Author: Momo Chan

The year he loved me most, Julian Astor swore he’d die before his mother would let our engagement fall through. That was the same year he begged me to marry him. And now, he’s the one bringing his cousin into our lives, insisting she move in with us—on the same day we get married. Just before the wedding, Julian had the nerve to call and lay down the law. “Clara’s had a tough life,” he said, his voice smooth and commanding. “Letting her live with us is already a step down for her pride. On the wedding day, my driver will pick her up first and bring her to the estate. You just be a good girl, Nora. Don’t make a scene.” What Julian didn’t know was that I had already called the whole thing off with his mother. Tomorrow, I’m leaving New York for good. As for who gets picked up first, Clara or some other girl, it has nothing to do with me anymore. en I went to the Astor’s penthouse on Fifth Avenue to officially end things, his mother, Eleanor Astor, asked me, “Nora, are you absolutely sure about this?” I just nodded. “You understand,” she continued, her voice sharp but not unkind, “once you walk away from the Astors, even if you’re not the one at fault, breaking into this circle again, finding someone of a… comparable stature… will be next to impossible.” I met her gaze, my own unwavering. After I signed the papers dissolving the prenuptial agreement, she sighed and had her head of household, Mrs. Gable, show me out. Mrs. Gable took me the long way, past the rooftop conservatory. Tucked away in a corner were two faint, worn patches on the expensive turf, completely out of place with the rest of the manicured perfection. I couldn’t help but stare. Mrs. Gable’s eyes misted over. “I still remember it,” she said softly. “Three years ago. Mr. Julian knelt right there, begging Mrs. Astor to let him marry you. She wouldn’t budge, so he stayed out here for three days and nights. No food, no water. We thought we were going to lose him.” I froze, the memory hitting me like a physical blow. 2yents were entrepreneurs—new money. I was a “business girl.” Julian was an Astor, the heir to a fortune that was practically American royalty. Our worlds weren’t supposed to mix. But when I was seven, my parents and I were at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and through a crazy turn of events, I helped a lost little boy find his security detail. That boy was Julian. After that, he never really left me alone. Seven-year-old Julian was a cherubic kid in a tiny cashmere coat. The man he grew into was devastatingly charming. To say I didn’t fall for him would be a lie. But loving him was one thing. Marrying into his world was another. Julian knew my fears. He promised I would be his wife, his equal. When his mother objected, he staged that dramatic protest on their Hamptons lawn. I remember seeing him in his bed afterward, pale, his lips cracked, looking like a fragile porcelain doll. He was barely conscious, but he leaned his head on my shoulder and whispered, “Nora, my mother agreed. She finally agreed.” His voice was weak, but his eyes were shining. “You’re going to be my wife. My only one.” The sky was full of stars that night, but none of them burned as brightly as the smile on his face. A universe of stars that I’ll never see again. 3 MG was about to say more when the sound of laughter echoed from the hallway. Not far off, Julian was playing a game of tag with Clara among the modern sculptures. They were so caught up they didn’t see us. In a clumsy, playful lunge, Julian grabbed Mrs. Gable from behind, thinking she was Clara. “Gotcha!” he teased, his voice husky. Then he pulled off his blindfold. His grin vanished when he saw Mrs. Gable’s stony, unamused face. Clara, with her perfect timing, rushed over, pouting. “Julian, you found me!” Mrs. Gable had clearly had enough of her act. “Mrs. Astor was very clear,” the housekeeper said, her voice dripping with ice. “The young lady is not to act improperly with the master of the house before she is formally a guest. She instructed me to discipline Miss Clara on her behalf. A stern verbal warning is in order.” Before Julian could process it, Mrs. Gable delivered a verbal dressing-down so sharp and precise it was more humiliating than a slap. Clara’s face went from pale to crimson. Then, Clara’s tear-filled eyes landed on me. She immediately crumpled to the floor. “Nora,” she sobbed, “it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have stolen your thunder, moving in on the same day. If you hate me, you should have just said so! Why did you have to run to Mrs. Astor and have her… have her servant huliate mlike this? I may not have much, but I still have my pride! This is just cruel!” Julian spun on me. “Nora, what are you even doing here? You should be at home, getting ready for the wedding.” Before I could answer, Clara dramatically lurched towards a marble column as if to hit her head, then swayed and collapsed in a heap. “Are you happy now?!” Julian shot at me. He gave me a hard shove, then rushed to Clara’s side, cradling her. “Somebody! Get my security! Use my card to get Dr. Andrews from his private practice over here, now!” The hallway was decorated with a large, brutalist metal sculpture with wickedly sharp edges. Julian had pushed me right against it. A sharp pain made me hiss. “Miss, you’re bleeding,” Mrs. Gable said, alarmed. Julian’s gaze flickered to my right hand. The palm was sliced open, a messy combination of blood and mangled skin. He hesitated, a flash of concern in his eyes, but before he could speak, Clara moaned from his arms. “I know… I’ll never be lucky like Nora… marrying a man like you, Julian,” she whispered, as if delirious. “To die in your arms… I have no regrets.” Whatever softness was in Julian’s face hardened instantly. He looked back at me, his voice laced with contempt. “It’s just a little blood, stop being so dramatic. Clara’s life is on the line and she hasn’t made a sound. Your little tricks for attention are pathetic, Nora. I’m starting to find you disgusting.” “Mr. Julian, you will watch your tone!” Mrs. Gable snapped. “Mrs. Gable, I respect you because you helped raise me, but don’t forget your place. I am the heir to this family, and you are staff!” He didn’t notice the faint, triumphant smile that touched Clara’s lips as she lay “unconscious” in his arms. Before he left, Julian lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “This is the last time. If you ever mess with Clara again, I swear to God, I’ll call off this wedding myself.” “Sir, you don’t understand, Miss Nora came to see your mother to—” Mrs. Gable blurted out, trying to defend me. I shook my head slightly, signaling her to stop. I knew Julian. It was all or nothing with him. If I told him I was the one ending it, he’d just see it as another power play, another move in a game against Clara. What was the point? Besides, when I met with his mother, she signed the papers, but she didn’t give them to me. “Nora,” she’d said, “I know your mind is made up. But please, for my sake, give my son one last chance. Indulge an old woman’s foolish hope.” So, we made a bet. A seven-day bet. To see if Julian would notice, truly notice, that was gting ready to leave his life forever. When we made the wager, Mrs. Gable had been so sure. “Seven days? Miss, he’s a sharp one. He’ll figure it out in one.” Now, Julian stared at me suspiciously. “What did you need to see my mother for?” “To complain,” I said flatly. As the word left my mouth, I felt the familiar heat rise in my ears. Mrs. Gable saw it instantly in the afternoon light, her expression turning hopeful. Lying always made my ears turn bright red. It was a dead giveaway. Back when he was still trying to win me over, Julian would catch me in a fib and just stare at my glowing ears with a knowing smirk. “You know your ears turn red when you lie, right, Nora?” he’d say. I’d get flustered and try to run, but he’d corner me under the cherry trees in the Brooklyn otanic Garden, cherry blossoms falling around us like snow. He’d lean in, his voice low and serious. “Nora. I’m in love with you.” After we got engaged, he loved telling people my quirks. How I loved the cannolis from that little bakery in Little Italy, how I was terrified of eating fish after choking on a bone as a kid, and how my ears always betrayed me when I lied. He’d told the story so many times that even Mrs. Gable could spot my lie from a mile away. But Julian, the man who claimed to know me best, just scoffed. “Complain? That’s so childish. God, Nora, sometimes I really regret fighting so hard to marry you.” He turned his back on me without another glance, carrying Clara away down the hall. I watched him go, a bitter taste filling my mouth. My heart felt like it was being squeezed and torn apart, a million tiny pinpricks of pain. Even though I had prepared myself for this, hearing those words from him still hurt more than I could bear. Mrs. Gable stamped her foot in frustration. “Idiot! Complete and utter fool! How could Mrs. Astor have raised such a blind fool? Are we sure he wasn’t switched at birth?” She muttered to herself, trying to salvage the situation. “Don’t you worry, miss. Don’t you worry. There are still six days left. There’s time! There’s time!” I let out a small, humorless laugh. A breeze swept through the conservatory. Petals swirled in the air. I reached out and caught one. The flowers were just as beautiful this year. What a waste. 4 My bet wilr Astor had stakes. If she won, I’d tear up the annulment papers and marry Julian. If she lost, she’d grant me one favor a day. Day one, she lost. My request was for a vial of the Seraphina Serum. It was a legendary, custom-compounded formula from a private clinic in Switzerland, famous for its regenerative properties. One course of treatment, and they said your skin would be flawless, scars vanished. Hearing my request, Mrs. Gable assumed I was finally going to fight for Julian’s affection. She was practically giddy when she delivered it to my apartment. “If you really put your mind to it, miss, that Clara doesn’t stand a chance against you. Not even for a second.” Then she saw the raw, gaping wound on my palm, and her excitement turned to horror. “Oh, dear child. That must have hurt so terribly.” I managed a small smile. “It’s better that it hurts. The pain helps you remember.” After she left, I called my assistant. “Take this to Catherine Sheffield,” I instructed. “Go to the service entrance. Knock three times. Make sure you hand it directly to Catherine herself, no one else.” The serum was for Catherine. She’s three years older than me, a kind, brilliant woman who once defended me when some society snobs were making fun of my “new money” background. But she married the wrong man. That bastard from the Sheffield family was cheating on her openly with his assistant. Three days ago, Catherine was violently mugged coming out of a charity event. Her husband? He was “out of town” with his mistress and didn’t eve bother to come back. Catherine survived, but the attack left a deep, ugly scar across her cheek. Before this, she was known as the most beautiful woman in Manhattan. The Seraphina Serum was meant for her. 5 On the second,ent to my shops downtown early. My family’s business consisted of about a hundred retail properties—some my parents left me, and a few Julian had given me as gifts. I’d already found buyers for my parents’ properties. The ones from Julian were trickier: two bakeries, a designer clothing boutique, a high-end cosmetics shop, and a custom jewelry store. The cosmetics shop, in particular, was a gold mine. My plan was simple: sell the property deeds to the current store managers, who I trusted, and transfer the money back to the Astor family account. The deals for the bakery, jewelry, and clothing stores went smoothly. But when I got to the cosmetics shop, I ran into Clara. Her forehead was smooth, a touch of pink highlighter at her brow bone. Not a scratch on her. When the manager, Mr. Shaw, greeted me as “the owner,” she let out a derisive laugh. “Owner? Please. We all know you just sweet-talked my cousin into giving you one of the best retail spots in the city.” Mr. Shaw, ever the professional, simply smiled and politely escorted her out. After we finalized the contract, he paused before signing. “Ms. Vance,” he asked, his eyes sharp, “when you leave the city, are you heading to the West Coast, by any chance?” I was surprised. “How did you know I was going to California?” “I’m not blind, ma’am. A few days ago, I saw you arranging for two large shipping containers. The manifest listed a month’s worth of personal supplies and several crates of… artisan textiles. Out of all the markets in the country, that specific style does best out west. It was just a guess.” “You’re right. I’m leaving New York to start a new business there.” “Forgive me for being blunt, but I don’t believe you. Your New York network is your lifeblood. You wouldn’t liquidate everything just to expand. I’m not a genius, but I’m loyal. Please, when you go, take me with you.” “Why? Isn’t business good here in New York?” I asked, genuinely confused. By my estimates, his appointment book was full for the next three months. “I have someone… a fiancée… in California,” he said, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I’ve been in love with her for a long time. It took me ten years to save up enough to finally propose and feel worthy of her. The drive across the country is long and hard. A direct move with your resources would be much easier. I’d be happy to work for you there.” I looked at him. “And would you, after getting engaged, invite your cousin to come live with you and your fiancée?” He looked horrified. “What? Of course not! I’m marrying into her family. If I triedo pl a stunt like that, her brothers would probably bury me in the desert!” He looked down, embarrassed by his outburst. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll take you with me. Be ready to leave in six days.” When I got back to my apartment, Julian was there, sipping a whiskey. He scowled when he saw me. “Our wedding is in six days,” he snapped. “And you’re out all day, running around town with other men. What is that supposed to look like?” “After I marry into your family, I won’t be able to manage these businesses personally. The managers have been excellent, so I decided to sell the properties to them. It saves the Astor family any potential embarrassment.” Julian stared at me, his eyes fixed on my ears. They were burning hot. They must have been beet red. I felt a pang of panic. Did he see? Did he finally realize I was lying to him? 6 He hesitated for a nhen reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside was a pair of stunning ruby and diamond earrings, shaped like butterfly wings. “Here. These are for you.” I took the box and set it on the table without opening it. His face tightened with anger. “Clara begged me for those for weeks, and I didn’t give them to her. I give them to you, and you act like they’re nothing. Nora, there’s a limit to how much you can sulk!” He had forgotten. I don’t have pierced ears. I never wear earrings. Sensing he had the upper hand, he pressed his advantage. “Where’s the deed to that cosmetics shop on the west side? Give it to me. Clara doesn’t have much of a trust fund. If she moves into the estate with nothing to her name, people will talk.” “But everyone in New York knows you gave me that shop as an engagement present,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “Giving it to Clara as a ‘welcome to the family’ gift… that’s what will make peoplealk.” Why do you have to be so petty, Nora? It’s just one property! Besides, I gave it to you, which means I have the right to decide who gets it! If my mother hadn’t put a limit on my monthly allowance, you think I’d be here asking you for it?” “Well, you’re too late. I already sold the deed to the manager. The money has been wired to your family’s account. If you want it, you’ll have to ask your mother.” “You did this on purpose,” he snarled, his eyes flashing. “You went to my mother to make Clara look bad, didn’t you?” “If that’s what you want to believe, fine,” I said, my exhaustion hitting me like a wall. “I’m tired. Rose, please show Mr. Astor out.” Julian, convinced I had done it all just to spite Clara, stormed out, muttering under his breath. Before he left, he snatched the jewelry box off the table. “If you don’t want them,” he spat, “I know someone who will.” Because of our bet, Eleanor Astor had people keeping tabs on us. The moment Julian left my building, a report was sent to her. On the second day, she lost again. This time, my prize was simple: I asked her to forgive my “presumptuousness” in selling the properties without consulting her fi

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For eighteen years, my adopted son hated me. He was convinced I was the one who killed his birth mother. So, he found a homeless man, riddled with sores from a life on the streets, to destroy me. The day my husband drove me to the lake house to “end things,” our son stood on the shore, watching me walk into the freezing water. His words were colder than the ice. “You know,” he called out, his voice clear and sharp, “every time I had to call you ‘Mom,’ it made me want to vomit. Consider this a final moment of pleasure. My way of repaying you for eighteen years of pretending.” Then, I blinked. And I was reborn as his short-lived, sainted mother. Looking down at my swollen belly, I turned and walked straight into the city’s free clinic. “Hi,” I said to the woman at the desk. “I need to schedule an abortion.” This child must not be born. 01 The water seeped into my mouth and nose, gritty and freezing. My hands were bound behind my back with zip ties, the plastic cutting into my wrists with every struggle. Primal survival instinct made me arch my back, fighting to keep my head above the surface. My vision blurred, but the two figures on the shore remained horrifyingly clear. My husband and my son. They stood side-by-side, their gazes as distant and detached as if they were watching a stray piece of driftwood float by. “Why…” I managed to gasp. The foul lake water rushed in, silencing the weak cry in my throat. Why? I taught you to read, to be a good man. I poured my life into you, and in return, you hire a vagrant to defile me and destroy my name? Why? I loved and respected you, managed your home and your political campaigns, and in return, you watch me die for a crime I didn’t commit? Eighteen years of a mother’s devotion. Twenty years as a loving wife. It was all a sick, elaborate joke. One hated me to the bone, the other saw me as disposable trash. The despair was sharper than the winter water stabbing at my skin. If there is a God, if I get another chance… I will burn their world to the ground. … I opened my eyes. Someone was on top of me, a warm hand sliding across my skin. To be subjected to this humiliation even in death? The rage that had been simmering in my soul erupted. I shoved the man off me with all my strength and, in the same motion, swung my hand across his face. CRACK! A sharp, stinging pain shot through my palm. I froze. This wasn’t a dream? In the dim glow of a bedside lamp, I saw the man’s face. It wasn’t the homeless man with his vacant eyes and open sores. It was my husband, Julian Ashworth. A bright red handprint was already blooming on his left cheek. He stared at me, his expression one of pure shock. “Catherine? What’s wrong? Is it the baby kicking again?” The baby? I followed his gaze down. And saw a distinctly pregnant belly. When I didn’t speak, Julian’s concern deepened. “What is it? Catherine, talk to me!” His handsome face was a mask of worry. A complete one-eighty from the cold indifference he’d shown me on the lakeshore. Almost without thinking, I raised my hand again. And slapped his other cheek even harder. 02 While Julian was still stunned, I scrambled away from him. I didn’t even bother with my shoes, just ran to the full-length mirror against the wall. The mirror reflected a face that was both familiar and utterly alien. A small, delicate face. Skin like porcelain, eyes misty and soft, a look of fragile vulnerability. This was the face of Catherine. The woman who, in my previous life, had existed only as a tragic, sainted memory for my husband and son. Their “white moonlight,” the one that got away. I stared at her. She stared back at me. A wave of profound, hysterical absurdity washed over me. I couldn’t stop the low chuckle that escaped my lips. It grew louder, wilder, until I was laughing so hard that tears streamed down my cheeks. Oh, God. You really do have a twisted sense of humor. I was reborn. And I was reborn as the origin of my own tragedy. The beloved ghost at the heart of it all. Perfect. This was just perfect. 03 In my past life, I died on what should have been the happiest day of my life. The wedding of my son, Leo, the boy I had raised as my own. When he and his new bride knelt before me during the reception, I felt that eighteen years of thankless, painstaking love had finally come to fruition. I was giddy with joy. I had a few too many glasses of champagne. Soon, the world was a pleasant blur. My assistant helped me back to my room to lie down. When I woke up again, I was naked, my body covered in disgusting bruises. The homeless man from the city shelter, reeking of sickness and filth, was on top of me. My mind went blank. Before I could even scream, the door was kicked open. My husband Julian, and my son Leo, stood there, leading a crowd of wedding guests behind them. I tried to explain, my words tumbling out in a panicked mess. “No… it’s not what it looks like! I was drugged… I was framed…” “Mom!” Leo’s voice cut through mine, thick with theatrical pain. His eyes were wide with disappointment. “How can you still be lying? Months ago, I saw you talking to this man behind the service entrance. I warned you then, I begged you to stop, for the sake of our family. I thought you would see sense, but instead, you do this? On my wedding day? You bring this filth into our home and shame our entire family!” His words were my death sentence. I had no defense. Amidst a storm of whispers and accusations, I was quietly driven to our remote lake house and “convinced” to end my own life to prevent the scandal from destroying Julian’s political career. But the story didn’t end there. Perhaps my rage was too powerful to simply dissipate. My spirit lingered, a ghost in the Ashworth mansion. Three months later, Julian remarried. His new wife not only looked startlingly like Catherine, but she also came with a son of her own. A boy named Ethan, who was the spitting image of a younger Julian. It was obvious who the real father was. Julian officially adopted him, announcing him as his true firstborn son and heir. Just like that, Leo went from being the sole heir to an afterthought. His stepmother whispered poison into Julian’s ear day and night. Slowly, Julian began to despise him. The household staff, masters of sensing a shift in power, started to cut Leo’s allowance and sideline his allies. Even the trust fund I had set up for him was cleverly rerouted by the new wife to her own son. It was only then that Leo seemed to remember the mother who had loved him unconditionally. A year after my death, he got blackout drunk. He stumbled into his stepmother’s bedroom, collapsed at her feet, and sobbed “Mom,” clutching at her legs. She immediately tore her nightgown and screamed that he was trying to assault her. Julian, in a fury, disowned him and threw him out of the house. The once-golden boy of the Ashworth family ended up freezing to death in an alley, his body ravaged by stray dogs before anyone found him. 04 I snapped back to the present. I looked at Julian, whose face was now impressively, symmetrically swollen. The hatred in my soul churned again. I couldn’t help it. I lunged at him and slapped him one more time for good measure. “Catherine! Have you lost your mind? Do you think I won’t do something about this?” Julian’s mask of gentle concern finally shattered. He clutched his face, his voice a low growl, his eyes flashing with a suppressed violence. Crazy? Fine. I’ll give you crazy. I threw myself at him, beating my fists against his chest, and let out a blood-curdling scream. “Yes! I am crazy! You drove me crazy!” Tears of pure rage streamed down my face. I dug my nails into his arms. “I’m pregnant with your child, but I’m still your dirty little secret, hidden away in this apartment without even a ring on my finger! Tell me, Julian! What’s the difference between me and some prostitute you keep on retainer?” He grabbed my wrists, his grip so tight I thought the bones would snap. He stared into my eyes, a complex storm of emotions swirling in his. Then, the most incredible thing happened. He lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to my bruised wrist. “Catherine, your hands must hurt from hitting me.” He pulled my trembling body into his arms, resting his chin on the top of my head and letting out a long sigh. “So this is what this is about. You’re angry about not moving into the mansion. Sweetheart, we’ve already been over this.” His voice was a low, hypnotic murmur. “As soon as the baby is born safely, I will throw the biggest party this city has ever seen. I’ll introduce you as my fiancée. We’ll get married. You’ll be my wife, equal to Eleanor in every way.” I shoved him away. “Why do we have to wait? Why not now?” “Because Eleanor is a vindictive bitch!” he hissed, his expression turning serious and protective. “Her family has their claws in everything in D.C. If she found out about you and this baby right now, she would stop at nothing to destroy you both. Catherine, I’ve already lost you once. I can’t risk it again!” He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze intense. “You can resent me, hate me, hit me all you want. But my absolute first priority is keeping you and our child safe. Nothing in this world is more important than that.” He spent the next half hour patiently calming me down. Finally, as if worn down by my hysterics, he relented. “Alright, alright, stop crying, my little drama queen. I have to go to the coast to handle that disaster relief initiative. When I get back, the very first thing I’ll do is start the divorce proceedings and get you moved in. Is that good enough for you?” I finally stopped crying and gave him a reluctant nod. Julian gave detailed instructions to the housekeeper to take good care of me, then, with one last lingering kiss, he left. 05 In my past life, at this exact time, Julian had indeed gone to oversee a relief effort. He was gone for three months. Shortly after his return, Catherine had died in childbirth. He had come to me, Eleanor, holding a newborn Leo, telling me he was the orphan of a dear friend and that he wanted to adopt him. Back then, Julian and I had been married for five years and were struggling with infertility. I was desperate and heartbroken, so I agreed. From that day on, I loved Leo as if he were my own son. I never imagined I was raising a venomous snake at my own breast. But now? I raised a hand, slowly placing it over my swollen stomach. The monster inside, as if sensing my murderous intent, gave a restless little kick. Leo Ashworth. Why don’t you try being born into another family this time.

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Barely a month into freshman year, and this girl from my Intro to Lit class hands me a box of Godiva chocolates and asks me to grab lunch at the dining hall. Under the general principle of “there’s no such thing as a free lunch,” and not really looking to get into anything, I brought the chocolates with me, planning to give them back to her face-to-face. The dining hall wasn’t too packed. She shoved her tray into my hands. “You get the food, I’ll go save us a table. I’ll have the mac and cheese, some green beans, and the beer-braised chicken. Oh, and a bowl of chili.” My roommate, trailing behind me, couldn’t stop laughing. Was he jealous? Nah, probably not. The girl looked like she could hold her own, and a single serving of mac and cheese wasn’t going to cut it. I got two double portions of everything and told my roommate to find his own table with our other buddies. I’d drop off the food and the chocolates, and then join them. She’d found a table in the furthest, darkest corner of the hall and was waving at me like I was a ship coming into port. “You’re so nice! It’s such a blessing to have you as a classmate,” she said, gesturing for me to sit across from her. I pointed back toward my roommates. “Here’s your chocolate back. I didn’t really do anything to deserve it. My friends are waiting for me, so, uh, enjoy your meal.” “Wait!” She stuck her fork out to block my path. “Don’t go. I need to talk to you about something. Just sit, eat with me. You see your roommates every day, right?” I glanced over at my friends. They were definitely watching us. “It’s really important,” she insisted. “Seriously. If you want, I can go tell your roommates to let you off the hook for a bit.” I turned back around, and my roommates were already inhaling their food like a pack of wolves, giving me a thumbs-up with their mouths full before grabbing their trays and bolting. I swear, those guys. Did they really think I was on a date? “Fine,” I said, putting my tray down. “What’s up?” We were new freshmen. Even though we were in the same class, I’d known her for maybe three weeks. I couldn’t even remember her name. “You’re from around here, right? A local?” she asked, already digging in. “Yeah, I am.” “That’s so awesome. You can go home on weekends, eat home-cooked meals, sleep in your own bed. You’re so lucky.” “It’s alright, I guess. When you grow up in a city, you kind of take it for granted. I’m actually jealous of you guys who got to go away for college.” In the time it took to say that, I was halfway through my food. The dining hall was buzzing with people, and I really didn’t want any professors or classmates to get the wrong idea—that I was some desperate guy trying to lock down a girlfriend the second I got to campus. “And your family has an empty condo near campus, right?” “Huh? How did you know that?” “You posted it yourself, silly.” Her question, dropped so casually, felt weird. Then it hit me. Three years ago, to motivate me to study for the SATs, my dad bought a condo right near this university. He made a bet with me: if I got in, the place was mine. Junior year of high school, when the building was finished, I went to check it out. It was nice, with a killer view overlooking the campus football field. I got a little full of myself and posted a ridiculously cocky picture on Instagram with a caption like, “Three-year wager, one year to go. Soon, this view and this crib will be mine. Not that I’m greedy, I just hate to lose.” I cringed. “Oh god, that. I was just messing around. Forgot to delete it.” She chuckled. “I thought it was cool. You’re a good writer. You’re lucky, your family must be well-off to buy you a whole new place. Are you gonna move out of the dorms? I saw from the pictures it’s super close to the east gate.” “No, no way. I’m definitely staying in the dorm. It’s freshman year, you don’t just move off-campus unless you’re, like, moving in with a partner or something. We’re not even sure what we’re doing with the place. My parents think it’s too far for them, so we might just sell it after I graduate. Haven’t really thought about it.” “Well, that’s perfect! You can do me a small favor, then.” I was pretty much done eating, ready to make my escape. “Here’s the thing,” she said, putting down her fork and looking me straight in the eye. “My dad’s been sick for a while. He has to come into the city for hospital treatments all the time. We live in a small town a few hours away, and just the bus ride back and forth takes up the whole day. It’s exhausting. We can’t afford to keep him in the hospital for long stretches, and renting a place in the city is just too expensive. It breaks my heart seeing my parents, at their age, go through that hell just to get to the hospital. That’s why I worked my ass off to get into this school…” We don’t have any doctors in my family. Maybe she wanted me to ask my dad to pull some strings, find a specialist? “…and since you have an empty condo you’re not even using, you could just let us use it. For my dad, for when he has his treatments. It would save them the trip, and all that money could go towards his medical bills instead. Don’t worry about utilities and stuff, we’d cover that. I know those units come furnished, but it’s probably missing some things. We can figure that out. We could even pitch in for some furniture, but it has to be good stuff, you know, no formaldehyde. It’s bad for you, especially for someone who’s already sick…” It took a second, but I finally understood what she was saying. And at the same time, I understood nothing at all. “His next treatment is this Saturday,” she continued, “so I can take you with me to pick him up, and then we can swing by the condo to see what we need to buy. We can make a list together.” The words just fell out of my mouth. “Are you… serious? Is this a joke?” She looked confused. “What do you mean? Who’s joking?” “You. I’m not hearing things, am I? You want me to just… give you my family’s condo for your dad to live in?” “Yeah. Did I not explain it clearly? If he has a place to stay here, he won’t have to take that awful bus ride every week. It’s tiring and a waste of money. I could focus on my studies instead of constantly taking days off. It saves money, time, energy, and a whole lot of anxiety. What’s not to like?” She asked it so simply that for a second, I didn’t know how to respond. What’s not to like? I mean, yeah, it sounded great. For her and her dad. It seemed like the only person she hadn’t considered was the actual owner of the condo. “So it’s settled!” She flashed a brilliant smile, her eyes curving into crescents. It was a nice smile, but there was no way in hell I was agreeing to this. Considering we were in the same class and had four more years together, I went for the gentle approach. “Look, it’s my parents’ place. I’d have to ask them. I’ll let you know.” “Great! It’s a deal! Oh, and at the freshman mixer tonight, I’m sitting with you.” “We’ll see what the RAs have planned,” I said, grabbing my tray. “I’m done. I gotta go. You take your time.” I practically ran out of there. I sprinted back to my dorm room to find my roommates giving me shit. One said I was moving too fast, another said I wasn’t picky. With a grim look on my face, I repeated the girl’s entire proposal. I was met with four slack-jawed stares. The funniest part? None of the five of us could remember her name. “So, are you actually going to ask your parents?” my roommate Sam asked. “Of course not! What would I even say? They’d think I got a girl pregnant. In a couple of days, I’ll just tell her they said no, that they already rented it out.” “A couple of days?” Mark, my roommate from Jersey, chimed in. “She said she’s sitting with you tonight. She’s gonna want an answer tonight.” “Fine. I’ll tell her no tonight. Better to rip the band-aid off.” The event that evening was a mixer for our entire department—four different freshman classes, over a hundred people. The RAs said it was about building unity for future stuff like intramural sports and student government events. Basically, it was a bunch of forced icebreakers and cheesy games. At 7 PM, my roommates and I walked into the lecture hall. It was already half-full and buzzing with noise. The first thing I saw was her, waving frantically from the front rows. My stomach dropped. I pretended I didn’t see her and shuffled with my friends towards the back, grabbing seats in the corner. But she was relentless. She got up and marched over, calling out my name. “Liam! Didn’t you hear me calling you?” “Sorry,” I mumbled, embarrassed. “It’s loud in here, I didn’t see you.” “Come on, sit with me.” “Nah, we’re all sitting together. A dorm thing.” She glared at my four roommates, clearly annoyed. After a beat, she snapped, “Well, can one of you guys move? Don’t you have any social awareness?” Mark scoffed. “There are tons of empty seats. Why do you have to squeeze in here with us? Who even are you?” “We’re in the same class! Liam and I are good friends. What’s wrong with wanting to sit together?” Mark actually laughed out loud. “Good friends? School just started. You guys became ‘good friends’ that fast? Damn, that’s efficient. When are you gonna introduce us to some ‘good friends’?” He was from Jersey; subtlety wasn’t his thing. I quickly jumped in. “It’s about to start. You should probably sit with your roommates. It looks like everyone’s sticking with their own floors.” She thought for a moment. “Fine. But I have a surprise for you later.” She went back to the front. Mark leaned over. “A surprise? You sure you didn’t get her pregnant?” I shot him a look that could kill. The mixer started. The RAs had us do some lame team-building exercises. None of us were really into it. Until that girl walked up to the stage. “Hi everyone, my name is Chloe, and I’m from Section One. I’m going to recite a poem for you all, Maya Angelou’s ‘Still I Rise.’” She even had background music playing from her phone. “You may write me down in history, with your bitter, twisted lies, you may trod me in the very dirt, but still, like dust, I’ll rise…” So her name was Chloe. It rang a faint bell from the first day’s introductions. “…Leaving behind nights of terror and fear, I rise. Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear, I rise.” The room broke into applause. To be fair, she was a pretty good public speaker. When the clapping died down, Chloe didn’t leave the stage. She continued, “I want to dedicate this poem to a classmate of mine. Someone who, like a ray of sunshine, has given me warmth and hope.” A collective “Ooooooh” rippled through the lecture hall. You could practically smell the gossip brewing. “You might not know this, but I come from a low-income family. My father is sick, and my mother has worked her fingers to the bone to keep our family afloat. I swore to myself that I would study hard, get into college, and find a way to help my dad get better, to give my mom a break.” The mood in the room suddenly turned serious. “For his treatments, my dad has to come to the city hospital constantly. Sometimes four or five times a month. Every time, he drags his exhausted body onto a stuffy Greyhound bus for a three-hour ride, all because he wants a chance to live. I was starting to lose hope. I felt like I was just watching him get worn down by this endless cycle of pain.” A few girls in the audience were quietly wiping away tears. “And then he came along,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. “When I was just a new student, lost and overwhelmed, he extended a hand as warm as the spring sun. He told me he would lend me his family’s condo, so my dad could stay here in the city, so that three-hour journey could become a short walk. Classmates, this is his family’s new condo. A place no one has ever lived in. How can someone be so kind? So unable to bear witness to the suffering of others? He is my ray of hope. My classmate, Liam!” The lecture hall erupted in applause. Over a hundred pairs of eyes turned to stare at me. Their expressions were a mix of admiration, awe, and maybe something else. I was frozen in my corner, my mind a total blank. My parents divorced when I was a kid and got back together a few years later. It sounds fine, but it made me way more sensitive than other kids. I’m an easy-going guy. I can let things slide. But I will not be walked all over. The head RA smiled. “Liam, why don’t you say a few words?” I could hear girls whispering nearby. “Is he going to confess his feelings?” “Right here? At a freshman mixer? That’s bold.” “In front of the RA and everything. Wow, I must be getting old.” Under the weight of all those expectant stares, I stood up. Facing a teary-eyed Chloe, I spoke clearly and loudly. “You don’t have to thank me. I never said you could use the condo, and I’m not going to.” The chatter in the room died instantly. Every head whipped from me back to Chloe. She looked like she’d been physically struck. She stumbled back a step, grabbing the podium for support. “W-why?” she stammered, tears streaming down her face. “There is no why,” I said. “It’s just not appropriate.” “What’s not appropriate? What?! Tell me what’s not appropriate!” she suddenly shrieked. “First, we’re just classmates who met three weeks ago. When you asked me, I didn’t even remember your name. Why would I lend a brand-new condo to a stranger? Second, you said it’s for your sick father. That makes it even more impossible. Not even my closest relatives would ask for something like that.” “But—” “That’s enough!” The RA cut us off. “You two can discuss this privately. Chloe, please take your seat.” Chloe didn’t move. After a long moment, she covered her face with her hands and ran out of the lecture hall. It was so messed up. It was like I was the one who had bullied her and gone back on my word. Thankfully, the mixer ended soon after. I wasn’t in the mood to stick around anyway. Back in the dorm, I got a call from the RA. She didn’t say much, just asked for my side of the story. After I hung up, my roommates held up their phones. “Dude,” Mark said. “You’re getting put on blast.” It was a new post on the university’s YikYak. A freshly made anonymous account was telling a story about being a freshman who was manipulated by a male classmate. The post claimed this guy had been hitting on her since orientation, bragging about how his family was local and had money and property. He allegedly said if she’d be his girlfriend, he’d do anything for her. So she asked if he could help rent a cheap place near the hospital for her sick father. And that’s when he supposedly turned on her and showed his true colors. The post ended with a long, flowery paragraph about her own resilience. Nothing in the post explicitly connected to me. “Keep scrolling,” Sam said. “Check the replies.” I scrolled down. Another anonymous user had replied: “OMG are you talking about Liam from the English department?” The original poster replied with a smirking emoji. Another reply: “I heard the English dept mixer got shut down early tonight bc of some drama with a guy named Liam.” The OP replied: “Pls don’t spread this around.” All the accounts were brand new. A blind man could see it was a coordinated attack. I screenshotted everything and sent it to my RA, telling her I was going to file a report with campus police for harassment. She called me back immediately, telling me not to be impulsive and that she would handle it. Half an hour later, the YikYak post was gone. The RA then sent a message to our class GroupMe: “Regarding the small incident at tonight’s event, students are reminded not to create, fabricate, or spread false information. We must uphold the image of our class and the integrity of our school. We have four years together, and there will be plenty of opportunities to help one another. Is that understood?” A bunch of people replied with “Got it.” I sent one too. The moment my message went through, a voice memo from Chloe popped up in the chat. Her voice was raw and hoarse. “Liam, what did I ever do to you? Do you want me to die? What’s so wrong with me just wanting to get an education? Do people who need help just deserve to be kicked to the curb? Yes, you have a condo, you have money, you can look down on people. But what rule did I break for you to treat me like this? I’m done. I’m not going to school here anymore. I’m dropping out tomorrow, then you’ll be happy. My whole family can starve and die for all you care, then you’ll be satisfied, right?” Every word was dripping with rage, but a rage that made no sense. The RA replied: “Chloe, the class group chat is not the place for emotional outbursts. If you have a grievance, you can come talk to me. If you have proof that someone has harmed you, the school and I will ensure that justice is served. At the same time, Liam, please write up a formal statement of what you know and submit it to me.” Great. The RA was going for the “blame both sides” approach to smooth things over. I typed directly into the group chat: “Okay, RA. What I know is very simple and can be said in a few sentences. First, I do not know Chloe, nor have I ever paid any attention to her. I didn’t remember her name from the introductions. Second, she approached me, gave me chocolate, and asked me to lunch. I went to the dining hall specifically to return the chocolate, which my roommates can confirm. Third, at the dining hall, she said she had something important to discuss, which is the only reason I sat with her. She then told me about her dad and asked to use my family’s condo. I felt it was inappropriate then, for the same reasons I stated in the lecture hall tonight. Everything after that was her posting about me on YikYak. That is all I know.” The RA replied: “Okay, that’s enough. I will investigate the situation.” It was clear she didn’t fully believe me. But my roommates had my back. One by one, they replied in the chat, confirming that I had planned to return the chocolate from the start, and that none of us in the room could remember her name. A few other classmates who weren’t in my dorm private messaged me to offer their support. “But you agreed!” Chloe typed. “You agreed, so you can’t go back on your word! Are you even a decent human being if you go back on your word?” Then she dropped a file into the chat. An audio file. The second it started playing, I recognized the background noise of the dining hall. She had recorded our conversation. It wasn’t a long clip. I hadn’t said much. When it got to the end, to the part where I said, “Look, it’s my parents’ place. I’d have to ask them. I’ll let you know,” a strange sense of calm washed over me. She was unhinged, but at least she hadn’t edited the recording. Sure enough, a few moments later, the chat filled with confused messages. “Did I hear that right? Doesn’t that sound like he was saying no?” “Yeah, that’s what I heard too. I thought I was the only one.” “He literally said it’s his parents’ place and he can’t make the decision. There’s no way his parents would agree to lend a new condo to a sick stranger they’ve never met.” The chat was blowing up. The RA quickly tried to shut it down: “Everyone stop talking. Chloe, what was the point of you posting that file?” Chloe’s reply, another voice memo, came a minute later: “Everyone listen to it. I have nothing left to say. He agreed in his own words, and then he took it back. I just want to ask, are all guys like this? This is terrifying. Is anyone still going to defend him now? Can you people not see the difference between right and wrong?” The chat filled with question marks. Chloe: “What do you mean? How can you possibly hear that as a rejection? He said he would ask his parents for their permission! That’s not a rejection! Who uses their parents as an excuse to say no? Are you guys deaf, or just stupid?” The question marks stopped. They were replaced by streams of “LMAO” and “Bruh.” Chloe: “What are you laughing at? Stop laughing! I’m telling you, it was an agreement. I have the final say on what it means.” “This is pointless. I’m going to bed,” I typed, then shut my phone off and tossed it on my bed. My roommate Sam, on the bunk next to mine, said, “Before I left for college, my parents told me over and over that you meet all kinds of people out in the world. Good people, crazy people… now I finally get it.” Only Mark was still staring at his phone. After a moment, he frowned. “Yo, I think our RA is kind of biased here.” I grabbed my phone again. The RA had posted a new message: “This discussion is over. Everyone stop. What time is it? Don’t you have class tomorrow? Remember, you are all adults now. You need to communicate clearly to avoid misunderstandings. Serious consequences will be traced back to their source.” A surge of anger shot through me. I started typing a long, furious reply, my thumbs flying across the screen. Just as I was about to hit send, a hand clamped down on my arm.

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1 Leo Vance married me to piss off my sister. After the wedding, he found a million little ways to get under my skin. No fork at dinner, no blanket at bedtime, and I had to report my every move like I was on parole. I was miserable, but too much of a coward to fight back. Until one night, I accidentally overheard him on the phone with my sister, Chloe. He was practically screaming. “Your sister is a block of wood! A beautiful, infuriating block of wood!” “Come on! A block of wood should’ve caught fire by now! I’ve tried everything!” “Fine! The Westgate development deal is yours! Just figure out a way to get your sister to jump my bones tonight!” I just stood there. “Huh?” It had all started when my sister, Chloe, bailed on her own wedding. It was spectacular. A full-blown, Hollywood-style runaway bride situation, leaving the groom standing alone at the altar. In front of the grand ballroom, guests whispered behind their champagne flutes. Backstage, my father was turning purple, jabbing a finger at Chloe. “Are you getting married or not?” “Not!” Chloe’s voice echoed, sharp and final. My dad clutched his chest, looking like he was about to have a heart attack. He fumbled for his nitroglycerin pills, stuffing them into his mouth. I peeked through the curtain. Leo Vance stood on the stage, a vision in a custom white tux with a subtle damask pattern. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, facing a hundred tables of the East Coast’s elite with a look of pure, unadulterated boredom. If this wedding didn’t happen, the Vance family’s reputation would be toast. The ceremony was supposed to have started an hour ago. Chloe, completely unfazed, was already taking off her makeup. Everyone was talking at once, trying to reason with her. “This merger has been in the works for months! Why back out now?” “You can’t just call it off! What about our family’s company, the Jennings Corporation?” “Leo Vance holds a grudge. He’ll ruin you!” “Think about the family, Chloe! Not just yourself!” “Chloe Jennings, aren’t you scared?” My sister just scoffed and rolled her eyes, continuing to wipe off her foundation with a vengeance. I was in awe. That was my sister, alright. If it were me, the family coward, I’d have just nodded meekly and walked down the aisle. Speaking of which… was that makeup remover irritating her skin? Her face was getting all red. I should probably run to CVS and get her something better. The moment I stood up, my dad’s desperate gaze landed on me. “If you won’t marry him, are we supposed to send your space-cadet sister out there?” Chloe stopped cold. She stood up, her perfectly sculpted brows knitted together, hands on her hips. “Who are you calling a space cadet? My sister is more than good enough for him! Claire!” I flinched. “Here!” “Marry him!” “What? Me?” The room went silent for a second. It was like they all suddenly realized that my sister and I were identical twins, with faces about 80% the same. It was their life raft. They practically ripped the Vera Wang gown off Chloe and stuffed me into it. A frantic five-minute makeup job later, I was pushed onto the stage. 2 My brain basically blue-screened. I stood at the entrance, clinging to my dad’s arm, the officiant’s words turning into meaningless noise. Then I saw Leo. His eyes lit up, and the first genuine smile of the evening spread across his face. A collective sigh of relief went through the crowd. The officiant, bless his heart, stumbled through the rest of the ceremony. Leo took my hand from my father’s, his lips curling into a smirk. During the ring exchange, he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand with an almost religious fervor. I snatched my hand back like I’d been burned. This was so, so weird. I was a walking, talking mannequin for the rest of the wedding. Finally, I was bundled into Leo’s car, headed for our new home. I sat there, stiff as a board, my sister’s promise echoing in my head: Don’t worry, Claire-bear, I’ll come rescue you. Would she, though? I wondered, feeling small, pathetic, and utterly helpless. The man beside me shifted, moving a little closer. I jumped, sitting ramrod straight. Leo chuckled. “You seem terrified of me.” Well, duh. The guy had a reputation. Ruthless, unpredictable, mercurial… that’s why our family sent Chloe, the firecracker, to handle the “merger.” Chloe and I were twins, born ten minutes apart, but it felt like she’d absorbed all the guts and brains in the womb, leaving me with… well, me. She was always the one leading the charge while I cheered from the sidelines. Chloe wouldn’t be afraid of Leo Vance. “Hmm?” The low hum from his throat pulled me back. He was leaning in, his face unnervingly close. I could smell the faint, expensive scent of his cologne. I snapped back to reality, my eyes meeting his. I almost scrambled onto the roof of the car. “Uh, Mr. Vance… you’re a little too close.” 3 Leo’s brow furrowed. He swiped his tongue across the inside of his cheek, the smile vanishing from his eyes. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Vance. You’re the one I’m married to now.” I blinked. There was an edge to his voice, something I couldn’t quite place. The rumor was that Leo had seen a picture of my sister and fallen for her instantly, agreeing to the business marriage on the spot. But somehow, in the month leading up to the wedding, they’d never actually met in person. Today was the first time. Obviously, Chloe wasn’t impressed, hence the great escape. She’d caused him a massive public humiliation. He probably couldn’t stand hearing anything related to her right now. Remembering his reputation, I figured it was best for Chloe’s sake if I just played along. I lowered my eyes. “Okay.” “So what should you call me?” he coaxed, his deep brown eyes fixed on me. “Huh?” I looked up, meeting his teasing, almost intimate gaze, and my mind went totally blank. What else was I supposed to call him? I blinked a couple of times, then ventured, “Leo?” He stared at me for a solid two seconds before letting out a short, humorless laugh. He leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes and lacing his fingers over his lap. Since he didn’t say anything, I took it as a yes. The drive to our new penthouse was long. I stared out the window, but I couldn’t ignore the heat radiating from the man beside me. I decided to just endure it, pressing myself so hard against the car door I was practically fused to it. I don’t know when Leo opened his eyes or how long he’d been watching me. All I knew was that I got this prickly feeling on the back of my neck, and when I turned to find the source, his eyes were locked on mine. “Claire Jennings,” he said. “Yes, Mr. Vance.” He took a deep, slow breath, like he was steeling himself for something. “Don’t call me Mr. Vance. We’re married. Do you know how to say the word ‘husband’?” “Yes.” “Say it for me.” “Excuse me?” 4 Why did he want me to say that? I frowned, instinctively reaching for my phone. “Hang on, let me ask my sister.” Leo’s face went blank. I ignored him, my thumbs flying across the screen. Me: Chloe, he wants me to call him ‘husband’. She replied instantly. Chloe: In his dreams! Don’t you dare, Claire-bear. Don’t let him push you around. If he tries anything weird, you call me! Me: Okay! With my sister’s blessing, I felt a surge of confidence. I put my phone away and met Leo’s expectant, encouraging gaze. I opened my mouth, hesitated, and then slowly said, “Mr. Vance.” The light in Leo’s eyes died. He laughed again, but this time it sounded like it was being squeezed out from between his teeth. “Your sister told you not to?” I just hummed noncommittally and turned to look out the window. I saw him clench his fists in his lap out of the corner of my eye. The temperature in the car dropped about twenty degrees. After a moment, he took a deep, angry sigh and pulled out his own phone. Two minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was Chloe. Chloe: You know, sweetie, a marriage is your own thing. I can’t really interfere. You do you, boo. Smooches! “What?” I looked from my phone to Leo, then back again. Something was fishy. Given his reputation, a lightbulb went off in my head. You bastard. You threatened my sister! Leo leaned in again, a triumphant glint in his eye. “Ready to try again?” No way. I had to protect my sister. My newfound courage rose up… and then immediately fizzled out. It wasn’t that I was scared of him; I was scared of what he’d do to Chloe. I looked down. “Can we maybe… not do that right now?” I mumbled. Leo actually laughed, a real laugh this time. He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely defeated. “Fine. But no more ‘Mr. Vance.’ Call me by my name if you have to.” I nodded. “Okay, Mr. Vance.” Oops. I slapped a hand over my mouth, glancing at him guiltily. Our eyes met. He looked completely and utterly hopeless. 5 We finally arrived at the penthouse. I remembered scouting this place out. Chloe was too busy with the company, and our dear “groom-to-be” said he’d be happy with whatever his bride wanted. So they sent me, the unemployed freeloader, to pick out the marital home. And now, here I was, living in it. I sighed quietly, got myself ready, and burrowed under the covers. Weddings are exhausting. I was out the second my head hit the pillow. Or so I thought. Just as I was drifting off, the mattress dipped beside me. The comforter was yanked away, and a blast of cold air hit my skin. I blinked my eyes open just in time to see Leo sliding into bed next to me. My brain stalled. Our bodies were inches apart under the sheets. I could feel the heat rolling off him. I didn’t dare move. I didn’t even dare breathe too loudly. I just lay there, hands folded primly on my stomach, staring at the ceiling. My lips moved. “Mr. Vance.” No reply. Then I remembered his rule from the car. I struggled internally for a few seconds until my leg went numb. Swallowing hard, I tried again. “L-Leo.” “What?” Thank god. He was talking to me. I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Could you maybe sleep in another room?” “No.” His refusal was instant and absolute. I picked at a loose thread on the sheet. “Why not?” “We’re married. Married people sleep in the same room.” He had a point. I couldn’t think of a comeback. I swallowed my pride. “Okay… then could you get another comforter? I can’t sleep sharing one.” Only Chloe gets to share my bed. Not her angry husband! A soft chuckle came from beside me. I whipped my head around to see Leo looking at me, his eyes full of amusement. He was propped up on his elbow, looking down at me. “Say ‘husband’ and I’ll go get it.” “Seriously?” We just went over this! Are you trying to bully me, Leo Vance? I must have looked as indignant as I felt, because his smile widened. He sat up, ruffled my hair, and then swung his legs out of bed. He went to the linen closet and came back with another comforter. He even pulled our pillows further apart, creating a respectable no-man’s-land down the middle of the king-sized bed. A veritable River Styx. “Go to sleep,” he said softly, turning his back to me. The room fell silent again. I smoothed down the hair his big, warm hand had just touched. Was this one of the “weird things” Chloe was talking about? … continued in the next response.

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After making a birthday cake for my son while burning up with a fever, I overheard him whispering with my husband. “Dad, when can we go live with Auntie Liu Yan? I don’t want to call this woman ‘Mom’ anymore.” My husband, Chen Chen, soothed him in a low voice. “Patience, son. We just have to cooperate with her mission to win us over. Once she gets her reward, we can convince her to use it to cure Yan-yan.” “In return,” he added, “I’ll let her keep her status as Mrs. Chen. But she can forget about anything else.” I let out a silent sigh of relief. The mission was finally ending. I could go home to my real husband and my daughter. 1. I am a Player, trapped in this world for three full years. My only way out is to perfectly perform the role of the “perfect wife,” raising the Affinity levels of my targets, Chen Chen and his son Chen An, to 100%. Today was the closest I had ever been to going home. The frosting on the cake was piped into flawless roses. I looked at my reflection in a nearby mirror—my face flushed from the fever—and pulled my lips into a gentle smile. Perfect. The very image of a doting mother. Outside the door, Chen Chen was still coaching his son. “An-an, just endure it a little longer. As soon as we get the reward, Dad will let you be with your Auntie Liu Yan forever.” “But Dad, I really don’t want to smile at this woman anymore. Her cooking is awful.” Chen Chen’s voice was dripping with calculation. “Dad knows. That’s why we have to be quick. Go on. Do what I taught you. Tell her you love her. You’re the star today, your words will have the most impact.” I held the cake, and the moment the door was pushed open, I erased every trace of my true feelings. Chen An ran to me like a little cannonball, hugging my legs and tilting his head up, his big eyes shining with “sincerity.” “Mom! You worked so hard! I love you! This is the best birthday gift I’ve ever received!” A cold, mechanical voice sounded in my mind. [Target Chen An, Affinity +1%. Current Mission Progress: 96%.] I bent down and stroked his head, my voice the gentle tone I had practiced thousands of times. “Silly boy, Mommy loves you too.” Chen Chen walked over and hugged me from behind, resting his chin lightly in the crook of my neck in an intimate pose. “Honey, you must be exhausted. You’re still sick. Please go rest as soon as this is done.” The warmth of his breath made my skin crawl. [Target Chen Chen, Affinity +1%. Current Mission Progress: 97%.] Good. Almost there. I leaned back into his arms, a genuine smile flashing in my eyes for a split second. “I’m not tired. Anything for our An-an is worth it.” A picture-perfect, happy family. We sang the birthday song, the candles were blown out. Chen An closed his eyes to make a wish, his little face a mask of devotion. I knew what he was wishing for. For his dear Auntie Liu Yan to have a speedy recovery. As I was cutting the cake, Chen Chen mentioned, as if by chance, “Speaking of which, an old classmate of mine has been really sick, stuck in the hospital. I wonder how she’s doing.” My hand paused. I passed the largest slice to Chen An. “Oh really? That’s a shame. What kind of illness?” Chen Chen sighed, a perfect shade of sorrow coloring his handsome features. “It seems to be a rare blood disease. The doctors said it’s very difficult to treat, unless there’s a miracle.” As he spoke, he stared intently into my eyes, searching for a reaction. I looked back at him with sympathy. “Honey, don’t be too sad. Medicine is so advanced these days, there will be a way.” He looked a little disappointed and averted his gaze. “Let’s hope so.” 2. The next day, my fever had just subsided when Chen Chen suggested a “family day” at a country park. The excuse was to continue Chen An’s birthday celebration and for me to get some fresh air. Naturally, I wouldn’t refuse. This was the final sprint. I even applied makeup carefully, choosing a gentle, cream-colored dress, and let my long hair fall over my shoulders. I looked the very picture of a serene, perfect wife. Chen Chen was very pleased with my cooperation. Along the way, he kept creating opportunities to increase our “warm family interactions.” One moment he’d ask me to feed him a piece of fruit, the next he’d hold Chen An and have me take a photo of them. “Honey, smile a little sweeter.” “Mom, Dad says this is how we look like a real family.” I dutifully played my part, smiling for the camera more blissfully than anyone. [Target Chen Chen, Affinity +1%.] [Target Chen An, Affinity +1%.] [Current Mission Progress: 99%.] The progress bar moved forward, slowly but surely. During lunch, Chen Chen suddenly took out his phone, swiped to a photo, and held it in front of me. The woman in the picture was lying in a hospital bed, her face pale and gaunt, but you could still see her delicate beauty underneath. It was Liu Yan. “Honey, look. This is my sick classmate. Pitiful, isn’t she?” Chen Chen’s tone was probing. I leaned in, studying the photo with a slight frown. “She is. So young, too. Honey, is there anything we can do for her? Like, a donation?” I was exhibiting the exact reaction a kind-hearted wife should. A flicker of impatience crossed Chen Chen’s eyes, but he quickly hid it. He put away his phone and took my hand. “It’s the thought that counts. Besides… there’s not much ordinary people like us can do to help.” His words were loaded with hidden meaning. Just then, Chen An, who had been eating quietly, suddenly spoke up. “Dad, I wish Auntie Liu Yan could come play with us too.” His words were clear, his eyes locked on me. The air instantly grew still. Chen Chen immediately reprimanded him. “An-an, don’t talk nonsense! That is Auntie Liu Yan!” Chen An burst into tears with a “Waaah,” the waterworks turning on instantly. “I don’t care! I want Auntie Liu Yan! I hate you!” he shrieked, pointing at me. This was their pre-planned drama. One played the good cop, the other the bad cop, attempting to use a child’s “innocence” to break down my psychological defenses. I watched this clumsy performance. I stood up, walked over to Chen An, and knelt down, gently wiping away his tears with a tissue. “An-an, don’t cry. Mommy knows you feel sorry for Auntie Liu Yan.” My voice was calm and gentle. “Once your Auntie Liu Yan is better, we’ll invite her to our house as a guest, okay?” Chen An’s crying hitched. He stared at me, stunned. Chen Chen was stunned too. The argument, the breakdown, the accusations they had anticipated—none of it occurred. I had made their entire scheme fall flat. [Warning: Target’s emotional state is experiencing severe fluctuations.] [Current Mission Progress: 98%.] It actually dropped. It seems I overplayed my part, and it had the opposite effect. 3. After we got home, the atmosphere was ice-cold. Chen Chen’s face was grim, and Chen An hid in his room, refusing to even come out for dinner. I prepared the meal as usual, brought the dishes to the table, and then knocked on Chen An’s door. “An-an, time for dinner. Mommy made your favorite sweet and sour ribs.” A muffled “Don’t want any” came from inside. I didn’t press further and returned to the dining room. Chen Chen was sitting at the head of the table, not having touched his food. Seeing me, he spoke, his face dark. “Su He, weren’t you a bit too much today? An-an is just a child. He just speaks his mind.” I lowered my gaze, my voice tinged with a hint of grievance and restraint. “Honey, I’m not blaming An-an. I know he’s a kind boy. I just… I didn’t know how to face it.” “What do you mean?” I lifted my head, my eyes red-rimmed as I squeezed out a few perfect tears. “You showed me Miss Liu’s photo, and then An-an started crying for her. I felt… I felt like an outsider.” “I thought we were a family, but it seems like both of your hearts are somewhere else.” Those words struck Chen Chen’s weak spot. What he needed most was for me, his “perfect wife,” to unconditionally tolerate everything about him, including his “sympathy” for Liu Yan. My “jealousy” and “hurt feelings” made the situation feel more real to him, solidifying his sense of control. His expression softened. He stood up, walked to my side, and pulled me into his arms. “Silly girl, what are you thinking? Liu Yan and I are just old classmates. I just feel sorry for her.” “An-an is just a kid who doesn’t know any better. He only says her name so much because he hears me talk about her,” he said, patting my back in his practiced, coaxing manner. “You and An-an are my family. Always.” [Target Chen Chen, Affinity +1%. Current Mission Progress: 99%.] Just one last point. I leaned against him, burying my face in his chest, my voice muffled. “Honey, don’t mention her in front of me anymore. And don’t let An-an mention her either. It makes my heart ache.” “Okay, okay. Whatever you say,” he promised readily, dismissing it as a woman’s petty jealousy. The next day, Chen An, likely after a talking-to from his father, came to my bedroom door early in the morning. He rubbed his eyes, looking like a sleepy kitten. “Mom, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that yesterday.” I knelt down to be at his eye level. “Mommy isn’t angry with you.” A flicker of confusion crossed his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe I’d forgiven him so easily. “Really?” “Of course.” I straightened his messy hair. “Mommy knows An-an is a kind boy who feels sorry for a sick auntie. But you also need to know that Mommy can get her feelings hurt.” I was walking a fine line, displaying “magnanimity” while also establishing my “boundaries.” Chen An lowered his head and said softly, “I understand, Mom.” He reached out his small hands, hugged my neck, and planted a loud kiss on my cheek. “Mommy is the best mommy in the world. I love you the most.” The cold, mechanical voice exploded in my head. [Target Chen An, Affinity +1%. Current Mission Progress: 100%.] [MISSION COMPLETE.] I maintained the gentle smile on my face, but inside, a storm was raging. Three years. For more than a thousand days and nights, I had finally reached this moment. 4. [Finalizing Mission Score…] [Malicious deception from targets detected. Severe violation of Player Protocol.] [Reward distribution suspended.] The smile on my face froze solid. Chen Chen happened to be coming out of his study. Seeing the affectionate scene between me and Chen An, a satisfied smile spread across his face. “Is An-an being sweet to Mommy again?” He walked over, intending to hug me as he always did. But as he approached, I instinctively took a step back. He froze. My mind was reeling with the System’s cold words. Malicious deception? Reward suspended? What did this mean? [Penalty Mission Issued: Perfect Revenge.] [Objective: Enact revenge upon targets Chen Chen and Chen An until their Misery Index reaches 100%.] [Mission Success: Player may return to home world, mission reward will be doubled.] [Mission Failure: Player’s psyche will be assimilated by this world, resulting in permanent entrapment.] So, this game had hidden rules. So, their deception came with a price. And I was to be the executioner. I looked at the two bewildered “family members” before me and suddenly smiled. This time, it was from the heart. Chen Chen was caught completely off guard by my reaction. “Honey, what’s wrong?” He reached out a hand, as if to feel my forehead. I stared at him, the smile on my lips growing wider and wider until it broke into laughter. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. I’ve never been better.” Chen Chen’s brow furrowed tightly. Chen An was scared, hiding behind his father and peeking out with timid eyes. “Mommy… don’t laugh. I’m scared.” I stopped laughing and turned my gaze to him, my eyes ice-cold. “Scared? But I thought you loved Mommy the most.” I advanced on them, step by step. Chen Chen shielded Chen An behind him, his face filled with alarm. “Su He, what is wrong with you? Don’t frighten the child!” I stopped in front of them, tilted my head, and put my gentle smile back on. “You’re right, honey. We’re a family. We should always be together.” “Us… and Miss Liu Yan. We should be a family too.” Chen Chen’s pupils contracted. “What did you say?” “I said,” I enunciated each word, my voice clear and sweet, “we should invite Miss Liu Yan to come live with us. That way, you and An-an won’t have to miss her so much.” “Are you insane?!” Chen Chen cried out. “I’m not insane.” I blinked innocently. “I’m just being truly considerate. Look at you, so worried about her you can’t eat or sleep. You’ve gotten so thin. And An-an, he’s always talking about his Auntie Liu Yan.” “As your wife, it is, of course, my duty to share your burdens.” I turned and walked briskly towards the closet. “I’ll go pack your things right now. You can move into the hospital to be with her today.” “When you love someone, you have to be by their side, don’t you?” Chen Chen was completely stunned. He rushed over and grabbed my wrist. “Su He! Have you had enough of this?!” His eyes were blazing with fury. I winced in pain but continued to smile at him. “Honey, you’re hurting me. You love me the most, don’t you? How could you bear to hurt me?” I threw the sweet nothings he used to say to me right back in his face. His hand recoiled as if burned. I rubbed my reddened wrist, dragged his suitcase out of the closet, and began packing his clothes one by one. Shirts, slacks, ties… all his favorite brands. “I picked all of these for you. You’ll look so handsome when you go see her. She’ll be so happy. The sight of you might make her feel better instantly.” Chen Chen stood frozen, his face ashen, his chest heaving. He must have been wondering if I had truly lost my mind. An hour later, I had several packed suitcases sitting by the front door. Then, I called Chen Chen’s driver. “Mr. Wang, could you please come to the house? Mr. Chen needs to stay at the hospital for a while, and he has a lot of things.” After hanging up, I looked at the petrified father and son in the living room and smiled graciously. “Honey, the car will be here soon. I’ll see you out.” Chen Chen couldn’t utter a single word. All of his plans had been thrown into chaos by my sudden “madness.” He wanted a perfect wife he could control, not a lunatic who was packing him up and shipping him off to his lover. The driver arrived quickly. I personally carried each suitcase to the car, then turned and waved at Chen Chen. “Go on now. Don’t keep Miss Liu Yan waiting. The house is safe with me. You can rest assured.” I practically pushed him into the car. It wasn’t until the vehicle was far down the road that he seemed to snap out of it, frantically rolling down the window to roar back at me. “Su He! You just wait!” [Target Chen Chen, Misery Index +10%.] 5. After sending Chen Chen off, I closed the door. Only Chen An and I were left in the living room. He was huddled in a corner of the sofa, his small body curled into a ball, looking at me as if I were a stranger. I walked over and sat down beside him. “An-an, now it’s just the two of us at home.” He didn’t speak, just scooted away, trying to distance himself from me. I reached out and scooped him into my arms. He struggled, but he was no match for my strength. “Mommy…” His voice was choked with sobs. “An-an, do you miss your Auntie Liu Yan too?” I asked softly. He froze for a second, then shook his head frantically. “No, I don’t.” “Lying is not what good boys do.” I stroked his back with a gentle motion. “It’s okay, Mommy understands. From now on, Mommy will take you to see her every single day, okay?” Chen An’s body went rigid. He looked up at me, his big eyes filled with terror. “No… I don’t want to go!” “Why not?” I feigned confusion. “Don’t you love her very much? Wasn’t your birthday wish for her to get better quickly? Mommy is just helping your wish come true.” His lips trembled, unable to form a single word. Fear had seized the six-year-old child. [Target Chen An, Misery Index +20%.] I held him, softly humming a lullaby, just as I had on countless nights before. Only this time, my voice was completely devoid of warmth. Chen Chen couldn’t stand being at the hospital. He came back that very same night, seething with rage. Clearly, things with Liu Yan hadn’t gone well for him either. A patient needs money and hope, not a burdensome husband who’d been kicked out by his wife. “Su He!” he roared the moment he entered the house. I was in the living room with Chen An, building with Legos. Hearing him, I looked up and smiled. “Honey, you’re back? Was Miss Liu Yan’s hospital room comfortable?” He stormed over and swept the Lego model off the table with one violent motion. The blocks scattered across the floor. Chen An screamed and hid behind me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Chen Chen’s eyes were bloodshot. I held Chen An protectively, the smile never leaving my face. “Honey, why are you so angry? Look, you’re scaring An-an.” “You have the nerve to mention An-an? Look at yourself right now! Are you sick? I’m taking you to a doctor!” he shouted, lunging for me. I dodged him nimbly, keeping Chen An behind me. “I’m not sick,” I said calmly, looking at him. “I’ve just figured things out.” “I’ve figured out that since I love you, I should love what you love. You love Liu Yan, so I should love her too. We should be like a family, without any divisions between us.” This twisted logic made Chen Chen’s fists clench until the knuckles cracked. He probably never imagined that one day he would be unable to reason with a woman. “Su He, I am ordering you to stop this insane behavior immediately!” “Insane?” I asked. “But honey, have you forgotten? It was you and An-an who taught me, bit by bit, what ‘love’ truly is.” It was they who taught me that “love” was calculation, exploitation, and a disingenuous performance. Now, I was simply putting their lessons into practice. Chen Chen was so angry he was speechless. [Target Chen Chen, Misery Index +15%.] He pointed at me, his finger trembling. “You’re irrational!” He stormed into his study and slammed the door shut.

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College had barely started when my new roommate, Jenna, announced she was going to cook in our dorm room to save cash. I was about to talk her out of it when the pop-ups appeared. 【DON’T, HAILEY. She’ll blame you for starving her and drag your name through the mud in the freshman group chat.】 【She’ll rally every student on financial aid, claim you look down on poor people, and get you socially canceled.】 【Later, you’ll give in. She’ll start a fire with her illegal hot plate, then lock the door on her way out, leaving you to burn to death.】 A chill shot down my spine. I immediately started packing a bag to go see the Resident Director about a room transfer. 1 When I blinked, the strange, transparent comments faded from the air. In front of me, Jenna was still pleading her case, her voice a little too whiny. “My family’s broke, Hailey. They scraped together every penny just to get me here.” “My parents are simple, blue-collar folks. I can’t keep asking them for money.” “If I cook for myself, I can save a ton. Plus, I’ll have more time for my online side-hustle instead of running to the dining hall.” She gestured around the room. “Besides, you guys probably have crazy schedules. I eat like clockwork. If you’re ever hungry, you can grab a bite with me.” “I won’t even charge you, I promise. C’mon, be a good roomie, please?” She was asking, but her cooking gear—a sketchy-looking hot plate and a collection of mismatched pots—was already spread all over the floor. She was also on a video call, clearly broadcasting this whole negotiation. It was a hostage situation, and I was the hostage. I was in a tough spot. Because of some weird housing lottery fluke, our four-person suite only had three of us. Our third roommate, Brianna, had some medical issues and was deferring her arrival for a couple of months. Over the call, Brianna, who just wanted a quiet place to recover, barely registered the conversation and just said “Sure, whatever,” before hanging up. That left me as Jenna’s sole target. Just then, the pop-ups flickered back into existence above her head. 「Poor Hailey. First week of college and she gets a roommate from hell.」 「Seriously, she needs to run. Whether you say yes or no, this type of person will pin any problem on you and drag you down with them.」 「It’s so tragic. In the original timeline, you almost escaped the fire. But Jenna ran back, not to help, but to lock the door so you couldn’t snitch.」 My blood ran cold. Jenna was that vicious? 2 I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. Under Jenna’s expectant gaze, I started cautiously. “Jenna, it’s not that I don’t want you to cook… it’s just, the housing agreement explicitly forbids high-wattage appliances. That hot plate…” I trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. The thing looked like it was from the 90s, caked with years of grime. I was half-convinced it would explode the second she plugged it in. But I couldn’t just say that. Jenna, thinking she was winning, puffed out her chest. “Don’t worry! If anything happens, I’ll take full responsibility. It’ll have nothing to do with you, I swear!” I still pretended to be hesitant. “Even if the RA doesn’t do a room check, what if there’s a fire…?” “Oh, is that what you’re worried about?” Jenna visibly relaxed. “I’ll go to Target tomorrow and buy a couple of fire extinguishers for the room. See? Problem solved.” “But…” Seeing me still on the fence, a flicker of annoyance crossed her face, but she quickly masked it, throwing her arms around my shoulder. “C’mon, Hailey. Just say yes.” “…Alright, fine,” I sighed, as if worn down by her persistence. “But you remember what you said. If there’s any trouble, it’s on you.” “Of course, of course!” With Jenna appeased, I grabbed my phone and walked out of the room. Only after the door clicked shut did I look at the pop-ups, which were going ballistic. 「Hailey, you can’t be this naive! Her verbal promise is worthless.」 「It won’t be long before her cooking trips the circuit breaker for the whole floor. You’ll be home for the weekend, and she’ll stash the hot plate in your closet to frame you.」 「You get written up for that. When you try to explain, she’ll play the victim card about being poor.」 Honestly, I didn’t doubt them for a second. My old self probably would have caved to her sob story and taken the fall. But this time… 3 I glanced down at my phone. The recording app was still running. I had every single one of Jenna’s promises on tape. There was no way she could pin this on me now. With the Jenna situation temporarily handled, I didn’t waste a second. I headed straight for the Housing Office. No matter what, getting away from a person like that was the top priority. “You want to switch rooms?” The Housing Coordinator, Ms. Davis, looked at me with a pained expression. “Hailey, you know we’re over-enrolled this year. Every bed is taken. I pulled a lot of strings to get you this suite.” Ms. Davis was the daughter of my mom’s college friend. She had intentionally placed me in a less-crowded suite to give me a better freshman experience. Neither of us could have predicted a roommate like Jenna. “I know, and I appreciate it. But I can’t stay there. It’s… a really bad fit.” I chose my words carefully. I couldn’t tell her the whole truth. If Jenna found out I’d gone behind her back, she’d make my life a living hell. Seeing my determination, Ms. Davis sighed and handed me a form. “Fill this out, and I’ll submit it. But I can’t make any promises. Even if it’s approved, with the way things work around here, it could take a month, minimum.” I nodded. A month. I could live with that. I’d just have to make myself scarce. I asked Ms. Davis to keep my request confidential. Back at the dorm, Jenna had already launched her culinary enterprise. For the first few days, it wasn’t so bad—just ramen or some simple soup. The smell was contained. It made me wonder if I was overreacting, if I was trusting these weird pop-ups too much. So, I started spending a bit more time in the room during the day instead of staying out until late. Until one afternoon, as I was walking back to my building, a girl stopped me. “Are you from room 2632?” 4 Our building was #2, sixth floor, room 32. 2632. My stomach dropped. I had a very bad feeling. Before I could ask, the girl rolled her eyes and walked away, muttering under her breath. “Unbelievable. This is a university, not a damn food truck. If you’re gonna be a line cook, do it somewhere else. No wonder she’s broke.” I couldn’t judge the girl without knowing the full story. But my gut told me this had everything to do with Jenna. “Jenna, what are you doing?” Sure enough, as I hit the sixth-floor landing, I was assaulted by the thick, choking smell of burnt chili. It was so strong my eyes started watering. Covering my mouth, I ran to our door, expecting to find our room filled with smoke. But inside, it was surprisingly clear. The air was fresh. A group of strangers was sitting around Jenna’s hot plate, laughing and eating. When I walked in, Jenna’s face flashed with guilt. “Oh, Hailey! You’re back.” She grabbed a disposable bowl. “Here, have some! It’s on the house.” I opened my mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but Jenna was frantically shaking her head and widening her eyes, silently begging me not to make a scene. I scanned the room and decided to wait until her “customers” left. I shut my mouth and walked towards the door to turn off the fan. My fan. It was positioned to blow all the fumes out into the hallway. I had to get it back; I’d overheard someone downstairs saying they were getting the RA. If my fan was part of the evidence, I’d be implicated. But as I reached for it, one of the girls—the one with a sharp bob—snapped at me. “Who are you? You can’t just waltz in here, get free food, and turn off our fan.” Her comment set off a chain reaction. The whole group started grumbling. One of the guys turned on Jenna. “Hey, Jenna, we all chipped in for this. If you’re bringing in extra people, you owe us a refund.” Forgetting about me, Jenna rushed to placate them. “No, no, this is my roommate! Don’t worry, she’s eating too, so she’ll definitely cover today’s meal for everyone.” She turned to me, her eyes pleading. “Right, Hailey?” 5 My head was spinning. Since when was I eating, let alone paying? “Hailey, please,” Jenna whispered, pulling me aside. “These are my first real customers. Just let me make a little money, okay?” There it was again. The guilt trip. As if on cue, the pop-ups returned, more frantic than ever. 「Jenna is shameless. Using Hailey’s fan, their shared electricity, and probably Hailey’s water, too. All she provides is the pot, and she pockets all the cash.」 「Don’t give in, Hailey! If you back down now, the next time you try to stop her, she’ll say you’re jealous of a poor student trying to get by.」 「Yeah, and to keep their cheap meals coming, they’ll all team up to bully you out of the room. They’ll spread rumors about you on the campus gossip app.」 「You’ll be forced to move out and rent an expensive off-campus apartment.」 Reading those comments, a light bulb went off in my head. I was struggling to find a legitimate reason to get my room change approved. Now, they were handing one to me on a silver platter. I cleared my throat and looked at the girl who’d spoken up first. “Oh, you’re all here for Jenna’s… food, right? My bad, total misunderstanding.” I plastered on a fake smile. “You guys go ahead and eat. Just be careful with my stuff, okay? It’s all pretty expensive, so please don’t touch anything.” The people who came to Jenna for cheap food were, by definition, on a tight budget. My comment hit them like a slap in the face. They were instantly furious. 6 “What’s that supposed to mean?” the girl with the bob shot back. “Just because we’re on financial aid, you think we’re thieves? How dare you insult us like that!” Yep. Birds of a feather. They were just like Jenna. Ignoring her, I turned and headed for the door. Jenna was trying to calm everyone down, but not before shooting me a venomous glare. “Hailey, how could you say that? We might be poor, but we have dignity!” she hissed. “You’ve really disappointed me.” In a few short sentences, she’d successfully painted me as a snobby, toxic rich girl. But now wasn’t the time to argue. Just before leaving, I paused in the doorway and added, helpfully, “By the way, I saw the RA heading this way with a couple of people. If you don’t want to get written up, you should probably pack this all up. Like, right now.” “What? Why didn’t you say so sooner?!” Jenna’s face went pale. Forgetting her customers’ hurt feelings, she and the group scrambled to hide the evidence. I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile. As I rounded the corner of the stairwell and saw the RA approaching, I knew the show was about to begin. 7 Jenna got caught. So did her entire dinner club. A few academic advisors got involved, but their hands were tied. These were all scholarship students, and unless they committed a major offense, the university couldn’t punish them too harshly. That night, when I got back to the room, Jenna confronted me. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you, Hailey?” I played dumb. “Did what?” “You knew the RA was coming. You stalled and wasted our time so we’d get caught. You enjoyed watching that, didn’t you?” “Jenna, I was trying to help you. How could you accuse me of something like that?” I managed to sound genuinely hurt, though inside I was ecstatic. “I was out all day, how was I supposed to know you were running a restaurant in here? If you’d given me a heads-up, I could have been a lookout for you.” My performance must have been convincing, because her expression softened slightly. “Really?” she asked, still suspicious. “Really.” I pouted. “Besides, I haven’t even complained to you yet. You guys made all my clean clothes smell like chili. I’m going to have to get them all dry-cleaned. Maybe you should ask your friends from today to chip in for the bill?” “You should have put your clothes away! Don’t you dare try to scam me with your designer labels. I’m a scholarship kid, I don’t have that kind of money!” Just like that, her brief moment of calm vanished. “You’re such a jinx!” she spat. “I’ve been doing this for a week, and nothing went wrong until the day you decided to come back early!” I pretended to be angry, too. “I never asked you for money! But if my being here is such an inconvenience, why don’t you just move in with one of them?” With that, I drew the curtain around my bed. “I’m going to sleep.” The pop-ups appeared again, this time almost cheering. 「Don’t be mad, Hailey, don’t be mad!」 「Yeah! If Jenna’s friends move in here, you might actually avoid the fire!」 I was faking my anger, but inside, I was celebrating. When a pop-up confirmed that Jenna was already messaging her friends about a potential room swap, I was too excited to sleep.

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The paparazzi snapped the picture right after my fender bender. My husband, Julian Vance, didn’t even flinch. He just leaned one arm casually on the open window of his Porsche, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at the photographer. “Got your scandal, huh? Make sure you send the invoice to my wife. She loves handling this kind of press.” Mention me, the current Mrs. Vance, and everyone in our circle sings the same tune. “She was a nobody before him. A Cinderella story. She’d never be stupid enough to leave.” No one seems to remember how Julian, looking down from his ivory tower, introduced me at every party when we first got married. “This is my wife, Sophie. She’s new to all this, so be nice.” Everyone assumed I’d do what I always did: write a check, make the problem disappear, and continue playing the part of the graceful, supportive wife in a picture-perfect high-society marriage. But this time, I just walked into his grandfather’s study. “It’s been three years,” I said, my voice steady. “You have to let me go now.” 1 There’s an unwritten rule among the vultures at Page Six and TMZ. If you’re having a slow month, just stake out Julian Vance, CEO of Sterling Industries. He’s guaranteed to have a new girl on his arm every few weeks, and he’s not exactly subtle about it. Easy money. A man like Julian having a bit of fun on the side? That’s just business as usual. But his wife? She has to maintain appearances, protect the family name. So, you get the dirt on the husband, you take it to the wife, and she pays top dollar to bury it. It’s a neat little ecosystem. This time, though, things played out a little differently. A rookie from some gossip blog, probably shaking in his boots, sent the video to Julian first. Julian, true to form, forwarded it straight to me. I was just getting home to our penthouse overlooking Central Park, the entire glittering expanse of Manhattan laid out below me like a carpet of diamonds. The voice on the phone was a nervous, nasally whine trying its best to sound like a hardened negotiator. “Mrs. Vance, two hundred grand. That’s a handbag for you, right? Two hundred grand to make this little embarrassment go away. It’s a bargain.” He continued, “Think it over. You have my number…” This kid was an amateur. His first mistake was following Julian. His second was knocking on the window of his car. Julian’s cars were notoriously hard to track; he had a garage full of them and swapped them out daily. But for some reason, the last few days, he’d been driving the same Aston Martin. In the video the kid sent, Julian rolls down the window. In the passenger seat is some model-of-the-moment, all legs and lip gloss. Last month, it was a B-list actress from L.A. Julian takes off his sunglasses, revealing that face that could charm a snake or sink a ship. He beckons the photographer closer with one finger. “Newbie?” he asks, his voice a low, lazy drawl. “Don’t you know how this works? You take the photos to my wife. You come to me, you get nothing.” He paused. “Don’t have her number?” He scribbled on a napkin from his glove compartment and tossed it at the kid. Then, he shot a look at the woman next to him and sighed, a sound of pure annoyance. “Get out.” She pouted, leaning in. “Julian, honey, I thought we had three days? It’s barely been a few hours…” Julian tossed a black card at her and hit the unlock button. “A few hours and you already got us papped. You want me to drag you out? Get lost.” I clicked off the video, my face a mask of calm. I sat down at the dining table as Maria, our housekeeper, laid out my dinner course by course. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed eight. 2 I glanced up at it. A gift from Julian seven years ago, hauled back from a trip to Paris. Now, its pendulum swung with a tired, weary rhythm. I was seventeen when I got my scholarship to Columbia. I met Julian when I was eighteen. Back then, aside from his killer looks, he was completely unassuming. He’d pretend to be lost in the city, asking me for directions, claiming he’d forgotten everything he learned in his economics classes and begging me to tutor him. It took about two weeks before someone pulled me aside and whispered, “You think he’s just some hot guy? That’s Julian Vance. His family practically owns half of Wall Street. His grandfather is a legend.” After that, Julian all but abandoned his own life, driving back and forth between Midtown and the Columbia campus every day. Those years were a blur of fighting and making up, of me constantly letting him in and shutting him out. Then, when I was twenty-five, after navigating a minefield of family objections and social landmines, I married him. Our wedding was the event of the season, splashed across Vogue and Town & Country. One small, trashy blog, trying to make a name for itself, ran a headline that was more clickbait than journalism, and deeply disrespectful. The morning after our wedding, Julian saw it, calmly placed his water glass on the newspaper, and went about his day. I found out later that it was the last issue that blog ever published. Remembering all the little things, I could get lost in the nostalgia and think, Wow, we really were in love, weren’t we? But how did we end up like this old clock, so broken down that even its ticking felt weak? The private elevator dinged, its display showing it had arrived on our floor. The doors slid open. Julian stood there, his suit jacket slung over his arm, the harsh overhead light doing nothing to soften the sharp, handsome lines of his face. I looked at him for a second, then went back to my dinner. A minute later, I heard his jacket hit the couch. Then, the scent of expensive cologne and the warmth of his body were right behind me. He leaned over, his hands on the table on either side of me, trapping me in a loose embrace. “Good evening, Mrs. Vance,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Let’s see what today’s scandal is worth.” My phone was on the table. He picked it up and swiped into my messages. “Two hundred thousand? The paparazzi have smaller appetites than your chef. Anyone would think my stock is falling.” I put down my fork, my back ramrod straight, keeping a careful distance between my body and his. I ignored his question and changed the subject. “I’m rejecting Isabella’s application for the Head of Marketing position. Her resume isn’t up to par.” As expected, the mention of her name made him straighten up. The cloying warmth vanished. He sat down across from me, his gaze drifting to the city lights. “Her career isn’t your concern.” His eyes snapped back to me, a glint in them. “Or is it,” he said, tapping his chin, “that you just don’t like her?” I met his gaze, searching for something, anything, of the man I used to know. It wasn’t there. The world saw a playboy with a revolving door of women. They didn’t know it was all a cover for one person: Isabella. He’d sent her to finish a degree in Switzerland two years ago, and now he wanted to parachute her into a top job at Sterling. It wasn’t personal; it was practical. Sterling’s hiring standards were ironclad. A degree from a top-ten university was the bare minimum. Isabella had a high school diploma and a resume that started with working retail at Bloomingdale’s. The Swiss school was a joke. There was no angle to justify it. “This is business,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m not letting my personal feelings get involved.” He didn’t answer. A moment later, a voice message played from his phone, the volume turned up just a little too loud. It was sultry, a practiced purr. “Julian… I think I left my panties in your car… When can I come get them?” The sound echoed slightly in the quiet dining room. Julian looked straight at me as he lifted the phone to his lips. “Wrong number, honey,” he said, his voice dripping with false boredom. I stared at his cool, indifferent face, trying desperately to remember what it felt like when he loved me. 3 In the beginning, he used to at least pretend to be sorry. The first time he was caught, it was over a ridiculously expensive gift he’d sent Isabella, which inadvertently took a custom jewelry slot I had reserved. In our small, gossipy world, it was the equivalent of a signed confession. He’d rushed home, throwing his phone, wallet, and credit cards on the table like a peace offering. “She helped me with a small favor, that’s all. My assistant picked out the gift. I’m going to fire him.” He offered a flimsy explanation, and I chose to believe him. Why wouldn’t I? But then, somehow hearing that we’d had a massive fight, Isabella showed up at our building on a rainy day. She stood in the lobby, drenched and pathetic. “Mrs. Vance, please,” she’d cried to the doorman, knowing the message would get to me. “There’s nothing between Mr. Vance and me! You have to believe us!” It was so transparently manipulative it was almost funny. Anger can blind you. It blinded me to the flicker of pity—or maybe it was something more—in Julian’s eyes as he stood at our floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at her. When a man feels sorry for another woman, it’s the beginning of a romance for them, and the beginning of the end for you. But all of that was in the past. The worst was over. If I remembered correctly, today was November 27th. The three-year deadline I’d made with his grandfather was just days away. I looked at Julian, about to speak. But his phone rang. I could faintly hear Isabella’s voice on the other end. “The power’s out in my apartment… It’s so dark, and I’m scared.” “Stay put. I’m on my way,” Julian said, standing up. He glanced at me. I swallowed the words I was about to say. He didn’t wait for them. He just turned and walked out. After he left, I drove to the Vance family estate in Greenwich. It was a sprawling, old-money mansion, a mix of classic European architecture and cold, modern art. His mother, Eleanor, was on a chaise lounge, a maid massaging her shoulders. She opened her eyes, gave me a brief, dismissive look, and closed them again. I didn’t bother trying to engage. I went straight upstairs to the study. “Grandfather,” I began, choosing my words carefully. “The three years are up. I’d like to leave.” Two years ago, when I found out that Julian’s business trips were really just flights to and from Switzerland to visit Isabella, and that he was still flying back and forth while I was in the hospital after a miscarriage, my heart finally shattered for good. I went to his grandfather then, at a time when the family business was facing its own turmoil. He asked me to stay for three more years. To provide stability. He promised that if, after three years, Julian hadn’t changed, he would personally grant me my freedom. The old man rocked in his leather chair. He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I thought after three years, you’d have gotten used to it. Why do you still want to go?” When I didn’t answer, he sighed. “When you married into this family, Sophie, you should have known this was part of the deal. Look at Eleanor. She was wilder than you in her youth. But in the end, she held onto the title of Mrs. Vance, and none of his indiscretions, none of those other women, ever truly threatened her. The son she gave him is still the sole heir.” “Do you know why?” he asked. “Why?” “Because I chose her. As long as I back you, as long as I say you are Mrs. Vance, no one can take your place. Those little girls are not a threat.” He leaned forward. “Let’s not talk about feelings. Let’s talk about a transaction. You’ve been brilliant these past few years. You’ve managed the household, the charities, the company’s image… you’ve held it all together. It would be costly and time-consuming to train someone new. You leaving is a bad deal for us. You’re smart enough to know that.” If it was just a transaction, he was right. It was a damn good deal for me. I poured him some tea. “You know,” I said softly, “if it were only about the transaction, I wouldn’t be here right now.” I had considered it. Holding onto the title, the power, the security. Letting him have his fun while I ran the show from behind the scenes. But I didn’t marry Julian to become Mrs. Vance. I became Mrs. Vance because I married Julian. I remember pushing him away before, telling him he wasn’t free to marry who he wanted, so what was the point of dating me? He’d scowled. “Who says I’m not free? If I want to marry you, I’ll find a way. You, on the other hand, look away for one second and you’re ready to marry someone else. Do you think I’m useless?” I didn’t believe him. What way could he possibly find? He never brought it up again. He just quietly took over more and more of Sterling Industries, cementing his power. After graduation, I got a job at Sterling, starting from the bottom. During the day, I was just another intern. At night, Julian would give me private lessons, and I learned the business at lightning speed. By the time marriage came up again, he was in a position where no one dared to argue. But he still respected his grandfather. So, he came up with a plan to force the old man’s hand. “That damn kid,” the old man chuckled now, remembering. “Thought my mind was going. He hired some pretty-boy actor from a C-list agency, held his hand, and threatened to get a marriage license in Vegas. Thought he could shock me. I just played along, called his bluff. And now, just a few years later, he’s making a mess and you’re asking for a divorce.” His face grew serious. “I’ll say this once. If you leave this family, you will not be welcomed back. Be very sure this is what you want.” I lowered my head, the last seven years flashing before my eyes like a movie on fast-forward. “Leaving is something I’ve been waiting three years for.” He waved a tired hand. “Fine. Wrap up your affairs. Someone will be in touch.” When I came downstairs, Eleanor was still on the chaise. I walked to the door, then paused and turned back. “I won’t be here for your birthday this year, but I wish you good health, always.” Then I walked out. The living room was dim, and Eleanor was shrouded in shadows. She watched the silhouette of the woman walking briskly out the door, taking all the light with her. For a moment, she saw a ghost of her younger self, finally escaping. Lena, her aide, leaned in. “Ma’am. It’s late. You should rest.” The room felt darker. Eleanor looked away. “Let’s go.” 4 In the car, I remembered the “affairs” I needed to wrap up. I called the gossip blogger and told him to come pick up his check in the morning. I bought the video and every last photo. Another one of Julian’s messes, cleaned up by me. A few days later, I got a text from Julian. After Isabella’s return, he’d actually been a bit more discreet. Remembering my deal with his grandfather, I told my driver to take a detour and pick Julian up. The address was a private club. The door to the back room was open. A group of his friends were playing poker, and Isabella was among them. She had just won a big hand. The man across from her was fawning. “Bella, you’re on fire tonight! Cleaning us all out. Have a heart, you’re going to take the shirt off my back!” Isabella smiled, about to reply. Just then, Julian looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “The hell is wrong with you?” he snapped at his friend. “The real Mrs. Vance is standing right there. You blind? No wonder you can’t win a hand.” The man scrambled to his feet, stammering, “S-Sophie… Mrs. Vance…” Isabella’s face went pale. I knew immediately that Julian had set this up. He did things like this—parading his affairs in front of me, daring me to react, pushing me to leave—but then refusing to actually sign the papers. His logic was twisted but simple. “She’s young, she’s fun to have around, but you don’t marry a girl like that. The Mrs. Vance role is filled. You’re enough.” I scanned the room, left my driver with instructions to bring Julian home later, gave a polite nod, and turned to leave. Before I reached the door, Isabella blocked my path. The eighteen-year-old girl from two years ago was now twenty, poised and polished. She was breathing a little fast. “Mrs. Vance, I’m sorry. I never, ever meant to hurt your family. I tried to leave, to forget him, but I can’t.” Her voice was a soft whisper. “I can’t forget him. I love him so much. But please believe me, I never wanted to break up your home.” “It’s just… we met at the wrong time. If he had met me back then, I could have been Mrs. Vance…” “I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like that. I just… I am sincerely sorry. If there’s a next life, I’ll do anything to make it up to you.” “But in this life,” she looked me in the eye, “I can’t give him back to you. I’m sorry.” I looked her up and down. Two years ago, she was wearing clothes from Forever 21. Now, she was dripping in quiet luxury, from a The Row cashmere sweater to a pair of shoes that cost more than her entire retail salary for three years. There are a lot of Cinderellas in this world. I used to be one. Now, she was auditioning for the part. I didn’t say a word. I wouldn’t dignify her with a response. You don’t try to awaken a conscience in a homewrecker with speeches about morality. If she understood the meaning of the word, she wouldn’t be so thrilled to be a rich man’s mistress. Her voice followed me as I walked away. “You should divorce him! Let him go!” Back in the room, everyone was exchanging nervous glances. Someone finally worked up the courage to look at Julian’s thunderous face. “Jules, man… aren’t you going after her? When a woman gets that angry, she starts talking divorce.” Julian stared at a picture on his phone—an image of the two-hundred-thousand-dollar check I had written. He was silent for a long time. Then he laughed, a short, humorless sound. “Divorce? Good. Finally some peace and quiet.”

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The Story: After the guy I was crushing on shot me down, I went on a commenting rampage in the replies of a male lactation thirst trap. 「Dude, if you’re lactating, go to a hospital.」 「P.S. I’m a doctor.」 A few minutes after I posted it, I got a DM from a stranger. The profile picture was the same as my crush’s. The message said: 「Hi. Can you… can you really fix this?」 1 Ethan had rejected me. Again. It was early fall, that perfect, crisp weather, but he was drowning in a heavy black hoodie, completely hiding his frame. His handsome face, usually framed by nerdy-cute black glasses, looked exhausted. His eyes were downcast. “Chloe,” he mumbled, “I told you. We’re just… not a good match.” I could feel the tears welling up, and I hated it. I looked at him, my vision blurring. “Where are we not a good match? You like me, I know you do…” Ethan looked helpless, his shoulders slumping. He pursed his lips, his voice barely a whisper. “Please don’t cry…” His hand hesitated, then lifted as if to wipe a tear from my cheek. The moment his warm fingertips brushed my skin, he froze, like he’d been electrocuted, and tried to pull back. But I was greedy for the contact. I grabbed his hand, pressing my whole face into his palm. It didn’t last. With a muffled grunt, Ethan yanked his hand away and stumbled back a few steps, clutching his arm to his chest. He saw the hurt on my face and let out a heavy sigh, turning away. He looked… ashamed. “Chloe, you deserve someone better,” he said, his voice raw. “Not… not a freak like me.” He whispered the last two words like a curse. Then, after one last, deep look at me, he turned and practically fled. 2 I went home and bought a six-pack. As I nursed a beer, I replayed every moment with Ethan. We met on a rainy day. He was working part-time at a campus coffee shop. My payment app crashed, and he just paid for my latte himself. He was wearing the standard black employee polo, but on his tall frame, it looked good. He glanced at me, his dark hair falling over his forehead, and then immediately looked away as if I’d burned him. “It’s still pouring out there,” he’d said. “You can take my umbrella.” “What about you?” I’d asked. He kept his eyes down. “It’ll stop soon.” I spent the next week hanging out at that coffee shop until I finally caught his shift again. I gave him back the umbrella and the money for the coffee. Just as I was about to leave, the sky opened up again. I turned around, and he was standing there, holding the umbrella, having taken off his thick glasses. Without them, his eyes were stunning—big and gentle, like a deer’s. He walked me home. Watching his back disappear into the rain, I knew I was a goner. After that, I, a connoisseur of shirtless men on the internet, deleted all my thirst-trap apps. I was going to get Ethan. And I was so sure he liked me, too. When I had cramps, he’d show up with ibuprofen and my favorite takeout. When I was in a bad mood, he’d take me to the movies or to a cat cafe. I thought we were a sure thing. But the first time I confessed, he started pulling away. Rejecting my invitations, taking forever to text back. I considered every possibility. Maybe he was aromantic. Maybe he had a crippling avoidance complex. Maybe, just maybe, he was a giant jerk. But then I got a nasty cold, and he appeared at my door without a word, taking care of me until my fever broke… I just didn’t get it. Why? I took another swig of beer. The image of him running away made my chest ache. I didn’t believe his excuse. You deserve someone better. What a line. It was probably him who wanted someone better. What an asshole. With that thought, I picked up my phone, re-downloaded TikTok, and started scrolling through an endless stream of muscular men in very little clothing. When I landed on a video from the weird “male mommy” niche, something in me snapped. I couldn’t resist leaving a comment. 「Dude, if you’re lactating, go to a hospital.」 「P.S. I’m a doctor.」 After that, I passed out. 3 In the days that followed, my chat with Ethan remained dead silent. It sucked, but life, and my residency, went on. After a soul-crushing week at the hospital, I collapsed onto my couch, and, like an idiot, opened his chat history. 「Hey… what’s up?」 No reply for a long time. I sighed and opened TikTok, ready to lose myself in meaningless eye candy. I noticed my comment from a week ago had blown up with likes. Then I saw a DM notification. A user from my city. Their profile picture… it was the same as Ethan’s. A black cat, curled up asleep. My finger hovered over the message. I tapped. The message read: 「Hi. Can you… can you really fix this?」 I was confused. 「Fix what?」 The reply was instant. 「What you said in the comments.」 I rolled my eyes. It had to be a troll. Still, I played along from a clinical perspective. 「Okay, ma’am, how long has it been since you gave birth?」 Postpartum lactation issues were common. He took a moment to reply. 「I’m a guy.」 I stared at the screen, my patience gone. This was just some weirdo. I typed back three words. 「You’re a creep.」 He didn’t message back. 4 I was missing Ethan like crazy. That weekend, I went back to the coffee shop to see him. But when I asked the manager, she said he’d quit. “It was so sudden, too. He was a great worker. We got way more customers after he started…” I walked out before she could finish, a sour feeling in my stomach. He quit without telling me? Was he really trying that hard to avoid me? Was it all in my head? Did Ethan… never actually like me? I pulled out my phone and typed a message I knew I’d regret. 「You quit without a word.」 「I guess you really hate me that much.」 「I’m done liking you, Ethan.」 I went home, fell into bed, and slept like the dead. 5 When I woke up, still no reply from Ethan. I was used to it by now. I opened TikTok. Before I could even start scrolling, a few red dots popped up on my DMs. It was the same guy. 「Hello. I’m sorry to bother you again.」 「It’s just… I really don’t know what to do.」 A moment later, a picture came through. It was a black t-shirt, tossed on a bed. It looked weirdly familiar. Everything about it was normal, except for a patch of fabric on the chest. It was darker than the rest, a circular stain, like it was soaked with water. I went silent, my medical brain kicking into gear. Theoretically, male lactation could occur, but it was incredibly rare. It was usually linked to severe, prolonged malnutrition, where reintroducing food could trigger hormonal chaos. But the cases were almost nonexistent. 「How long has it been since you ate a proper meal?」 I typed. He replied, 「I eat on time every day. Balanced diet.」 That was strange… 「How long has this been happening? When did it start?」 It took him a minute. 「A while now. I have to change my shirt multiple times a day. If I go out, I have to wear a thick jacket. There’s a lot… and it hurts.」 He paused, then sent another message. 「It started… right after the girl I like confessed to me.」 I slowly typed out a single question mark. 「She told me she liked me, and I was so happy. But then… it started. It wouldn’t stop. My shirt got soaked. I was terrified she’d notice.」 「I thought it was a one-time thing, but it’s been happening ever since. Whenever I think about her, or when we touch… it just… flows.」 I was speechless. I sent back three dots. This had to be a story he was making up. 「I know it sounds fake, but I’m out of options. I’m scared to go to a hospital. I don’t want people to find out, to think I’m some kind of freak…」 I took a sip of water. I must be overtired and hallucinating. Logic wasn’t going to work here. 「Then just stop thinking about her,」 I typed, exasperated. 「I can’t.」 「I thought if I just avoided her, it would get better. But I can’t stop thinking about her.」 I sighed. The fact that I was still engaging proved I wasn’t entirely sane either. 「Then just tell her what’s going on.」 「No. I can’t. She’ll be disgusted…」 I didn’t know if I was going crazy or if the world was. I shook my head, put my phone down, and decided to ignore him. 6 I tried to sleep, but my mind was racing. Male lactation… My thoughts drifted to another galaxy. If this was real, wasn’t this guy basically a fanfiction trope come to life? A “male mommy”? And it only happened when he was around the person he liked? It was so ridiculous it sounded like something straight out of an AO3 tag. It had to be fake. My thoughts slowly drifted back to Earth. And then, I thought about Ethan. He really wasn’t going to message me again. I missed him so much. He had such beautiful, kind eyes. He was always so reserved, so quiet. But when he looked at me, I felt like I was the only person in the world. Sometimes, just looking into his eyes made the exhaustion from a 12-hour shift at the hospital melt away. God, I missed him… What was he doing right now? Was he thinking of anything? I thought I was tough, but tears started to slide down my cheeks. In the hazy space between waking and sleeping, a series of glowing words appeared in the air. 【Ugh, is this all just pining? This is supposed to be smut! I need the plot to move forward!!!】 【Right? Why is the male lead still avoiding her! They need to meet and just DO IT already! I’m getting impatient!】 【Calm down, guys. The female lead doesn’t know he’s avoiding her because he’s literally lactating. She’d lose her mind if she knew. She’s a total sucker for this trope. Once this part of the plot is over, the good stuff is coming!!】 【If she finds out, she’s gonna drain him dry!】 【He’s got such a repressed, sensitive vibe, it’s so hot. Gets all flustered and wet just thinking about her, but he’s terrified she’ll think he’s gross. Little does he know, she just needs to suckle him to stop it!】 What? 7 I shot up in bed, my heart pounding. The words were gone. I closed my eyes, trying to convince myself it was a dream. This is a fanfic? The main characters? And Ethan is that… guy? Impossible. I fell back onto my pillows. It had to be a dream.

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The first time I came home, my adopted sister killed herself. The second time, my brother killed me. He did it in the old family crypt, the air thick with the smell of dust and decay. He was screaming, his face twisted with grief. “Bella would still be here if you hadn’t come back! You took her from me!” His hands were strong, the blade of the hunting knife cold against my throat. I remember the gush of warmth, the sudden, shocking inability to breathe, and the sight of my parents watching from the doorway, their faces blank with a kind of horrible relief. The wrong daughter died, their eyes said. Then, I opened mine. And I was back on a Greyhound bus, the Georgia pines blurring past the window, on my way to meet them for the very first time. 1 The bus hissed to a stop. My foster mom, Sarah, gently shook my arm. “Clara, honey. We’re here. This is Savannah.” My eyes snapped open. I saw the familiar Spanish moss dripping from ancient oaks, the cobblestone square. The Azalea Room. The name on the restaurant awning sent a jolt of ice through my veins. This wasn’t possible. A moment ago, my brother, Preston, had sliced my throat. The pain, the cold spreading through my limbs as I bled out on the stone floor… it was real. I could still feel it. Preston’s voice echoed in my memory, a raw, ragged sound. “Why did you have to come back? After all these years, why couldn’t you just stay lost?” he’d sobbed over my body. “You killed her! It’s your fault Bella is dead! Give me back my Bella!” At Bella’s funeral, my own parents had turned on me, their voices dripping with venom. “It should have been you. If you had never been found, our sweet girl would still be with us.” The irony was suffocating. They were the ones who hired the private investigator. They were the ones who wanted this reunion. Bella was the daughter they chose. I was the one they lost. Kidnapped from a crowded festival when I was five. They mourned, they felt guilty, and then they moved on. It was Preston’s idea. “Mom, Dad,” he’d said, “Clara’s gone. Let’s go to the children’s home. We can find another little girl.” So they went to St. Jude’s Home for Children and adopted an orphan who looked a little like me. They named her Isabella—Bella. They showered her with the love, the apologies, and the future that should have been mine. I, meanwhile, was passed from one hell to another until I finally escaped and ended up on the streets. That’s where Sarah found me. A young widow with a son, Leo, just a year younger than me. She didn’t have much, but she took me in. Life with her wasn’t fancy, but I was never cold, never hungry. I was loved. An art teacher in our small town saw I had a knack for drawing and took me on for free. In return, I cleaned his studio. My whole life, I documented in a sketchbook—the dark moments, the small joys. It was my way of holding onto myself. When I was nineteen, my birth parents, Richard and Eleanor Beaumont, finally found me. They arranged this reunion lunch. Here. At The Azalea Room. The memory of the knife was so sharp it made me gasp. Sarah and I stepped off the bus. The air was thick with humidity and the sweet scent of magnolias. The Beaumonts were one of Savannah’s oldest families, their money stretching back generations. The restaurant was closed for their private event. A snooty waiter took one look at our simple clothes and tried to turn us away. The manager, a man with more sense, rushed over. “I’m sorry, we’re closed for a private party for the Beaumont family.” I stepped in front of Sarah. “We’re here for that party. Richard Beaumont is expecting us.” The manager’s eyes widened as he studied my face. “My God,” he whispered. “You have Mrs. Beaumont’s eyes. You must be… the lost daughter?” I just nodded. “Can we go in now?” “Of course! Right this way, Miss Beaumont!” He led us personally. As we walked up the grand, curving staircase, I turned to Sarah. “Mom, did you bring my sketchbook?” “Right here, honey.” She handed me the worn leather-bound book. “Safe and sound.” I opened it. Page after page of my life, drawn in stark charcoal and pencil. Bella had her own collection, I remembered. Not drawings, but professional photographs. A gallery wall in the Beaumont mansion filled with glossy 8x10s of her birthday parties, family vacations, a perfect life, perfectly captured. It was a Southern tradition, documenting life’s big moments. My sketchbook was the version no one wanted to see. Last time, on this day, Bella had fled the lunch in tears. She’d gone home, locked her door, and swallowed a bottle of pills. When my parents brought me to their mansion, full of forced cheer, their housekeeper ran out, wailing, “It’s Miss Bella! She’s taken pills! She’s not breathing!” They’d screamed for the best doctor in Savannah. “Whatever it costs! Just save our little girl!” But it was too late. Next to her body was a note and that stack of glossy photos. “Mom, Dad, Preston… thank you for giving me a beautiful life. But now the real daughter is back, and it’s time for me to give it all back to her. If there’s a next life, I hope I can be your real daughter…” They had wept, holding those pictures of their perfect family. Preston flew home from college and sat with her body all night, his voice a broken whisper. “I’m here now, Bella. I’m here. Why’d you do it? You should have told me. I would have protected you. I’ll make it right, Bella. I swear, I’ll get revenge for you. Just you wait.” They all blamed me. My return was her death sentence. And so, it became mine, too. I shook off the memory and squeezed Sarah’s hand as we reached the top of the stairs. The manager knocked on the private dining room door. It swung open, and there she was. Eleanor Beaumont. Tears welled in her eyes. “My child! My Clara!” She rushed forward to embrace me. I took a small step to the side. She stumbled, catching herself on the doorframe, a look of confusion on her face. “Clara, it’s me,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s your mother.” Richard Beaumont stood behind her, his face a mask of guilt. “Clara, you’ve suffered so much. We’re here now. We’ll make everything up to you. Come home.” I looked past them, to the girl standing in the corner, dressed in a silk dress that cost more than our monthly rent. Bella. Her face was a perfect portrait of scorn. I brought my gaze back to the Beaumonts. “I didn’t come here to go home with you. I came to tell you I’m staying with my family. The Fosters.” The shock on their faces was almost satisfying. Even Bella looked surprised. Sarah, bless her heart, was horrified. “Clara, no! Your real parents can give you a better life!” I squeezed her arm. “Mom, I’d rather be poor in a home full of love than rich in a house full of ghosts. You raised me. You loved me. Now it’s my turn to take care of you.” Tears filled Sarah’s eyes, this time from pride. Eleanor looked from Sarah to me, a flash of envy in her eyes. “Clara, we will, of course, reward your foster mother handsomely.” Richard signaled to an assistant, who brought forward a heavy briefcase. “Mrs. Foster, please accept this as a small token of our gratitude.” Sarah waved her hands frantically. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. Taking Clara in was the best thing that ever happened to me. She’s a wonderful daughter. I don’t need any money.” My heart swelled. I took my sketchbook and pushed it into Eleanor’s hands. “You gave birth to me, but you didn’t raise me. You missed everything. But I know parents feel what they feel. So here. This is my life. Now you have something to remember me by.” With that, I took Sarah’s arm and walked away. On the bus ride home, Sarah tried to reason with me, afraid I was making a mistake I’d regret. But my mind was made up. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I was going back to the Beaumonts. But on my terms. Not now. “Mom,” I said, changing the subject. “I got paid for that last commission from Sterling & Co. When we get home, let’s go to the bookstore. Leo’s studying for the bar exam, he could use some new review books.” Sarah sighed. “Clara, honey, you do too much for us. His shelves are already overflowing! You need to save your money for yourself.” She hesitated. “The Beaumonts…” “Mom. Don’t,” I said, my voice firm. “Their money, their world… it’s not a safe place to be.” She nodded. “You’re stubborn, but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I trust you.” Back in Savannah, Eleanor opened the sketchbook. She saw the drawing of a little girl with bruises on her back. A teenager working in a field. A young woman huddled in a doorway. The raw, brutal honesty of my life hit her like a physical blow. “My Clara,” she sobbed. “What have they done to you?” Richard was speechless with rage and regret. Bella snatched the book away. “It’s fake! She drew them to make you feel sorry for her!” The assistant, a man who happened to be an amateur artist, stepped forward. “Ma’am, with respect… the technique, the emotion… no one could fake this. These are drawn from memory. From life.” Bella shot him a venomous look. “What did she pay you to say that?” He just shook his head. “The Fosters are dirt poor, Miss Bella. How could they afford a bribe?” Richard’s face crumpled. He remembered. The festival. Preston, a spoiled seven-year-old, had thrown a tantrum, demanding they ride the Ferris wheel with him. They’d left me, just five years old, by the cotton candy stand, telling the vendor to watch me for a minute. When they came back, I was gone. They saw the man carrying me away, but in the chaos of the crowd, they lost us. They’d spent years blaming Preston, punishing him for his selfishness. And they’d poured all their guilt and misplaced love onto Bella. Now, as they flipped through the pages of my stolen childhood, they wept. “We’re so sorry, Clara… you suffered so much…” Bella couldn’t stand it. She ripped the sketchbook from their hands. “Stop it! She doesn’t even want you! Why are you looking at this garbage?” With a furious scream, she tore the pages to shreds. Eleanor, her face still wet with tears, watched the pieces of my life flutter to the floor. The rage that erupted in her was something I’d never seen. She slapped Bella, hard, across the face. “What have you done?” she shrieked. “That was all we had left of her!” Bella had never been disciplined in her life. The slap stunned her into silence, then into a furious, hateful glare directed at the ghost of me. “You hit me? For her?” she sobbed, then turned and ran from the room. Richard sighed, rubbing his temples. “Eleanor, was that necessary?” The anger drained out of her, replaced by regret. “I don’t know. Maybe when Preston gets home, he can take her shopping. Buy her some jewelry.” Richard nodded. “Good idea. I’ll tell him when he gets back from his trip.” 2 A few days later, a luxury car pulled up to our small house. The Beaumonts, bearing expensive gifts. My art had started to sell under a pseudonym, and my jewelry designs were gaining notice. We weren’t rich, but we weren’t destitute anymore, either. I’d fixed up our house. It was clean and cozy, but to their eyes, it was a hovel. “It’s so… small,” Eleanor murmured, wiping away a tear. “And the humidity… Clara, you can’t live like this.” Sarah looked mortified. “If it’s so awful, Mrs. Beaumont, you’re free to leave,” I said coolly. Eleanor looked wounded. Sarah shot me a warning look. “Your mother is just worried about you,” Richard said, trying to smooth things over. “She hasn’t been able to eat or sleep, just thinking about how to get you to come home.” I forced a smile. “I’m happy here.” They didn’t believe me. “What is it you do, exactly?” Richard asked. “I design jewelry,” I said. Eleanor’s eyes lit up. “Jewelry? But… that’s our business! Beaumont Jewels! Clara, you must come work for us.” “Yes!” Richard jumped in. “Come to Beaumont’s. I’ll pay you double whatever Sterling & Co. is giving you!” Money I wasn’t earning wasn’t worth turning down. And this was the perfect way in. I pulled out my contract with Sterling. “They pay me per design, a buyout price. If you’re willing to double this, I’ll consider it.” Richard glanced at the figure and his jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Done.” “Alright,” I said. “I’ll be there tomorrow.” They left, beaming. A moment later, Leo came home from his study group. When Sarah told him the news, his face darkened. “It’s a trap, Clara. First the job, then they’ll pressure you to move in. I don’t want you to go back there.” He looked at me, his expression stormy. “If you go back, I’m… I’m not speaking to you again!” He looked so earnest and upset, like a little boy. I reached out and pinched his cheek, just like I did when we were kids. “Don’t be mad. You’ll get wrinkles and no girl will want to marry a grumpy old man.” Leo froze, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He batted my hand away. “Hmph. If I can’t get a wife, it’ll be your fault for pinching my face.” “What’s the big deal?” I laughed. “It’s a huge deal!” he muttered, leaning in and whispering something in my ear so quietly I couldn’t make it out. Then he turned and disappeared into his room, leaving me completely baffled. The next day at Beaumont Jewels, Bella was waiting for me, flanked by a furious-looking Preston, just back from his trip. He didn’t even need an introduction. He put a protective arm around Bella and glared at me. “Don’t think because you’re blood you can push Bella around. I only have one sister, and it’s her. Get out of here while you still can, or I’ll make you regret it.” The memory of his knife, the chilling feeling of my life bleeding away, washed over me. Richard walked in just in time to hear Preston’s threat. “What did you just say?” he roared. “That is your sister! How dare you speak to her that way!” “Dad, Preston was just worried about me,” Bella cooed, clinging to Richard’s arm. Preston scowled and stormed out, dragging Bella with him. Later, I learned Richard took me through the history of the company. “Right now,” he said, “Sterling & Co. is our only real competition in Savannah.” I spent the day studying their designs, talking to the staff, even interviewing customers. That evening, I laid out a plan for him. “Give me two years,” I said, “and Sterling & Co. will be a footnote.” He was so impressed, he insisted I come to a family dinner that night. To further my plan, I agreed. At dinner, they brought up the subject of my marriage. “We owe you so much, Clara,” Eleanor said. “The least we can do is find you a suitable husband.” “I have no intention of getting married,” I said flatly. They ignored me. “Wyatt Sterling,” Eleanor mused. “Heir to Sterling & Co. He’s handsome, well-educated. A marriage there would be a fine match for you.” My head spun. They wanted me to marry the son of their biggest rival? Richard nodded. “Your mother is right. If that merger… I mean, marriage… were to happen…” Bella slammed her fork down. “Mother! You said you were going to arrange a meeting for me with Wyatt!” “We did, dear,” Eleanor said gently. “But his mother… she said Wyatt didn’t seem interested.” “What does she know? She’s just his stepmother!” Bella snapped. “Wyatt and I are perfect for each other. He’s taking me to a concert tomorrow!” Eleanor backed down immediately. “Well, alright then. We’ll stick to the original plan.” She gave me an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry, Clara. We’ll find someone else for you.” “Don’t bother,” I said, standing up. “I’m finished.” As I left, Preston got up and followed me out. A moment later, Bella excused herself to “check on her brother.” I was halfway down the block when I realized I’d left the book I’d bought for Leo at the restaurant. As I hurried back, I saw Preston and Bella arguing in a shadowed alleyway. I ducked behind a corner and listened. “Bella, that guy is a shallow playboy. He’s not good enough for you!” Preston hissed. “Oh yeah? And who is? You?” Bella laughed, a bitter sound. “You have a fiancée, Preston! You’re getting married at Christmas!” “That was an arrangement! It means nothing!” he shot back. “You are not marrying Wyatt Sterling! I won’t allow it!” “My marriage is my parents’ business, not yours!” That’s when Preston snapped. He slammed her against the wall and kissed her, a desperate, hungry kiss. I shook my head. Gross. I’m going to need to wash my eyes out. Suddenly, a hand clamped over my mouth and pulled me back into the shadows. I started to struggle, but a familiar voice whispered in my ear. “Shh! It’s me.” Leo. When we were a safe distance away, I spun on him. “Leo? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be studying?” “Shouldn’t you be just designing?” he retorted, his eyes flashing. “What happened to not going to ‘family dinners’?” He looked hurt. “Liar.” “It’s complicated,” I hedged. He snorted. “And what was that? Spying on people making out?” “I was not spying! I was… passing by!” He didn’t look convinced. “Well, your brother is a real piece of work. And that adopted sister of yours is even worse.” “You’re not wrong,” I sighed. “Let’s just go home.” In the weeks that followed, I produced hit after hit for Beaumont Jewels. Richard was thrilled. He saw me as his golden goose. His plan to acquire Sterling & Co. through marriage was still his primary goal. He and Eleanor were so blinded by greed, they couldn’t see the obvious. Why would the Sterlings agree to give up their flagship company as a dowry gift without asking for Beaumont Jewels in return? It made no sense. But they pushed Bella and Wyatt together, oblivious to the trap being laid. 3 Bella and Wyatt’s “courtship” moved quickly. To rub it in my face, she brought him to the showroom one afternoon. “You see, Clara?” she whispered triumphantly. “You’ll never win. Mom and Dad are mine. Preston is mine. And Wyatt will be mine, too.” “Congratulations,” I said, not looking up from my sketchpad. “You can have them all.” As Wyatt walked through the door, Bella suddenly stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor, her eyes filling with tears. “Sister, why would you push me?” she cried. “I told you I don’t want to fight with you!” I felt my fists clench. Wyatt rushed over and helped her up. I braced myself for his accusation, but instead, he looked at Bella with a cool, appraising eye. “You’re pretty good at that,” he said calmly. “But my stepmother has been pulling that same trick for years. You’ll have to try harder.” Bella stared at him, speechless, her face turning red with humiliation. Wyatt turned to me and smiled. “You must be ‘Aria’,” he said, using my pseudonym. “I’ve admired your work for a long time. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the artist.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost lunch. Would you care to join me at The Azalea Room?” I politely declined. But later, as I was grabbing a quick bowl of soup at a small diner, Wyatt and Bella walked in. “Aria! What a coincidence!” Wyatt said, sliding into the booth across from me. “I’ll have what she’s having.” Bella, ignored, finally exploded. “Clara, you shameless hussy! Wyatt is my fiancé! How dare you try to seduce him!” I put down my spoon. “Did anyone else hear a dog bark?” “Enough!” Wyatt snapped, frowning at Bella. “Are you blind? She was here first. I followed her. And since when are we engaged? We’ve gone out a few times. I’ve paid for everything. Don’t go making up stories.” He looked at me. “Aria, for the record, Miss Beaumont and I are barely acquaintances.” I didn’t care. It was obvious why he was interested in me. The day after the disastrous reunion, the Beaumonts had planted a story in the local paper about their long-lost daughter returning. Everyone in Savannah knew who I was. I had the Beaumont name, plus a talent Bella could only dream of. For the heir of Sterling & Co., I was the far more valuable asset. Bella’s face was crimson. “Barely acquaintances? Is that what you call what we did last night?” she shrieked. I blinked. Was she really airing their dirty laundry in public? Even if it worked and shamed him into marrying her, he’d resent her forever. She was sacrificing her reputation for a man who clearly didn’t respect her. “Fine, Wyatt. Just fine!” she sobbed, then shot me a look of pure hatred. The waiter brought Wyatt’s soup, steam rising from the bowl. In one swift motion, Bella grabbed it and threw it at my face. I dodged. The hot liquid splashed all over Wyatt’s arm and expensive shirt. “You crazy bitch!” he yelled at her. I calmly paid my bill, asked the waiter for another bowl of soup, walked over to the still-fuming Bella, and poured it directly over her head. She was so stunned, she didn’t even move. “Bella,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “I always pay my debts. You come after me again, and I promise you, it won’t be soup next time.” Then I walked out. That afternoon, she showed up at the studio, Preston in tow. “Preston, she poured soup on me! In front of everyone! You have to make her pay!” Preston’s face was thunderous. “Clara! Get over here and apologize to Bella!” He turned to his sister, his voice softening. “You go get a pot of hot tea, Bella. You can do the same thing to her. I’m right here. No one will touch you.” “Are you insane?” I said. “She threw it at me first! She should be apologizing to me!” “I don’t care! You must have provoked her,” he snarled, his hand resting on the hilt of the ornamental dagger he sometimes wore on his belt. “I’m not going to say it again. Get on your knees and apologize.” “I could say it a hundred times, and my answer would still be no.” I took a deep breath, playing my part. “I don’t understand, Preston. I’m your real sister. Why do you hate me so much?” “My sister?” he sneered. “You’re not worthy.” “It was because of you that I was kidnapped,” I said, letting my voice tremble. “I thought when I came back, you’d be sorry. That you’d ask for my forgiveness.” His face contorted with rage. “Sorry? I have nothing to be sorry for! Do you know how many times Mom and Dad beat me over that? How many years they blamed me?” He laughed, a chilling sound. “Honestly, Clara, I wish you had died out there. I wish you’d ended up one of those crippled beggars on the street!” “You’re a monster,” I whispered, letting tears well in my eyes. He grabbed my arm and threw me to the floor. “You wanted to come back so badly? Fine. I’ll make sure every day of your life here is a living hell.” As he loomed over me, I kept my eyes on his twisted face, but in my peripheral vision, I saw what I was waiting for: the corner of a tailored suit jacket, just outside the doorway. Bella came rushing in with a steaming teapot, a triumphant smirk on her face. “This is boiling hot, Clara. Say goodbye to that pretty face. You deserve this!” “STOP!” Richard Beaumont’s roar echoed through the studio. Startled, Bella dropped the teapot. It shattered on the floor, splashing boiling water all over her feet. She screamed in agony. Preston rushed to her side, but Richard grabbed him and slapped him so hard he stumbled. “You monster! How could you treat your sister this way?” “Dad, it’s not what it looks like!” Preston stammered. “We were just… inviting her to dinner!” “Liar!” Richard was shaking with fury. “I heard everything! You resented us all these years! You wished your own sister dead!” Preston’s face went pale. “You were outside? You heard…?” He whirled on me. “You! You set me up! You knew he was coming!” I shook my head, looking innocent. “I report to Mr. Beaumont at this time every day. I’m not a mind reader. How could I possibly know he’d come looking for me?” Richard nodded, buying it completely. “Don’t you dare try to blame her!” he bellowed, slapping Preston again. “I have no son! Get out of my sight! Get out!” As Preston carried the shrieking Bella out of the studio, he shot me a look over his shoulder. A look that promised murder. I knew then, with absolute certainty, he was a madman. But this time, I would be ready. This time, he would be the one who wouldn’t walk away.

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I lost Leo for seven years before we finally got it right. But we only had three years together before stomach cancer took him from me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the year he hated me most. A much younger Leo was spitting venom, breaking my heart all over again. So I grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and kissed him. Leo: ? I was defiant. “We broke up. Doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you. Any questions?” 1 “…Let’s just break up, Leah. I’ve had enough.” The icy words pierced through the fog in my head. I snapped my eyes open. The dim yellow streetlight outside his walk-up apartment cast long shadows. Before me was Leo’s face—handsome, sharp, but now covered in a layer of frost. Except, he was a full decade younger. I felt a wave of dizziness. A second ago, I was in a hospital ICU. The Leo in that bed was a skeleton, his body ravaged by disease. He held my hand, using the last of his strength to whisper, “If we could do it all over again… I wouldn’t want to waste those seven years without you.” A tear rolled down my cheek. He took his last breath in my arms. And now— I was back. Back ten years, to the moment he hated me more than anyone in the world. “…From now on, we go our separate ways. I don’t want to see—” I didn’t let him finish. I grabbed the collar of his worn band t-shirt, stood on my toes, and crushed my lips against his. This soft, warm feeling… it had been so long. So different from the chapped, frail, medicine-tinged kisses I remembered. Right now, he was young, alive. Pulsing with a vibrant energy that I ached for. A greedy hunger rose in me, and I bit down, hard. “Hiss—” I broke the skin on his lip. The coppery taste of blood bloomed between us. He flinched, as if jolted from a trance, his pupils constricting in shock. “Are you insane?” He stumbled back a step, the tips of his ears burning red, his voice unsteady. “I said we’re breaking up! Can’t you understand English?” The me from ten years ago would have had her pride shattered. She would have turned and walked away without a word. But I wasn’t her. Because of this stupid, prideful breakup, Leo and I wasted seven years. Seven years he spent burying himself in work and self-destruction, numbing the pain until his body finally gave out, earning him a stage-four stomach cancer diagnosis. It meant that after we finally found our way back to each other, we only had three short years before we were separated by death. This time, I wasn’t letting him go. I licked my lips, savoring the taste of him. I looked up at him and smiled. “We broke up. Doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you. Any questions?” “You—” “You what?” I stepped forward, poking a finger into his tense chest. Suddenly, I felt a little pissed off. The Leo from seven years later would have treated me like a fragile piece of glass, like I was the most precious thing in the world. He wouldn’t be acting like this, all angry and mean, not even letting me kiss him. “Stop pretending,” I said, my finger tracing a path up his chest to his heart. “It hurts right here, doesn’t it? Like you can barely breathe. Admit it, Leo. You don’t want to break up with me any more than I do.” He froze for a second, then his face hardened again. “Who said that? Leah, don’t be so full of yourself.” “You did,” I said, my gaze locked on his. “See, the thing is, I’m from ten years in the future. And in that future, you regret this exact moment so much you come crawling back, begging me to take you back.” “That’s impossible!” he shot back, his voice a low, urgent whisper. “Leah, we’re at the end of the line. Is there any point in making up ridiculous stories like that just to lie to yourself?” Ugh. He was so stubborn. Not like the future him, who would curl up in my arms like a big, contented dog if I so much as crooked my finger. But still. After everything we went through, I knew exactly what was going on in that head of his. No matter how harsh his words were, I wasn’t scared. “Leo, I’m going to ask you one more time. Why are you breaking up with me?” He looked away, his tone clipped. “I told you. I’m tired of it. I’m bored. It’s just not working anymore.” “Liar.” I smiled, my thumb gently dabbing the corner of his lip where I’d bitten him. His face flushed, and he grabbed my wrist. “Just talk. Stop touching me!” “We’re breaking up. Shouldn’t I get in a few last touches while I can?” “…” He went silent, but he didn’t fight me anymore. The grip on my wrist loosened just a little. I took my chance, tracing a line on the inside of his warm palm. I felt his whole body tense up again, and I continued, satisfied. “You think you’re so good at hiding things, Leo? You’re doing this because you saw my father a couple of days ago, aren’t you?” Leo’s head snapped up. His eyes were wide with disbelief. “You… you knew?” I nodded, meeting his gaze calmly. “I don’t just know that. I also know you plan on destroying my father’s company to get revenge for your dad.” His pupils shrank. It was the raw, naked shock of someone whose deepest secret has just been ripped open for the world to see. I raised my hand, ignoring his rigid posture. My fingertips greedily traced his tense jawline, feeling the strong, youthful pulse beneath his skin. “It’s okay, Leo. Ruin it. “I’ll help you.” 2 Last time, when Leo forced this breakup on me, I had no idea why. I just assumed he’d fallen out of love with me. I had my pride. He said it was over, so I walked away. But I could never figure it out. The boy who once treated me like I was the center of his universe… How did he turn into this cold stranger overnight? After two weeks of agony, I couldn’t take it anymore and went to find him. That’s when I discovered he’d already left the country. Without so much as a goodbye. It wasn’t until we got back together seven years later that Leo finally told me the truth. That year, his father was betrayed by a business partner, left with crushing debt, and jumped from the roof of his office building. His mother couldn’t handle the grief and followed him soon after. Overnight, his family was destroyed, and he was an orphan. And that business partner who ruined his father… Was my father. Leo didn’t know at first. It wasn’t until our college graduation day, when he saw my dad show up to celebrate with me, that the world came crashing down on him. He hated my father with every fiber of his being. And by extension, he started to hate me, too. Pushing me away was the only choice he thought he had. … The tide of memories receded. I looked up at the shocked, lost boy in front of me. “Since you know everything…” his voice was hoarse, like he was forcing the words out. “You should understand what’s between us. It’s a blood feud, Leah. We… we can’t.” Every word was a struggle. He was sentencing both of us to death. “Logically, you’re right,” I nodded. But in the next second, I stepped closer, tilting my head up, my gaze stubbornly fixed on his. “But Leo… “Can you really, truly stop yourself from loving me?” His breath hitched. He didn’t speak. His eyes just darted back and forth, like I’d exposed his most private, shameful secret, and he looked away, flustered. “I’ve said what I needed to say. We shouldn’t see each other again.” He dropped those words and turned to leave. I didn’t try to stop him. I just followed him, strolling casually behind. Leo’s back stiffened. He turned around, frowning. “Why are you still following me?” “I still have stuff at your place,” I said with a breezy smile. “No matter what, you have to let me come up and get my things, right?” We had just graduated. This was a new apartment he’d just rented. Truthfully, I lived at home, so I didn’t really have anything here. It was just an excuse. Leo obviously knew it. His jaw tightened, his posture defensive, almost wary. “What stuff? Tell me, I’ll get it for you.” “You?” I raised an eyebrow, dragging out the word. “You’re so clumsy. What if you break something? I need to get it myself.” He glared at me, his chest rising and falling. In the end, he lost the battle, silently letting me follow him up the stairs. However. The moment the door opened, I didn’t say a word. I just took a running leap. And landed, spread-eagled, on his big bed. “Weren’t you going to pack your things?” Leo’s voice was tight with suppressed anger. I rolled over, grinning at him. “I am. “I’m planning on packing up all my stuff and moving in with you.” The color drained from Leo’s face. 3 “Leah!” His face was beet red. “We’ve already broken up! Is it appropriate for you to live here?” “Why not?” I arched an eyebrow. “If I don’t keep an eye on you, you’ll be on a plane out of the country within a month.” His eyes widened. “How… how did you know that?” “I told you, I’m from the future. You don’t believe me?” He turned his head, stubborn. “It’s not hard to figure out. The company I just started at is taking applications for overseas posts. Anyone could find that out if they asked around.” “Oh?” I smiled, slowly sitting up and inching towards him. “Well, I also know that you have a tiny red mole right where your V-line ends, in a very… private spot. “Can you find that out by asking around?” Leo was stunned. His face went from red to crimson, all the way to his ears. For the four years we were in college, our relationship was the definition of innocent. We’d never crossed that line. We’d planned to get a place after graduation, maybe unlock some new, more exciting… positions. But we broke up before we got the chance. In the future, though, after we got back together, we explored every inch of each other’s bodies. I knew him better than he knew himself. I teased him. “Oh? Is there no mole?” As I spoke, my fingers hooked onto the waistband of his jeans, just under his t-shirt. And gave them a little tug. Leo’s breathing immediately grew heavier. His body went rigid with a mixture of defensiveness and resistance, but he didn’t push me away. That conflict—wanting to say no but being physically unable to—made his whole body tense. “When… when did you see that?” he asked, his voice raspy. “You’re my man. Can’t I look?” My fingertips grazed his skin. “I didn’t just look. I also know where you’re sensitive.” My hand moved with expert precision to that ticklish spot on his side, and I gave a gentle pinch. “Ngh…” A shudder ran through him, a low, suppressed groan escaping his throat. The twenty-two-year-old Leo was so much more innocent than the thirty-year-old version. He stood no chance against this kind of teasing. The memories of those three years of intimacy made me an expert on his reactions. In a few practiced moves, I had his shirt off. I missed him so much. I missed this healthy, vibrant body, full of life. The memories of our passion, of our tangled limbs and shared heat, felt so far away. “Don’t, we can’t…” He seemed to regain a sliver of rationality, trying to resist. I pinned his struggling hands, my breath hot against his ear. “Leo, you want me too, don’t you? “Otherwise, why didn’t you stop me just now? “With your strength, you could push me away in a heartbeat. “You… you were enjoying it too much to stop, weren’t you?” That last question was the final straw. Leo’s defenses, torn between love and hate, came crashing down. He covered his face. Tears started streaming from his eyes without warning. His voice was filled with helpless despair. “Leah, why are you doing this to me? I can’t get over what happened. I can’t love you… “It took… it took everything I had to say those words to you… that was all the strength I had left. “If you do this… what am I supposed to do?” Seeing his breakdown, my own frantic desire cooled instantly. Right. I couldn’t demand that this version of Leo—the one being torn apart by love and hate—be the same as the one whose wounds had been softened by seven years of time. Pushing him like this would only cause him more pain. “Okay, you’re right. I was lying.” I let him go, my thumb gently wiping away his tears, my voice softening. “The truth is, in the future, you didn’t come back because you loved me. You came back because you hated me.” “You hated me so much… you locked me up. Made me your plaything.” “You’d hit me with your belt, lock my hands in cuffs, torture me in every way you could think of until I was begging for death.” “You didn’t choose to love me. You chose to get revenge. To unleash all your hate on me.” I sighed, trying to give him an excuse, a way to lessen his guilt. “Does that make it easier for you to stop torturing yourself?” Leo’s crying stopped. He stared at me with red-rimmed eyes, as if trying to process what I’d just said. I sighed again, not wanting to force him anymore. I was about to get up. But he suddenly grabbed my wrist. The world spun, and he had me pinned beneath him again. Our breaths mingled, hot and heavy. His eyes were a storm of hate and desire, threatening to swallow me whole. “Leah, Leah…” he gritted out my name, his voice raw. “I fucking… hate you so much.” He pulled his belt from his jeans. Gently, with a slight tremor, he slapped it against the side of my thigh. That familiar, thrilling sensation sent shivers of pleasure straight to my scalp. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my gaze locking with his. “You can… go harder.” But Leo looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. He pressed my face into the pillow. “Don’t look at me like that!” His voice was low and savage. “This is punishment!” My heart felt like it was about to beat out of my chest. The thirty-year-old Leo loved this position. The younger version had no technique, all clumsy and awkward. But he had a reckless, untamed energy. He was like a wild animal that had lost control, crashing into me again and again. There were no kisses, only bites. No words of love, only ragged breaths. It was as if he was trying to pour all his suppressed love and hate into my body. Until finally, everything fell silent. Leaving only the sound of our pounding hearts and damp, heavy breathing. He was still on top of me, refusing to move away. Refusing to even look at me. As if that would be enough to maintain his last shred of self-deception. 4 The room was a mess. I lay there, completely satisfied, savoring the feeling of having him back. Beside me, however, Leo was tossing and turning like a pancake on a griddle, unable to sleep. After a long while, he asked me, his voice muffled from behind. “Why are you… so good at this? “Where did you learn all these tricks?” I smiled. In our past life, Leo and I had gotten pretty creative. It was easy to give this inexperienced version of him a little shock. I turned over and stole a quick kiss. “The future you was a very good teacher. “If you want to learn, I can teach you. Slowly.” “No,” he said, his face cold as he turned away. “I’m just using you. Humiliating you. This isn’t about pleasure.” I wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince me or himself. It was so ridiculous I almost laughed out loud. I suppressed a smile and wrapped my arms around his warm, firm waist from behind. “Mmm, you’re right. Next time… please, feel free to use me even more.” His body tensed. He grabbed my arms to stop me from hugging him tighter. “Don’t hold me. We’re not in that kind of relationship anymore.” I decided to play along. “But in the future, as part of my punishment, you made me sleep like this every night.” “You said my body would press against my hands and I wouldn’t be able to sleep well, that it was a good way to torture me with insomnia.” His resisting hands slowly went limp. I smiled and hugged him tighter. This time, he didn’t fight back. And for the first time in a long time, I could finally get a good night’s sleep. During the final days of his cancer, I lived in constant fear of losing him. I hadn’t had a peaceful night’s sleep in what felt like an eternity. But now, holding his hot, powerful body, I finally felt safe. For the first time in ages, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. …Well, not entirely dreamless. I saw the Leo from my past life again. He had just been diagnosed. He held the report, tried to smile at me, but his eyes were already red. “If I’d known, I never would have come back to find you. I wouldn’t have dragged you into this suffering with me…” He stroked my face. “If I go… I can’t leave you alone. I’m worried…” “Then don’t go!” I clung to his hand, my tears falling onto his skin. “Leo, we’ll fight this. We’ll be okay, I know we will…” But it was too late. In the seven years we were apart, he had destroyed his body with work and alcohol. The damage was done. By the time we found it, there was nothing to do. In just six months, he was gone. So this time, I won’t make the same mistake. He couldn’t bear to leave me, so I won’t listen to his proud, stubborn words. Even if it’s through “hate.” I will stay by his side. Watch over him, protect him. Make sure he has three warm meals a day. Make sure he lives a long, long life.

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