Author: Momo Chan

The day I came home from the hospital, barely a month after giving birth, a post caught my eye: 【Partied a little too hard during my pregnancy and caught HIV. Now my baby’s been born with it too. How do I pin this on someone else?】 Someone in the comments suggested she just infect her husband, then they’d be bound together for life. But the original poster was clearly against it: 【No way!! I can’t do that to him!!】 A sarcastic user shot back: 【There aren’t many ways to transmit it, especially to a baby that small. You can’t exactly claim she got it from drinking someone else’s breast milk, can you?!】 Seeing the words [Liked by Poster] next to that comment, I felt a corner of my mouth twitch in disbelief. The user was being sarcastic, but she seemed to have taken it as genuine advice. Just then, a notification popped up from my building’s resident group chat: 「@Apt 1503, I heard you just had your baby… Congratulations…」 1 I stared at the profile picture and name on my phone, a little baffled. Apt 1003? She must be the new tenant who moved in a little while ago. But we’ve never even spoken. What was this all about? I thought for a moment and typed back a polite reply: 「Thank you.」 After that, the group chat went silent. Maybe she was just being nice. Still, how did she know I was home already? Before I could dwell on it, my doorbell rang. The security screen showed a woman holding a baby, glancing around nervously as she knocked. 「Apt 1503, it’s me, from 1003… Could you open the door…?」 I frowned at the tense look on her face, but I got up and opened the door anyway. The moment it swung open, the woman’s face split into a brilliant, wide smile. I froze for a second. That wasn’t the expression I’d just seen on the screen. But she was a neighbor, so I pushed down my unease. 「Hi, can I help you?」 「I heard you just had a baby, so I brought you some milk. To help you get your strength back…」 As she spoke, her eyes drifted, not so subtly, down to my chest. A wave of goosebumps broke out across my skin. The forum post I’d just read flashed through my mind. I immediately refused. 「Thank you, but I can’t accept any gifts.」 The words had barely left my mouth when her expression stiffened. Seeing the shift in her face made my own stomach clench. But in the next instant, she was smiling again, a picture of earnest sincerity. 「It’s just a little something. My son is only three months old. I was hoping our kids could be playmates!」 Only then did I look down at the baby in her arms. He was bundled up tightly, his face hidden. All I could see was a tiny sliver of his forehead. So that was it. She was looking for a friend for her kid. That seemed reasonable enough. We’re neighbors, after all. Maybe I was just overthinking things. But the milk… I kept my voice polite. 「They can definitely play together when we run into each other, but please, take the gift back.」 Her reaction was immediate. She seemed to panic. She shoved the carton of milk down by my feet, spun around, and bolted for the stairwell. I instinctively took a couple of steps after her, but then I remembered my daughter was sleeping alone inside and stopped. Whatever. I’ll just have my husband return it when he gets home. But before I could, she was back at my door. 2 After Sarah from 1003 left, I took a nap with my daughter. My alarm hadn’t even gone off when a frantic pounding echoed from the front door. I checked the monitor. It was her again. The second I opened the door, she grabbed my hand. 「Please, I’m desperate, you have to help me!」 Her face was a mess of tears. I instinctively pulled my hand back and took a step away. 「What’s wrong? What do you need help with?」 As soon as I spoke, the baby in her arms started to wail. I watched the crying infant, a prickle of suspicion running down my spine. He was sound asleep just a moment ago. How did he start crying on command? While I was trying to figure it out, her hand shot out and she grabbed my breast through my nursing pajama top. 「Wow, these are really something, aren’t they? You must be eating well.」 「You must have a ton of milk. My supply’s dried up. Could you give us a little?」 She was actually trying to unbutton my pajamas as she spoke. I was stunned for a second by her audacity, then I snapped back to reality and slapped her hand away. 「What? You want my milk?」 「Yes, exactly! Your milk!」 I struggled to keep my composure. 「We don’t even know each other.」 「Oh, is that what you’re worried about? Well, if he drinks a little of your milk, we’ll get to know each other real fast, won’t we?」 「Besides, you had a girl. Girls don’t drink that much. My son can help you with the surplus! Think of it as… milk-sharing!」 「And who knows! Maybe after sharing your milk, our kids will grow up close. They might even get married one day!」 「Don’t worry, we won’t take it for free. We’ll pay you. How does five dollars a session sound? We can pay you weekly!」 「A carton of formula is way more than that, so you’re getting a great deal. You won’t lose out, I promise!」 My jaw was on the floor. I had never, ever heard of “milk-sharing” put like that. After a moment of shock, I found my voice. 「Sorry, no. I barely have enough for my own daughter. There’s nothing extra for anyone else.」 Her face twisted in annoyance. 「How much can one little girl drink? If she’s not full, just give her formula!」 「Look at the size of you! There’s no way you don’t have enough milk! I’ve done my research. A woman with your… assets… you’re prime wet nurse material!」 I almost laughed out of sheer fury. So now she was auditioning me? 「Why don’t you buy your own damn formula instead of coming here to beg?!」 I moved to slam the door in her face. But she wedged her foot in the jamb. 「Fine, fine! If we can’t share, then just pump some for me!」 「Let’s compromise. We’ll go halfsies. Your daughter can have the morning milk, and my son can have the afternoon milk. How about that?」 「But if I have to give him formula for the other half of the day, you’ll have to compensate me for the cost!」 Her demands were getting more and more insane. I kicked her foot out of the doorway. And slammed the door shut with a deafening bang. The rest of the evening passed without another visit from Sarah. I thought that was the end of it. I couldn’t have been more wrong. In the middle of the night, a bloodcurdling wail ripped through the entire apartment complex. 3 I was jolted awake. It was two in the morning. Rubbing my temples, I stumbled onto the balcony. It was the sound of a baby crying, and it seemed to be coming from directly below our floor. A shiver went down my spine. I thought of Sarah and her visit today, and my mind instantly cleared. As I peered over the railing, I saw lights flick on in the building across from us, windows opening as people looked over in our direction. The crying was sharp and piercing, an assault on the dead quiet of the night. I frowned. A baby’s cry is loud, but this was… amplified. Unnaturally loud. Soon enough, a man from the opposite building couldn’t take it anymore and yelled out his window, 「Are you insane? Some of us have to sleep!」 I shook my head. You can’t just tell a baby to stop crying. But to my utter astonishment, after the man shouted, the crying miraculously stopped. Just like that. Gone. My eyes widened in shock. What? How was that even possible? With the noise gone, the lights in the other apartments began to go out, one by one. My mind was buzzing with questions, but the pull of sleep was too strong. I didn’t investigate any further. Soon, I was fast asleep again. But as I drifted in the fog of a deep dream, I heard what sounded like an air-raid siren. I shot upright in bed, heart hammering. When my eyes focused on my familiar bedroom, I let out a breath of relief. It was just a dream. No. Wait. That sound outside… It was the baby’s cry again. But this time it was different. It wasn’t just crying; it was the sound of a child choking on its own sobs, dry-heaving for air. And the volume was even more ear-splitting than before. Lights flashed on across the complex again. We were all awake. This time, the man across the way yelled several times, but the wailing didn’t stop. It just kept echoing through the courtyard. That’s when the group chat exploded. 【ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WHOSE KID IS THIS? IF YOU CAN’T SLEEP, FINE, BUT LET THE REST OF US!】 【Seriously, I have to work tomorrow! This is ridiculous!】 【Comfort your damn kid instead of torturing the entire building!】 【Building management, do something! Figure out which apartment it is!】 Before management could reply, she jumped in herself. 【@Apt 1003, I’m so sorry, everyone. That’s my son. He’s crying because… he’s starving.】 The moment I saw her name, my stomach dropped. A terrible premonition washed over me. 【My milk supply is too low, and he refuses to take a bottle. I’m at my wit’s end. That’s why I went to the owner of 1503 today and begged her to spare a little life-saving milk for him.】 【She’s so… blessed… with so much milk, but she told me she’d rather pour it down the drain than give any to my son. I just… I don’t know what else to do!】 【I even brought her a gift, and she took it, but she still wouldn’t help. I… sigh… I’m so, so sorry to be bothering you all.】 Her tone was sincere. She even posted a picture of a baby with a face flushed red from crying. Immediately, the tide of anger turned. 【@Apt 1503, it’s just a little milk! How can you be so heartless?】 【Yeah, that poor baby sounds miserable. Just let him have some! It’s not like it costs you anything!】 【She took the gift and still refused to help? What kind of person does that?】 【@Apt 1503, say something! Stop playing dead! I can see your lights are on!】 I stared at my phone, my heart sinking with every new message. The forum post swirled in my mind. Why was she so obsessed with MY milk? Because in that post, breast milk was linked to one thing. HIV. I didn’t respond in the group chat. My fingers flew across the screen, frantically searching for the original post I had seen earlier. But as I searched, I found something else. A new post. From a different user. 4 The content of the post was chillingly similar to the one I’d seen before. 【I contracted HIV from a prostitute before my wife and I got married. I thought if I used protection we’d be fine, but our baby was still infected.】 【My wife seems to think it’s her fault, and now she wants to find a scapegoat to pin it on. After all, with the three of us, the medical bills are going to be insane. It would be great if we could find a sucker to cover the costs!】 【We’ve picked a target. A woman in our building who’s always feeding the stray dogs downstairs. And she just had a girl. From the looks of it, the girl won’t be too ugly when she grows up, which could solve my son’s future relationship problems too.】 【But she’s resisting. How can we make her give up her milk?!】 The poster’s profile picture was a blurry photo of a man’s back. I clicked on his profile. Nothing. It was completely empty. But the location tag was the same as mine, and the events he described mirrored my day exactly. My alarm bells were screaming. I was about to close the page when I noticed the faint, semi-transparent background photo behind his profile pic. The view from that window… it was identical to the view from mine. A roar filled my ears. This wasn’t a coincidence. It was a confirmation. The sucker they were talking about was me. A wife who contracted the disease during her pregnancy? A husband who hid his illness before they were married? A baby born with the virus? It was them. The family in 1003. So the husband had it first, and he gave it to his unsuspecting wife. And they had an innocent, sick child. No wonder. I’d been wondering why the husband wasn’t stopping his wife from begging for another woman’s breast milk. It turns out they each had their own twisted agenda. One partied too hard during her pregnancy, the other hid his past before the wedding. A match made in viral hell. And they wanted to infect me, make me pay for their entire family’s medical bills, and support them for the rest of their lives. Breast milk isn’t a guaranteed way to transmit HIV. But if they “accidentally” broke the skin on my nipple while the baby was feeding, contact with blood would make the chances skyrocket. If I got infected, I’d have no way to prove my story. But their plan was even more monstrous than that. They weren’t just targeting me; they had my daughter in their sights as well. If I had given in, if I had shown them a moment of pity, my daughter’s entire life would have been ruined. What a venomous, evil family. A tidal wave of pure terror and rage surged in my chest. I scrolled down. The top comment was even more depraved: 【Just cause a scene. Make so much noise that nobody in the building can get any peace. They’ll pressure her into feeding your son just to shut you up.】 【If that doesn’t work, go kneel at the entrance to your building. Make everyone see how cold and heartless she is.】 【Don’t be afraid of losing face. That one act of begging could secure your family’s future.】 【Worst case, get physical. As long as he drinks her milk, the blame is stuck to her for good.】 【Then you strike first. Accuse her. It won’t matter if she’s actually infected or not. In everyone else’s eyes, she will be.】 My fury shot through the roof. I stood up, ready to storm downstairs and confront them. But before I could even take a step, the building manager called. 「Mia? The family from 1003 is kneeling downstairs. The baby is screaming its lungs out. Please, can you just help them out?」 「You’re a mother too. Surely you can understand how she feels.」 「And if this continues, the whole complex will be up all night. Can’t you just… make a little sacrifice?」 My phone was buzzing nonstop before I even hung up. I glanced at the screen. The group chat was exploding with notifications. I didn’t need to look to know what they were saying. I didn’t say another word. I just ended the call. Then, I pulled out a small address book, flipping through the pages as I dialed one number after another. By the time I hung up the last call, the sounds from downstairs were growing louder, more chaotic. Then I took out a baby bottle and carefully, deliberately, pumped it full of milk. Swirling the bottle gently, I stepped into the elevator and headed down. Once he drinks this milk, I thought, he won’t be wanting mine anymore.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386258”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I sold my shares in the startup I’d built from the ground up, ready to get married. But the two partners who had sworn they’d never marry anyone but me? They didn’t know. They were too busy throwing a celebration for the new assistant. I was the one who landed that deal, drinking with the client until my stomach bled. But while I was passed out, the new assistant, Sophie, left me alone in the hotel room. She took the signed contract back to the office and claimed all the credit. And just like that, my partners believed her. The next day, pictures of me “asleep in bed” circulated through the company group chat. Everyone was whispering that I’d slept my way to the top. Lying in a hospital bed, I called them, desperate to explain. But they cut me off. “Don’t bother coming up with some pathetic lie about stomach issues. You’re the woman who drinks eight cups of coffee a day. Stop playing the victim.” “Sophie’s a hero. We’re celebrating her right now. Don’t ruin the mood.” … The day I returned to the office, I sold my shares to their biggest competitor. Then I made a call home. “I’ll marry him. You can tell the Vance family to start planning the wedding.” 1 Gary and Scott were just walking into my office when they heard me. Their brows shot up. “Wedding? What wedding?” It was only ten days away. There was no point in hiding it. “My wedding. I’ll send you both an invitation.” They didn’t believe me. Just then, my mother sent over a dozen different wedding dress designs, my phone buzzing incessantly. They leaned over my shoulder, their eyes widening as they saw the sketches. Gary’s face soured. “Mina, what’s this? Are you playing dress-up?” Scott interrogated me like I was on trial. “You’re a workaholic. You don’t even have a boyfriend. Who are you marrying?” The irony was crushing. These were the two men who had vowed to spend their lives with me. Now they just looked ridiculous. Sophie, holding a stack of papers for them to sign, overheard our conversation. Her face was a mask of disbelief. “Ms. Thorne, you’re not marrying Mr. Davis, are you? I heard he’s already married. That would be… really inappropriate.” Thanks to her, the entire company now thought I was having an affair with our biggest client. My eyes went cold as I looked at her. “Not knocking before you enter my office is just bad manners. But stealing my credit and spreading vile rumors about me? Is that just ignorance of the law?” My sharp tone made Sophie’s eyes well up with tears. She wrung her hands, apologizing profusely. “Ms. Thorne, I didn’t… I never thought people would misunderstand like that. But you and Mr. Davis, in that hotel room…” She trailed off, blushing as if she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. But it was enough. Gary and Scott’s faces darkened. The way they looked at me was dripping with contempt. “That’s enough!” Gary snapped. “If you didn’t want people to know, you shouldn’t have done it. Don’t take out your own humiliation on Sophie.” “She’s just looking out for you,” Scott added. “Mr. Davis is old enough to be your father. Are you really that determined to be a homewrecker?” I laughed, a bitter, angry sound. Without another word, I kicked all three of them out of my office. Years of friendship, five years of building a dream together, and they didn’t trust me. They trusted a girl who’d been at the company for less than two months. I refused to let them get to me. I went back to looking at the dress designs. Not two minutes later, Gary made an announcement in the group chat. I was to switch offices with Sophie. The reason? As his assistant, Sophie’s office needed to be closer to his and Scott’s to “increase efficiency.” In a chat with hundreds of people, half of them immediately started congratulating Sophie, sucking up to the new favorite. But I still had a few loyal people on my side. Someone immediately questioned the decision. Sophie was a fresh graduate, two months into her first job. Giving her the general manager’s office felt… wrong. I was about to privately message them to back off when Sophie sent a voice note to the group, her voice thick with tears. “Gary, it’s all my fault. I was so focused on the contract that night that I didn’t take care of Mina. I don’t deserve her office. I’m too ashamed to even face her. I’m officially resigning!” Her sobbing voice was so fake it made my stomach turn. Scott kicked open my glass door, his eyes blazing. “Look what you’ve done! Pack your things and clear out for Sophie. I don’t want you bullying a young girl who’s just starting her career.” Gary, right behind him, urged me to hurry up, all while typing a comforting message to Sophie in the group chat. Then someone shouted that Sophie had gone up to the roof. The color drained from both of their faces. They sprinted out of my office and towards the emergency stairs. As I watched their frantic figures disappear, I pulled out my phone and contacted the person who had expressed interest in buying my shares. 2 Gary and Scott’s arch-nemesis, Kevin, had somehow heard I was selling. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I checked the email I’d sent to Gary and Scott. It had been exactly thirty days. Their lack of a reply meant they had forfeited their right of first refusal. Kevin had given me three days to consider, but I replied instantly, telling him we could sign the papers now. By the time Gary and Scott had coaxed Sophie back from the ledge, I hadn’t moved a single thing from my desk. They were losing their patience. “It’s an office swap, not a cross-country move. Why is it taking you so long?” Sophie bit her lip, her eyes red and swollen as she looked at me. “Ms. Thorne, I’m sorry, I don’t really need this office…” “It’s fine. If you like it, it’s yours. You can have the general manager title, too.” My words sent fresh tears streaming down Sophie’s face. All traces of the ruthless credit-stealer were gone. “Mina, what is with the sarcasm?” Scott snapped. “It’s just an office. Do you have to be so petty?” I’d already sold my shares. I couldn’t care less about the damn office. The disdain on my face clearly enraged Scott. He strode over and swept my few personal belongings off the desk and onto the floor outside. Gary gave me a cold glance before personally helping Sophie arrange her new space. HR was in and out, bringing potted plants and fresh flowers. You’d think they were decorating a princess’s chamber. Finally, the day ended. Gary tapped on my temporary desk. “Don’t leave when you clock out. We’re having a team dinner to celebrate Sophie’s new office.” I was a little stunned. A new office warranted a celebration? But I didn’t refuse. I figured it would be my last dinner with my old colleagues. At the restaurant, I realized that the few employees who had defended me in the group chat were gone. Gary had fired them all on trumped-up charges. I messaged each of them. They told me Gary and Scott had ordered them not to contact me, threatening to blacklist them from the industry if they did. To appease Sophie, they had no problem sacrificing loyal, veteran employees. After that public execution, no one else dared to cross them for my sake. One of them even tried to kick me while I was down. “Mina, you missed Sophie’s last celebration. You’d better toast her properly tonight. If she hadn’t closed that deal, who knows what else you would have had to… sacrifice.” His insinuation brought back the disgusting things I’d overheard in the restroom earlier that day. “Mina has some serious nerve, showing her face after hiding for so long.” “What does she need a face for? She’s the type who just spreads her legs to close a deal.” … Ignoring the stares, I poured myself a glass of soda and took a small sip. Gary’s face went cold. He snatched the glass and poured it out. Scott seamlessly filled it back up with hard liquor. “You nearly drove Sophie to suicide today. A drink to apologize isn’t too much to ask, is it?” “Besides, you owe her one from the last party you skipped.” Without a second thought, I threw the drink in Scott’s face. “Who the hell is she to deserve a toast from me?” Everyone gasped. Gary, ever the stoic one, just poured another glass and pushed it toward me. “Mina, this is for team unity. You’re drinking it, whether you like it or not.” Sophie put on a show of defending me. “Gary, it’s okay. I know Ms. Thorne looks down on me. If she doesn’t want to drink, let’s just drop it. It’s not worth fighting over.” But Scott, dripping with alcohol, wasn’t having it. 3 Furious, he grabbed me when I wasn’t looking and forced the glass to my lips, pouring the liquor down my throat. “You, who sell your body for contracts, what right do you have to look down on Sophie?” The two men who once feared a single drop of alcohol might harm me were now force-feeding it to me for Sophie’s sake. And their words were just as foul. The fiery liquid burned a path from my throat to my stomach. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. But neither of them noticed my distress. They were too busy pouring Sophie her favorite juice. Sophie downed her drink in one go, then smiled sweetly at me. “Ms. Thorne, thank you for your sacrifice. I’ll work even harder from now on.” Anyone else would think she was just talking about the office, but I saw something more in her eyes. She was determined to conquer Gary and Scott. “Well then, I wish you a speedy promotion to Mrs. Boss.” I finished, clutching my stomach as I tried to get to the restroom. Gary blocked my path. “You had two sips of alcohol. Is that an excuse to talk nonsense and then fake being sick?” The burning pain in my stomach was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. I looked up at Gary, my eyes stinging. “I just got out of the hospital for a bleeding ulcer, and you force me to drink?” His hand, holding me back, froze. “Can’t you come up with a more believable excuse? You’ve been drinking for years and never had a problem before.” Scott, the one who’d poured the drink down my throat, also accused me of lying. “I barely got a drop in you. You can drink anyone under the table. Don’t be so dramatic.” Of course it wasn’t dramatic. They weren’t the ones in pain. It used to be that when Scott saw me drinking with clients, he’d ask, “Mina, there will always be other clients. Is one deal worth all this?” Back then, he and Gary would look at me, drunk and exhausted, with tears in their eyes. They’d make me hangover soup, take turns staying up all night by my side, just to hand me a glass of warm water when I was thirsty. The next day, they’d go to the office with dark circles under their eyes and work like madmen, terrified of wasting my efforts. We survived the hardest parts of building a company from scratch. The two men who swore they’d marry only me were now using Sophie as a weapon to destroy me. “I just need to use the restroom. Is that so dramatic?” My stomach was cramping so badly I could barely speak, leaning against the wall just to stay upright. A male colleague was the first to notice something was wrong and got up to help me. But Gary pushed him away, refusing to let him touch me. “Mina, is this your trick? You get drunk, play the damsel in distress, and that’s how you land your male clients?” The colleague who tried to help me flushed with embarrassment. “Gary, I think you’re mistaken. Look at her, she really doesn’t look well.” Scott scoffed. “She knows she’s embarrassed herself. She’s just putting on a show.” I couldn’t blame him for not seeing it. For years, no matter how sick I felt after drinking, I’d always powered through it like a soldier. This was the path I chose, and I was determined to see it through. I loved the grind of a startup; I loved the validation that came with success. In their eyes, I was made of steel. Sophie, having enjoyed the drama long enough, now played the part of the concerned friend, pushing a cup of hot water into my hands. “Ms. Thorne, no matter how you landed the deal, you’re a hero to this company. We’re all grateful for your contribution.” Her words were like gasoline on a fire. Gary, who had been supporting me, snatched his hand away as if I were contaminated. “Since you don’t want to be here, you should just go home.” He then marched over to the sink and began scrubbing his hands obsessively. Under the contemptuous gazes of everyone in the room, I clutched my stomach and turned to leave. But Sophie wouldn’t let me go. As she grabbed me, the scalding water from her cup sloshed out, and I instinctively pushed her away. The hot water splashed all over both our hands. Scott rushed over, yelling for a waiter to bring an ice pack for Sophie. He didn’t see that most of the water had landed on my hand. Sophie had a red spot the size of a quarter. My entire hand was crimson. Gary came back from washing his hands, saw Sophie on the verge of tears, and his anger finally boiled over. 4 “Mina, have you no shame? Sophie was trying to help you, and you have to attack her?” In that moment, a wave of grief and betrayal washed over me. I fought back the tears, a bitter smile on my face. Seeing me smile, Gary dragged me in front of Sophie. “I don’t know how you can find the nerve to smile. Apologize to Sophie. Now.” Scott, busy applying ice to Sophie’s hand, chimed in, “She has to apologize! If a girl gets a scar from a burn, it’s a disaster!” My hand was trembling as I held it out, showing them the angry red burn. Scott didn’t even look. He just slapped it away. The impact sent a fresh wave of searing pain through my hand. Gary watched me like a hawk. “What? You won’t apologize? Are you going to hit her again?” I shouldn’t have even tried to show them I was hurt too. A colleague sitting nearby saw my burn and spoke up hesitantly. “Gary, Mina’s hand is burned too…” Gary frowned, and for a second, instinct took over. He grabbed my hand to inspect it. I saw a flicker of concern in his eyes. But then Sophie let out a pained hiss, and he dropped my hand like it was hot coal. “Serves you right! If you hadn’t been causing trouble, you wouldn’t have gotten burned. You’re a menace to yourself and everyone else. Just looking at you is annoying.” “Apologize and get out.” An apology was impossible. But I wouldn’t humiliate myself any further. Seeing my defiance, Sophie pouted, feigning strength. “Gary, I’m fine. You should take Mina to the hospital. Burns really, really hurt… ah!” Her sudden cry of pain sent Gary and Scott into a panic, both scrambling to check her hand again. In the chaos, someone even called 911. I had no interest in watching the rest of their farce. I turned and walked away without a second thought. Sometime during dinner, it had started to rain. As I stood outside, wondering if I should just make a run for it, Scott came out. I thought for a moment that his conscience had kicked in. But he just threw a jacket at me. “Get your things together. Stop leaving stuff everywhere and expecting me and Gary to clean up after you.” I glanced down at my light-colored blazer, now soaked with red wine, and tossed it into the nearest trash can. Scott was furious. “Mina, what is your problem?” He and Gary had given me that custom-made suit together. They used to fight over whose gifts I wore. Eventually, they started splitting the cost of everything so there would be no question of favoritism. “It’s stained. It’s trash.” Just like them. Their hearts were stained, and it was time to throw them away. For a split second, I saw a look of loss on Scott’s face, as if he’d just lost something precious. But his attention was quickly drawn back to Sophie. I ran out into the rain, caught a cab, and went home. I took some medicine for my stomach and held an ice pack on my hand until the throbbing subsided. The next morning, I woke up to a flood of texts from unknown numbers. They were all flirtatious, some explicitly sexual. A stranger sent me a link to a website. My private information, my photo, had been posted on a porn site. The photo… if I remembered correctly, Gary and Scott had taken it for me. I called them to confront them. They denied everything, then turned it back on me. “Mina, can you please be more careful about your private life? This is really bad for the company’s image.” “You should stay away from the office for a while.” I’d already sold my shares. I had no reason to be their workhorse anymore. “Fine.” My easy agreement seemed to stun them. They had expected a fight, not this cheerful, unburdened tone. It was as if a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders. “Mina, you…” Gary started to say something, but Sophie called his name, and he immediately hung up. They had shown me no loyalty. I would show them no mercy. Spreading revenge porn, leaking my private information… they really thought I was a pushover. I handed everything over to the police and my lawyers, then packed my bags and flew to the capital to get married.

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In my last life, I let some wiry-looking mystic talk me into buying a black-and-white yin-yang koi for a fortune. My in-laws screamed at me, calling me a gold digger, good for nothing but spending money. But then, just before the heatwave apocalypse hit, my koi began to change. It started spitting out an endless stream of gold coins, getting our entire family through the first crisis. When the koi fully transformed, it could not only conjure pure, clean water but also cool the air around it. No matter how scorching it got outside, our home remained a cool oasis. I thought we had survived the worst of it. But I never imagined my husband, Mark, would secretly bind himself to the koi, throw me out of the house, and leave me to bake to death under the searing sun. Reborn into this life, I’ve hidden my lucky koi away. This time, I’m going to watch them all burn. 1 “Young lady, I see a special destiny in you. A path of great wealth and fortune, but alas, shadowed by a great trial. If you survive this calamity, your future will be boundless!” A man who looked like a wandering mystic waved a worn wooden staff at me, trying to sell me the black-and-white koi swimming in a small bag. “I have something that can help you weather this storm. This koi would normally be a thousand dollars, but for you, a special price! Only two hundred!” Hearing those familiar words, I knew. I was back. Reborn just moments before buying the lucky koi. A wave of delirious joy washed over me. I immediately pulled the last $200 from my pocket and bought my ticket to survival. When I got home, just as I expected, I walked right into a storm of abuse from my husband and his parents. My mother-in-law’s eyes were cold slits as she eyed my empty shopping bag. “Where is the expensive collagen supplement I asked for? I was planning on having it in my tea today!” Mark’s brow furrowed, his voice sharp with accusation. “You useless woman, you dare to defy my mother now? Where is the supplement she asked you to buy?” I was smarter this time. I didn’t tell them I’d spent the $200 on a useless ornamental fish. Instead, I pulled a crumpled, cheap-looking box from my other pocket and handed it to her. She wouldn’t know the difference anyway; this cheap powder looked close enough to the real thing. Sure enough, she scowled at the box. “This is it? Are you trying to fool me? It looks like dust.” Her thick, rough hand shot out and twisted my arm, hard. I yelped in pain but kept my face a mask of innocence. “No, that’s the real stuff! The store owner said it was his private stash. I wanted to get you the best, so I begged him to give me a discount!” She eyed me with suspicion but finally let go with a snort. “Fine. You’re good for something, I guess. Now go make dinner.” Free from the old hag, I went to the kitchen. But first, I carefully found a discreet black container and filled it with water for my precious koi. This little fish was my savior. Last time, it was the only reason my heartless husband and his vile parents made it through the heatwave apocalypse. Thinking about my past life made my teeth ache with rage. Back then, after I brought the koi home, they berated me endlessly for wasting money. They even tried to feed it to the neighbor’s cat. I had to fight tooth and nail just to keep it alive. That was the beginning of it all. As the apocalypse drew nearer, animals all over the world began to mutate at an alarming rate. Zoo bears grew sentient and escaped, killing dozens. It was then that my family discovered, to their shock, that my little koi could spit out solid gold coins. When the world was melting, we were the only ones with the air conditioning blasting and cold sodas in our hands, all thanks to that fish. When the apocalypse truly arrived and global temperatures soared to 140°F, the koi in the tank underwent its final transformation. It grew human-like legs and simply walked out of the water. With a single flick of its wrist, it created a bubble of water that cooled our sweltering house in an instant. Not only that, but the water was perfectly pure—a resource rarer than gold in the new world. We were ecstatic. We could survive, even thrive, in this hellscape. But I had underestimated the depths of their depravity. The koi became a symbol of power, a coveted prize. My husband, Mark, became the object of every desperate woman’s desire. They threw themselves at him, trading their bodies for a sip of clean water and a moment of cool air. But the koi would only listen to me, a fact that infuriated them. So they hatched a plan. Behind my back, they performed a ritual, forcibly binding the koi to Mark. Then they threw me out the door and left me to be cooked alive by the unforgiving sun. This time, I’ve hidden the koi. This time, they will be the ones to suffer the slow, agonizing burn. 2 After making dinner, I carefully hid the koi in its container under the kitchen sink cabinet. No one would ever find it there. Ever since I’d married into this family, my mother-in-law hadn’t set foot in the kitchen. Mark and his father? Forget about it. In two days, my koi would start producing gold. The thought made me giddy. Finally, I would get to watch this family get exactly what they deserved. Sure enough, two days later, I found the first small, gleaming gold coins at the bottom of the container. My new life was beginning. Without a moment’s hesitation, I called a real estate agent. I needed a remote property, something out in the country. The more secluded, the better. The agent was baffled by my request and tried to upsell me on luxury suburban homes, but I shut him down. I knew that when the world ended, the real monsters weren’t the mutated beasts; they were the desperate people left behind. Only by isolating myself could I be truly safe. I took the gold to a buyer and converted it into cash—nearly half a million dollars. It was a good start, but it was only enough for the property itself. There was still so much to do. After securing the remote house, I used the subsequent flow of gold to establish two fronts: a stray animal rescue and a private zoo. I knew that when the mutations began, even humans would be no match for the awakened animals. They would be my only true protectors. As the global temperature began its steady, unnerving climb, the koi produced more and more gold. My time was running out. The heatwave was coming. I needed to stockpile everything. I contacted the largest food and general goods suppliers in the region and offered them exorbitant prices for fresh produce, meat, and supplies. Whatever they had, I wanted. The more, the better. Lured by the massive profits, they soon had trucks delivering pallets of goods to a discreet location. I had to buy a separate underground warehouse just to store it all. But a new problem arose. When the apocalypse hit, the power grid would fail. How would I keep all this fresh food from spoiling? The solution came to me quickly. I found a hydraulic engineer and brought him out to my new property. I needed a small-scale hydroelectric power station built on the nearby creek. With the koi’s endless supply of water, I was confident I could keep it running indefinitely. The engineer was skeptical. “Miss, it’s possible, but even the smallest plant takes at least six months to build. You want this done in two?” I promised him a ridiculous sum of money, but he still hesitated. So I dropped the pretense. I opened a briefcase and dumped three hundred thousand dollars in cash on the table between us. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. “You just build it. As fast as possible. It’s for a… business venture I have. I need it done in two months. This is your deposit. If you finish early, I’ll add a twenty percent bonus to your final payment.” Money talks. The engineer had probably never seen a client like me. He snapped out of his daze and started nodding frantically. “Money! You should have just said so! For this kind of cash, we’ll build you a ladder to the moon! I’m calling my partners right now! There’s plenty to go around!” He immediately got on the phone, assembling multiple construction crews. When there’s a client this rich, you don’t just take a slice of the pie; you call everyone you know to the feast. “Don’t you worry, miss,” he assured me, his tone completely changed. “We’ll have three crews working in rotating 24-hour shifts. Two months? We’ll have it done in two weeks!” I nodded, satisfied. Soon, the property was swarming with workers, drilling and building around the clock. As I watched them work, I couldn’t help but smile. I wondered what Mark and his family would think when the world was burning, and they found out I was living a life of luxury with electricity, fresh water, and a mountain of food. 3 The power station was completed ahead of schedule. I filled my new home with industrial-sized freezers, all packed with meat and vegetables. To stave off the inevitable boredom of the apocalypse, I also stocked up on non-essentials: video game consoles, books, and board games. I went to a wholesale liquidator and bought out the entire inventory of a closing department store. You never knew when you’d need new clothes. Then, a pharmacy, where I cleared the shelves of common medications. Finally, I went online and ordered a massive variety of fruit and vegetable seeds. In the new world, fresh produce would be priceless. With my seeds and the koi’s water, I’d have a monopoly on a healthy diet. As the final days approached, I began gathering my protectors. I adopted dozens of stray cats and dogs, ensuring my supplies would never be targeted. The zoo housed younger animals—a Siberian tiger cub and two black bear cubs. It was best to raise them from infancy. I spent time with them every day, feeding them by hand, forging a bond. I was also feeding the strays in my current neighborhood. One day, while coaxing a new tabby cat to eat from a plate of fresh ground beef, I saw my next-door neighbor, Isabel. The pretty widow. She and I had always been at odds. In my past life, she was the one who constantly whispered poison into Mark’s ear, the one who encouraged him to throw me out. Seeing me feed prime meat to a stray was more than she could handle. “Are you insane?” she screeched from her doorway. “You’re feeding that to an animal? People would kill for that meat!” “You’re the one who’s insane,” I shot back. “Oh, talking back now, are we? No wonder your mother-in-law calls you a waste of money. It’s true! No sense at all, feeding good food to a cat!” Without waiting for a reply, she slammed her door. My blood ran cold. She was going to tattle. Before she was a widow, Isabel had been Mark’s first love. His mother had refused to let him marry a divorcée, which is how I ended up in the picture. Sure enough, minutes later, Mark and his parents stormed over, their faces thunderous. Isabel had clearly put on a show, crying about my wastefulness. Mark didn’t hesitate. He kicked the food bowl, sending meat scattering across the pavement. “People in this house barely get to eat this well, and you’re feeding it to a cat? You pathetic, wasteful woman! Do I have to beat some sense into you?” A familiar ache spread through me as his fists rained down on my body. Isabel watched from the side, adding fuel to the fire. “It’s such a shame. If I were your wife, I would never waste such good meat on an animal. I’d save it to honor my husband’s parents!” That line hit my mother-in-law like a love potion. She beamed at Isabel, then glared at me with pure disgust. “Useless baggage! Can’t even produce a child! No gratitude! I should have let my son marry Isabel. What good are you?” I gritted my teeth, pure hatred burning in my eyes. Their time was almost up. I would make them pay. After the beating, I became more discreet about feeding the strays, but I didn’t stop. And slowly, I earned their trust. Meanwhile, the temperature began its relentless climb. It started at a manageable 85°F, but that was already enough to make my family miserable. They refused to leave the air-conditioned house. But after a solid week of oppressive heat that only seemed to intensify each day, everyone started to realize this wasn’t a normal summer. Then, the experts appeared on the news. “After extensive research, we can confirm that the Earth has entered a new thermal apocalyptic era. Scholars have noted that many species are beginning to undergo various degrees of mutation.” “We remain confident that if humanity can survive this period, our civilization will evolve to a higher level.”

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It was 3 a.m. when the class president, Megan, suddenly dropped a message in the group chat: graduation photos, the day after tomorrow, in the morning. A second message followed with a payment link: $50 per person. I replied, telling her I had my thesis defense that day and asked if we could possibly reschedule. Her response was blunt. “Is your time the only time that matters? If you can’t make it, get lost.” Wanting to fit in, just this once, I paid the fee and went through hell to reschedule my defense. But when the day of the photoshoot arrived, a classmate told me: “Oh, the graduation photos? We already took them yesterday.” … I had spent an hour on my makeup, wanting to look my best. But when I arrived at the campus quad, breathless under the brutal sun, there was no one there. I pulled out my phone and checked the notification again. [The day after tomorrow at 10 a.m., meet on the quad for graduation photos.] I scrolled down. There were no other messages about a change in plans. I was in the right place at the right time. So where was everyone? Refusing to believe it, I thought maybe they’d moved to the gym to escape the heat. Not wanting to be late, I hurried over. But the gym was empty except for a few underclassmen playing basketball. The sun was a weight on my shoulders. Sweat trickled down my back, soaking the crisp white shirt I’d picked out specially for the photos. My carefully applied makeup was now a sticky, streaky mess on my face. My patience snapped. I called my roommate, Lily. “Hello, Sarah?” Lily’s voice was hesitant, laced with guilt. “Lily, where are you guys? Did the time for the photos change? Why is the quad empty?” I tried to keep my voice from trembling. Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Um… Sarah, actually… we took them yesterday.” “Yesterday?” My voice shot up, drawing stares from a few students nearby. “But Megan’s message clearly said today…” “Megan sent another notification in the private chat to change the time. She must have… forgotten to add you to that one.” Lily’s voice grew smaller and smaller. My hand holding the phone began to shake. It was happening again. Ever since my sophomore year, when I’d refused to pay Megan’s unreasonable fee for a class event, I had been the target of her little clique. But this was too much. Graduation photos were a once-in-a-lifetime thing. “What about my fifty dollars?” I asked, biting my lip. “You’ll… you’ll have to ask Megan about that.” Lily quickly muttered something about being busy and hung up. I stood there, frozen, feeling all the blood rush to my head. Fifty dollars wasn’t a small amount for me. It was three days’ pay from my part-time job. But what hurt more was the knowledge that I would never be in our graduation yearbook. The entire class would remember me as Sarah, the weirdo who didn’t even show up for her own graduation photo. Taking a deep breath, I opened my chat with Megan. The last message was still her sharp “If you can’t make it, get lost.” My fingers trembled with rage as I typed. “Megan, why wasn’t I notified that the time for the photos had changed? I paid the fee. Why was I left out?” The “typing…” bubble appeared, then stopped. Appeared, then stopped again. Five full minutes passed before she replied: “Maybe you should check the group chat. It’s not my fault you’re antisocial.” I stared at the message, my eyes burning. I decided to take this to my student advisor. His office door was slightly ajar. As I raised my hand to knock, I heard Megan’s sweet, syrupy voice from inside. “Mr. Davis, over the past four years, I’ve organized more than twenty class activities and even won the Outstanding Student Leader award…” I pushed the door open. Megan was sitting across from my advisor, a pile of documents spread across his desk. They both looked up. The smile on Megan’s face froze. “Sarah?” Mr. Davis looked surprised. “Is something wrong?” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “Mr. Davis, I’m here to report an issue of targeted bullying by the class president, Megan.” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “She collected the fee for graduation photos but deliberately failed to inform me of the correct time, resulting in my absence from the class picture.” Megan shot to her feet. “That’s a lie! It was your own fault for not reading the group chat messages!” “Which group chat?” I looked her straight in the eye. “The private one that I’m not a part of?” Megan’s expression faltered. She turned to the advisor. “Mr. Davis, our class has three group chats. Sarah left two of them on her own…” “I never left any group chat,” I cut her off. “You kicked me out. During the sophomore year class dinner, you demanded everyone pay eighty dollars. When I questioned the cost, you kicked me out of the group.” Megan sneered, but her face crumpled into a mask of grievance when she turned back to the advisor. “You see, Mr. Davis? This is what she does. She always finds fault with everything I do for the class.” “That dinner was at a high-end restaurant. Eighty dollars wasn’t even enough. I had to supplement it with class funds…” “You’re lying!” My voice trembled with anger. “The actual cost per person was less than fifty dollars, and you never showed us the bill!” Mr. Davis frowned. “Alright, that’s enough. Graduation is just around the corner. Let’s not argue over such trivial matters.” “You’re both at fault. Megan, you should have made sure every student was notified about the photos…” “I did notify everyone!” Megan suddenly pulled out her phone. “See? I sent a notification in the main year-group chat and tagged everyone. Is it my fault if she muted the chat?” I leaned in to look. She had, in fact, posted a brief, one-line message in the massive year-group chat. But that chat was constantly spammed with ads and irrelevant announcements; I’d muted it ages ago. “And,” Megan added triumphantly, “I even had her roommate go to her dorm room to get her before the photos yesterday. She wasn’t there.” My head snapped toward her. “Who came to get me? I was in my room all day yesterday preparing for my thesis defense!” “Lily said she knocked for ages and no one answered,” Megan shrugged. “Maybe you had your headphones on.” I was shaking with fury. Lily had never come to my door. Megan seized the opportunity. “Mr. Davis, as you know, Sarah never participates in class activities. We always have to chase her down for everything.” “For the graduation photos, she was the only one in the entire class who asked to change the time…” “That’s because I had my defense!” I was so angry my voice was shaking. “And didn’t I reschedule it to accommodate everyone else in the end?” “Alright, alright.” Mr. Davis cut us off, his frown deepening. “The photos have been taken. There’s no use arguing about it now.” He looked at me. “Sarah, you need to learn to be a team player. It’s a shame to go through four years of college without a single graduation photo.” I stared at him in disbelief. “Mr. Davis, this isn’t my fault…” “Megan has been a very responsible class president,” he said, patting her shoulder. “How about this? I’ll have the photographer Photoshop you into the picture. We’ll cover the cost with class funds.” “What about my fifty dollars?” I pressed. Megan immediately cut in. “That’s already been paid to the photographer. It’s non-refundable.” Mr. Davis nodded. “That’s right. The photographer did his job.” I stood there, a chill spreading through my body. This was the university I had spent four years at. These were the teacher and classmates I had known for four years. “Don’t bother with the Photoshop,” I said softly. “I’m not paying for a fake memory.” As I turned to leave, I heard Megan say behind me, “You see, Mr. Davis? That’s her attitude. She just doesn’t want to fit in…” When I got back to my dorm, Lily was sitting on the edge of my bed, holding a beautifully wrapped gift box. “Sarah…” She stood up awkwardly. “I’m so sorry. I was going to come find you, but something came up…” I silently walked around her and started clearing things off my desk. “This is for you,” she said, pushing the box toward me. “Everyone in our dorm got one…” I stopped what I was doing and looked at the box with its pink silk ribbon. “Did you really come to find me yesterday?” I asked quietly. Lily’s fingers twisted together. “I… I did go, but you weren’t there…” “I was in the dorm all day yesterday,” I said, looking directly into her eyes. “From eight in the morning until ten at night. I even ordered in for lunch.” Her face flushed a deep red. “Maybe… maybe I got the time wrong…” “Lily,” I cut her off. “For four years, how many times have I saved you a seat in the library? How many times have I helped you with your homework?” Her head sank lower. “Last semester, when you had that high fever, who took you to the hospital in the middle of the night?” My voice began to tremble. “Who stayed with you in the emergency room until dawn?” A single tear hit the floor. “I’m sorry…” she whispered, starting to sob. “It was Megan… she said not to bother telling you… she said you never fit in anyway…” I took a deep breath and pushed the gift box back toward her. “No, thank you.” Just as I was about to ask her to leave, my phone vibrated. A new notification from Megan in the class group chat: [For those who paid, you can come to the studio this afternoon for individual and group portraits.] The chat exploded with cheers and thank-you emojis. Lily quickly grabbed my hand. “I’ll go with you this afternoon…” I coldly pulled my hand away. “I’ll go by myself.” After all, I had paid my fifty dollars. At three o’clock that afternoon, I went to the campus photo studio alone. From a distance, I could see my classmates gathered in small groups, laughing as they looked through their newly received yearbooks. But the moment I pushed the door open, the noisy room fell silent for a beat. More than twenty pairs of eyes shot toward me, then quickly looked away. A few stifled giggles floated in the air. I had no idea what was going on. I walked straight to Laura, the class treasurer, who was handing out the yearbooks. She was one of Megan’s best friends and had often joined in on the bullying. Today, Laura wore a full face of makeup and her graduation gown, surrounded by a group of admiring girls. Seeing me approach, a flicker of panic crossed her face, quickly replaced by her usual condescending smirk. “Well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” Laura said, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “I thought you didn’t want one.” I held out my hand calmly. “My yearbook, please.” Laura let out an exaggerated sigh and handed me a copy from the table. “Here you go. We saved one just for you.” I opened it. The first page was the class photo. My picture had been Photoshopped into the back-row corner—a grainy, pixelated image clearly lifted from my student ID card. It was blown up to the point of distortion, my face a ghostly white that contrasted sharply with everyone else’s natural smiles. To make it worse, they had Photoshopped a pair of ridiculous bunny ears on top of my head. A wave of suppressed laughter rippled through the room. I looked up and saw several classmates covering their mouths, while others were holding up their phones, taking pictures of me. “So, what do you think? Satisfied?” Laura asked, raising an eyebrow in triumph. “I personally asked the photographer to give it some special attention.” My fingers gripped the edge of the yearbook so tightly my knuckles turned white. “This is what my fifty dollars paid for?” I heard my own voice, eerily calm. Laura just shrugged. “You think Photoshop is free? Do you have any idea how much overtime the photographer had to work?” “Give me my money back.” I slammed the yearbook down on the table. “Or I’m going to the Dean’s Office right now to report you and Megan for embezzling class funds.” Laura’s face paled. “What are you talking about? Every cent of the class funds is accounted for!” I didn’t want to argue with her anymore. I went to find Megan. She was chatting animatedly with the photographer. The moment she saw me, she cut me off, her expression instantly hostile. She lifted her chin. “We’re doing individual portraits here. Unauthorized personnel are not welcome.” “I paid,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “Fifty dollars. Same as everyone else.” Megan let out a snort, crossing her arms. “Sarah, get it through your head. The fifty dollars only covers the group photo. Individual portraits are extra. Got it?” She raised her voice deliberately, drawing the attention of the other students. “We were being generous by Photoshopping you in at all. What more do you want?” I clenched my fists. “Then why does everyone else get an individual portrait?” “Because they paid the extra fee,” Megan said, rolling her eyes. “If you’re broke, don’t come here and embarrass yourself. Now get out.” A few students snickered. I felt the blood rush to my head. Megan continued her taunts, her voice low enough for only me to hear. “Some people are just so antisocial. Four years of college and not a single decent photo to show for it. How pathetic.” “Give me my fifty dollars back!” I forced the words out, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. “Since you already took the group photo and made me look like a joke, just give me a refund!” Megan’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. “Sarah, have you no shame? You’re in the graduation photo, aren’t you? Do you think Photoshop is free? Do you think the photographer works for free?” “That was my student ID picture! And you deliberately made a mockery of it!” I pointed to the ridiculous bunny ears in the yearbook. “What is this supposed to be?” “It was just a joke. Why are you so serious?” Megan pouted. “You’re the only one in the whole class who can’t take a joke.” The snickering around me grew louder. I felt like a circus animal on display. “Refund my money!” I raised my voice. “Or I’m reporting you for embezzling class funds!” “Go ahead, report me!” Megan laughed as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “Let’s see who’s going to listen to you!” Our argument grew louder, finally attracting the attention of the department head, Mr. Evans, and the Dean, who were in the adjacent studio. Mr. Evans strode over, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on here? I could hear you shouting from down the hall.” Megan’s face changed instantly, her eyes welling up with tears. “Mr. Evans, Sarah is demanding a refund for the graduation photos… but they’ve already been taken, and the money has been paid to the photographer…” She added with a sniffle, “We were nice enough to Photoshop her in, and she’s not even grateful…” Mr. Evans turned to me, his expression disapproving. “Sarah, that’s not right. The graduation photo is a group activity. You can’t ask for a refund for personal reasons.” I took a deep breath. “Mr. Evans, they took my money but didn’t tell me the right time for the photo. The class photo uses my ID picture, and they intentionally made it look ridiculous to humiliate me.” “Furthermore, I know for a fact that the class president and treasurer have been embezzling class funds.”

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Married life was a bore, so I got a canary to spice things up. Who knew word would get back to my husband of convenience? From that day on, he started coming home. A lot. And he got… creative. Until one day, he asked me, “When are you going to let me meet this canary you’re keeping on the side?” “What’s so special about him?” I froze. “You want to meet him?” When he said yes, I took him to see my bird. A Gloster canary. 1 Peter Fairchild and I were husband and wife, courtesy of a business arrangement. We’d known each other since we were kids, but we were never close. After the wedding, he was consumed by his empire, and I by mine. We were apart more often than we were together. It was our normal. Lately, Peter had been tied up with an overseas partnership, vanishing for weeks at a time. My friends loved to tease me about it. “You always joked about wanting a husband who’s never home and just sends money,” one of them said, swirling her wine. “But Peter is a god-tier catch. With him gone, I can’t decide if you’re winning or losing.” “…” “Seriously, Alison,” another chimed in, “your married life looks exactly like your single life. All work and schmoozing. Aren’t you bored? Haven’t you thought about finding… other ways to have fun?” Bored? Maybe a little. That’s probably why, when I drove past a street market with a flower stall and a pet shop, I pulled over on a whim. I walked out with a bouquet of white lisianthus in one hand and a birdcage in the other. Inside was a fluffy, bright yellow ball of feathers. The shop owner called it a Gloster canary. Its cheerful, insistent chirping was a melody that made my own heart feel a little lighter. I didn’t take the canary to the house I shared with Peter. Instead, I set him up in a villa I owned, with a housekeeper to look after him. Our marital home was shared space. I couldn’t just bring an animal into it without his say-so. The day I officially became a bird owner, I had to share my excitement with my best friend, Sophie. The background on her end of the line was a chaotic roar of voices. She could barely hear me and had to put me on speaker. I raised my voice. “I said, I’m keeping a canary on the side now—” The word hung in the air, and then, inexplicably, her end went dead silent. The entire party seemed to hold its breath. “Sophie?” Her voice came back, a frantic, hushed whisper. “Alison, are you insane? You can’t just say things like that! Do you have any idea where I am?” “What?” I was genuinely confused. What was wrong with getting a bird? “Is that not something I can talk about?” Sophie hissed, “Keep your voice down! Is it something to be proud of?” “…” In the days following that bizarre call, I started catching whispers about me and a “canary.” People would go quiet whenever I walked into a room. But I was swamped with work and didn’t have the energy to figure out what they were gossiping about. Tonight, I came home late from the office and sensed something was off the moment I stepped inside. The air felt… different. I looked up and saw a silent figure sitting on the living room sofa. The man I hadn’t seen in half a month was back, without a word of warning. 2 “Peter?” I walked toward him, dropping my purse on the console table. “I thought you weren’t back for another week.” While we weren’t a love match, I at least kept track of his schedule. “You don’t want me back?” His voice was strange, laced with an unfamiliar edge. “What?” I didn’t understand. He opened his mouth as if to say more, then shut it, a muscle clenching in his jaw. His expression was dark, almost stormy. I reached out and touched his cheek. “Are you feeling alright? You look pale.” No fever. The next second, his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me into him without warning. I landed on his lap, straddling him. Before I could process it, his mouth was on mine. It wasn’t a welcome-home kiss. It was a storm. A desperate, claiming kiss that tasted of something I couldn’t name. As it deepened, the taste soured with something else—possession, maybe even anger. I tried to pull away, murmuring that I hadn’t showered, but he just swept me into his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and stood. He started walking toward the bathroom. Peter worked out. The hard planes of his body were a testament to that, and he held me with an effortless strength that always left me a little breathless. But tonight was different. He was fierce. So fierce I cried, but he didn’t stop. He just kept asking me, his voice a ragged whisper against my skin, who he was. Peter… husband… my love… None of my answers seemed to satisfy him, but he demanded them anyway. The bathroom filled with steam, and I felt like a castaway clinging to a raft in a churning sea. My body was pushed to its limits, and somewhere in the dizzying haze, I heard him whisper in my ear, “You’re mine.” Of course, I was his. But I was too exhausted to answer. It was like he’d never seen a woman before in his life. It wasn’t until the next morning that I had the strength to ask him about his schedule. He stood by the bed, his gaze intense as he looked down at me. “The project is wrapping up. I handed off the final stages. I’ll be staying in the country for a while.” “But you said it was a critical deal. That you had to see it through yourself.” Peter nodded slowly. “There are… other critical things here that need my personal attention.” I didn’t catch the hidden meaning in his words. 3 From that day on, Peter was a different man. Logically, with our demanding jobs, we should have barely seen each other. But he started coming home. Early. Most days, he was already there when I walked in. Tonight, I came home to find him in the kitchen, wearing an apron and carrying a platter of food. I stopped in my tracks. It wasn’t just that Peter was cooking. It was the way he was dressed. He had on a black tank top that did nothing to hide the sculpted lines of his muscles. That, paired with his handsome face, sent a wave of raw sex appeal crashing over me. The apron only amplified it. A dash of husband material. It was dangerously attractive. He looked at me, his expression softening. “You’re home. Go wash up, dinner’s ready.” It was the first time my husband had ever cooked for me. Our marriage was a contract; domestic skills weren’t part of the deal. We had staff for that. I had no idea he was this talented. “Is it good?” he asked, watching me take a bite. I nodded like a bobblehead. “Delicious.” Then he added, his voice layered with meaning, “If the food at home is this good, you won’t have to eat out. It’s not healthy.” I only heard the surface-level meaning. “Absolutely not. You’re too busy. You can’t come home from work every day and cook.” Peter just stared at me. “…” Later that evening, while he was in the shower, I called Sophie. Her voice was conspiratorial. “Is your husband around?” “No, why?” “Just checking. How’s your little canary doing?” My canary? “Oh, he’s great! He’s started rubbing his head against my hand to be cute.” My little bird had a wonderfully sweet personality, very affectionate. Sophie let out a strange, almost pervy giggle. “Alison, I never would’ve guessed you were into that type. Look, don’t say I never help you out, but you’re a married woman. Even if it’s a loveless business arrangement, you’re keeping… that… on the side. You need to hide it well.” “Hide what…” I was about to ask her what there was to hide when footsteps padded up behind me. Peter was out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips. I watched as a single, perfect drop of water slid from his chest, tracing a path down his abs before disappearing beneath the towel. Silent, raw sensuality. “Who was that?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. “Sophie,” I said, belatedly turning my phone screen to show him. But she’d already hung up. 4 Peter’s eyes landed on my phone screen. He didn’t say anything, just reached out, took the phone from my hand, and set it down, screen dark. He leaned in, his handsome face filling my vision. He took my hand, lifted it to his cheek, and gently nuzzled against my palm. All the while, his gaze never left mine, intense and unwavering. “Do you like this?” he murmured. In that moment, my mind went blank. I barely registered his words. Peter and I had a marriage of convenience, but we fulfilled our marital duties. I just never imagined the composed, always-in-control Peter would do something like this. “Peter, did you overhear my call?” His eyes darkened, a furrow forming between his brows. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Alison, if this is what you like, I can do it too. You don’t have to look for it outside.” Peter had no idea how dangerously sexy he looked right then. I only processed the first half of his sentence before his mouth crashed down on mine, and the world dissolved into a storm of sensation. Lost in the haze, a single thought surfaced: I was talking about my bird. Why was Peter competing with a bird? Did he really hate them that much? I decided then and there to scrap any plans of bringing my canary home. Tonight, Peter was different. He was clingy, whispering things in my ear that sent shivers of pleasure and shame through me. He was usually so quiet in bed. Now, every word was designed to unravel me. I was lost in a sea of illicit pleasure, drowning with him. Who the hell had reprogrammed my husband? Peter’s new routine was intense. He was always home, and he suddenly cared about my every move. After work one day, I stopped by my private villa to see my bird. He was getting delightfully chubby, his little head a perfect, fluffy sphere. Even though I wasn’t his daily caretaker, he still fluttered down to land on my hand the moment I walked in. I hadn’t kept him in a cage; I’d had a whole room converted into a custom aviary, full of plants and natural light, temperature-controlled for his comfort. I was cooing at him when my phone rang. It was Peter. “You’re such a good boy, so attached to your mama…” I murmured, just as the call connected. “Peter?” Silence stretched from the other end before he finally spoke. “Where are you?” My husband had become remarkably possessive lately. I instinctively thought he was calling to hurry me home. “I’m on my way back now,” I said quickly. Another long pause. Finally, a quiet, “Okay.” That night, as we were tangled in the sheets, he leaned over me, his voice a cool, suppressed whisper in my ear. “Mama, was I good?” My eyes shot open. A tidal wave of speechless, searing shame washed over me. I had no idea how my husband of six months had transformed into this… this incubus. My last shred of composure crumbled under that one word. As I drifted into an exhausted sleep, I thought I heard him murmur a complaint. “Why didn’t you call me your good boy?” It felt so surreal, it must have been a dream. 5 My husband’s antics were getting more and more elaborate, sometimes to the point where I couldn’t keep up. I’d had a lot of work events lately and came home late one night, a little drunk. Peter had a sweet, hangover-soothing broth waiting for me, which he fed to me spoon by spoon. I looked up at him and noticed the darkness clouding his features. He looked miserable. Drunk as I was, I didn’t overthink it. I just reached up to smooth the worry from his brow. “Don’t frown.” He steadied me, his unhappiness palpable. “Why did you drink so much?” I cupped his face, studying him for a long moment before breaking into a wide, happy grin. “Hubby.” He froze. A few seconds later, I heard him sigh again. “Why do you keep sighing lately?” I asked. His answer took a moment to come. “Because I despise myself.” I was baffled. “You’re amazing. Why would you ever despise yourself?” Peter had been the golden boy his whole life, the kid other parents compared theirs to. I couldn’t understand this self-deprecating act. “Do you love me?” he asked suddenly. Love? We weren’t in bed. The question caught me completely off guard. I was fond of him, I liked him, but I didn’t know if it was love. My hesitation was answer enough. Peter didn’t press the issue. He knelt, slipped off my heels, and carried me to the bathroom. I used to be mortified when he bathed me, but Peter’s stamina in bed was relentless. More often than not, I was too spent to move afterward, and he would clean me up himself. Again and again. Habit is a terrifying thing. I loved Peter’s kisses. They were always so tender. But tonight, after he laid me on the bed, he didn’t kiss me. My head was fuzzy, my vision blurred. Through a drunken haze, I saw him pick up his tie from the dresser. ? His thumb stroked my wrist as he whispered, “Want to play a game tonight?” I pointed a shaky finger at the tie. “You’re going to tie me up?” “Can I?” I shook my head. “I don’t want to.” He stopped, his hand hovering. He just looked at me for a long moment, then asked, “What if you tie me up?” Tying Peter to the headboard… His eyes were dark pools, drawing me in. On a strange, devilish impulse, I nodded. With his hands bound, Peter looked completely at my mercy. It sparked a thrilling sense of control. I didn’t think I was a wicked woman. But tonight, the alcohol must have corroded my inhibitions, because all I wanted was to see him lose control. He’d also prepared a black silk sash. I used it to cover his eyes. He couldn’t see me, so I felt bold, liberated. It was a wild, chaotic night. So wild that when I woke up the next morning and remembered, I wanted to pull the covers over my head and disappear. Especially when I saw the faint red marks still visible on his wrists. How could I be that kind of person? But god, Peter, blindfolded and bound… he had been so unbelievably sexy. His suit jacket would hide the marks, but the thought of him going to work, being the decisive, powerful CEO with the evidence of my wildness hidden beneath his clothes, sent a secret thrill through me. I was a little bit bad.

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My arms-dealer father brought home a pair of twin bodyguards from an underground fighting ring. My sister, Vivian, chose the brother who fawned over her. That left me with the other one, the silent one with expressive mutism. I knew that rejected bodyguards were thrown back into the fighting pits to fend for themselves, so my soft heart got the better of me, and I took him in. He couldn’t speak, so I found doctors and therapists for him. He was an outcast, bullied by the others for his quiet nature, so I trained twice as hard, beating down anyone who dared to lay a hand on him. I spent my nights learning sign language and psychology, desperate for a way to connect with him. I thought my devotion would earn his undying loyalty. Until the night of the botched arms deal, when he watched as both Vivian and I were trapped by the flames. He didn’t hesitate. He ran to her. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice clear. “I can’t let anything happen to Vivi.” His mutism had been cured long ago. As the explosion consumed me, he looked at me, and his lips formed the words: “I owe you this life. I’ll repay you in the next.” I opened my eyes and was back on the day we chose our bodyguards. … A stinging pain in my palm snapped me back to reality. The crescent-shaped wounds my nails had dug into my skin were a grim reminder that this was not a dream. My sister glanced at me, then wrapped her arm around our father’s, her voice a sweet poison. “Daddy, it looks like sister is still thinking. Why don’t you let me choose first?” Under our father’s doting gaze, she preened like a peacock, her eyes flitting between the two brothers, Zane and Kael. “I think I’ll choose Kael,” she announced, though her eyes had been fixed on Zane the whole time. “Sister is such a loner. She needs a bodyguard who knows how to read people.” I watched her performance, my mind replaying the scene from my past life. She’d said the exact same thing then, pretending to be considerate by offering me the more outgoing brother, Zane. She knew I would fall for it. She knew my heart was too soft. Back then, her act had worked. I’d not only let her have Zane but had taken the silent, brooding Kael under my wing. It wasn’t until the fire, when she cried for the brothers to save me first but held her hand out to Kael, that I finally understood. Zane, her sworn protector, was right beside her. The exit was closer to her. But she had always been certain I would yield, that my compassion was a weakness to be exploited. She got what she wanted and a reputation for being selfless. But this time, I met her confident gaze. “I’ll do as you say, sister.” The smile on Vivian’s face froze. She wasn’t the only one in shock. Kael’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “No,” our father interjected. “Vivian, you’re fragile. You need the stronger protection. Kael has a speech impediment. He’s not suitable.” I understood. Father had already decided. This whole charade of letting us choose was just for show. “Daddy, let’s let sister choose first…” Vivian began, putting on her sweet, obedient daughter mask again. But Kael cut her off. “Sir, my speech impediment has been cured.” In my past life, Kael hadn’t spoken a word until the moment I died. But now? His eyes were no longer vacant. They were filled with a sharp, hidden pain as they met my scrutinizing gaze. So, he was reborn too. Watching his desperate attempt to be chosen, I thought of his last words to me—I’ll repay you in the next—and a bitter, ironic laugh threatened to escape my lips. It didn’t matter. I didn’t want him anyway. Father didn’t respond. In a blur of motion, Kael moved. One of the elite guards standing by my father’s side was on the ground, neutralized, in the span of a single breath. A flicker of surprise crossed my father’s face. Vivian beamed. She had always preferred Kael’s cold, aloof beauty. If not for his diagnosis, he would have been her first choice. Finally, my father nodded. “Very well. Kael, you will be with Vivian. As for Zane…” “He’ll be with Aria.” The silent Zane’s brow furrowed. He dropped to one knee, his voice tight and strained. “Sir, I cannot obey this command.” “You refuse?” My father’s face darkened. He might favor Vivian, but I was still his daughter. A bodyguard’s public refusal was a direct challenge to his authority. “Then you can crawl back to the fighting pits. The Smith family has no use for disobedient dogs.” I knew this would happen. A bodyguard who wasn’t chosen was discarded. In my past life, I couldn’t bear to see Kael sent back to die, so I kept him. This time, it was Zane’s turn. I stood by, a silent spectator. Vivian, however, was panicking. She rushed to Zane’s side, reaching for his arm, but he subtly moved away. She stomped her foot, her voice a petulant whine. “Zane, if you don’t go with my sister, they’ll beat you to death!” Zane looked up, his eyes burning with a fierce, unwavering loyalty. “My life’s only purpose is to serve you, Miss Vivian!” A blush crept up Vivian’s cheeks. I let out a soft laugh. This display of blind devotion was just as pathetic the second time around. “Sister!” Vivian whirled on me, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Are you just going to stand there and watch him die?” From the brothers’ perspective, she must have looked like a tragic, beautiful angel. I took a step forward. “Father, since Zane is so loyal to my sister, why not let them both serve her? One is good, but two is better. Vivian’s safety is what matters most.” My words were exactly what she wanted to hear. From the moment the twins had arrived, she had been torn, unable to choose. Father hesitated. “Aria, what about you?” I lowered my head, playing the part of the dutiful, self-sacrificing older sister. “It’s fine, Father. I’m the older sister. I should give way to Vivian.” Suddenly, every gaze in the room was filled with approval. A smile touched my father’s lips. “Aria, you’ve matured.” “However,” he continued, “things are unstable right now. Our enemies are watching. It’s not safe for you to be without protection.” I looked up, meeting his approving gaze and catching the complex emotion in Kael’s eyes. I didn’t care enough to decipher it. “If you’re worried, Father, you can send me to work with my cousin. I won’t cause any trouble for the family.” In my past life, I had no foundation in this family, so I had poured all my energy into saving Kael. Vivian was born when I was five. To ensure she was the sole recipient of their affection, my parents had sent me to live with distant relatives. It was only two years ago, when the family needed to manage some bad press, that my father brought me back. My cousin, who ran the family’s overseas arms trade, always brought Vivian limited-edition bags and jewelry when he came home. Even her nanny was treated better than I was. The money for Kael’s medical treatments had come from my own meager allowance, saved penny by penny. This time, I knew better than anyone: if I wanted to escape being a pawn, I had to seize every opportunity to build my own power. My cousin was cold and dismissive, assigning me to a low-level position in his company. I didn’t complain. I poured every waking moment into my work. Using my knowledge from my previous life, I quickly mastered the business, even seizing an opportunity everyone else had written off, landing a massive contract for the company. That success finally caught my cousin’s attention. He summoned me for a formal meeting. “There’s an important business dinner tonight. You’re coming with me.” The banquet was a sea of influential figures. My cousin introduced me to several key partners. “This is my uncle’s daughter, Aria Smith.” I was poised and articulate, my insights into the business impressing many. Soon, the rumor of the capable elder Miss Smith spread through the circle, eclipsing my sister, who was known only for her frivolous lifestyle. That night, when I returned to the Smith villa, Vivian stormed into my room the moment I opened the door. “Sister, you should just stay quietly at home.” I glanced at her. Her voice was sharp. “The Smith family business is run by men. As daughters, our greatest contribution is to marry well. Cousin has helped you, but your foundation is weak. If you mess up, you’ll not only bring shame to the family, you might lose your value as a marriage asset.” I responded coldly, “Vivian, by what right do you presume to plan my future?” I stepped closer, my gaze like steel. “You’ve enjoyed everyone’s favor your entire life. Does my carving out a path for myself threaten you that much?” “Sister…” Her face flushed, and she glanced at Zane, who stood guard behind her. Her eyes immediately welled with tears. “I know, it’s all my fault… If it weren’t for me, Mom and Dad would never have sent you away.” “Save your tears,” I snapped. “You’re not the one who should be crying.” “After you were born, they threw me away like trash so you could have everything. With those so-called relatives, I was beaten, starved, and almost assaulted. I escaped and survived on the streets like a stray dog!” I backed her toward the door, my voice a low snarl. “You can continue being the perfect little princess. No one is going to take that from you. But you will not tell me how to live my life!” “Sister, that’s not what I meant,” she sobbed, grabbing my sleeve. “I really do care about you. I want to make it up to you. Why won’t you let me… I might as well just die.” She made a show of running toward the window. Zane caught her, pulling her into a protective embrace. He glared at me. “Miss Aria! Miss Vivian has a pure heart. Do you want to push her to her death?” Vivian sobbed in his arms. “It’s not sister’s fault… It’s all my fault. I owe her…” Zane held her tighter, his eyes burning with anger at me. “Apologize to Miss Vivian.” I scoffed. “And who are you to command me?” Zane’s lips tightened, but before he could speak, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Vivian shrieked, “Sister, how dare you hit him!” My voice was ice. “I thought you were the expert on rules and etiquette, sister. Why can’t you control your own dog? A mere bodyguard, speaking out of turn to the eldest daughter of the house?” A flicker of rage crossed Zane’s eyes, but my colder gaze froze him in place. Kael, drawn by the commotion, arrived just in time to see it. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. I had no desire to waste any more time on these three. I pushed them out of my room and slammed the door. The next day, I was packing for a business trip, eager to escape the suffocating drama of this house. I had just finished dressing when my door was slammed open. Zane burst in, his eyes bloodshot and frantic. He grabbed my wrist. “What did you do to Miss Vivian? She ran out last night and never came back!” My face hardened. I twisted out of his grip, using his own momentum against him and kicking his knee, breaking his hold. “You are Vivian’s bodyguard. Her disappearance is your failure! Don’t come here taking your incompetence out on me.” “This is your fault!” Zane’s eyes were red with a desperate fury. “If you hadn’t provoked her yesterday, she wouldn’t have run off!” “Before our father finds out, you’re coming with me to find her and apologize!” The door was kicked open again. Kael rushed in. “Zane, the kidnappers just called. They have Miss Vivian.” Zane’s eyes narrowed, pinning me with a vicious glare. “The kidnappers want a daughter of the Smith family. You caused this mess. You will be the one to take her place.” “You’re insane!” I snarled, slapping him again. “Useless waste of space. You can’t even protect your own master, and you dare to lay a hand on me!” Zane spat out a mouthful of blood, his eyes dark with malice as he grabbed my wrist again, his grip like iron. “Forgive me, Miss Aria. Miss Vivian’s life is at stake. I have no choice.” He twisted my arms behind my back. “Kael, help me!” Kael hesitated for a split second before moving to assist.

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1 The day of my mother’s surgery, I was scrolling through my phone in the hospital hallway when I saw Leo’s post: [Mom had a little heart flutter, but thankfully our caring daughter-in-law was here to help.] The photo showed my wife, Claire, the surgeon who was supposed to be operating on my mother, gently taking the blood pressure of Leo’s mom. Her text from half an hour ago was still glowing on my screen: [High-risk patient just came in. I had Dr. Shaw cover Mom’s surgery.] After my mother’s operation ended successfully, I quietly arranged for her transfer to another hospital. Then I called my divorce lawyer. … It was one in the morning when Claire finally pushed open the door to the hospital room. The harsh light from the hallway sliced into the darkness. I instinctively shifted my body, shielding my sleeping mother from the glare. She stood at the door, still in her white coat. “Jake,” she said, her voice tired. “I just finished. Let’s wake Mom up, I’ll do a check-up.” I used to be obsessed with my mother’s health. Every time she felt unwell, I wouldn’t rest until Claire had seen her personally. It made sense; my mother was critically ill, and Claire was a leading specialist in the field. But now… I gently tucked the corner of my mother’s blanket, my voice flat. “That won’t be necessary.” Claire froze, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Jake, Mrs. Davis’s heart palpitations today were serious. That’s why I had Dr. Shaw take over. Don’t get the wrong idea.” “Besides,” she added, her tone hardening, “Dr. Shaw told me the surgery went perfectly. Can you stop making a scene?” I wasn’t getting the wrong idea. And I wasn’t making a scene. “If there’s nothing else, you should go home. Don’t disturb Mom. She just had surgery and needs to rest.” A cold laugh escaped her lips. “Fine. Just don’t come crying to me later, saying I don’t care about your mother.” Care? A surgeon who walks out mid-operation. A daughter-in-law who prioritizes someone else’s mother. A “care” like that? We couldn’t afford it. Claire slammed the door on her way out. I gently smoothed the worry lines on my mother’s brow. She fluttered her eyes open for a moment before drifting back into a peaceful sleep. The next morning, I went downstairs to buy my mother breakfast and ran into Claire in the parking lot. “Jake,” she said, rolling down her window. “I made some chicken soup for Mom. Let’s go up together?” I was surprised. At this time, she was usually already at Leo’s place. Ever since Leo and his mother moved here three years ago, she had accompanied my mother to her check-ups less and less. At first, she said it was hospital meetings, emergency surgeries. I believed her. Until six months ago. I was with my mother for an appointment and saw Claire in the hospital garden. She was supposed to be in surgery, but there she was, carefully helping Leo’s mother on a walk. “Easy, Mrs. Davis, take your time.” “Oh, Claire, you’re more thoughtful than my own son.” So, it wasn’t that she didn’t have time. It was just that we were no longer worth her time. We had a massive fight that night. After that, my mother refused to let Claire take her to the hospital ever again. Even though divorce was now a certainty, the concern in her eyes looked genuine. I didn’t refuse, just sent my mom a quick text. As Claire opened her car door, my eyes caught a seat cushion on the passenger side, finely embroidered with the letter ‘D’. Hanging from the rearview mirror was a small, framed photo of Leo and his mother, dangling next to a silver charm. She noticed me looking, and her expression tightened. “Those are just some things Mrs. Davis left behind. I’m holding them for her.” Her voice became defensive. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.” The old me would have ripped that photo down and demanded to know who her real family was. But now, I just nodded. “That’s a nice charm.” She stared at me, confused. “Jake… you’re not angry?” Angry? Maybe I should have been. But all I felt was a vast, numb emptiness. This was such a blatant line she had crossed. Did she really not see it? Or did she just enjoy it? I turned away. “Let’s go. Mom will be waiting.” She pursed her lips and followed me, carrying the thermos. We hadn’t taken more than a few steps when her phone rang. The custom ringtone was Leo’s favorite piano piece. Leo’s frantic voice came through the speaker. “Claire! Where are you? My mom’s not feeling well again, you have to come back and check on her!” She didn’t even try to hide it. “I’m on my way.” Hanging up, she shoved the thermos into my hands. “It’s an emergency with Mrs. Davis. Tell Mom I’m sorry. I’ll see her another day.” In her haste, the thermos slipped and crashed to the ground. She didn’t even look back as she sped away. In the hospital room, my mother was quietly eating her porridge. I struggled to find the words. “Mom, Claire had… an emergency. She said she’ll come back…” “I know, son.” My mother’s voice was soft, her gaze calm as she cut me off. “Under anesthesia, you’re paralyzed, not deaf.” She took my hand. “The two of us… we just can’t compete with them, can we?” That evening, Claire called. She’d heard I was transferring my mother, and her voice was tight with suppressed rage. “Why are you transferring her? I’m the best doctor here, am I not taking good care of her?” “Or is this because I didn’t visit this morning? Are you really going to throw a tantrum over that?” “Jake, that’s your mother! You can’t play games with her health just because you’re upset!” “I have to stay with Mrs. Davis tonight. Since you think I’m doing such a terrible job, I won’t be coming home!” I listened calmly, then replied with a single word. “Fine.” Silence. She clearly hadn’t expected that response. She stammered for a moment before finally managing a, “You…” I hung up before she could finish. Five minutes later, my phone pinged. A message from Leo. [Hey Jake, sorry about all this. My mother hasn’t been well, and Claire has been a huge help.] [But you really shouldn’t have acted that way. You need to be more understanding. Claire is the best doctor in the city, of course she’s in high demand.] [Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her for you.] I read the message—less an apology and more a declaration of ownership—and then deleted it and blocked his number. This whole charade had been going on since Leo and his mother arrived three years ago. It started with occasional favors, then frequent care. Now, Claire was practically their private physician. Her call came again, moments later. “Jake! What the hell is wrong with you? Leo was trying to apologize, and you treat him like that?” In the background, I could faintly hear Mrs. Davis sobbing and Leo comforting her. I remained silent, listening to her vent. “How did you become so cold? Mrs. Davis is a sick woman! Don’t you have an ounce of compassion?” “I am so disappointed in you!” I ended the call, my fingertips cold. I’m the one who should be saying that to you. She was the one who kept putting others first. I hadn’t said a word, yet somehow, I was the one at fault. Back home, I started packing. The lawyer had confirmed that the division of assets from our marriage would be in my favor, more than enough to cover my mother’s medical expenses. My last hesitation was gone. I opened the closet. On the left were my mother’s simple, plain clothes. On the right, Claire’s expensive designer suits—most of them bought while shopping with Mrs. Davis. I remembered once my mother wanted a new coat. Claire had told her “next time,” then turned around and bought Mrs. Davis a cashmere one. We fought about it, and she promised to get one for Mom. That coat never appeared. Clothes, toiletries, my mother’s favorite books… I packed them all, box by box. When my fingers brushed against a wooden box deep in the closet, they trembled. I gently lifted the lid. Inside were photos from when Claire and I were dating. On top was a picture from her medical school graduation. She was beaming at me in her cap and gown. On the back, in her elegant script, she had written: [To my dearest Jake, wait for me. I’ll become a doctor you can be proud of.] My phone rang. It was Claire. Her voice was choked with tears when I answered. “Jake! Mrs. Davis took a turn for the worse, she’s in the ICU! If anything happens to her, I will never, ever forgive you!” I looked at the girl in the photo, the girl whose eyes used to be filled with only me. The girl who used to secretly text me during her night shifts to say she missed me. Now, for someone else’s mother, she was spitting venom at me. My thumb traced the smile on her face in the picture. “Do whatever you want,” I said softly. I hung up and fed the contents of the wooden box into the paper shredder. Claire didn’t come home that night. I didn’t call her, screaming and begging her to come back like I used to. I didn’t call Leo to curse him out for wrecking my marriage. Back at the hospital, my mother, as if by silent agreement, didn’t ask where Claire was. The cold war lasted for three days. Finally, my mother was stable, and the hospital transfer form needed the signature of her attending physician. I tried calling Claire, only to find she’d blocked me. I had no choice but to drive to Leo’s house to find her. When I started the car, the GPS, which had been switched to Leo’s voice at some point, gently reminded me to drive safely. I fought back a wave of nausea and typed in Leo’s address, only to see the saved location name pop up on the screen: “Our Love Nest.” Disgusting. Utterly disgusting. Claire was not only crossing every line, she was reveling in it. When I arrived, the place was empty except for a moving truck driver locking the door. I asked him for the delivery address. It was my house. The house I had bought for her. Our marital home. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I turned the car around and raced home. From a distance, I could see the moving truck parked outside. Claire was directing workers as they carried an antique vanity into the living room. “What are you doing?” She turned, not a hint of surprise on her face. “Mrs. Davis is unwell and needs someone to look after her. It’s too much trouble going back and forth, so I’m having her move in with me.” “This is my house.” “What’s yours is mine, isn’t it?” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “The guest room is already set up.” I watched as the movers carried Leo’s suitcase into the room next to our master bedroom—the room we had planned for our future child. “Did you ask for my opinion?” Claire frowned, her patience wearing thin. “Jake, can you please be mature about this? Mrs. Davis is a patient…” “A patient?” I cut her off. “So that gives her the right to invade my home? To let you hand over the life I built for us to complete strangers?” Leo emerged from the house with a contemptuous smirk. “Claire is my mother’s devoted daughter-in-law. How is she a stranger?” How utterly ridiculous. My wife, standing with another man, claiming to be a family, making me feel like the outsider. Claire reached for my arm, but I stepped back. “Sign it.” I held out the transfer form. “Sign this, and you can do whatever you want with this house.” Claire’s face darkened. Leo saw the papers in my hand and sneered. “Everyone knows Claire is the best cardiac surgeon in the city. Transferring? Mr. Hayes, are you trying to get attention this way?” “Claire, forget it,” he said, his tone softening. “You’ve been with me and my mom all week, neglecting Jake and his mother. You should go check on them.” At his words, Claire’s expression eased. “Jake, do you have to be so childish? Using Mom’s health as an excuse? I know you’re upset, but you’re the one who stressed Mrs. Davis out and made her sick in the first place.” She pushed the form back at me. “I’m not signing it. And you owe Leo an apology.” I looked at her, defending another man, and suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to argue. “Whatever.” Back at the hospital, Dr. Shaw was doing her rounds. Her name was Anna. She knew my mother’s case well. “Let’s transfer her to University Medical Center,” she said gently. “My mentor works there. He’s even better than I am.” The paperwork was processed quickly. On the signature line of the transfer form, in neat, elegant script, were two words. [Anna Shaw.] On the day of the transfer, the transport ambulance hadn’t arrived yet. I told my mother to rest while I took our bags downstairs. As I reached the entrance of the building, a familiar white car pulled up. The passenger window rolled down, and Leo smirked at me. “Really going through with it? Jake, what other hospital has a specialist like Claire?” “Can you even afford it? If not, you can always ask our Claire. She’s very charitable; I’m sure she’d help.” I stared at him coldly. “Don’t trouble yourself. Since Dr. Adams is so busy, we wouldn’t want to take up any more of her time caring for you and your mother.” Leo’s face instantly crumpled into a look of feigned hurt as he turned to the driver’s seat. “Claire, did I say something wrong? Why is he so angry?” Claire rolled her window down. “Jake, don’t take it too far.” “I’m taking it too far?” I looked her straight in the eye. “For a man whose wife is a surgeon who abandons her patients mid-operation, I think I’ve shown remarkable restraint.” Seeing her at a loss for words, I turned to leave. But I heard Leo’s snide remark behind me. “Some people just don’t know what’s good for them…” I ignored him. The ambulance still wasn’t there, so I headed back to the room. Before I even reached the door, I could hear shouting. I burst into the room to see Leo’s mother jabbing a finger in my mother’s face. “I’m doing you a favor by letting you switch rooms! My daughter-in-law is the top surgeon here! I’ll stay in whichever room I damn well please!” “Please show some respect.” I stepped between them, shielding my mother. “The hospital has rules. You don’t get to make them.” My mother tugged at my sleeve, her voice calm but firm. “Ma’am, there’s a thing called first come, first served.” “First come, first served?” Mrs. Davis scoffed, raising her voice for effect. “My daughter-in-law is Claire Adams, the top specialist in this hospital! What I say, goes! Who the hell do you think you are, trying to take a room from me?” My mother looked around at the murmuring crowd. “Claire is my daughter-in-law,” she stated, her voice quiet but clear. “You?” Mrs. Davis yanked on my mother’s sleeve. “Look at your cheap clothes. You think you’re worthy of being Claire’s mother-in-law?” I grabbed her wrist. “Let go of her!” Just then, Claire and Leo rushed in. Seeing them, Mrs. Davis cried “Oh!” and collapsed into her son’s arms, pointing at me. “Heavens! He’s attacking me! In broad daylight!” “Son, he pushed me!” Leo shot forward. “Jake, you laid a hand on my mother?” I laughed, a cold, humorless sound. “Laid a hand on her? Are there no security cameras in this hospital? You’re just going to stand there and lie?” “I was stopping her from harassing my mother. What about you? Do you just let your mother run wild and act like a tyrant in a hospital?” The commotion drew a larger crowd. “Well, I’ve seen it all now. People fighting over inheritance, over parents, but never over a daughter-in-law.” “Look at what that old woman is wearing. Doesn’t look like she’s related to a doctor. Maybe she’s just confused?” One of the onlookers asked curiously, “Dr. Adams, which one of them is your family?” All eyes turned to Claire. I stared into her eyes, my voice low and steady. “Claire. Think very carefully before you answer. Think about how Mom has treated you all these years.” Claire’s lips trembled, her gaze darting between us. Leo suddenly grabbed her sleeve and started to sob quietly. “Claire, you know… I never had a father. My mom is all I have in this world. If anything happens to her… I don’t want to live anymore.” Claire squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, her gaze was filled with a cold resolve. “I am Mrs. Davis’s daughter-in-law.” She then turned to my mother. “Ma’am, I believe you’re mistaken.” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Eight years of marriage, and she publicly disowned her own mother-in-law. The room erupted in whispers and jeers. “What’s wrong with that old woman, claiming relatives like that!” “She probably saw they had money and wanted a piece of it…” “And her son doesn’t look like much either, just a pretty boy…” Rage flared in my chest. “Claire, have you lost your conscience? How could you say that…” Before I could finish, my mother stood and grabbed my arm. “Son, let it go.” She looked at Claire, the hope in her eyes slowly fading, dimming, until all that was left was a flat, empty calm. “I’m sorry, Dr. Adams. I’m just an old, confused woman. I seem to have mistaken you for someone else.”

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After we got back together, Sienna became unusually clingy. She had to report everything—what she ate, what she drank, who she saw. One day, she called, her tone testing the waters. “Lindsay’s bringing some younger guys to the spa resort. She wants me to go.” “Oh,” I said. “Have fun.” The line went dead. Twenty minutes later, she was blocking my doorway, demanding in a hoarse voice, “You’d really just let me go off with other people?” I took a step back under her gaze. “Isn’t this the ‘boundaries’ you wanted?” My words hung in the air, and she froze. 1 “Are you done? If you’re done, you can leave. I really don’t mind.” Worried she might misunderstand, I added helpfully, “Don’t worry. I’ll play along for your parents tomorrow.” Sienna’s face instantly darkened. “Caleb, you’ve got a real goddamn nerve.” She slammed the door and left. The commotion had completely shattered my sleepiness. I curled back under the covers and scrolled through my phone. At two in the morning, an unknown number sent me a few pictures. A young guy, wearing nothing but swim trunks, his pale body pressed against Sienna from behind. The air was thick with steam. His arms were wrapped casually around her waist, only a thin layer of fabric separating them. [Hey, man. I’m scared of the water, so Sienna was just helping me out. You’re so lucky to have such a caring wife~] I stared at the screen, considering my options. Should I get up and go catch her in the act? No, it was too late. My driver was off for the night, and getting a ride would be a pain. Well then… maybe write a long, scathing text to tear her apart? The weather was too cold; my hands would freeze. Maybe I could just copy and paste one of my old rants from our chat history. As I scrolled back through our old fights, I actually fell asleep. No wonder Sienna never bothered to read them. Once you stripped the emotion away, the words were just long-winded and tedious. Excellent sleep aid, though. The next day was New Year’s Day, and we went to the Vaughn family estate. I was chatting with the elders when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find the same boy from last night’s photo, standing there, looking shy. He was clutching a bikini top. “This… was left at my place yesterday.” The style was bold and youthful. In this house, there was only one person it could belong to. The whole scene felt sickeningly familiar. The year we got engaged, another boy had shown up just like this. I’d lost it, grabbed him by the throat, and thrown him to the ground. Sienna had pushed me off, and without a backward glance, led the boy away, leaving me a pathetic mess on the floor. The estate was in chaos that night. No one had a happy new year. The old folks say you shouldn’t start the new year on a bad note. Sure enough, that was the year Sienna and I fought the most. The living room was silent. Everyone was waiting for my reaction. I immediately smoothed things over with a smile. “Oh, that’s my cousin. He grew up overseas. We were all together for the New Year’s countdown last night.” Sienna’s father breathed a sigh of relief, but her mother’s eyes were filled with suspicion. “Really?” “Absolutely,” I said, pulling the boy inside and shutting the door. The last flicker of hope in Sienna’s eyes died out. 2 On the drive back, I pulled the bikini top from my pocket and tossed it to her. She stammered out an explanation. “Last night wasn’t what you think. That guy is Lindsay’s brother, and I was drunk, nothing happened…” I tore open an antiseptic wipe and meticulously cleaned my hands. “Just drop me off here. Leo invited me for a poker game.” Sienna swallowed hard, her voice softening. “I can pick you up when you’re done?” “No need,” I said, pushing the car door open. “You do your thing.” I didn’t want to know what that bikini had been through. I was just afraid of catching something vile. A long, hot shower at Leo’s place and a change into the fresh clothes he’d laid out for me finally cleared the suffocating feeling in my chest. Leo watched Sienna’s car drive off, then raised an eyebrow at me. “So, how’d the battle go? What was the score? Why didn’t you call for backup?” I sank into the couch. “There was no battle. Scaring off the woman is one thing, but I can’t afford to scare off the money.” That New Year’s Day, the Vaughn estate had been a war zone. Several of the elders had been so upset they ended up in the hospital. As I lay on the cold ground, it was Leo who finally showed up and bundled my mud-caked self into his sports car. As he turned the key, he couldn’t resist a jab. “Living out your childhood dream at the Vaughn’s? Rolling around in a mud pit?” I opened my mouth to reply, but tears came out first. “Leo, how did it get like this?” He panicked, fumbling to wipe my tears, but he had no answers. No one could have imagined Sienna and I would end up in such a toxic mess. We were childhood sweethearts, practically knew each other since we were in diapers. I’d worked my ass off to get into the same university as her, waking up before the sun and studying long after midnight, giving it everything I had. The day I got my acceptance letter, my mom was amazed. “If I’d known you’d kill yourself studying for Sienna, why would I have spent a fortune on tutors?” Everyone assumed that Caleb Reed and Sienna Vaughn were meant to be. But just as we finally grew up, just as we no longer had to share a cheap slice of pizza from a food truck, she let go of my hand. She despised her family for controlling her future, for forcing her to give up her dream of being a musician to inherit the family company. And that resentment peaked when I agreed to our engagement. Back then, I was too blinded by my own happiness, too thrilled at the thought of finally marrying the girl of my dreams, to notice that the love in her eyes had long since vanished. After the engagement, she was never home. I’d wake up to my phone flooded with “updates” from well-meaning friends. Sienna just dropped a fortune on some new model. Sienna was surrounded by people at a yacht party. Sienna threw herself another wedding party somewhere else… Those messages were like mold in a damp season, impossible to wipe away completely. I used to scream, chase her for answers, go insane, making a spectacle of myself for everyone to see. All it earned me was Sienna’s deepening disgust. “Can’t you have some boundaries? You don’t like it? Fine, go tell my mother to call off the engagement!” Leo accurately described our relationship as less like a married couple and more like a rebellious teenager and their desperate mother. One was trying to escape, and the other was clinging on for dear life. I thought I would be tangled up with her like this forever. But one day, in the middle of a fight, I just got tired. Brothers don’t need words; a single look is enough. Seeing my unusual calm, Leo asked softly, “So, what’s the plan?” I took the warm water he offered. “The London project. My family and the Vaughns have invested a lot. I’m going to oversee it myself.” “For how long?” “Three years, for now.” He slung an arm around my shoulders, reluctant to let me go. “We’ll party hard before you leave. My treat.” I grinned and punched him lightly in the chest. “You’re not getting off that easy.” 3 I was woken late at night by the doorbell again. Sienna was leaning against the doorframe, drunk, her tie hanging loosely around her neck. I glanced at my phone. The Do Not Disturb mode had silenced over 99 unread messages from her. It seemed she couldn’t reach me, so she came in person. A year ago, I would have been ecstatic that she’d even come home drunk. I would have stumbled over myself to help her inside, get her water, and fuss over her half the night. But now, my hair was freshly washed and smelled great, my apartment was spotless, and I really didn’t want the stench of alcohol ruining it. Seeing I had no intention of letting her in, she asked in a raw voice, “You’re just going to leave me standing out here?” “You’re at the wrong place.” “This is my apartment from before we were engaged. Not our marital home.” “I’ll call someone to pick you up.” As I looked down to find a number, she shamelessly pressed closer. “Caleb, I’m craving the congee you make.” I took a deep breath, pushing down the last lingering sting in my heart. “Really? You’ll really leave after you have the congee?” She nodded eagerly. I opened a food delivery app and handed it to her. “Pick whatever you want.” She froze, the alcohol seemingly wearing off. “Caleb, you never let me eat this stuff…” She probably remembered how, right after we got engaged, I was determined to be a good husband. I hired a chef and learned step-by-step, starting from how to chop vegetables. But she never even glanced at the food, let alone tasted it. I’d secretly post pictures of my elaborate meals on social media, hoping that if she saw the likes and comments from our mutual friends, she might come home to try it. Instead, I only heard about her laughing with her friends at a bar. “If you had a lapdog like Caleb, you’d think my life was a tragedy too. Why would I eat his slop when I have gourmet food out here?” Amid their laughter, I went home and cried for three days straight. Leo was furious and heartbroken for me. “Dude, you’re the kind of guy who would rather starve than cook! Why are you learning to cook for a woman like her? She’s out partying, and you’re turning yourself into a ghost!” That was my wake-up call. I never cooked for her again. “My cooking isn’t even that good,” I said, pushing the phone towards her again. “Just order something.” She sighed and took the phone. As her fingertips brushed my palm, her other hand instinctively tried to wrap around my shoulder. I recoiled violently, my back hitting the door with a dull thud. In the dead silence that followed, she lowered her head and lit a cigarette. The flame flickered in the darkness, illuminating the features I was once so lost in. “Caleb, I’m your fiancée. Not a virus.” “Who can say for sure.” I took another half-step back. “I’m going to bed. I have work tomorrow.” I don’t know when she left. The next morning, when I opened the door, the ground was littered with cigarette butts. 4 On the way to work, while waiting at a red light, I suddenly remembered the night I’d tried to break up with her. Sienna had locked me out then, too. But that was at our marital home. She was partying with a crowd inside, had me locked out, and even changed the passcode. The deep winter wind cut like a knife. I pounded on the door, my hand instinctively protecting my stomach, my voice cracking. “Sienna, open the door… my stomach hurts…” It was the same boy from the spa, the one she’d been with last night, who answered through the video intercom. “Hey, the person outside,” he chirped. “Sienna said it’s the Vaughns who want to marry you, not her.” “You should go. She said you need to learn about boundaries.” I froze for a second, then started hammering on the door like a madman. The people inside must have found it amusing. They recorded it on their phones through the security feed. In the background, the boy’s syrupy voice asked, “Sienna, he says he doesn’t feel well?” Her drunken, impatient voice came through clearly: “Ignore him. He’s just playing the victim.” In the video, I was a hysterical mess, crying and screaming. Finally, I stopped, dragged my suitcase away, and disappeared around the corner. The video made the rounds in our circle. Sienna only found out after a full day of people looking at her with ‘you’re a real piece of shit’ expressions, and she finally, confused, clicked on the link. Honestly, she didn’t think it was a big deal. So what? She was having fun at home and didn’t want me to ruin the mood. But the Vaughn elders were furious. They said her actions were disgraceful and had brought shame upon both families. So she found me, with the reluctant air of someone forced to bow their head. “I didn’t know you would… leave alone so late. I saw the video.” She looked at me as if assessing whether I’d learned my “lesson.” “There are rumors spreading that I, Sienna Vaughn, drove my fiancé out onto the streets… Caleb, that’s enough. Come home with me.” She didn’t know what happened in the darkness after that video ended. And I had no desire to explain it to her. Lying in a hospital bed, I wearily turned over. “It’s not your fault.” After that, we seemingly reconciled. But from that day on, I stopped caring where she slept or if she ever came home. I quietly moved out of our marital house and back into my own small apartment. 5 Saying it wasn’t her fault was a lie. I’m no saint. Giving up on someone you’ve loved for so long is like tearing a part of yourself from your own flesh and bone. When the withdrawal hit, I’d lie awake all night, my chest feeling like a gaping hole, the bitter wind from that winter night howling through it. Besides, my family’s business and the Vaughns’ were already deeply intertwined. The consequences of a forceful separation were more than either side could bear. I knew better than anyone that our personal grievances were weightless in the face of family interests. Maybe the pressure from her family scared her. Or maybe she belatedly realized she’d gone too far. Sienna toned it down a lot. No more staying out all night. No more ignoring me completely. Instead, she started reporting her every move to me, in excruciating detail. One day, I was in the middle of a tense negotiation, finalizing the core terms of a multi-million dollar project, haggling over the last points of profit sharing. You could have heard a pin drop in the conference room. All eyes were on me, waiting for my response. And her messages just kept popping up. Something about an appointment with a famous wedding planner, asking me what style I wanted. When I didn’t reply, she started calling. One call after another. The buzzing of my phone was deafening. The other party said understandingly, “Please, take care of that. It might be urgent.” I maintained a polite smile, nodded my apologies, and ducked into the restroom before finally answering, my voice a low hiss. “What the hell do you want? Why are you blowing up my phone over something so trivial?” “It’s so annoying!” “Can’t you have some goddamn boundaries?” After the barrage of insults, the other end of the line went dead silent. I was the first to snap out of it, rubbing my temples tiredly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been pulling all-nighters for this project, I’m exhausted. The style… you can decide.” On the other end, Sienna was silent for a long time before responding, her voice dry. “Okay.” 6 I parked in front of the Vaughn Corporation building. I was here to integrate some resources before heading back to my own company. In the breakroom, I overheard some colleagues gossiping. “Did you see? Ms. Vaughn came in with him again this morning.” “I noticed! I heard she even left her bra at his place last time…” “What’s up with that? Isn’t she engaged?” “Everyone knows Ms. Vaughn can’t stand that Caleb guy. She’s always saying she wishes he would just disappear.” … Thanks to Sienna never publicly acknowledging our relationship at work, I, the aforementioned Caleb guy, was privy to all this gossip. I sipped my coffee, my eyes downcast, feeling nothing. This little tidbit was nothing. These people were amateurs. They’d never had a delivery guy show up late at night with a package containing a matching set of lacy lingerie. They’d never had to deal with the mountains of explicit late-night texts on her phone. They’d never been at a family banquet where some random guy toasted them and called them ‘brother-in-law.’ Sienna never said no to anyone out there. I was always the one left to clean up her messes. A bra left at someone else’s house barely even registered on the scale. I suppressed the urge to go out and say something. When I looked up, the subject of the gossip was standing right in front of me. The boy from the spa, the one who was scared of water, was draped over Sienna like he had no bones. Sienna saw me and frowned, telling him to stand up straight. I took a closer look. He had lasted longer by her side than most. The boy pouted and handed me a file. “Aren’t you the guy from Ms. Vaughn’s house?” I took the file and met his gaze. “And you’re the guy in the swim trunks from the spa who was clinging to her.” The breakroom went silent. His face changed, and he bit his lip. “Why can’t you just leave Ms. Vaughn alone?” I held up my hands. Don’t drag me into this, kid. I’m just trying to get my work done and get out of the country. In my haste, my voice rose an octave as I threw Sienna’s own words back at them. “You call her ‘Sienna,’ I call her ‘Sienna.’ What’s this about leaving her alone?” “Caleb.” Sienna’s warning tone came from behind me. “What nonsense are you talking?” I waved the file in my hand and turned to press the elevator button. “Sis, deal with your own private life. Don’t involve me.” The elevator doors slowly closed, reflecting Sienna’s furious face and the hurt expression of the boy beside her. Were they having another fight? Not my problem. I glanced down at the flight confirmation email on my phone. Twenty-four hours from now, I’d be gone.

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My new employer, an Ivy League grad who’d just returned from a stint overseas, told me that traditional parenting was primitive. She demanded I raise her child according to the instructions of an AI. “The AI says 30ml. You will not feed him 31ml.” “The baby’s crying? Don’t you dare pick him up. First, log the decibels and duration into the app, then select a tag for the cause. The AI will analyze if it’s an ‘unproductive cry.’” “Remember,” she said, her eyes sweeping over me with disdain, “you are here to execute commands, not to act on ‘experience.’” She added, “My son is destined for the Ivy League. His life must be managed with the utmost scientific and efficient methods from day one. I’m paying you top dollar, and it’s not to be his ‘second mommy.’” I looked at the tiny infant in the cradle, his small body yearning for a simple embrace, and for the first time, I questioned my title as a top-tier maternity nurse. But when I followed her AI’s instructions to the letter, I have to wonder… why did she come to regret it so deeply? 1. “He’s crying. Log it.” Amanda’s voice was as sterile and sharp as a scalpel, utterly devoid of emotion. I clenched my fists, my eyes fixed on the monitor where the decibel level of the cries was spiking violently. In the cradle, the baby, only twelve days old, had a face flushed a furious, blotchy red. His cries were piercing, punctuated by pathetic, ragged gasps for air. My heart felt like it was caught in a vise. “Amanda,” I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper—a first in my entire career. “From the sound of it, he has gas. Let me give him a little massage to help relieve it.” Amanda didn’t even look up, her fingers flying across the iPad screen. “The AI analysis concludes ‘attention-seeking cry.’ It’s classified as unproductive.” She swiped the pop-up away and issued a cold command. “The instruction is to ‘observe in place for fifteen minutes to cultivate independence.’” “Fifteen minutes?” The words escaped my lips in a horrified gasp. “He’ll cry himself sick!” Amanda finally lifted her gaze, her eyes holding the same look one might give a Neanderthal trying to explain quantum physics. “Sarah, have I not made it clear? You are here to execute commands.” “Your experience, your ‘I think,’ is worthless.” “I paid a fortune for this ‘Ivy Prep’ development system. It’s backed by the research of hundreds of child psychologists and behavioral scientists.” She scoffed. “You really think your folk wisdom trumps that?” She tapped the iPad. “This is science. Do you understand science?” The seconds ticked by like tiny, agonizing drops of water. The baby’s cries faded from sharp shrieks to a raw, hoarse rasp. His little body twitched and trembled. Every sound was a lash against my heart. I’ve been a premium maternity nurse for a decade, caring for over a hundred infants. Not a single one had ever been tortured so “scientifically.” Amanda sat on the sofa, sipping coffee, noise-canceling headphones clamped over her ears. She occasionally glanced at the timer on her screen, her brow furrowed—not with concern for her crying child, but with annoyance that the process was “inefficient.” “Fourteen minutes, thirty seconds… thirty-five…” I stared at the cradle, my own breath catching in my throat. At exactly fifteen minutes, an alarm chimed. Amanda removed her headphones, a flicker of satisfaction on her face. “You see? The command is complete. He cried himself out and stopped on his own.” But the baby in the cradle hadn’t stopped. His cries were just too weak to be heard, a faint, desperate mewling. He had exhausted himself completely. His face was turning bluish, his lips trembling. “Amanda, something’s wrong!” I rushed forward. Ignoring her protocol, I reached out to touch his forehead. It was clammy and cold, slick with sweat. “What do you think you’re doing!” Amanda’s voice was a whip-crack. She shoved me away. “Who gave you permission to touch him? Do you have any idea how many germs are on your hands? Try that again, and you won’t see a dime of this month’s pay!” She walked to the cradle and peered down, her brow knitting in confusion. “Why is he still whimpering? The system clearly stated he’d reached the ‘silence threshold.’” She poked his cheek as if testing a faulty machine. I couldn’t take it anymore. I darted around her and scooped the baby into my arms. Laying him gently across my lap, I expertly began to massage his tiny belly. In less than thirty seconds, a series of soft poots broke the silence. The baby’s tiny, tense body went limp, and he let out a long, shuddering sigh. The weak cries ceased. He smacked his little lips and drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep. The world was finally quiet. Amanda stood frozen, her face a shifting canvas of purple and white. There was no relief in her eyes, no gratitude for her son’s comfort. Instead, she fixed me with a look laced with venom. “Sarah, this is a flagrant challenge to the rules I have established.” “You are undermining my son’s foundational understanding of order.” “You think you’ve won, don’t you?” Cradling the warm, soft life in my arms, I said nothing. For the first time in my career, I didn’t answer my employer. All I could think was that this magnificent, gilded apartment felt as cold and unforgiving as hell. 2. The next day, a giant whiteboard appeared on the living room wall. Drawn on it in multi-colored markers was a “Performance Evaluation Chart.” My name, “Sarah,” was written at the very top, followed by a dense list of metrics: “Feeding Duration Variance (sec).” “Instructional Deviation (%).” “Non-Essential Physical Contact (count).” “Subjective Intervention (count).” Next to each item was a deduction amount in glaring red ink. “Well, Sarah,” Amanda said, holding a pointer like a stern headmistress, “since you seem to struggle with modern app-based management, we’ll use a more traditional method you might understand.” She tapped the whiteboard. “From now on, every action you take will be logged. Any deviation from the BabyAI’s directives will be quantified and penalized. One point, one hundred dollars.” She lifted her chin, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. “I’m going to let you see for yourself just how worthless that ‘experience’ of yours really is.” I stared at the chart, a wave of dizziness washing over me. This wasn’t a job. It was a sentence. At noon, the app prompted a 100ml feeding. As I brought the bottle to the baby’s lips, he turned his head violently and started wailing. I checked the nipple—it was the smallest size. The flow was too slow, and he was getting frustrated. “Amanda, he’s outgrown this nipple. We need to switch to a medium-flow.” “The app hasn’t indicated a change is necessary,” she noted, not looking up from her logging. “‘Crying Cause’ tag selected: ‘Feeding Resistance.’ The AI recommends a five-minute pause before retrying.” “But—” “No ‘buts,’” she cut me off. “Sarah, your job is to execute.” Five minutes later, the baby was frantic with hunger, his cries tearing through the apartment. When the bottle approached again, he screamed even louder, choking and sputtering as milk dribbled down his chin, soaking his collar. My heart ached. I reached to swap the nipple. Amanda’s hand shot out and clamped down on mine. “What are you doing? Another ‘subjective intervention’?” “He’s choking! He could get aspiration pneumonia!” I pleaded. “The app indicates the choking is due to improper breathing during a tantrum, not the nipple.” She pointed a manicured finger at the whiteboard, at the “Subjective Intervention” line. “That’s a five-hundred-dollar deduction. Think carefully.” I looked at her cold, impassive face, then at the infant struggling in agony. My hand, clenched into a fist, slowly went slack. I was forced to watch as the minutes ticked by, the milk in the bottle remaining untouched. Finally, Amanda logged the entry: “Feeding attempt failed. Reason: Executor failed to pacify infant effectively.” Then, on my performance chart, she drew a heavy, deliberate “-5.” That evening, Amanda’s sister, Jessica, came to visit. She was as impeccably dressed and radiated the same air of elite superiority as Amanda. “Mandy, this system is genius! He’s so little and already getting an elite education.” Amanda preened. “Exactly. It’s all about the starting line, you know?” She gestured to me in the corner, changing the baby’s diaper. “Look at the nanny I hired. Yesterday she was arguing with me. Today, she’s as tame as a lamb.” Amanda came over to inspect my work. She ran a finger along the diaper’s edge, and her brow furrowed. “Sarah, come here.” My stomach dropped. “The app’s standard tutorial specifies the diaper’s anti-leak guards must be extended outward by 3 millimeters. I’d estimate yours are at 2.5 millimeters. Substandard.” She picked up her marker, ready to make another deduction. Jessica giggled, covering her mouth. “Mandy, you’re being a little intense. It’s like you’re managing an IPO.” “Parenting is the most important project of my life,” Amanda stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Any oversight, no matter how small, can lead to a deviation in the final outcome.” She turned back to me, her tone dripping with condescension. “Sarah, I pay you the highest salary in the industry, and it’s not for you to slack off. I know you were probably respected in your previous households, that people listened to you. But can those families compare to us? Can their children’s futures compare to my son’s? You need to recognize your place. You are a service provider. Act like one. Swallow that unnecessary pride and your so-called ‘experience.’ Only then can you truly improve.” With that, she deducted another point from my chart. I stared at the glaring red marks on the board, then at the patronizing, smug smiles on the sisters’ faces. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I said nothing. I just walked quietly to my room, reached into the bottom of my suitcase, and pulled out a small recording pen I hadn’t used in years. I pressed the button. 3. “Cry-it-out conditioning, Day Three.” Amanda’s voice, crisp and cold, came through the baby monitor. “Objective: Achieve over four hours of continuous, unassisted sleep. Zero intervention.” It was one in the morning. In the nursery, the baby had been screaming himself hoarse for two straight hours. I sat in my small room, listening to those agonizing, desperate cries. My heart felt like it was being fried in boiling oil. My door was locked from the outside. Amanda had said it was to “prevent my sentimentality from compromising the training’s efficacy.” I had begged her through the monitor. “Amanda, his throat is raw! He’s running a low-grade fever. We have to take him to the hospital!” Her derisive laugh crackled back. “Sarah, how many times do I have to tell you? This is a necessary phase for ‘resilience forging.’ The stress threshold was precisely calculated by the AI based on his weight and development. A slight temperature increase is a normal immune response to stress. Your alarmism will only create a weak, dependent mama’s boy. My son will one day be a titan on Wall Street. You think he can’t handle this?” I pounded on the door in desperation. “This isn’t resilience, it’s abuse!” “Abuse?” Her voice shot up, laced with fury at the accusation. “I’m investing millions in his future, and you call it abuse? What does a woman from some backwater town know about elite education? Say one more word, and you’re fired. Get out!” After that, the monitor transmitted only one sound: the baby’s cries, growing weaker and weaker until they were nothing more than the whimpering of a kitten. I slid down the door and sat on the floor, tears streaming silently down my face. I hated how powerless I was. I even began to wonder… was I wrong? Were my beliefs in love and experience truly outdated? Did this elite class really possess a secret formula for success that was beyond my comprehension? At 3 a.m., the crying finally stopped. The silence that followed was absolute, terrifying. My heart leaped into my throat, seized by a primal fear. I threw myself against the door, banging with all my might. “Amanda! Open the door! Something’s wrong! The baby’s not making a sound!” Several long minutes passed before the lock clicked open. Amanda stood there in a silk robe, her face a mask of irritation. “What are you screaming about? The training was a success. He’s achieved a ‘state of silence.’ You’ve woken me up.” I shoved past her and ran to the crib. The baby’s face was flushed crimson, his lips cracked and peeling. His breathing was so shallow it seemed like it could stop at any moment. I touched his forehead—it was burning. “We have to go to the hospital! Now!” I scooped him up and made for the door. Amanda blocked my path like a stone wall, her face a mask of crazed obsession. “You are not going anywhere.” “This is the most critical moment of the stress test! I need the complete twelve-hour data set! If you take him to the hospital now, the data will be contaminated. All of this will be for nothing!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She didn’t care if her son lived or died. She only cared about her data. “Get out of my way!” I tried to push past her, clutching the baby. She ripped him from my arms, holding him tight like a precious artifact. But she wasn’t looking at her son; she was looking at the camera of the baby monitor. “Stay back! You stupid woman, you’re trying to ruin everything!” While she was distracted, I grabbed a cup of water from the nightstand, trying to get a few drops onto the baby’s lips. The moment it touched him, she slapped me across the face, hard. The sting was fiery and sharp. “Who told you to give him water!” she shrieked hysterically. “Hydration levels are a core metric of this endurance test! You performed an unauthorized humanitarian intervention! The data is contaminated!” Right in front of me, she grabbed her iPad. With a trembling finger that held a strange, ecstatic energy, she typed a new entry. “Event Log: Executor Sarah performed an unauthorized humanitarian intervention at 03:15, contaminating the data for the ‘Endurance Limit Training.’ Assessment… Failure.” She looked up, her bloodshot eyes filled with a venomous hatred. “You destroyed my data model!” In that instant, looking at her twisted face, contorted with rage over “contaminated data,” looking at the tiny, dying baby in her arms being treated like a lab rat, the last shred of warmth I held for the word “mother” shattered into ice. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and slowly stood up straight. I looked at her, my expression as calm and still as a dead sea. Fine. You want data. I’ll give you the most perfect data you’ve ever seen. 4. The next morning, I was a different person. At breakfast, Amanda announced a new “punitive clause.” “Given your appalling behavior last night, your bonus for the week is canceled. Furthermore, to eliminate your subjective interference, from now on, you must request my permission before every action. Only after I approve may you proceed. Upon completion, I will sign off on the process log.” “I will make you understand,” she said, savoring her power, “who is the master of this house, and who makes the rules.” She thought this was a final humiliation, a way to break me. She didn’t see the cold, almost imperceptible smile that touched my lips as I lowered my head. This was exactly what I wanted. At 10 a.m., the app issued a command: “Initiate ‘Visual Tracking Training.’ Use black-and-white cards at a distance of 25cm from the infant’s eyes. Move at a constant speed for 3 minutes.” I held up the cards, moving them in front of the baby’s face. As a newborn, he couldn’t focus. His eyes were wide and vacant, showing no reaction at all. After one minute, I stopped and turned to Amanda. “Amanda, the baby is still weak from his fever. Continuing this will cause visual fatigue and could even lead to strabismus.” Amanda, in the middle of a yoga pose with a face mask on, didn’t even open her eyes. “The app says three minutes. It will be three minutes. Don’t make excuses for your laziness.” “Understood,” I replied calmly. I continued to wave the cards mechanically in front of the baby’s vacant eyes. With my other hand, I discreetly activated the recording app on the phone in my apron pocket. “Amanda, it is now 10:05 a.m. I have advised you of the potential risks of excessive visual training. Is it your directive to continue for the full three minutes?” A grunt of annoyance came from the yoga mat. “Yes.” “Instruction received.” I continued the motion until the three-minute alarm sounded. Then, I walked over to her with the logbook and a pen. “Amanda, please sign here. ‘Visual Tracking Training,’ completed for three minutes as per your direct order.” She scribbled her name in annoyance, not even glancing at me. At noon, it was time for a feeding. The app, having processed last night’s “failure,” had automatically adjusted the plan. “To correct risk of ‘overfeeding,’ current feeding volume is reduced to 60ml.” The baby, ravenous, screamed in protest. He drained the 60ml in seconds, then sucked desperately on the empty bottle, his little body trembling with hunger. Again, I approached Amanda. “He’s clearly still hungry. Based on my experience, he needs at least another 40ml.” “The app’s judgment is more scientific than your experience,” she said with a cold glance. “It has identified this as ‘suckle dependency,’ not hunger.” “Understood.” I turned on the recorder again. “Amanda, it is now 12:30 p.m. I have advised you that the infant is in a state of hunger. Is it your directive to adhere to the app’s 60ml limit and refuse additional milk?” “Are you always this annoying? Yes! Execute the command!” “Instruction received.” I walked back and pried the empty bottle from the baby’s mouth. His cries immediately filled the apartment. Amanda put on her headphones and blasted her music. I brought the logbook to her. “Amanda, please sign.” In the afternoon, during a diaper change, I pointed to the baby’s bottom. It was an angry, inflamed red, with tiny points of blood beading on the broken skin. “Amanda, he has a severe diaper rash. He needs cream, and the area must be kept dry.” The app’s instruction read: “To build skin tolerance, reduce use of chemical skincare products. Apply ointment once daily.” It wasn’t time for the scheduled application. “Then wait until it’s time,” Amanda said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Once again, I mechanically repeated my process: verbal warning, recorded confirmation, signed authorization. For three days. Three whole days. I became a machine—no emotion, no judgment, only obedience. I followed every one of Amanda and the AI’s absurd commands. I bundled the feverish baby in thick clothes to “sweat it out.” I fed him AI-recommended fruit juice while he had diarrhea. I allowed his diaper rash to fester into open sores. And every single time, I first offered my professional advice. Every single time, Amanda shot it down with a new, more cutting insult. And every single time, I would calmly record her verbal confirmation before having her sign her name to the log. My book filled with her arrogant, looping signature. Next to each one, I noted the time and the baby’s exact condition. The baby visibly withered. His initial roars of protest faded to whimpers, and then to silence. He lost the energy to even cry. He would just lie there, staring blankly at the ceiling, his once-bright eyes now clouded with a dull, grey haze. Amanda was thrilled. “You see, Sarah? This is what science looks like. His crying frequency is down 70%. His sleep duration has increased by 30%. He is becoming efficient and independent.” She gazed at her dying infant as if admiring a masterpiece. On the evening of the fourth day, Amanda’s husband, Mark, returned from a business trip. He was a gentle-looking man who immediately headed for the nursery. When he saw the tiny, sallow, lifeless creature in the cradle, he froze. “What… what happened? Leo… what happened to him?” His hand trembled as he reached for his son, but he recoiled when he saw the raw, broken skin on the baby’s bottom. “His rash! My God, what did you do!” Amanda walked in, a hint of annoyance on her face. “What are you overreacting for? It’s just a normal diaper rash.” “Normal? It’s raw meat!” Mark’s voice cracked as he pointed at me. “He was fine when I left! Was it you? Did you neglect him, Sarah?” Before I could speak, Amanda jumped in, her voice dripping with scorn and blame. “It has nothing to do with her. I’ve been scientifically correcting her outdated parenting methods. What do you know? It’s called ‘skin desensitization therapy.’ The process is difficult, but the results are worth it.” Mark stared at her as if she were insane. “Are you crazy? What kind of sick therapy tortures a baby like this!” “You’re the one who’s crazy! You’re a fool, trapped in your traditional mindset!” Amanda’s voice rose, and she jabbed a finger at me. “It’s her fault! This nanny has been whispering in my ear the whole time, trying to sabotage my judgment! She intentionally failed to follow my instructions because she wanted to prove me wrong! She can’t stand to see my child be superior! She’s a malicious, evil woman!” Stunned by her tirade, Mark’s suspicious gaze fell back on me. I stood my ground, my face a blank mask. Slowly, I lifted my head to meet his questioning eyes. “Mr. Collins, your wife is right. I am an executor of commands.” “Which is why, starting three days ago, I began video recording all of my procedures.” “Every feeding, every diaper change, every so-called ‘training session.’” “Especially the ‘optimized instructions’ that Mrs. Collins gave, which often contradicted the app.” “And every time, I recorded her signature of approval, along with her frequent mockery of my ‘stupidity.’” “I have it all on a separate phone. She said it was for my own performance review, so a ‘simple nanny’ like me could learn.” I calmly watched the color drain from Amanda’s face as I woke up my phone’s screen. “Which part would you like to review first? The ‘cry-it-out conditioning,’ or the ‘hunger endurance test’?”

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After the truth about the switched daughters came out, my only purpose left in the Preston family was to be married off to some degenerate heir from a second-rate family. My older brother, Alex, still cared for me. He arranged a meeting with Todd Rhoads. We had grown up together, and after we came of age, we’d been secretly dating for three years. But that day, Todd just leaned against the doorframe, not even bothering to step inside the private room. “I can’t marry you, Molly. It wasn’t possible when you were the true heiress, and it’s even less possible now.” Three impossibilities, severing every last hope I had. But three years later, he called me late at night, drunk. “Molly, I’m willing to marry you now. Will you still have me?” For the past three years, he’d been tearing up the world, a different party every night. He had no idea that two years ago, I had moved south and married a young master of the Norton family. … After asking if I would still marry him, Todd seemed to sober up from the shock of his own words. He mumbled, trying to backtrack, “Sorry, Molly. I’ve had too much to drink.” “It’s fine. Go to sleep.” With that, he hung up. I clutched the darkened phone, sleep now a distant memory. The mattress beside me dipped slightly, and a hand, warm and familiar, settled on my waist. “Who was that, so late…?” I snapped back to reality, put the phone down, and slid back under the covers. The arm behind me tightened instinctively, pulling me into a secure embrace. “No one,” I whispered. “Just a wrong number.” In the dark, every sense is magnified. Closing my eyes, the chaos of three years ago felt terrifyingly close again. I had just returned home after graduation, my luggage filled with gifts for everyone in the family. When I opened the door, I was ready to complain that no one had bothered to pick me up from the airport. But that door was like opening Pandora’s box. My family was gathered around the dining table, laughing and baking Christmas cookies together. My father, a man who lived in a perpetual string of meetings and was rarely home, wore a ridiculous Christmas-themed apron. My mother, always the picture of elegance in her jewels, was holding a perfectly shaped sugar cookie. Even my brother, Alex, perpetually in a suit, had a smear of flour on his cheek. And in the center of their adoring circle was a radiant young woman. I’d never seen her before, but her face was an uncanny echo of my mother’s. They all turned to look at me, their expressions freezing, as if I were a stranger who’d wandered in uninvited. Alex was the first to recover. He gently guided the girl, whose name I would learn was Ella, upstairs, shielding her as if I were some kind of monster. My father didn’t follow. He looked at me, his eyes assessing me like a piece of merchandise. “It’s good you’re back.” To this day, I can’t bear to think about that period. I was paraded around by my mother at an endless series of luncheons and high-society gatherings, then subjected to a dizzying array of arranged dates. My phone was taken away, under the guise of helping me “find peace.” The breaking point came at the third meeting, when I was sat across from a man old enough to be my father. The despair I had been bottling up finally erupted. Under the cover of darkness, I snuck into Alex’s study. With trembling fingers, I dialed the number that was seared into my memory. “Hello?” “Todd…” my voice cracked. “It’s me, I—” Before I could say another word, a hand pressed down on the disconnect button. It was Alex. He pinched the bridge of his nose, not looking at me. “Molly, the phones in this house are monitored.” “If you want to see him, I’ll arrange it.” “But only this once.” And so, I found myself face to face with Todd, looking utterly broken. But before the tears could even fall, he looked at me with a chilling calm, analyzing my situation as if it were a business merger. “Molly, you should trust your parents.” “I’m sure they’ll make the best arrangement for you.” He paused, a faint smirk on his lips. “What? Did you think I would marry you?” “That’s impossible, Molly. Don’t be naive.” 2 Loving Todd Rhoads was a special kind of pain. I grew up with him, filling three thick journals with entries about him. From the time he climbed a tree to rescue my kite when I was seven, to the time he rejected the most popular girl in school right in front of me when we were seventeen. He would affectionately ruffle my hair, take the blame for my mistakes, show up for every single one of my birthdays, and be the first to defend me if anyone dared to bully me. He was, in every way, perfect to me. But he always said he just saw me as a little sister. Later, when he went to college abroad, I studied relentlessly, all for the chance to get into the same university. The day I landed, the California sun was blinding. So bright that I immediately spotted him waving at me. And the girl on his arm. Todd was his usual lazy, charming self, an eyebrow cocked in my direction. “Well, look who’s finally all grown up.” “Molly, say hi to your new sister.” For the next few days, I was a ghost, trailing behind them. I watched him open her car door, watched the way his eyes crinkled and his lips curved into a smile when he bent down to listen to her. Todd’s apartment had a beautiful terrace. One evening, he and his friends threw me a welcome party there. I must have looked miserable, because his girlfriend put a concerned hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? Feeling homesick?” Todd, propping his chin on one hand, idly toyed with her long hair. “Of course she is. Our Molly is such a homebody. I remember in elementary school, she’d have a bad dream during nap time and wake up crying for her mommy.” A wave of laughter spread through the group. My face flushed hot with embarrassment. All I could do was shrink in my seat and force a smile. His girlfriend playfully slapped his arm. “You’re terrible!” she said, then turned to me. “Hey, do you want me to sleep in your room with you for a few nights?” Before I could even process the offer, Todd shot up. “No way. I object.” Someone next to me nudged my shoulder, their voice full of playful teasing. “Careful, Molly. You can’t say yes to that. These two are in the honeymoon phase.” I just stared blankly up at Todd. He was acting like a giant puppy, burying his head in his girlfriend’s neck and nuzzling her. “My girlfriend sleeps with me, and only me. Molly, if you’re scared, just sleep with the lights on.” I heard my own voice, dry and hollow. “It’s fine. I’m just jet-lagged.” I don’t remember how that party ended. All I remember is the image of Todd and his girlfriend, fingers intertwined, standing at the door to see their friends off. They looked so perfect together. So perfect I couldn’t bear to look back. We were in different departments, and Todd was busy with his love life, cycling through girlfriends. Combined with my deliberate avoidance, I barely saw him for the entire semester. When winter break came, he sent me a rare message asking when I was flying home. By then, my parents had likely found their biological daughter, Ella, and were busy bonding with her. They made up an excuse and told me to visit my aunt who lived in France. Conveniently, I didn’t want to see Todd anyway. The moment my classes ended, I was on a plane to France. Todd wasn’t the type to chase someone who wasn’t interested. Our communication simply faded away. It wasn’t until my second summer in France that my aunt, complaining that a young woman like me shouldn’t be so listless, dragged me to a beach in the South of France. As I was sunbathing, the hat covering my face was suddenly snatched away. I opened my eyes, and there he was. Todd. 3 His features were as sharp as ever, his lips curled into a cold smirk. “Well, look at you, Molly. All grown up. If I don’t come looking for you, you’re just never going to talk to me again, are you? Do you have any idea how long it’s been since we last saw each other?” I dropped my gaze, unwilling to meet his. “You’re not my brother, Todd. You don’t get to boss me around.” For a split second, a strange expression crossed his face. But I was too lost in my own pain to decipher it. I snatched my hat back and stalked away. Todd grabbed my hand from behind. “Molly, what are you so angry about? It feels like you’ve been mad at me ever since you got to California. If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, how am I supposed to know?” It felt hard to breathe. A rush of rage shot through me. I spun around, my eyes burning with tears I couldn’t control, and screamed at him. “Yes! I’m angry! I’m angry that you were so good to me when you didn’t love me! I’m angry that you gave me hope just to smash it to pieces! And I’m even angrier at myself… because even after all this, I still can’t bring myself to hate you!” I stood there, defeated, wiping at the endless stream of tears. It was over. All my feelings were laid bare before him. I had no escape route left. But it didn’t matter. Keeping it in would have haunted me for a lifetime. Saying it out loud would only hurt for a few years. I took a deep breath and turned to leave. But a sudden warmth pressed against my back. Todd’s voice was a low murmur against my ear. “Then let’s give it a try, Molly.” And we did, for three years. We did everything couples do. He clumsily reined in his careless nature. He would drive across the city just because I offhandedly mentioned a craving for Chinese food. He would stay up all night with me when I was breaking down from academic pressure. Those three years were a dream. I never imagined that when he said “let’s give it a try,” he meant it literally. The man who had kissed me goodbye at the airport before I flew home was now looking at me with such chilling calm, saying: “I can’t marry you, Molly.” “Let’s just end it here.” The private room Alex had booked was soundproof. The only things I could hear were my own frantic heartbeat and my own hollow voice. “Oh. Okay.” “Then let’s end it here.” Todd’s unexpected call dredged up a night full of nightmares. I woke up with a throbbing headache. I had just sat down for breakfast when our butler approached with the phone. “Mrs. Norton, a call from the madam.” My hand, holding a spoon, paused. I took the phone. “Mom, good morning.” A warm voice came from the other end. “Molly, darling. An old friend of mine is visiting next week. She was ill and couldn’t make it to your and Ben’s wedding, which she’s always regretted. This time, she specifically asked to meet my daughter-in-law.” I smiled, my voice soft. “I understand, Mom. I’ll be there.” A few days later, at the Norton family estate, my mother-in-law’s friend was delayed, so she sat with me on the sofa, telling me embarrassing stories about Ben’s childhood. The friend was her dearest companion from her youth. One had married into a family in the north, the other in the south. They had both had sons in the same year and had made a pact for the boys to become sworn brothers. But the first time the two children met, they immediately started fighting, leaving each other with black eyes and bruised egos. After that, the would-be brothers, one in the north and one in the south, never saw each other again. Ben, who had been listening, had heard enough. He clicked his tongue and pulled me to my feet. “Come on, that’s all ancient history. Let’s go for a walk in the garden.” Watching his uncharacteristically flustered retreat, I saw the tips of his ears turn a tell-tale red. A rare mischievous mood struck me. I poked him in the small of his back. “Hey, was Mom telling the truth? You actually got into fights? Did you win?” Ben was incredibly ticklish there. He dodged and weaved, but his ears were now completely crimson, even though his face remained stoic. Finally, he’d had enough of my teasing. He spun around, capturing both my wrists in one hand and pinning them above my head. His voice was a low rasp. “What if I won? And what if I lost?” His sudden move made my heart skip a beat, but I wouldn’t back down. “If you won, it means you’re tough. If you lost… well, it just means you need to try harder.” He leaned in closer. “And does my wife think I need to try harder?” My face instantly caught fire. I aimed a playful kick at his shin. “Get lost, you shameless man.” When we first married, he would knock three times before even entering my room. Now, half of my walk-in closet was filled with his suits. Ben gently pressed his forehead against mine. “Being married to me is good, isn’t it, Molly? You’re my wife now.” I didn’t understand the sudden change in topic, but I nodded along. “Yes, yes, I’m your wife.” His eyes immediately filled with a triumphant light, as if he’d just won a great victory. Before I could ask what that was about, he released me and walked off to answer his phone. I watched his back disappear around the corner and shook my head with a smile. “Molly?” My body froze. I turned around slowly. “Molly, what are you doing at the Norton’s?” It was Todd. 4 He stood in the garden, a look of utter shock on his face. Three years, and he looked almost the same, except for a shadow of weariness that clung to his usually impeccable features. I never would have guessed that the little boy who had fought with Ben was Todd. Thinking of the man with the red ears just moments ago, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Todd smiled too, seeming to relax. The tension in his shoulders eased as he idly plucked a petal from a blooming rose. “Oh, right. Your brother, Alex, does business with the Nortons. It’s strange, though. I didn’t think he’d bring you to a business meeting. Where is he? I don’t see him.” Todd and his mother were my mother-in-law’s guests. It wouldn’t do to be rude. I forced down my annoyance and gave him a polite smile and nod. “Long time no see, Mr. Rhoads.” The smile on his face faded slightly. He frowned. “Molly, do you have to talk to me like that?” “Mr. Rhoads, is there a more appropriate way for us to address each other?” He was speechless, his eyes searching my face with a complex emotion. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair and gave a wry smile, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, you win, Molly. But I’ve sent you gifts and postcards every single month for the past three years. Surely you can find it in your heart to forgive me, for the sake of all those miles I traveled for you?” He said it so casually, so flippantly, just like he used to when we’d argue and he was trying to charm his way out of it. But those outdated words, like his ill-timed gifts, belonged in the trash. I looked at the brilliant smile on his face and just shook my head. His smile vanished. Just then, one of Todd’s friends who had moved south walked over. I remembered seeing him at my wedding to Ben. That day, he had stared at our wedding portrait for a long time before asking me, “If I sent Todd a picture of you right now, do you think he’d fly back from the Serengeti on the spot?” I had just smiled and raised my glass to him. “No. Didn’t he just go public with that supermodel girlfriend? Their lovey-dovey posts are all over my feed.” The friend had looked at me strangely then, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just downed his drink, clapped my shoulder, and said nothing. Now, his eyes darted between Todd and me, a look of pure mischief on his face. “Well, if it isn’t little Molly! Long time no see! Catching up with our boy Todd?” Todd’s face darkened. He shot his friend a glare. “If you don’t have anything smart to say, shut up.” From a distance, a housemaid gestured to me. Something had happened. I had no interest in reminiscing about a past that was eight hundred years old. I gave them a nod and turned to leave. Behind me, the friend’s voice was still loud. “Hey, Todd, you haven’t been in touch for so long. For all you know, little Molly could be married by now!” Todd scoffed. “Pigs will fly before Molly gets married.” “Aren’t you a little overconfident? The situation she was in back then… even I felt sorry for her.” “The Prestons might be ruthless, but they wouldn’t stoop to pimping out the daughter they raised. If Molly didn’t want to marry someone, no one could truly force her.” “And most importantly,” Todd’s voice was filled with a smug certainty, “she’s been in love with me for years. There’s no way she’s over me.” His friend seemed taken aback. “So, you just walked away like that? And spent the next three years gallivanting around the world?” Todd’s shamelessness was breathtaking. “I was young. You expected me to get married? Besides, I’m back now, aren’t I?” “Molly, married?” “No. Impossible.” “She loves me.”

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