm. “Of course not. I’m always on your side. I already told her, no more cilantro in the food.” His hand was warm, his voice soft. I looked at him, and the anger inside me began to dissipate. “Fine,” I said, my voice still a little cool, but the tension was gone. Just then, there were two knocks on the door. “Sir, Miss Vance, dinner is ready.” This time, she was perfectly polite. She waited for us to come out before she brought the food from the kitchen, and she didn’t sit at the table. After setting down the dishes, she recited the menu, adding pointedly, “None of these have cilantro.” I glanced at the plates. The seasoning had indeed been changed. Christopher took the opportunity to add, “Try it today. If you don’t like it, we can adjust it.” I nodded and sat down. The atmosphere was still a bit strained, but it was an improvement. I put the brochures aside to look at after dinner. After eating, I went to my room to catch up on some emails. As I relaxed, a wave of drowsiness washed over me, and I lay down for a quick nap. I was drifting in and out of sleep when I heard a clattering sound from my nightstand, like someone was rummaging through the drawer. I shot up, fumbling for the bedside lamp. In the sudden light, an eight-or-nine-year-old boy was crouched by the nightstand, my lipstick and a bottle of perfume in his hands. “Who are you?!” I jumped out of bed, blocking the door. The boy glanced at me, said nothing, and bolted for the living room. I chased after him and grabbed his arm. “Who are you? Who let you in? Sarah! Sarah!” I yelled. The sudden confrontation scared him. He threw himself on the floor and started kicking and screaming. I was stunned by his reaction. Just then, I heard footsteps. Sarah came in from outside, saw the boy, and immediately rushed to his side, shielding him. “Miss Vance, what happened?” she asked, her eyes wary. The boy, seeing a familiar face, dropped the act, scrambled to his feet, hid behind her, and made a face at me. “Did you bring him here?” I demanded. “He’s my son,” she replied. “There was no one at home, so I picked him up from school and brought him here for a little while.” Before I could say anything, she added, “I already asked Mr. Hayes. He said it was okay.” A surge of anger rose in me. I went to the study and dragged Christopher out. He had no idea what was happening. “What’s wrong?” he asked, bewildered. “This child. You said he could come into our home?” I pointed to the living room. He nodded. “Sarah had no one to watch him. He’s too young to be alone.” I didn’t argue. I just pushed him back toward the bedroom. “Then how are you going to take responsibility for this?” He followed my gaze to my vanity and froze. It was a disaster. Foundation, blush, and brushes were scattered everywhere. Several lipsticks were broken. Two perfume bottles were open, their contents spilled on the floor, the strong scent overwhelming. One of them was a new Chanel I had just bought.

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1. A nasty flu had me feeling like death warmed over, so I had to beg my gay best friend, Ben, to drive me to the clinic for a shot. I was expecting a simple IV drip, but the intern on duty insisted that if I wanted to get better fast, it had to be an intramuscular injection in the glute. To avoid missing any more work, I gritted my teeth and agreed. But after I lowered my pants, the intern suddenly rushed out of the room in a panic and dragged Ben inside. “Oh my God, sir! Your girlfriend has a syphilitic rash all over her backside! How can you be with someone who has a disease that… filthy?” A surge of white-hot anger shot through me. I demanded she apologize, but instead, the intern turned around and posted a TikTok. The caption read: “Forced by my superiors to apologize after exposing a patient’s promiscuous lifestyle, but I know I did the right thing! Sometimes you have to speak up! #MedStudentLife #DoingTheRightThing” … I yanked my pants up, my hands shaking with rage, and spun around to glare at the girl whose name tag read, “Zoe, Medical Intern.” “What the hell are you talking about?” My voice was sharp with fury, but Zoe seemed oblivious, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “I just don’t want this gentleman to be deceived by you!” she declared righteously, before casting a shy, adoring glance at Ben. “I can’t stand people like you, who use a pretty face to cheat good men!” The so-called “good man,” Ben, pointed a bewildered finger at his own nose. His expression screamed, “Me?” I followed Zoe’s gaze and saw the undisguised infatuation swirling in her eyes as she looked at Ben. In that instant, it all clicked into place. Ben was wearing a bespoke suit, a Patek Philippe gleaming on his wrist. Paired with a face that could rival any A-list actor, it was enough to send an impressionable young girl’s imagination into overdrive. There was just one tiny problem: Ben wasn’t straight. I let out a cold, humorless laugh, done wasting my breath on her. I raised my voice, calling out into the hallway. “Head nurse! Could I speak to whoever is in charge here, please?” My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the clinic’s low hum, drawing the attention of several nurses nearby. A moment later, a middle-aged man with a tag identifying him as “Dr. Matthews, Department Head” hurried in. “Ma’am, is there a problem?” I pointed a trembling finger at Zoe and recounted everything that had just happened, word for word. As I spoke, Dr. Matthews’s face grew darker and darker. Zoe, faced with her superior, was clearly losing her nerve. Her eyes darted around the room as she anxiously twisted the hem of her white coat. “I… I must have made a mistake. I was just so shocked that I…” she stammered, trying to defend herself. I cut her off, my gaze sweeping sharply between her and the doctor. “A mistake? You think a flippant ‘I made a mistake’ is enough to repair the damage you’ve done to my reputation and my health?” I paused, letting the tension build before dropping the bomb. “Fine. I will undergo a full panel of tests right here, right now, in your clinic. If they show that there is nothing wrong with me, then not only will I sue Ms. Zoe for personal defamation and emotional distress, but I will also sue this hospital for gross negligence and for enabling its staff to spread malicious lies.” The color drained from Dr. Matthews’s face, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He whirled on Zoe, his voice a low, furious hiss. “What are you still standing there for? Since when can you diagnose a patient with your eyes alone? Who do you think you are? Apologize to this lady. Now!” Under the immense pressure, Zoe’s face turned crimson. Her lips trembled as if she wanted to argue. But what she did next, no one saw coming. “Waaaaah!” She clapped her hands over her face and burst into loud, theatrical sobs. 2. Dr. Matthews looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. Ben just stood there, a perfect picture of “Who am I? Where am I?” confusion. I crossed my arms, watching her performance with cold detachment. Zoe sobbed, peeking at Ben through the gaps in her fingers, but her words were directed at her boss. “I… I just didn’t want this gentleman to be kept in the dark! He’s such a good person, why should he be deceived by someone who plays games with people’s hearts!” Growing more agitated, she dropped her hands, her red-rimmed eyes locking onto mine. “You know exactly how wild your life is, don’t you? If you’re going to be dirty, then stay away from decent men!” She spoke with such conviction, as if she were some righteous crusader. But from the moment we walked in, Ben hadn’t said a single word. How had she determined he was a “decent man”? Pure fantasy? I was so angry I had to laugh. Taking a step toward her, I didn’t back down. “Fine. Let’s say I ‘corrupt’ people,” I said, playing along. Then my finger shot out, pointing at a still-baffled Ben. “Then you tell me, who deserves to be with him? Who wouldn’t be corrupting him?” Zoe’s eyes flickered away, a suspicious blush creeping up her cheeks. She stammered, unable to form a single word. The answer was obvious. “That’s enough!” Dr. Matthews had reached his limit. “Zoe, one more word of this nonsense and you’re fired!” I ignored him, pulled my phone from my pocket, and began dialing in front of everyone. “Hello, 911? I’d like to report a case of public slander…” “Ma’am! Ma’am, please don’t!” Seeing I was serious, Dr. Matthews nearly jumped out of his skin. He lunged forward and pressed down on my phone, his posture utterly deferential, his tone almost pleading. “Please, calm down. This is our hospital’s failure. I promise you, I will handle this to your complete satisfaction!” He spun back to Zoe, his eyes like daggers. “Zoe! Do you want a future in this hospital or not? Is your residency position not important to you? I am giving you one last chance. Apologize to this lady. Immediately!” The words “residency position” finally snapped Zoe back to reality. She bit her lip, trembling with resentment, and gave me a stiff, reluctant bow. “I’m… sor… ry…” Her voice was barely a whisper, but the venom in her eyes could have killed. Dr. Matthews delivered the sentence. “Zoe, you are suspended from your rotation, effective immediately. You will write a ten-thousand-word formal apology, and a hospital-wide disciplinary notice will be issued!” Already sick and now dealing with this mess, I couldn’t even be bothered to get the shot anymore. I just turned and walked out. Ben walked me to my car. Seeing how pale I was, he asked worriedly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” “I’m fine. Go on your date,” I said, waving him off. “Don’t keep him waiting.” Back home, I collapsed onto the sofa, my head throbbing. I ordered some medicine and takeout on my phone. While waiting, I idly scrolled through local TikToks. Suddenly, a video popped up. On the screen, a girl in a white coat was crying her eyes out for the camera. It was Zoe. The text overlay was dripping with self-pity: 【I just tried to warn a patient’s family that his “girlfriend” might have a nasty disease, but my boss forced me to apologize and told me to mind my own business… What is wrong with this world? But I know I did the right thing. I’m still a good person!】 The comment section was a war zone. 【Don’t cry, you did nothing wrong! You’re too kind for this world!】 【Some women these days have zero morals, but god forbid you say anything about it.】 【That patient probably reported you because you hit a nerve! Hugs!】 My blood boiled. This woman, who was supposed to be suspended and reflecting on her actions, was actively fanning the flames in her comment section, describing me in vivid detail. 【The woman looked so sick and haggard, a total mess. I have no idea how she tricked a guy like him. He was so handsome and classy—they were like night and day!】 I burst out laughing from sheer disbelief. What a master of deception, this “good person.” Fueled by rage, I started typing in the comments: 【I’m the “patient” you’re talking about, and here’s what actually happened at the clinic today…】 I was halfway through typing out the whole sordid affair when my doorbell rang. My medicine and food had arrived. I put my phone down, forced myself to eat a few bites, and swallowed the pills. The medicine hit me hard, and soon I was dizzy, sinking into a deep, hazy sleep. 3. I slept like the dead. When I finally opened my eyes, the world outside my window was pitch black. The flu medicine had worn off, and my head finally felt clear again, not like the cotton-stuffed mess it had been. I reached for my phone to check the time, but the screen immediately lit up with a relentless barrage of calls from Ben. It was a full-blown emergency. “Hello?” My voice was still raspy. “Oh my god, finally! Get on TikTok, right now! It’s a complete disaster!” Ben sounded frantic. A knot of dread formed in my stomach as I opened the app. The flood of DMs and comment notifications instantly froze my phone, turning the screen into a stuttering slideshow. That’s when I realized it. In my medicated haze last night, I must have accidentally hit send on that half-finished comment. 【I’m the “patient” you’re talking about, and here’s what actually happened at the clinic today…】 Just that one, dangling sentence, hanging awkwardly in the comments of Zoe’s viral video. And right below it, Zoe had performed a stunning reversal. She replied to me, her tone no longer defiant but impossibly humble: 【I am so, so sorry, ma’am. I was wrong, I was truly wrong. I shouldn’t have been such a busybody, and I never should have posted about this online. I’m just an intern who has studied for five years to get this one chance. Please, I’m begging you, have mercy. Don’t file another complaint. I’ll never be so “righteous” again. I’m on my knees apologizing to you.】 Her “retreat to advance” tactic was flawless. My notifications had become a cesspool. 【Oh look, the main character has arrived. Why’d you stop typing? Feeling guilty?】 【“What actually happened is…” is what? That you screwed around and caught something nasty?】 【The poor intern is practically begging on her knees. What more do you want? Just because you got caught doesn’t mean you can be a bully!】 【Look at her, can’t even finish a sentence. She knows she was exposed. Serves her right.】 I was shaking with rage, my chest tight. These people, based on one manipulative video and a few crocodile-tear comments, had already convicted and sentenced me. I clicked on Zoe’s profile and saw that she had pinned her reply to the top, every word painting her as a poor, bullied intern who was forced to abandon her “righteous” quest by a powerful abuser. Fine. You want to settle this online? Let’s settle it online. With trembling hands, I opened my camera, ready to record a video explaining everything. But a cold, impersonal notification box popped up on my screen: 【Your account has been temporarily suspended due to multiple user reports of violating community guidelines.】 My vision went black for a second. When I came to, I immediately contacted customer support, only to be told it would take three business days for a review. Three business days? By then, this whole thing would be ancient history. And just then, as if on cue, a friend request popped up on my messaging app. The profile picture was Zoe’s tear-stained face. I accepted, and a message instantly came through. 【I really didn’t expect things to blow up like this online. I know I was wrong, and I’ve already asked for your forgiveness. But as a medical professional, I still have to advise you: a girl should take care of her body. It’s better not to have such a messy private life.】 Her condescending tone, as if she were some kind of savior. I stared at the words, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. I was about to unleash a string of curses, but my fingers froze over the screen. What was the point of cursing her out? It would only give her more satisfaction. I deleted the long, angry paragraph I had typed and calmly replied with a few simple words. 【Are you at the hospital now?】 Zoe clearly hadn’t expected that. A few seconds later, a single “?” appeared. Seeing that question mark, a cold smile spread across my face. I ignored her and dialed Ben. “Ben, I need you to do something for me.”

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My husband and I turned the entire house upside down looking for that new little toy we’d bought. It was nowhere to be found. My live stream was about to start, so I had to give up and head to my studio. But no sooner had I walked through the door than my phone buzzed with a notification from the toy’s app: 【Rolling Heatwave Mode has been activated.】 Did Ethan find it? I wondered. I shot him a video call, but he was still half-asleep, mumbling drowsily from our bed. I was too embarrassed to ask, so I just told myself it was probably a glitch with the toy. Shaking it off, I started my stream. But right when I was deep in a chat with my followers, my phone lit up again. Same app. 【Passion Burst Mode has been activated.】 My mind went into overdrive. I was here. My husband was asleep at home. So who was it? Who was using my things?! 1 A chill shot up my spine. My phone buzzed one last time: 【Your ‘Wicked Wanda’ is operating at high intensity. Battery level is critical at 7%.】 My mind flashed through all the blush-worthy pre-set modes. Was this a system bug, or… I ended the stream right then and there, floored the gas, and raced home. Was I really about to become the subject of the kind of gossip I usually just read about online? I burst into the bedroom. It was pitch black, and Ethan was still snoring peacefully. I immediately checked the entry log on our smart lock. No one had entered or left. My frayed nerves eased slightly. On the drive home, I’d already decided: if he had cheated on me, I’d kick him out on the spot. I calmed myself down and checked the toy’s app again. It showed the device was active within a six-foot radius of my phone. Six feet?! But I searched every inch of that area and found nothing. And there was no sign of anyone else having been in the house. I was so frustrated I wanted to smash my phone. I couldn’t sleep all night. The toy had been active just moments ago, so how could it have just vanished into thin air? The incident left me deeply unsettled. A few days later, I decided to surprise Ethan by coming home during my usual streaming time. He wasn’t there. I video-called him. He rejected it. A moment later, a text came through. 【Almost home, babe. I have a surprise for you.】 Sitting in the living room, my mind couldn’t help but replay that strange night. Anger simmered in my gut. When he got here, I was going to demand some answers. He walked in, saw me on the couch, and wrapped his arms around me. “Babe, what are you doing home so early?” I didn’t return the hug. “Where were you?” I asked, my voice flat. He chuckled and pulled a small card from his pocket with a flourish. “Surprise, honey! Happy?” In his hand was an autographed photo of my all-time favorite basketball player, Jaden Cross. I’d been so busy lately that I’d completely forgotten his team was in town for an exhibition game. I’d also forgotten it was my birthday. Seeing the signature, most of my anger melted away. I couldn’t believe he’d gone all the way to the game just for this. The tension broke, and my eyes instantly welled up with tears. I felt a pang of guilt for ever doubting him. I hugged him tightly, apologizing for my cold attitude. He stroked my hair. “A husband should always be there for his wife, support her career, and even stand in line for autographs for her.” A wave of pure joy washed over me. How could a man who loved me this much ever betray me? 2. The next few days were peaceful. But just in case, I set up a small security camera in the living room, telling Ethan it was to keep an eye on our dog, Mochi. Today, the broadcast of the game was released, and I posted a picture of the autographed photo on my social media. 【Finally got my idol’s autograph! A dream come true! So happy!】 The post drew a lot of comments and likes from basketball fans. Then, one comment was pushed to the top. 【You’re a fake fan. You bought that on eBay.】 I replied instantly: “I did not! And I’m not a fake fan!” I even posted photos of my ticket stubs from games I’d attended over the past ten years. The comment section turned into a warzone between my defenders and those accusing me of clout-chasing. A few minutes later, the same account posted a screenshot of a redacted eBay transaction, hammering the final nail in my coffin. The autograph sold by that eBay seller was identical to the one I was holding. Even the little doodle on the corner of the card was in the exact same spot. Suddenly, a horrible thought struck me. My heart sank. I immediately opened eBay, found the original seller, and messaged them for details. Ethan had bought it. And it wasn’t from the game that day. It was from a game in another city, an autograph the seller had gotten months ago. My anger flared. Why would Ethan lie to me? He never went to the game. So where was he that day? And who was he with? My followers were demanding an explanation. Fuming, I promised them I would get to the bottom of it. That evening, when Ethan came home, I confronted him, my face a grim mask. “Are you hiding something from me?” He looked at me with a weary expression. “You found out, huh? It’s about the autograph, isn’t it? Look, I bought it as a backup. I’ve been so swamped with work, I was afraid I wouldn’t make it to the pre-game signing. So I made a Plan B, and it’s a good thing I did, because I didn’t make it in time.” “You were busy until midnight?” The game ended at midnight. I didn’t believe he was working that late. Ethan pulled me into a hug, nuzzling my neck. “Thankfully, I made it for the second half.” He even showed me a video of himself at the arena with his friends. “We’re trying for a baby, remember? I’m just trying to work extra hard to save up for formula and diapers.” Seeing him so motivated for our future family, my expression softened. “You could have just told me the truth, honey. When I posted the photo, my fans accused me of being a fake. I could barely defend myself.” Ethan promised immediately, “It won’t happen again! I swear, babe.” He held me close and kissed me twice. Just then, Mochi trotted over, rubbing against my legs. But around his neck was a new bandana I’d never seen before. I stared at it, certain I hadn’t bought it. “Where did Mochi get this new bandana? I haven’t bought him one recently.” My tone was serious, and Ethan waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, probably a freebie from the groomer. I didn’t even notice.” His expression was perfectly natural. He yawned, said he was exhausted from overtime, and went to take a shower. I nodded, my face a placid mask. As he walked into the bedroom, the knot in my stomach tightened. I’d been taking Mochi to the same groomer for years. They never gave out free bandanas. And more importantly, caught in the fabric of this one was a single, long, reddish-brown curl. I touched my own short, dark hair. It definitely wasn’t mine. And in all the years we’d lived here, no one with reddish-brown hair had ever set foot in our apartment. There were too many strange things about Ethan lately. My intuition was screaming at me. He was lying.

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On the first day of high school registration, I was filling out my personal information when I happened to glance at the form on top of the pile. Name: Zoe. Father: Keith. Occupation: Director, Apex Industries. I froze. I pulled out a photo on my phone—our family of three standing in front of the Apex Industries headquarters—and compared the names again and again. My dad is Keith. Apex Industries is my grandfather’s company. If Zoe was my dad’s daughter, then who was I? I immediately dialed my dad’s number. “Dad,” I began, my voice tight, “is there something you’re hiding from me?” There was a pause on the other end, then his voice returned, breezy and cheerful. “What could I possibly hide from you, sweetheart? Just focus on your first day. I’ll bring you a treat when I get home from my meeting.” I forced a smile into my voice, and after hanging up, I immediately went to find the mother and daughter who had just left. I caught up with them at a turn in the hallway. 1 The taller one was the mother, maybe in her mid-thirties, with a cascade of brown, wavy hair. The shorter one was the girl, Zoe, thin and with her mother’s eyes. But the rest of her features—her nose, her chin, the shape of her face—were a near-perfect mirror of my father’s. My heart plummeted. I stepped in front of them, blocking their path. “How old are you?” I asked the girl, my voice raspy. She looked startled. Before she could answer, her mother went into a full-blown panic. Her face turned chalky white, and her hands began to tremble as if she’d just seen a monster. “Zoe, you… you go on back to class. I need to have a word with this student.” Zoe gave me a final, curious glance and walked away. The woman let out a shaky breath, her eyes darting nervously. “You…” “I saw your daughter’s registration form,” I said, my voice flat. “The teacher mentioned her father is a director at Apex Industries. I was just curious.” I didn’t wait for a response. “When did you meet my father?” Right there, in the busy school hallway, I laid my cards on the table. The woman’s hands, which had been hanging loosely at her sides, clenched into tight fists. She shot a panicked look around, then forced a brittle smile. “Oh, that. My daughter is from a single-parent home. I was afraid she’d be sad, so I just… made up a name to comfort her.” She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Someone that important? How could I possibly know someone like that?” As she spoke, she casually brushed a stray curl from her face, a deliberate gesture that flashed a massive, seven-carat pink diamond on her left hand. My mother loves pink diamonds. Last year, a seven-carat ring exactly like that one was auctioned at Sotheby’s, right around her birthday. I had reminded my dad about it a month in advance, begging him to get it for her. I even helped him keep it a secret, planning a huge surprise. But on her birthday, the gift my dad presented was a cheap knockoff from Amazon, something that cost less than twenty dollars. He told me his flight had been delayed and he’d missed the auction. He promised he’d buy her something even better when he had the time, but for now, this fake one would have to do, so she wouldn’t be disappointed. It turned out he hadn’t missed the auction at all. He had just given the real diamond to someone else. The real one went to his mistress. The fake was for my mom. A wave of pure hatred washed over me. I met the woman’s challenging gaze, a cold smile touching my lips. “That’s a beautiful diamond, ma’am. Where did you get it?” I let the question hang in the air for a beat. “My mother has one just like it.” The woman—Lynn, I would later learn—had clearly not expected me to recognize it. The color drained from her face. She snatched her hand back, hiding it behind her. “What… what diamond? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I have to go, I have things to do at home.” “And by the way,” she added, her voice a desperate whisper, “don’t mention any of this to your family. We wouldn’t want any misunderstandings.” She pushed past me and practically fled, her hurried retreat looking suspiciously like a getaway. Pathetic. The word echoed in my mind. I didn’t watch her go. I pulled out my phone and called our driver. “Come pick me up.” His voice was surprised. “Miss Chloe? It’s your first day of school. Aren’t you staying for classes?” My eyes dropped to my phone as I typed a quick message to my grandfather’s assistant, Daniel, asking him to pull every record of my father’s unusual activities for the past seventeen years. My voice was unnervingly calm. “No. I’m going home to deal with a family matter.” 2. When I got home, my mother was in the kitchen brewing a fragrant herbal remedy. My father suffered from hereditary arthritis, and the change of seasons brought him nights of agonizing pain. My mother, worried sick about him, had spent the last seventeen years traveling the country, consulting specialists, and learning to prepare these complex treatments. Seventeen years. In three more years, they would have celebrated their twentieth anniversary. And now, I had just discovered that for almost the entirety of that time, my father had been cheating on her. My eyes stung. I walked up quietly behind my mother. She was forty-two this year. Her figure was immaculate, her skin smooth and glowing—the picture of a woman who had lived a life of ease. But her hands told a different story. Her nails were stained yellow from the herbs, her palms were calloused, and the backs of her hands were dotted with the faint, silvery scars from countless small burns. All from preparing my father’s medicine. A tear splashed onto the floor. Before I could say anything, she turned around. “Chloe, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” she asked, her face etched with concern. She immediately started wiping my tears away. “Did someone bully you at school? I’m calling your father right now…” “Don’t tell him!” I shouted. Meeting her shocked and worried eyes, my own trembled. I forced the words from my throat. “Dad… he’s cheating.” “The woman’s name is Lynn. She was a student he used to sponsor.” Like an automaton, I pulled the file Daniel had sent me from my bag and laid out the pages for her to see. “They first met eight days after your wedding. He gave a lecture at her university. That night… they slept together.” “When you were three weeks pregnant, Dad bought an apartment across the street from our house. The deed is in her name.” “While you were suffering from morning sickness so severe you couldn’t eat, he was across the street, eating home-cooked meals she made for him. While your legs were swollen in your third trimester, keeping you awake all night, he was in her bed with her.” “Even when you were giving birth to me, when you were hemorrhaging on the operating table, he was texting her, reminding her to eat on time so she wouldn’t hurt the baby in her belly.” “Mom, can you believe it? While you were pregnant with me, she was pregnant too. That illegitimate daughter… she’s only eight months younger than me.” I wanted to laugh, but tears just kept falling, splashing onto the documents. My mother stood frozen, her lips trembling uncontrollably. “How… how is that possible? Your father and I have been married for seventeen years. You’re all grown up. He couldn’t possibly…” I reached out and wiped her tears away, my own voice hollow. “Mom, do you remember when Dad took me to the amusement park when I was little and almost lost me?” She nodded, her red-rimmed eyes clouded with memory. “Of course, I remember. Your grandmother was in the hospital, and I was with her. Your father said he’d take you to the park for the day, and the next thing I knew, you were gone. He was beside himself with guilt, just sitting on a bench outside the park, crying. He said if he couldn’t find you, he didn’t want to live.” “When the park staff finally found you, he was so relieved and terrified. For the next month, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. He even stopped going to work, just to stay with you.” “That was when I knew,” she whispered, her voice choked with a sob, “that your father truly loved you. I knew I hadn’t married the wrong man.” I flipped to the next page in the file. “What if I told you it wasn’t an accident?” “What if I told you that Dad deliberately tied my balloon string to a railing so he could go on the Ferris wheel with her?” “He thought a simple string was enough to keep a five-year-old from wandering off. He didn’t care that the park was crawling with kidnappers back then.” “And I wasn’t found by the staff, Mom. I was rescued by the police from the back of a kidnapper’s van.” “What?” My mother stared at me, her face a mask of horror. “I was only five. I was so traumatized that I developed temporary amnesia about the event.” “You think he stayed by my side because he loved me? No. He was afraid I would remember and expose him. He was afraid of losing Grandfather’s support.” The words hung in the air, and I finally broke. I threw my arms around my mother and sobbed. I was angry—furious that my father had cheated, that he had lived a lie for seventeen years. I was hurt—devastated to learn that the father I had loved for sixteen years had never really loved me at all. And my heart ached. It ached for me, and it ached for my mother. After what felt like an eternity, my phone vibrated. It was a group message for my new class. 【As per school tradition, there will be a mandatory parent-teacher conference for all new students this evening. Please inform your parents.】 One by one, students replied with “Got it.” Then, I saw someone tag Zoe. 【Zoe, is your mom coming again tonight? I’ve still never met your dad.】 The person who sent it must have been an old classmate of hers. Zoe didn’t reply. But just then, a message from my father popped up on my phone. 【Chloe, didn’t you want to go to that concert? I got you tickets for tonight. Two of them, so you and your mom can go together.】 My blood ran cold. I typed back: 【The school just announced a mandatory parent-teacher conference tonight. We can’t go.】 He replied instantly, without hesitation. 【A conference is just a formality, it’s not important. You miss this concert, and who knows when they’ll tour again.】 【Be a good girl and listen to your dad. Go to the concert. I’ll talk to your teacher for you.】 The chill in my heart deepened. My fingers trembled as I typed my reply. 【Okay. I’ll listen to you.】 The moment my message sent, Zoe replied happily in the class group chat: 【Both my mom and dad are coming tonight.】 【Awesome! I finally get to see what your dad looks like.】 Staring at the cheerful exchange, my mother and I looked at each other, and a slow, cold smile spread across my face. “Mom,” I said, “for tonight’s conference, bring Grandfather. We’re all going.” I was dying to see the look on my father’s face when he saw us there.

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The day I learned I was pregnant, my husband Peter announced he was moving his late comrade’s widow onto the military base, leaving me to care for his aging mother. He insisted it was perfect—I, a former nurse’s aide, could quit my job and tend to his mother. Once the baby came, we’d join him. But two months later, his paychecks stopped. I told myself he was sacrificing for our future, so I stayed silent even as we starved. Four years later, I returned home after selling a kidney in the city, only to learn the truth from a neighbor: his mother had been killed by a wild boar while foraging, and my son died of fever without medicine I couldn’t afford. At the funerals, Peter didn’t mourn—he blamed me, called me useless, and demanded a divorce. Soon after, he married the widow. She managed his money now, living comfortably off-base while eating pork chops and rice. My life ended the night she had a healthy son. But when I opened my eyes, I was back—three days before my son and his grandmother were fated to die. This time, I wouldn’t sell a kidney. This time, I’d take them straight to Peter and reclaim everything that was stolen. 1 “Mom, I have to find Peter. Only the army has the medicine. Only he can save Leo.” My mother-in-law’s eyes were hollowed out by hunger, her gaze sweeping over the barren walls of our crumbling, dirt-floor cottage. Tears welled. “Alright,” she whispered. “I’ll do whatever you say.” I took the last of Peter’s things—his old army canteen and the one sturdy stool we had left—to the market. I traded them for ten pounds of sweet potatoes and a small bag of cornmeal. Back home, I cooked a thick, warm porridge. It was the most filling meal we’d had since the food ran out. After we ate, I settled my mother-in-law and my son onto a rickety handcart and started pushing them toward Peter’s base. We asked for directions to Fort Sterling as we went. I was stunned to learn it was barely thirty miles away. Closer than the city I’d been planning to travel to. And still, in all these years, he hadn’t come home to see us even once. When we finally arrived, the guard at the gate handed me a pen and a visitor log. As I prepared to write “Wife” in the relationship column, Peter himself appeared in the doorway. His features were sharper, more defined than I remembered. He was more handsome, more imposing in his uniform. His eyes swept over our ragged forms, and his expression shifted from shock to pure, unadulterated embarrassment. “Elara… What are you doing here?” He quickly pulled us aside, out of the main thoroughfare, before muttering a quiet, “Mom.” His gaze fell on our son. “Is this… my boy?” I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and nodded sharply. “Leo, say ‘Daddy.’” My son’s cheeks were flushed with fever, his body weak and frail. But seeing his father for the first time, his eyes lit up. He stretched out his tiny arms. “Da…” Before the second syllable could escape his lips, Peter clamped a hand over his mouth, his voice a harsh whisper. “Don’t you dare call me Dad here. Do you understand?” Leo flinched, terrified. His little lip trembled, and he burrowed his face into my side. My mother-in-law looked at Peter, her face a mask of confusion and hurt. I bit my lip, my fists clenching at my sides. A sharp pain lanced through my heart. “Peter, Leo is sick. I have no money for his medicine. You have to help him!” He looked baffled. “What do you mean, no money? Didn’t I send you—” Just then, a vintage-style army jeep pulled up. Peter snapped to attention, his back ramrod straight as he delivered a sharp salute. “Good afternoon, General!” The window rolled down, revealing the kind, weathered face of an older man. “Captain,” the General said, his eyes landing on us. “And who are these folks?” Peter hesitated for a fraction of a second before his voice boomed with false confidence. “Report, sir! This is just my housekeeper’s family. They’re visiting for a few days.” The General smiled, told him to be a good host, and drove on. Peter let out a quiet breath of relief and hurried us through the gate. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but his tone was devoid of any real sympathy. “Elara, this is reckless. You can’t just show up like this without any warning, dragging Mom and the boy all this way.” He lowered his voice. “I’m up for a promotion. I’m this close to making Major. You can’t cause trouble for me now.” My mother-in-law weakly smacked his arm with the walking stick she leaned on. Tears streamed down her face. “Son, you could be a general, and you’d still be Elara’s husband. She has suffered so much taking care of me and this child all these years, and you never even came home to see her.” Her voice broke. “How could you call her a housekeeper? How could you forbid your own son from calling you ‘Daddy’?” Sensing he’d gone too far, Peter softened his tone. “Mom, it hasn’t been easy for me, either, getting to where I am. Everything I do is for this family, isn’t it?” I didn’t want to argue. I just wanted the medicine for Leo. Soon we arrived at his quarters. He knocked on the door, a sudden, cheerful lilt in his voice. “Scarlett, open up! I’m home.” “Coming, coming!” a light, musical voice replied, followed by the sound of quick footsteps. The door swung open. The moment the woman—Scarlett—saw me, her bright smile vanished, replaced by a thunderous scowl. 2 Scarlett was wearing a well-tailored floral dress. Her makeup was perfect, her hair styled, and a light, pleasant fragrance drifted from her. And then there was me. My own dress was a patchwork of faded fabric and mended holes. My face was a constellation of sunspots from years of laboring under the sun. Scarlett feigned surprise. “Peter, is this… Elara?” The disgust in her voice was a physical thing, thick and suffocating. I locked eyes with Peter, my voice ice. “Why is she living with you?” Seeing someone walking down the hall, Peter’s eyes darted nervously. He shoved us inside the room, his movements clumsy with panic. Scarlett rushed to explain, her voice a placating coo. “Elara, please don’t misunderstand. Peter and I are living together, but it’s completely innocent. He was just taking pity on me and my daughter, a widow and her fatherless child. We’re just looking out for each other.” A fatherless child? Just then, a little girl, about Leo’s age, ran out and threw her arms around Peter’s legs, whining playfully. “Daddy, you’re so late! Molly is hungry. Mommy made pork ribs today, and they smell so good!” Seeing the thunderstruck expressions on my face and my mother-in-law’s, Peter quickly tried to explain. “Mom, Elara, don’t get the wrong idea. Molly isn’t my child with Scarlett. Scarlett was already pregnant when she came to the base. Molly is my fallen comrade’s daughter.” He sighed. “She’s just a little girl, she doesn’t understand. She sees all the other kids have fathers, so she started calling me ‘Daddy.’” So that was it. He wouldn’t let his own son call him ‘Daddy’ because he was too busy playing that role for another man’s child. He was raising someone else’s daughter to be healthy and bright, feeding her rice and pork ribs every day, while his own son, who hadn’t tasted meat in his life, was wasting away, on the brink of death. A white-hot rage surged through me. Noticing my stare fixed on the girl, Peter instinctively scooped her up, positioning himself in front of Scarlett as if to shield them both. “Elara, if you’re angry, take it out on me. Leave the child out of it.” The sight of him protecting Scarlett, protecting her child, sent a chill down my spine. The scene suddenly overlapped with a memory from my past life. In that life, he had brought a black-clad Scarlett home, announcing she would be moving to the base with him. Her husband, he’d explained, had died saving his life on a mission. His dying wish was for Peter to look after his new bride. He’d told me that since I was pregnant, the long journey would be too hard. He wanted me to stay behind with his mother. He swore on his life that he would come for us as soon as the baby was born. I believed him. I never imagined that wait would end in ruin and death for my family. And for him? He got the girl, the career, and a life of success built on our graves. And here he was now, holding another man’s daughter, refusing to even touch his own flesh and blood. “Alright, you’re here now,” Peter said, breaking the tense silence. “Let’s just eat. Scarlett, set three more places.” On the table was a platter of fragrant, steaming pork ribs and a large bowl of fluffy white rice—luxuries my son had never known. The aroma made my mouth water. Even my mother-in-law couldn’t help but swallow hard, her eyes glued to the food. Scarlett didn’t say a word, but the contempt pouring from her was unmistakable. She sullenly placed three bowls of rice on the table for us, then one for Peter. For herself and Molly, she set out empty bowls filled only with water. She then invited everyone to eat, her voice dripping with false sweetness. It had taken us a full day to find Peter. We hadn’t had a drop of water or a crumb of food. We were starving. We shoveled the rice into our mouths. My son, Leo, gave up on his chopsticks and grabbed two ribs with his bare hands. Peter watched us, a look of revulsion on his face. “Slow down. No one’s going to take it from you.” We were country folk, and our table manners were rough when we were hungry. But I had always taught my family to be considerate, to only take food from the part of the dish closest to them. Every dish, we only touched one side. Suddenly, Scarlett’s daughter, Molly, started banging her empty bowl with her chopsticks, wailing loudly. “I want to eat! I want pork ribs! Molly’s hungry!” Only then did Peter seem to notice their empty bowls. His brow furrowed. “Why aren’t you two eating?” Scarlett’s face paled. She forced a smile. “There wasn’t any rice left after I served you all. You eat. Molly and I can just have some water.” Peter looked heartbroken. He started to push his own bowl toward them. Scarlett stopped him. “No, you work so hard. You need your strength. I’m just sitting around all day, I can miss a meal. It’s just… Molly…” Her voice trailed off. She put on a brave face and picked up her daughter. “I’ll take Molly to the field to see the outdoor movie. That’ll distract her. You finish your dinner, don’t worry about us.” After finishing his two ribs, my son dutifully stopped himself from taking another. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Mommy, what’s an outdoor movie? Can Leo see it too?” Scarlett’s body went rigid. Peter’s face flushed with shame. Scarlett turned and walked away, stopping at the door to spray Molly with bug repellent. Peter was silent for a long moment. Finally, he looked at me, his expression strained. “Elara,” he said, his voice tight. “When… when are you planning on heading back?” 3 I met his gaze head-on. “We’re not. We’re moving in.” “What? Not leaving?” Peter’s eyes shot toward the door. Just outside, Scarlett, holding Molly, had already started walking away. She let the door slam shut with a loud bang. He instinctively called out, “Scarlett!” When he turned back to me, his face was a dark mask. “Elara, don’t be ridiculous. I’m about to be promoted. I can’t have a single thing go wrong.” “You need to take Mom and Leo back home. Once I—” I slammed my chopsticks down, cutting him off. “Wait, wait, wait… Peter, have you forgotten every single promise you ever made?” My voice rose, shaking with fury. “You said you’d send for us after the baby was born! It’s been four years! We haven’t gotten so much as a letter. I thought you were dead!” He bristled, his own anger flaring. “Why are you talking like this now? So coarse. What happened to the educated woman I married?” I was already holding back. How could a few harsh words even begin to cover four years of misery and betrayal? “Peter, do you have any idea what our lives have been like for the past four years?” My voice trembled. “The first year, I was pregnant, managing everything inside and out. I was harvesting crops with a giant belly, and I nearly died giving birth!” “The second year, the drought hit. The crops failed. Your mother and I climbed the mountains every day, foraging for wild greens just to have something to eat. She got sick, and we couldn’t even afford a doctor!” “The third year, she got worse. I had to sell my blood to pay for her medicine.” “And now my son is sick. I can’t buy the medicine he needs. And the first thing you do when we get here is try to kick us out? Are you trying to kill us?” With every word I spoke, the color drained further from Peter’s face. “Wild greens? Selling blood? What happened to the money I sent every month?” I stared at him, incredulous. “What money? When did you ever send us money?” At that exact moment, Scarlett returned, holding Molly. She was drenched, her clothes clinging to her, making her look fragile and pitiful. She forced a weak smile. “It started raining. I hope you all finished eating. I’ll do the dishes.” Peter looked as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head. He grabbed her wrist. “Scarlett, what about the money I gave you every month to send to Elara? Why didn’t she receive it?” Tears instantly welled in Scarlett’s eyes. “Peter, I am so sorry,” she sobbed. “I failed Elara. I was pregnant then, and it was so hard to move… I kept meaning to send it, I was just going to wait a day or two.” “But then you got hurt during training, and you needed better food to recover, so I… I spent the money on that. And then I just… I forgot.” “It’s all my fault. I’m a terrible person. I’ll take Molly and leave right now. I won’t disturb your family reunion anymore.” The more I listened, the hotter my anger burned. I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Was it to help Peter recover, or to stuff your own face? Did you forget to send the money, or did you never intend to send it? Scarlett, you know the truth better than anyone!” Peter couldn’t stand hearing me speak to her like that. “Elara! Why can’t you just speak normally? Why do you have to be so aggressive?” “You’ve suffered, I get it, but has it been easy for Scarlett? She’s taken perfect care of me for years!” My head was buzzing, my entire body shaking with rage. “You bastard, Peter!” I screamed. “In what capacity has she been ‘taking care of you’? Don’t you dare tell me you’ve been living under the same roof for years and nothing has happened!” “You’ve kept her and her daughter plump and rosy while your own family starved! Open your damn eyes and look at your son! Look at your mother! Look at what they’ve become! This is all because of her!” Scarlett’s face crumpled. She swayed, looking like she was about to faint. Peter immediately caught her, pulling her into his arms. But she pushed him away dramatically, her voice a careful whisper. “Don’t touch me. I’m soaked. You’ll catch a chill.” She coughed delicately. “Molly is cold, too. I’ll give her some medicine and then we’ll go. Please, don’t fight because of me.” Her gentle, considerate act only made me look more like a hysterical, unreasonable shrew. Peter shot me a look of pure disgust before following Scarlett into her room. A moment later, they emerged. Peter was holding a first-aid box. As Scarlett opened it, my eyes locked on a small vial inside. In my past life, it was the very medicine I sold my kidney for and still couldn’t afford… 4 I snatched the vial from the box, my hands trembling with a desperate excitement. “Mom, this is it!” I cried. “This is the medicine that can save Leo!” The next second, Scarlett ripped it from my grasp. “No, you can’t have this!” she said, her voice sharp. She quickly softened it, blushing and lowering her gaze. “There’s a bad children’s virus going around. This is for Molly. They only issue one vial per family.” She caught herself, realizing her slip of the tongue. After the agony of losing my son in my past life, I would do anything to save him this time. “So you do know who the real family is,” I snarled. “Give me the medicine!” Scarlett looked at Peter, her eyes shimmering with tears. He turned on me, his voice a low growl. “That’s enough, Elara. It’s just one vial of medicine. I can request another one for you, can’t I?” “How long does a request take?” “Three days, tops.” Leo didn’t have three days. “No! My son is gravely ill. He can’t wait that long!” Peter’s face darkened. “Elara, are you just trying to pick a fight with me? It’s only three days. Why can’t he wait?” The cure was right there, in my hands. I couldn’t give up. If I had to fight for it, I would. I was done arguing. While Scarlett was distracted, I lunged forward and grabbed the vial. I twisted off the cap, ready to pour the life-saving liquid into my son’s mouth. But before a single drop could touch his lips, Peter seized my arm, yanking me back so hard I stumbled. He wrenched the vial from my hand, his eyes blazing with fury and disgust. “Elara! Have you no shame? Stealing what isn’t yours? Do you have any idea what a breach of discipline this is?” “I don’t know about discipline! I only know that if you won’t save our son, I will!” Peter’s face contorted with rage. “You’re putting on quite a show just to get back at me, aren’t you? I really underestimated you, Elara. You are a massive disappointment!” I ignored him, clawing at his hand, trying to get the medicine back. Leo, terrified, hid behind his grandmother, his small body wracked with silent sobs. My mother-in-law began hitting Peter with her wooden stick. “You ungrateful boy! Your grandson is truly sick! Give Elara the medicine!” But Peter was unmoved. “Mom, are you in on this act with her?” he spat. “She can’t stand that I’m good to Scarlett and Molly. She sees this medicine has the fanciest label and decides it’s some miracle cure she has to have. Is she a thief now?” “Elara, if you don’t stop this nonsense, don’t blame me for what happens next!” I was nearly mad with grief and rage, scratching and clawing at him wildly. “Peter, you monster, give me the medicine! Are you really going to let our son die? You call yourself a soldier, a protector of this country?” “ENOUGH!” Peter exploded. With a roar of fury, he hurled the vial to the ground. It shattered, sending shards of glass and precious medicine flying across the floor. “Get out,” he seethed. “Get out of my house right now!” “We have no place for a lunatic like you here!” Staring at the glittering fragments on the floor, my heart shattered with them. I don’t know where the strength came from, but a primal scream tore from my throat as I launched myself at him, hitting and kicking. I truly became the lunatic he called me. I shrieked curses I didn’t know I knew. I swept the television and radio—things I had only ever dreamed of seeing—off their shelves. I turned their cozy little home into a wasteland of broken things. The commotion was so loud it finally brought the base commander and neighbors from upstairs and downstairs running. A sharp knock sounded at the door. Panic flared in Peter’s eyes. He grabbed me, pinning my flailing arms, his voice suddenly dropping to a desperate, pleading whisper. “Elara, Elara, please, calm down. Don’t let everyone see this. I’m up for promotion, I can’t have a scandal.” “I’m sorry, okay? Can we just stop this?” But I shoved him away. And under his horrified gaze, I wrenched the door open.

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To marry into the Levitan fortune, I fabricated my entire past. The day my lies were exposed, I sliced open my wrist. “If you divorce me,” I told Chris Levitan, my voice shaking, “I’ll die right here.” A cruel, mocking smile touched his lips. “You want the title of Mrs. Levitan that badly? Fine. You can have it. I hope you don’t live to regret it.” That move saved my marriage, but it made me the laughingstock of the city’s elite. From that day on, Chris treated me as if I were invisible. His affairs were constant tabloid fodder. He brought women home, brazenly, and once, he made me kneel outside his bedroom door while he was with one of them. “You’re so obsessed with status,” he’d sneered, his voice muffled through the wood. “You clawed your way into this family with cheap tricks. So now you’re going to watch and learn how a real woman pleases me.” That night, I knelt on the cold marble floor and listened to them, again and again. Later, he tossed a used condom at my face. “You truly are pathetic. You’d do anything to keep your title.” His voice was laced with contempt. “Now, I’m out. Go buy me more.” I did as he asked, even thoughtfully purchasing a variety of styles. This continued for five years. Until the day Chris walked in with a college girl on his arm and ordered me to dress her for a gala. That was when I calmly presented him with a set of divorce papers. “Let’s end this.” Five years. I had fulfilled my promise. It was time to leave. … “Claire, this is Tiffany. I’m taking her to the gala tonight. I need you to find her a gown.” Chris’s voice was clipped and dismissive. “And get my mother’s sapphire necklace. It’s a gift for Tiffany.” A cold knot formed in my stomach. The sapphire necklace was the most cherished piece of his late mother’s collection. Chris treasured it. Other women he’d been with had admired it, begged to even try it on, but he’d never allowed anyone to so much as touch it. And now he was giving it away to this girl. This one, he must truly adore. I stood frozen. Tiffany broke the silence. “Mr. Levitan,” she purred, looking me up and down, “is your maid always this slow? You gave her an order, and she hasn’t even moved.” I met her gaze. Her eyes danced with malice. She knew exactly who I was. This was a deliberate provocation. As expected, Chris’s face darkened. The back of his hand cracked across my cheek. “Do you have a problem with that? Look at yourself. What’s the difference between you and a maid? Now go get the jewelry. If you make me late, how exactly will you compensate me?” Tiffany gasped, covering her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand, her expression a caricature of innocent shock. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I had no idea you were Mrs. Levitan. It’s just… your clothes… you look so much like the help.” I glanced down at my simple housedress and apron. She wasn’t wrong. Tiffany then shot a playful, chiding look at Chris. “Darling, you shouldn’t have done that. Making your wife work for me? I’m just your humble assistant.” She leaned in, tracing a finger along his lapel. “Look, you’ve bruised her cheek. Be careful, she might get angry with you.” Chris laughed as if it were the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Her? Get angry?” He sneered at me. “A woman who built her life on a mountain of lies? A woman who had to resort to threats and hysterics just to stay here? She has no pride. She does whatever I tell her to do.” His fingers, cold as ice, clamped onto my chin, forcing my head up. “Isn’t that right, Claire?” This time, however, I was going to disappoint him. I held out the papers I’d prepared long ago. My voice was even, devoid of emotion. “I want a divorce, Chris.” He stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing, his face a mask of derision. “After five years of playing the pathetic lapdog, you’ve realized that act doesn’t work on me? So you’re trying a new strategy?” He leaned closer, his voice a low threat. “Are you out of your mind, Claire? Trying to manipulate me with this? You’re playing with fire. You’ll just end up on your knees, begging me to take you back.” “Now, go get the gown and the necklace, and attend to Tiffany properly. If you do, I’ll pretend this little outburst never happened. Otherwise, you know I won’t be so forgiving.” I sighed. “I am serious, Chris. I want a divorce. This isn’t a game.” I pushed the papers toward him again. “Just sign them, and I’ll be gone.” Tiffany’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Oh, darling, she really is upset,” she whimpered, clinging to his arm. “Look how convincing she is.” “I shouldn’t go to the gala with you tonight. You should take your wife. Then maybe she’ll stop this little drama.” Chris’s face hardened. He slapped me again, harder this time. Then, right in front of me, he ripped the divorce papers to shreds and threw the pieces in my face. “So that’s what this is about. You want to go to the gala with me.” His eyes raked over me with disgust. “Have you looked in a mirror? Taking you to a black-tie event? Do you want to embarrass me even more than you already have?” “Claire, know your place. Someone like you belongs in this house, as a maid. Don’t you dare dream of anything more.” “I don’t want to go with you, I just…” “Enough!” he roared, cutting me off. “You’re caught in your own pathetic little scheme and you still won’t admit it. God, I’ve never met a woman as shameless as you.” “After the stunts you pulled to stay here, after five years of groveling, you expect me to believe you actually want a divorce? That’s hilarious.” He turned, wrapping a tender arm around Tiffany. “I’ll buy you a new gown, darling. The most beautiful one in the city. I only want you by my side tonight. As for everyone else,” he shot a venomous look at me, “they’re only fit to shine your shoes.” Tiffany buried her face in his shoulder, her voice a faux-shy whisper. “Don’t say that, Chris. You’ll break your wife’s heart.” He scoffed. “Like I care.” As they left, Tiffany glanced back at me, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Levitan,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I’ll take very good care of your husband.” After they were gone, I shook my head and started packing. My phone rang. “Ms. Hayes? It’s Adrian Cole. We need to iron out a few final details on the collaboration we discussed. I’m at the grand ballroom at The Regis Hotel right now. Would you be able to meet me?” Adrian was a crucial business partner. I immediately dropped the suitcase. “Of course, Mr. Cole. I’m on my way.” When I arrived at the ballroom, dressed in haute couture, the first person I saw was Chris. His back was to me, his arm around Tiffany’s waist as he chatted with a group of friends. “Chris, you’ve got good taste this time,” one of them was saying. “How long are you planning to play with this one?” Chris leaned in and placed a tender kiss on Tiffany’s forehead. “Tiffany is the love of my life. She’s not like the others. I’m going to love her forever.” He shot his friends a warning look. “Don’t joke like that again, or you’ll regret it.” “So what about the ball and chain at home?” another friend asked. “She put up with your flings before because she knew they were just games. What do you think she’ll do when she finds out this one is serious? A woman that obsessed with you might do something crazy.” Chris’s tone was pure contempt. “What could that pathetic doormat possibly do? You all know the truth. As long as I let her stay, she’d kneel at our bedside and serve us if I asked her to.” “Haha, you’ve got her wrapped around your finger, Levitan. You don’t see that kind of devotion these days.” I had grown numb to words like these. I was about to turn and walk away when Chris turned around. For a split second, I panicked, bracing for a confrontation. But his eyes slid right past me, not a flicker of recognition in them. “Marcus, I’ve been waiting for you,” he said to one of the men. “You said you had a VIP you wanted me to meet.” I almost laughed. I looked down at my silk gown, the delicate jewelry, the professional makeup. Of course he didn’t recognize me. How could he possibly connect the glamorous woman standing before him with the drab, weary housekeeper he left at home? I walked away and found Adrian. We immediately dove into the details of our contract. “Ms. Hayes, I have the utmost respect for your talent,” Adrian said earnestly. “It’s a shame you’re unwilling to move abroad. We could be doing so much more together.” He sighed. “The international market desperately needs an expert with your deep knowledge of traditional silk brocade. With you leading the charge, Chinese artistry could become the next global luxury standard.” Adrian had invited me to expand internationally many times, to share the beauty of our craft with the world. I had always refused, tethered to my life with Chris. But my time was up. Now, I could finally chase my own dreams. “Actually, I’m planning to move abroad now,” I said, a new sense of resolve hardening my voice. “The beauty of our brocade needs to be understood not just by our own people, but by the world. I want to see it take its rightful place among the great luxury houses.” Adrian’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Are you serious? But you always said you wouldn’t leave the country.” “I had some unfinished business here,” I replied. “But it’s been settled. I’m ready to take our brand global.” “That’s fantastic! I…” Adrian was cut off by another voice. “Well, well, Adrian. I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. Scheming with a beautiful woman, I see.” A cool look passed over Adrian’s face. “Marcus, this is Ms. Hayes, my esteemed business partner.” I recognized the man as one of the friends Chris had been talking to. Realizing his blunder, Marcus quickly apologized. “My apologies, Ms. Hayes. That was out of line.” Then he turned to Adrian. “Speaking of which, Chris Levitan has been dying to meet you. Since you’re both here, let me make the introduction.” Chris approached, his demeanor now humble and professional. “Mr. Cole, a pleasure. I’ve heard great things. I also heard you’re looking for a designer specializing in traditional textiles. Coincidentally, Tiffany here is a graduate of that very program. She has an exceptional portfolio I’d love for you to see. I’m sure a collaboration would be fruitful.” Tiffany feigned a gasp of delighted surprise. “You’re the Adrian Cole? I’ve admired your work for years. It would be the honor of a lifetime to collaborate with you.” I had to hand it to her; her audacity was something to behold. She’d already promoted herself to collaborator before he’d even spoken a word to her. Adrian, though usually affable, had a very sharp edge. A cold, dismissive smirk crossed his face. “Who are you? And are you an idiot? When did I ever say I wanted to work with you? Don’t embarrass yourself.” Tiffany’s face flushed crimson, her eyes instantly brimming with tears. Seeing his new love humiliated, Chris bristled. “Mr. Cole, that’s an incredibly rude way to speak to her. Tiffany is a top graduate from a prestigious university. She expressed her admiration, and you insult her? That’s completely unprofessional.” Adrian rolled his eyes. “And I need her admiration because…? Are you serious?” Seeing that Adrian was not going to back down, Chris was about to lose his temper when Tiffany stopped him. She bowed her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s my fault. I was presumptuous. I was just so excited to meet Mr. Cole. Please, blame me. Don’t let this affect your relationship with Mr. Levitan.” “I don’t care for cheap theatrics,” Adrian said, his voice like ice. “And besides, I already have a designer. Ms. Hayes.”

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The day I was diagnosed with terminal cancer was the day the tabloids exploded with pictures of Seraphina and him again. The heiress to the Shen Corporation, caught in yet another affair. The company stock plummeted overnight. The board members urged me to issue a clarification. The media demanded an immediate response. Just like all the countless times before. Seraphina’s call came through, her tone as arrogant and dismissive as ever. “I’m busy taking Leo to the theater. I don’t have time for this nonsense. You handle it. You’re used to it, anyway.” Her voice dropped, cold and sharp. “And the same rule applies. If you dare say a single bad word about him, bankruptcy will be the least of the Wen family’s problems.” This time, I didn’t scream or argue. I just stared at the two funeral urns on my desk and said softly, “I know.” I told the PR department to schedule a press conference. Then I tore up the speech they had prepared for me. They say that when people are dying, they make a list of wishes to fulfill so they can leave with no regrets. I only have one. To divorce Seraphina Shen. … The press conference had barely ended when Seraphina’s furious call came. “I told you to deny the rumors! Who gave you permission to mention divorce?” Her voice was shrill. “That’s no different from publicly declaring that Leo is a homewrecker!” I paused, a sense of bitter absurdity washing over me. How could I have imagined, for even a second, that her panic was because our marriage was ending? I pressed a hand to my aching stomach and spoke quietly. “I just thought… since you love him so much, you should give him the title he deserves.” “This position was never truly mine anyway. I’m just returning it to its rightful owner.” There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a scornful laugh. “Do you really think Leo is as selfish and grasping as you are? He only cares about me.” Her voice turned venomous. “Adrian Wen, don’t you dare think that playing the magnanimous victim will make me soften up and sign those papers. It’s not that easy.” “Since you stole this position, you can sit on your stolen throne and weep. Unless I get tired of playing with you, don’t even think about escaping.” The line went dead. She must have been disappointed not to see the familiar look of humiliated endurance on my face. The video of me announcing our divorce was scrubbed from the internet within the hour. It didn’t matter. I no longer had the time to play her twisted game of revenge. I didn’t even need her signature. When I arrived at the old family estate, Grandfather Shen was waiting for me in his study. He frowned when I told him my intention. “Adrian, I know you’ve been wronged these past few years,” he said, his voice gentle. “Seraphina is just being foolish for a time. Marriage is not a child’s game. You can’t throw it away out of spite. Besides, your parents…” I cut him off, shaking my head softly. “Grandfather, my parents are gone.” “Divorce was their dying wish. And… it’s mine, too.” I placed the two urns on his desk, next to the terminal cancer diagnosis. He stared at them, speechless, the color draining from his face. “Before I die, I just want a little peace. For the sake of the boy you watched grow up… please, help me.” Seraphina was the head of the Shen Corporation now, but I knew that this was a favor her grandfather could still grant. After a long, heavy silence, he sighed. “Go, then. The Shen family has failed you. That girl… she has utterly failed you.” He had watched both of us grow up. He had also watched me wither and fade away within this marriage. As I was leaving, he called out to me, his eyes filled with a deep, aching sorrow. “Adrian, wherever you go, you must tell your grandfather. When that day comes… I will be there to see you off.” A sharp sting filled my nose. I wiped my eyes and managed a small, smiling nod. After laying my parents to rest, I packed up all of my belongings from the house, intending to donate them. The marriage certificate fell to the floor. In the photo, Seraphina was nestled against me, her eyes curved into crescents, full of love. Five years. Now, that same face only held disgust for me. Sometimes, I couldn’t understand it myself. I’d always been sharp, discerning. How had I so completely misread everything? If I had just asked one more question, perhaps this wouldn’t be the end. But I suppose I was greedy. For as long as I could remember, Seraphina Shen was the brightest star in our city’s elite social circle. Beautiful, brilliant, effortlessly capable, she radiated an aura of untouchable grace. Everywhere she went, she was surrounded by admirers. Compared to the other heirs, I was quiet and awkward, an introverted loner who preferred solitude to parties. I could only ever steal glances at her over the top of a book from across a crowded ballroom. Then, when we were twenty-two, an earthquake struck while she was at the theater. The building collapsed. She was injured and fell into a coma. I was her attending physician. Thankfully, her injuries weren’t severe, though she had lost her memory of the moments just before the accident. When she woke up, the first person she saw was me. She threw her arms around me, her voice trembling. “You saved me, didn’t you? I would have died without you…” I was stunned, completely at a loss. I mumbled that it wasn’t that dramatic, that I was just doing my job. But the next day, Seraphina announced to the world that she was going to marry me. She, who was notoriously difficult to get a meeting with, now wanted to see me constantly. She, who hated waiting and waking up early, now drove me to and from the hospital every day, preparing elaborate meals. We went skiing in the Alps and saw the Northern Lights in Iceland. She personally flew to Switzerland and spent a fortune on a raw pink diamond, then spent months designing my engagement ring herself. My secret, hopeless crush had been returned in the most spectacular way imaginable. I felt like I was living in a dream. Our families had always intended for us to unite in a business alliance. Our mutual affection made it perfect. We had a lavish wedding and became the golden couple of the city’s high society. Every time she looked at me with that deep, unwavering love, I felt like the luckiest man alive. But dreams always end. On our second anniversary, my friends booked a hotel suite for us to celebrate. Seraphina arrived late, her face a thunderous mask. When everyone cheered for us to link arms and drink, she didn’t move. I squeezed her hand. “What’s wrong?” The next second, she ripped her hand away. The red wine in her glass arced through the air, splashing across my face. “Adrian Wen,” she spat, her voice colder than the chilled wine, her eyes filled with scorn and loathing. “How does it feel? Sitting on a throne you stole? What right do you have to celebrate anything?” Amid my friends’ gasps, I felt a sharp, stinging pain. My eyes swelled so much I could barely see. My suit was ruined. I stared at her, lost and confused. She knew I was allergic to alcohol. How could she have forgotten? But there was no remorse in her eyes. She threw a stack of photos at my face. “The person who saved me at the theater wasn’t you. Was it fun, playing me for a fool? You’re truly shameless, willing to do anything to secure your family’s interests.” Her voice was venomous. “If you hadn’t stolen the credit and made me mistake you for him, Leo wouldn’t have missed the window for his surgery! He wouldn’t be in a wheelchair right now because he couldn’t afford it!” “So what if you’re having a reaction? You deserve to have your face rot off!” I stared dumbly at the photos of the delicate, handsome boy in the wheelchair. A horrifying realization began to dawn. I had gotten something terribly, terribly wrong. I was in the hospital for two days. Seraphina never came. A private investigator gave me the full story. On the day of the collapse, a massive crystal chandelier had broken free, plummeting toward Seraphina. Leo, a ballet dancer and a scholarship student she sponsored, had shoved her out of the way. His own legs were crushed. He had saved her life. He had admired her for years but never dared confess his feelings because of his humble background. It was only after a recent chance encounter that they had reconnected and spoken openly. Everything was clear now. The person she had been looking for was never me. For the first time, I thought about divorce. But fate has a cruel sense of humor. Seraphina was two months pregnant. Grandfather Shen and my parents were overjoyed. They told me all couples fight, that I had to think of the child, to give him a complete family. Grandfather Shen arranged a family dinner to celebrate and to help us reconcile. For the sake of the child, and for the love I still couldn’t let go of, I agreed. But Seraphina had other plans. She arrived pushing Leo in his wheelchair. They were wearing matching, custom-made outfits. She sat him down in my seat at the head of the table. Ignoring her grandfather’s thunderous expression, she asked Leo gently what he wanted to eat. Leo glanced nervously at me. “Seraphina,” he whispered, “is it really okay for me to sit here? Won’t your husband be upset?” “Hah,” she scoffed. “A thief has no right to be upset.” Her words were a slap across my face. Ignoring the awkward stares from everyone, I mumbled an excuse about feeling unwell and fled upstairs. As I left, I saw her press a soft kiss to Leo’s forehead. My heart seized. Her grandfather’s angry roar was drowned out by the sound of my body tumbling down the stairs. Blood blurred my vision. Just before I lost consciousness, I thought I saw Seraphina running toward me. I woke up in the hospital. She was sitting by my bed, with dark circles under her eyes. A flicker of hope ignited within me. Was she worried about me? But her first words plunged me back into the icy reality. “I got rid of the child. A creature conceived in a lie should never have existed.” I remembered how she used to whisper in my ear, saying she wanted a gentle son, just like me. The loss of our child, the cold disgust from the woman I loved—it shattered the last of my composure. For the first time, I screamed at her, my voice raw with anguish, demanding to know why she was doing this to me. She calmly straightened her collar, her tone mocking. “You brought this on yourself. The moment you decided to take credit for something you didn’t do, you should have known this was coming.” I collapsed back onto the bed, watching as she took a call from Leo and left without a backward glance. The thought of our innocent, lost child sent me into a spiral of uncontrollable sobs. But I truly didn’t know. I was a doctor. I had simply treated my patient. It was just a coincidence that my patient was the woman I had loved from afar for years. Why had that become a crime? The day I was discharged, I had my lawyer draft divorce papers. If they all believed I had stolen Leo’s place, then I would give it back. The Wen family heir didn’t need to build his life on stolen affection. But I forgot one thing. Because I was the Wen family heir, my parents would not stand for this humiliation. And the Shen family would never accept Leo. They found Leo. They offered him a sum of money that would set him up for life, and treatment from the world’s leading orthopedic surgeon. In exchange, he had to disappear. He took the money and vanished that same day. But not before sending me a text: “Mr. Wen, my feelings for Seraphina are real. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused. Since you cannot tolerate my presence, I will accept the arrangements. I wish you both happiness.” Before I could reply, Seraphina burst into the room. She snatched the phone from my hand and stared at the screen for a full five minutes. I braced myself for an interrogation, but she said nothing. She simply went to the kitchen and made me a bowl of chicken soup, just like she used to. She became gentle again. She took me with her to social events, her every gesture an act of doting affection. To the outside world, we were the perfect couple once more. Seeing her so mature and responsible, Grandfather Shen finally entrusted the Shen Corporation to her. My parents relaxed. Even I started to believe that, in her heart, our family mattered more. It was only later that I understood. She was just biding her time. With full control of the company, Seraphina no longer had anything to fear. Ignoring the numerous joint ventures between our families, she allied with several other powerful families and launched an all-out assault on the Wen Corporation. In a matter of months, my family was bankrupt, drowning in debt, and cast out of the elite circle we had once belonged to. Creditors hounded us daily. My father’s black hair turned gray overnight. My mother cried endlessly. I ran to Seraphina, begging her for mercy. I found her feeding fruit to Leo, who was nestled in her lap. She let me wait for a long time before she finally deigned to look at me. “When you and your parents went to him,” she said, her voice dangerously soft, “when you destroyed his ability to have children and had him sold to a red-light district in Southeast Asia, were you thinking about mercy?” “You wanted to use this marriage for your family’s gain, didn’t you? Well, this is the price for scheming against me.” “I’m in charge now. Even the old man can’t stop me. The fact that your parents are still alive is a testament to my generosity.” Seraphina had her bodyguards hold me down. They forced handfuls of pills down my throat. I felt the blood drain from me as a private doctor confirmed to her that I would never be able to have children. She covered Leo’s eyes, whispering gently, “Don’t look. It’s filthy.” In that moment, I started to laugh. Laughing at my own foolish, delusional heart. “Let’s get a divorce.” She froze, a strange flicker of anger in her eyes. She grabbed my chin, her gaze hardening. “What, you realize there’s nothing left to gain from this marriage, so you want to cut and run? Not a chance.” “If it weren’t for you, Leo wouldn’t still be struggling to walk. You will behave, or the Wen family might be finished, but your parents are still alive, aren’t they?” She refused the divorce, but flaunted Leo everywhere, spoiling him to a scandalous degree. She let the media splash their intimate photos across every screen, and every time, she would just smile and tell them to talk to me. She pushed me into the line of fire, alone, forcing me to endure the shame and clarify the rumors, to admit again and again that I was a fraud, a self-serving thief. It was torture. It was revenge. And as a reward, she would keep the creditors away from my parents. I thought things couldn’t get any worse. As long as my parents were safe, this broken, humiliating marriage didn’t seem to matter. But a single phone call from the hospital taught me that there is no bottom to hell.

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Pregnancy insomnia was killing me, so I’d been obsessing over a DreamWeave mattress. The next day, a shipping notification for that exact mattress popped up on my husband Ethan’s phone. A wave of warmth washed over me. I decided to play along, to let him have his surprise. But three days later, I saw a picture of the same mattress on my best friend’s social media. Anna’s caption read: To whoever sent this amazing gift, I absolutely love it! You made my week! I told myself it was just a coincidence, a desperate, flimsy hope. That night, as Ethan slept beside me, I carefully slipped his phone from the nightstand. My fingers trembled as I opened the Amazon app. The recipient’s name stared back at me from the screen, stark and undeniable: Anna. 1 My mind was a tangled mess. It was as if the baby could feel my turmoil, kicking restlessly inside me. I leaned against the headboard, watching the darkness outside the window slowly fade to grey. I sat like that until dawn. Ethan woke just before seven. Seeing me already sitting up, his voice was thick with sleep and concern. “What’s wrong, honey? Another bad night?” I managed a stiff nod, unable to arrange my features into anything that didn’t scream betrayal. “You know that mattress you were looking at a few days ago?” he said, his voice gentle. “I saw it was on sale for the holidays. Let’s just get it.” He reached out and stroked my hair, a gesture that once would have melted me. “Don’t worry about the price. I make money to spend it on you.” They say a man’s heart follows his money. But it seemed Ethan’s heart could be split in two. He made me breakfast—all my favorite things—and left for work without eating a bite himself. The moment the door clicked shut, I grabbed my phone and created a new, anonymous social media account. I found Ethan’s profile, the one he kept locked, and what I saw felt like a physical blow. He posted a picture of his breakfast every single morning. And looking at the familiar lunchbox in every shot, a sharp, acid pain twisted in my gut. I had given that lunchbox to Anna in college. She loved to cook, so I’d saved up for months to buy her a high-end insulated box, even having it monogrammed with her initials. She’d hugged me so tight, promising, “Kate, I’m going to use this to bring you lunch every single day!” I never imagined that one day, she’d be using it to pack breakfast for my husband. No wonder Ethan never ate at home in the morning. Someone was already preparing his meals with meticulous care. Ethan and Anna worked at the same company. A company that Anna and I had founded together. After I got pregnant, Ethan had stepped in to help me manage things. They were the two most important people in my world. I trusted them like I trusted my own limbs. Now, the crushing weight of their betrayal threatened to suffocate me. My thumb swiped down, and a new post of his appeared—one he’d hidden from my main account. Today’s breakfast: my absolute favorite beef sandwich! In the five years we’d been together, I was always the one taking pictures, documenting our lives, sharing our little moments. He’d even teased me about it. “What’s the point of posting all this everyday stuff?” A bitter, ironic smile touched my lips as I scrolled through his meticulous daily log. I scrolled, punishing myself, reading post after post of a life he lived without me. Suddenly, my finger froze. An account name had caught my eye. DreamingOfE. The account had liked every single one of Ethan’s posts that mentioned Anna. I knew all of Anna’s accounts, public and private. I clung to the hope that it wasn’t her. But clicking on the profile was like having a bucket of ice water thrown in my face. Last week was Anna’s birthday. I’d ordered her a custom fairytale-themed cake. DreamingOfE had posted a picture of that exact cake on her birthday. The caption read: Celebrating with the person I love most, and the most important person in my life. So, which one was I to Anna? The one she loved most? Or the one who was just… important? I spent the entire day like a thief, piecing together the fragments of their secret world. Their interactions were subtle, never crossing a definitive line, but the persistent, sharp sting in my heart told me this was a betrayal all the same. When Ethan came home that evening, he found me disheveled on the sofa, my eyes red and swollen. “Honey, what happened?” It was the same deep, tender voice, the same soulful eyes. But in that instant, everything felt different. Tears welled up and spilled down my cheeks. I saw a flash of panic and genuine pain in his eyes. A small, pathetic voice in my head whispered, He still loves you. Give him one more chance. I pulled up the picture from Anna’s feed, my voice a forced, pouty whine. “Look, someone sent Anna this amazing mattress… I wish I had one.” His pupils dilated, his smile freezing on his face. I held my breath, watching him, giving him the space to tell the truth. He recovered quickly, forcing a stiff laugh. “If you want one, I’ll buy you one. Let me be the one to spoil you, okay?” His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. He spoke to me like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “You’re a grown woman, crying over something so silly.” There was no sweetness in his words, only the bitter taste of deceit. If he had just admitted it, told me he’d sent it to Anna, I think I could have forgiven him. But he dodged, he concealed, he treated me like a fool. It was all the proof I needed. They were hiding something. Having not eaten all day, the baby started to protest with a series of sharp kicks. Ethan, worried the kicks were hurting me, leaned down and pressed his cheek against my belly, murmuring to it. “Hey, little one, be nice to your mommy. Daddy’s going to make dinner right now, so you can stop kicking, okay?” He stood and immediately went to the kitchen. I watched his broad back as he moved around, an inexplicable ache spreading through my chest. Ethan was a good husband. He truly was. From our first date to our wedding day and beyond, he had always been patient, gentle, and utterly devoted. Since I’d gotten pregnant, he’d taken on everything—work, chores, all of it—so I could rest. So where did it all go wrong? How could the man whose world revolved around me suddenly divert the stream of his affection? My phone buzzed on the coffee table, jolting me from my thoughts. It was a video call from Anna. “Kate! How are you feeling? Everything okay?” Even through the screen, the concern in her eyes looked so real. I nodded, my voice flat. “I’m fine.” She chattered on about nothing for a few minutes until my patience wore thin. “Was there something you needed, Anna?” Sensing my mood, she dropped the small talk and got to the point. “Yeah, there’s something at work I needed to run by Ethan, but he’s not answering his phone.” I flipped the camera, aiming it at Ethan, who was busy at the stove. “He’s been making me dinner ever since he got home. Hasn’t had a chance to check his phone.” The other end of the line went silent for a moment. Then, Anna’s voice came back, laced with a forced, playful tone. “Wow, I feel like a giant, glaring third wheel right now.” Just then, Ethan walked out with a plate. He saw me holding the phone and looked curious. “What are you doing, honey?” “Anna couldn’t reach you, so she called me.” It was only for a fraction of a second, but I saw it—the way his body tensed at the mention of her name. He set the plate down, walked over, and casually took the phone from my hand, launching into a conversation with her. They were, in fact, talking about work. Seeing me still on the sofa, Ethan paused his conversation to say, “Honey, go ahead and eat. I’ll be there in a minute.” Maybe he was genuinely concerned about me. Or maybe they needed to speak privately. Either way, he took my phone, walked into his study, and shut the door. The table was filled with all my favorite foods, but each bite tasted like ash. I couldn’t stop my mind from racing. What were they saying behind that closed door? Were they confessing their feelings? Complaining about the moody, pregnant wife? The thoughts twisted and tangled in my head until I felt like my skull would split open. That night, as we lay in bed, Ethan wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Honey, I ordered that mattress you wanted. You’ll finally be able to get a good night’s sleep.” In that moment, an uncontrollable urge surged through me. I couldn’t bear the thought of us sharing a bed while living in separate worlds. I forced my voice to remain steady, to sound calm as I gave voice to the thorn in my heart. “I know you already bought one. For Anna.” The hand gently stroking my belly froze. Ethan said nothing. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Fear made my next words come out as a near-whisper. “Just give me a reasonable explanation. That’s all I ask.” Just as I thought I might suffocate from the tension, he finally spoke. “There was a difficult project at work,” he began, his voice low. “Anna pulled a week of all-nighters to get it done. Her birthday was last week, and I hadn’t gotten her anything, so… I thought the mattress would be a nice thank-you gift.” I accepted his answer. Because I wanted to. There were still so many other questions burning in my mind. Why send it anonymously? Why hide your social media posts from me? Why are you eating the breakfast she makes for you every day? But we had a baby on the way. And I couldn’t bear to lose this marriage, this life I had believed was perfect. I clumsily turned to face him, my pregnant belly making it awkward, but I stubbornly wrapped my arms around him. “Ethan, I can’t lose you.” He stroked my hair, his voice soft. “You silly girl.” His breathing soon deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep. I carefully sat up and tucked the blanket around him. I went into the bathroom and, with shaking hands, opened the anonymous account and pulled up DreamingOfE. A new post was at the top. A heart flutter is an unconscious thing. He proves that to me again and again. And another, from the night before. It’s a wretched thought, but I wish I were the reason he still finds the energy to cook after a long day.

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