Author: Momo Chan

I’m secretly married to a university professor who rarely cracks a smile. During one of his public lectures, I accidentally broadcast a steamy romance novel from my phone. He was the male lead. I was the author. The resulting uproar nearly blew the roof off the lecture hall. Dr. Miles’s gaze cut through the crowd and landed squarely on me. “My office. After class.” That night, he pinned me against the door, and I was trembling like a leaf. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I’ll never write it again.” He loosened his tie, his voice a low whisper. “Too late. Ten minutes for every word. You do the math.” 1 It was the first open lecture of the new semester. The hall was packed, standing room only. The moment my roommate dragged me inside, my eyes met a cool, impossibly handsome face. My heart stopped. The man stood at the podium in a crisp white shirt, his calm, intelligent eyes looking at me through thin-framed glasses, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he took in my deer-in-the-headlights expression. “Class is about to start,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. “Please find a seat.” My roommate grabbed my arm, foiling my escape attempt, and pulled me into the front row. “Let me introduce you,” she whispered excitedly. “Professor Miles. My ultimate crush.” His hands, shuffling papers on the lectern, were just inches away. A simple wedding band gleamed on his ring finger. It was a perfect match for the one hanging on a chain around my neck. The second our eyes met again, I ducked my head, my entire body rigid. Oh, God. Can someone please tell me why my practically-a-stranger husband, who was supposed to be doing research abroad, is suddenly back in the country? Last month, in a drunken fit of madness, I’d sent him a series of progressively thirstier photos in the middle of the night. Dr. Julian Miles, ever the gentleman, had simply pretended he never saw them. When I sobered up, I remembered we barely knew each other. Our marriage was a family arrangement, a convenience. So why in the world was he suddenly here, at my university, as my new physics professor? This was a nightmare. Professor Miles stood straight, his gaze sweeping over my huddled form before that faint smile returned. “Due to some unforeseen circumstances, I will be taking over this physics course for the semester. I look forward to a productive term with all of you.” His voice was like a cool spring breeze, but it brought back a flood of memories that were suddenly attacking me. His faculty position… it was at Ashton University. I could feel his eyes on me, and I shrank further into my seat. Was he really going to fail me just because I’d sent him a few suggestive texts? He said nothing more about it, and the first lecture of the semester began. Sitting directly under his gaze, listening to that cool, melodic voice, I felt a wave of drowsiness wash over me. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was my editor. Talia, your professor character is pure fire. Polish this up, we’re taking it live! Half-asleep, I tapped the file she sent. The screen froze. A few seconds later, a robotic female voice emanated from my phone’s speaker. “In the dead of night, I slipped on Professor Miles’s white shirt and stumbled through his door, crashing into his arms.” “Oh, Professor… please, hold me tighter…” I jolted awake. My phone’s text-to-speech feature was on, broadcasting my R-rated prose to the entire lecture hall. I fumbled to silence it, but it was too late. Oh my God, oh my God, make it stop… The room was dead silent. Professor Miles had stopped talking. His expression was as serene as ever, but I felt his gaze on me like a physical weight, and I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “I’m so sorry, my phone is broken…” I stammered, tears welling in my eyes. In my panic, I accidentally turned the volume up. The AI voice launched into the next, even spicier scene. The students around me were beet red, frozen in stunned silence. Professor Miles tapped a piece of chalk against the lectern. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound echoed in the suffocating silence. Finally, he spoke to me for the first time since his return. “Thank you for that… contribution. Please see me in my office after class.” 2 The silence in his office was deafening. I sat across from him, the ticking of the clock in the corner marking every second of my agony. Professor Miles was grading papers, his head bowed. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, its warm, golden light filtering through the leaves and falling across his perfectly tailored shirt, casting long, elegant shadows. He hadn’t said a word to me since I’d walked in. He hadn’t even mentioned the novel. Was he going to divorce me for writing fanfiction about him? “Um, Professor, I’m really sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He looked up and smiled faintly. “I understand. Artistic expression.” His gentle tone completely disarmed me. I managed a weak smile back. “Right, right… as long as you understand. I’m actually a very conservative person. My editor makes me write those scenes… there aren’t many of them.” The atmosphere seemed to relax. He pulled out a gift bag and placed it on the desk. His voice was polite and warm. “My return was a bit rushed, so I only managed to get you a cashmere scarf. The shirt will have to wait until next time.” Shirt? Professor Miles’s shirt?! I met his gentle gaze and realized he had completely misunderstood. Oh God, he thinks I’m a creep… Just as I was about to try and salvage my reputation, my phone exploded with a flurry of messages from my editor. The notification sounds drew both of our attention. “Does Julian really like doing it in the kitchen?” “That’s a fire hazard. I suggest you change it.” “The office scene is hot, though! Spill water on him, then pounce, use ‘changing clothes’ as an excuse to get him… where do you come up with this stuff?” My head shot up. Professor Miles’s calm gaze was fixed on my phone screen. Then, his eyes slowly lifted to the cup of water I was clutching in my hands. He smiled. “Are you… going to spill it?” A strange, mortifying silence filled the room. Finally, blushing furiously, I managed to choke out, “I would never do that. You have my word.” 3 After leaving his office, Professor Miles drove me to my parents’ house for dinner. They were thrilled he was back and had cooked a feast. I sat in the passenger seat, feeling like my soul had left my body. My editor was trying to comfort me via text. “Relax. He’s a serious academic. You think he has time to read smut on some little writing platform?” I snuck a glance at him. My heart immediately started doing a frantic tap dance against my ribs. He was focused on the traffic, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the steering wheel. The neon lights of the city washed over his handsome profile, painting him in shifting colors. The air in the car suddenly felt very hot. “He probably thinks I’m a total pervert,” I texted. “Well, aren’t you?” she shot back, along with a screenshot of an illustration I had drawn for the story. The caption read: Professor Miles’s Laundry Day. The top comment: “If you know, you know. He’s doing his own laundry because someone made a mess… and he was happy to do it.” “Someone explain?” a newer comment asked. “Go play somewhere else, kid.” I quickly logged onto the site and posted an update. “Taking a short break, guys. The subject has returned. Please, let’s all be cool.” My fans, however, were anything but. “Let’s go, girl! Get this story to #1 so the Professor can see it!” “A happy author means a happy fandom!” “OMG, this is like a live feed! Author, please, live in my phone!” “We’re here. There’s a car behind us,” Miles’s voice pulled me from my phone. “I didn’t write about a car! You’re mistaken!” I blurted out, shoving my phone away. I looked up and saw his baffled expression. I realized he was talking about the rearview mirror. “So,” he asked, a hint of amused resignation in his voice, “what exactly have you been writing?” “…” Kill me now. I was so flustered that I nearly walked into traffic getting out of the car. Miles grabbed my hand to pull me back. The gentle warmth of his skin and the subtle, woody scent of his cologne was like a spark landing in my palm, spreading a dizzying heat through me. Remembering my disastrous physics grades, I said anxiously, “I’ll study really hard. I promise.” He just grunted in response. Fearing he didn’t believe me, I raised my hand as if taking an oath. “I mean it! I’ll be a model student. Please, just don’t tell my parents about my grades.” He must have seen the genuine panic in my eyes because a soft, helpless laugh escaped him. “Alright,” he said. “I won’t.” His gaze made my heart flutter. Before I could respond, my mother’s booming voice came from the front door. “Talia, what is this you posted online? ‘Used to be scared to tell my parents I was dating, now I’m scared to tell my husband’? What is that supposed to mean?” I froze on the spot. I met Miles’s questioning look and blurted out, “My boyfriend is a fan-art character on a website—” I clamped my mouth shut, nearly biting my tongue. It was fan-art of him, and the thirsty comments were still all over it. Thankfully, he didn’t press for details. He just politely greeted my mom, who immediately forgot her anger and ushered him inside. As we walked in, I heard his low, warm chuckle. “I hope dinner tonight isn’t keeping you from your boyfriend.” “…” I am going to die. That night, to prevent him from finding the story, I frantically deleted comments. My readers were having a field day. “Oh ho, the plot thickens.” “Two minutes and another comment is gone. Don’t worry, I took screenshots. Professor, DM me, I’ll send them for free.” I barely tasted my food. When dinner was over and Miles stood up to leave, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. “You two head home,” my mom said with a loving smile. “Drive safe.” I blinked. “Me too?” “You’re married. If you don’t go home with your husband, where else would you go?” I turned and saw Miles standing by the door, holding my coat, waiting for me. My face went pale. This was a lamb walking willingly into the lion’s den. And so, I was brought to his home. After we’d signed the papers, he’d left for his research fellowship abroad. This was the first night we would ever spend alone together. My heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I stood in the doorway like an ostrich, refusing to go any further. “The master bedroom is that way. Your clothes are in the closet. You can shower first.” I found myself staring at the alluring line of his waist as he bent down to take off his shoes. “So… am I showering alone?” I asked, my face burning. In the dim light, his gaze found mine. “You’re certainly… direct.” I snapped back to my senses and scurried into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. My whole body felt like it was boiling. I could die of embarrassment. After my shower, I furiously texted my friends. “How do you make a man fall hopelessly in love with you?” My roommate replied instantly: “Talia! Look at you go! Already staying out all night, huh? And you’re still thinking about chasing guys?” They sent me a link to a post on the university’s online forum. My “glorious” moment in the lecture hall had gone viral. Someone had uploaded the video. It already had thousands of comments. “HOLY CRAP, TALIA VANCE IS LADY T! You can find her new story, My Wild Days with Professor Miles, on the Crimson Quill platform!” “Are she and the professor for real? Is this, like, a memoir?” “No way! That’s Julian Miles! Ashton’s untouchable Ice King! His failure rate is insane; they call him the Gentle Blade. Talia’s screwed for finals.” “Noooo, my professor’s reputation! He has such a pure, ascetic face, there’s no way he’s like that in private…” My personal social media accounts had been blown up. People were demanding an explanation. Worse, they were flooding Professor Miles’s official university profile page. “Professor Miles, you should sue her. For real.” “Look at what she wrote about you! (See attached screenshot)” Oh god, they were posting excerpts of my story and the fan-art directly on his page. I could feel a heart attack coming on. It was over. There was no hiding it now. Then, Chloe, the most popular girl in my year, chimed in. “But… isn’t Professor Miles married?” She posted a photo. A clear shot of his hand, with the wedding band unmistakable on his ring finger. Chloe added: “I know his wife. I just spoke with her tonight. My cousin said she had no idea about any of this.” The gossip mill went into overdrive. “Wait, you call her your cousin?” “Yes, we’re very close. She said she hopes Talia Vance will stop fantasizing about her husband. It’s making her very uncomfortable.” “By the way, she’s flying back to the States soon. She said she’d like to treat everyone to dinner to thank them for their support.” The tide of public opinion turned in an instant. “Does anyone know this Talia girl? Tell her to stop embarrassing the rest of us.” “The real wife is coming back. The delulu fanfic girl must be terrified now, lol.” Her words were so confident, for a second, I actually doubted myself. Did I dream up my own marriage? I pulled up the digital copy of our marriage certificate on my phone and stared at it. A handsome man, a beautiful woman. A match made in heaven. Even if God himself descended, I was still Julian Miles’s wife. 4 The internet mob was terrifyingly efficient. Within minutes, Professor Miles’s profile page was wallpapered with my writing and drawings. The thought of him seeing it all made me want to spontaneously combust. I had to get to his phone and delete everything before he saw it. Half an hour later, I pushed open his study door, my heart pounding. The room was quiet. He was sitting at his desk, the soft glow from his laptop screen illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He looked up at the sound, his brow furrowing slightly when he saw me standing there, barefoot. “Still awake?” As I got closer, he finally took in my attire—one of his white button-down shirts. Oh god, this looked less like a stealth mission and more like a seduction attempt. A hot blush flooded my face. His gaze traveled slowly down from my collarbone, over my waist, down my thighs, before finally meeting my crimson face. “Talia,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “What is this?” He set his pen down on the desk with a soft click. The small sound sent a shiver down my spine. My legs were shaking. I started babbling nonsense. “I… I was cold. Just looking for something to wear…” He leaned back in his chair, a half-smile playing on his lips. “This is a study,” he reminded me, his tone laced with amusement. My eyes locked onto his phone, sitting on the corner of the desk. Steeling myself, I swung my leg over and sat on the desk, right in front of him. I managed to snatch the phone. In doing so, I blocked the light from his small desk lamp. His face was instantly plunged into shadow, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, his voice, now husky and deep, drifted out of the darkness. “Talia, you are currently sitting on your physics homework.” “Do you have any idea what this behavior constitutes?” I held my breath, planting a foot on his thigh for balance. “Um, what? I’m just…” In a flash, he was on his feet, his hands on either side of me, trapping me against the desk. Click. He turned off the lamp. Darkness swallowed the room whole. I was enveloped in that woody scent, and before I could react, a strong hand curved around my waist. His voice was a hot breath against my ear. “You’re showing contempt for classroom decorum.” “And disrespecting your professor.” “And, you’ve managed to get your own homework wet.” “I have never had such a difficult student.” There was a hint of censure in his cool tone now. My body went limp. I rested my forehead against his shoulder, on the verge of crying from pure shame. “I’m sorry, Professor…” “I don’t accept apologies. Look at me.” The command was absolute. The moment I lifted my head, his mouth was on mine. Fireworks exploded behind my eyes. My hands scrabbled uselessly at his shirt as I surrendered completely to his aggressive conquest. In the darkness, he paused, his voice laced with a helpless amusement. “You really do have a thing for my shirts, don’t you?” My breathing was ragged, my skin on fire. I was so overwhelmed I thought I was going to pass out. I had pushed his phone aside during the kiss. Suddenly, the screen lit up, a blinding notification cutting through the darkness.

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My husband’s younger brother, Neo, decided the Felton family estate was the perfect backdrop for his new reality dating show. Which is how Adrian and I, his older brother and sister-in-law, accidentally became the show’s reluctant counterparts. At first, the internet forums dismissed me as a mere prop. The neglected wife with the difficult mother-in-law, a pale shadow next to the show’s glittering stars. But then, things started to change. Soon, the producers were being flooded with comments: [@FeltonLoveProducers: I live for the moments with the big brother and his wife! Petition to get them more screen time!] [I’m literally scouring the corners of the screen for crumbs of their sweetness!] [My sugar levels are dangerously low. I need a dose of Adrian and Celeste, stat!] 1 Neo Felton’s love life was a whirlwind romance, splashed across the tabloids and trending on social media every other day. His girlfriend was the one and only Penelope “Poppy” Vance, a bona fide movie star. The prodigal son had finally been tamed. He spent a solid month wearing down Adrian until my husband finally relented, agreeing to let them film the show at the family manor. Adrian didn’t bother to tell me until a week before the cameras were due to arrive. “We just have to cooperate for a few episodes,” he said. “If you don’t want to be on camera, we can move out for a while.” I was sprawled languidly across the sheets, my shoulders a pale gleam of skin against the dark cascade of my hair. “Forget it,” I murmured. “Too much effort to move.” I’d lived in the Felton estate for the three years I’d been married to Adrian. It was home. I was too lazy to pack. 2 The morning filming began, I drifted downstairs, still half-asleep. Adrian had already instructed the crew not to film me without permission, so the cameras were pointedly focused elsewhere. The ground floor was already buzzing with activity. Poppy Vance was the center of it all, surrounded by an entourage, playing the lady of the manor to perfection. She caught sight of me out of the corner of her eye and gestured graciously to the head housekeeper. “Mrs. Gable, could you please get Celeste some breakfast as well?” Mrs. Gable hesitated, her gaze flicking to me for confirmation. I stifled a yawn and gave a slight nod. Only then did she signal to the kitchen. Neo, already at the table, greeted me. “Morning, Celeste.” My eyes felt heavy with sleep. “‘Morning.” “Adrian already left for the office?” he asked. “Hm? I guess so,” I said, my voice thick with uncertainty. The man was up before the sun, every single day. Even after a long night, nothing could disrupt the routine he’d followed for decades. But that was Adrian Felton. As the heir to the Felton empire, his legendary self-discipline and control were ingrained in him. He never, ever lost his composure. Even our private life was scheduled with an almost clinical precision. While I waited for my food, Poppy suddenly glided over and sat beside me, linking her arm through mine with a practiced smile aimed at a nearby camera. “This is Celeste’s first time on camera, so she’s a little shy,” she cooed to her audience. “I hope all my fans will be extra sweet to her!” She turned to me, her smile dazzling. “Don’t be nervous, Celeste. My fans are the best.” And just like that, I was on screen—no makeup, a thoroughly bewildered expression on my face. Poppy kept an eye on the live comment feed, her own sweet smile never faltering as she cherry-picked questions to answer. “You think Celeste looks familiar? Hmm, maybe it’s because she has one of those familiar faces.” “You’re asking how old she is? Shhh! It’s not polite to ask a lady her age!” After answering a few more questions and realizing the focus was still stubbornly on me, she gracefully returned to her seat, trying to steer the conversation back to herself. The live feed, however, was still buzzing. [So that’s Neo Felton’s sister-in-law? The wife of the Felton Corporation’s CEO?] [She really does look familiar, and not in a generic way. I swear I’ve seen her on TV before!] [Is she trying to ride Poppy’s coattails to get famous?] [Poppy is so generous, letting her sister-in-law get free screen time.] [I’m only here for Poppy! She’s so gorgeous!!!] [Poppy is so lucky. Her fiancé is handsome, rich, and totally spoils her!] Meanwhile, my mind was a million miles away. I was exhausted. Utterly drained. Adrian had just returned from a week-long business trip. And last night, my meticulously disciplined husband had decided to… make up for lost time. All of it. My body was still protesting. 3 After breakfast, Neo disappeared into the study to handle some work, leaving me once again in the clutches of the relentlessly cheerful Poppy. She pulled me onto the sofa to look at wedding dresses. She and Neo were engaged and planning a wedding for the near future. “Celeste, what do you think of this one? Isn’t it gorgeous?” I glanced from her to the glossy bridal magazine in her hands. “It’s beautiful.” “What about this one?” Another glance. “That one’s beautiful, too.” “Celeste,” she began, flipping through the pages with feigned casualness, “I heard you and Adrian never had a wedding ceremony?” I took a loud bite of my apple. Crunch. “We didn’t,” I replied after a moment. Poppy gasped, her hand flying to her lips in mock horror. “Adrian didn’t even give you a wedding?” “I was the one who didn’t want one,” I clarified, shaking my head. Adrian and I had an arranged marriage, a union of dynasties. There were no feelings involved, at least not at first. Before we signed the papers, he’d asked me, “When would you like to have the ceremony? A church or a beach wedding?” Back then, I had zero expectations for our marriage. We were complete strangers, names in a contract. The thought of exchanging rings and kissing a man I didn’t know in front of a crowd of people was horrifying. “Let’s just skip it,” I’d said without a second thought. “It seems pointless.” I remember how he’d just stared at me, his gaze deep and unreadable. After a long silence, he agreed. And whenever anyone asked, he simply said it was his decision, taking all the blame and shielding me from the gossip. Poppy, however, seemed to have missed my explanation. “But every woman dreams of her perfect wedding day,” she went on, her voice laced with a pity I didn’t want. “How could Adrian not give you that?” I didn’t bother to explain further. It wasn’t worth the energy. “Neo says he’s going to give me the wedding of the century,” she sighed, her tone a perfect blend of complaint and adoration. “I told him not to be so extravagant, but you know how he is. He says he’ll never let me have a single regret about marrying him.” She fanned the magazine pages. “But look at all these dresses! They’re all so perfect, I just can’t choose.” Her happiness was so radiant it practically glowed through the screen, and her fans lapped it up. [Neo spoils Poppy so much! She’s living a real-life fairytale.] [This is what I’m here for! Neo and Poppy are the sweetest couple ever.] [Talk about a reality check. Look at the scowl on the sister-in-law’s face.] [Can you blame her? Her marriage is just a business deal. I bet it was Adrian who refused to have a wedding.] “Celeste, my head is spinning,” Poppy declared dramatically. “Why don’t you pick one for me?” She pushed the magazine towards me. I flipped through a few pages at random and pointed. “This one is lovely.” Poppy gave it a cursory glance. “The waistline isn’t very flattering.” She snapped the magazine shut. “Oh, never mind. I’ll just have Neo help me choose later. He always has the best taste.” 4 After the wedding dresses, she moved on to rings. “Celeste, didn’t Adrian buy you a wedding ring?” Poppy asked, her eyes zeroing in on my left hand. On my ring finger was a simple, unadorned band. Its strange, stylized crest looked like something you’d find in a cheap souvenir shop. “He did.” I glanced down at the ring. The day we got our marriage license, I found two ring boxes on my nightstand. One held a diamond the size of a small planet. The other held this. Adrian had asked me which one I wanted to wear. I thought this one was ugly, but the diamond was so large it seemed impractical for everyday life. I chose this one without much thought. “That’s it? Did Adrian pick that up at a corner store?” She let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, I’m just joking, you know me! Don’t take it seriously.” She stuck her tongue out playfully for the camera. Then, she held out her own slender hand, showcasing the massive diamond glittering on her middle finger—her engagement ring from Neo. She wiggled her fingers. “I told Neo not to spend so much. A diamond this big is just heavy, and it gets in the way. But he insisted. I couldn’t stop him.” She sighed again, the picture of burdened love. “And just the other day, he told me I have to pick a wedding band with an even bigger diamond.” She turned her bright eyes to me. “Celeste, you have to help me choose.” “Sure,” I said. I had nothing better to do, so I started slowly flipping through the catalog she offered. Just then, Neo finished his work and emerged from the study. He wrapped his arms around Poppy from behind, planting a kiss on her cheek. “How’s the ring shopping going, beautiful?” Poppy snuggled back against him. “Celeste and I were just looking,” she said sweetly. Then her voice took on a concerned tone. “Neo, darling, don’t you think Adrian is being a bit… thoughtless? He didn’t even get Celeste a proper ring.” She looked at him with wide, compassionate eyes. “Maybe we should buy one for her? You know, to make up for it. It would be our gift.” She must have thought he’d agree immediately, praising her for her generosity. Instead, Neo’s gaze swept over my hand, and he chuckled. “Poppy, my love, you should never underestimate that ring.” He pointed at my hand. “That’s the Felton family signet. It has been passed down for generations. It signifies the matriarch of the family.” He paused for effect. “Wearing that ring, Celeste could walk into any room in this city and command it. Seeing that ring is the same as seeing Adrian himself.” The smile vanished from Poppy’s face. For a moment, she was completely still, her expression frozen. Her eyes, now fixed on my ring, were a mixture of disbelief, calculation, and a flicker of raw desire. Wait, what? This ugly ring meant that? Why hadn’t Adrian told me? I thought it was just a piece of metal. I only wore it because it was lightweight and didn’t get in the way. [HOLY— I knew that ring wasn’t some cheap knockoff! If you look closely, that crest is the Felton family emblem!] [I thought Adrian didn’t care about her, but he gave her the ultimate symbol of power!] [Don’t worry, Poppy, you’ll get one when you’re married.] [Doubtful. There’s only one matriarch. Unless something happens to Adrian and Neo inherits everything.] [Why shouldn’t Poppy get one?! Just because Neo is the second son, she can’t be the matriarch and wear the ring?!] [Adrian supposedly dislikes his wife, so why did he give her the ring?] [She’s his wife, and he’s the heir. Who else was he going to give it to, you?] The comment section exploded into a full-blown war over the ring. Poppy was practically vibrating with jealousy, her eyes glued to my hand. It was only when Neo prompted her, “Poppy? What’s wrong?” that she managed to tear her gaze away. She quickly grabbed Neo’s arm and pulled him to the other end of the sofa to look at diamond catalogs, her voice a little too bright.

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At Nina’s birthday party, I lost a game of dares. Her male assistant, Ron, announced the penalty with a smirk. “Find some E-girl and be her boyfriend for a day. And yeah, that includes a make-out session, minimum.” The room erupted in laughter. I ignored them and looked at Nina. She took a nonchalant sip of her champagne. “A dare’s a dare, Ryan. You’re not going to bail, are you?” I smiled. “Fine.” My voice cut through the noise. “But one day doesn’t feel like enough.” “If I’m going to do this… I’m going all in. Let’s make it a lifetime.” 1 I pulled out my phone, and right there, in front of everyone, I posted on my public social media feed: “90s fossil looking for an E-girl to rock my world. Online and waiting. Urgent.” The accompanying picture was of my Porsche keys resting on the table. The raucous laughter in the private suite died instantly. Nina’s fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute, her knuckles turning white. The vibrant, beautiful mask she wore cracked. “Ryan, what do you think you’re doing?” Ron immediately plastered on his signature fake smile and stepped forward to smooth things over. “Hey, it’s just a game, man. A joke. No need to take it so seriously, right? We’re all just having fun.” As he spoke, his eyes darted subconsciously toward Nina. Suppressed whispers started buzzing around the room like flies. “Wow, Ryan’s got a thin skin…” “Totally. He’s obviously jealous, trying to put on a show for Nina.” “So petty for a grown man. He needs to learn to read the room.” “Probably because Nina and Ron have been so close lately. He’s feeling insecure…” “He’s just embarrassing himself. Nina hates it when people mix business with personal stuff.” I listened to their barely-hidden commentary, a cold smile playing on my lips. They had no idea. Today wasn’t just Nina’s birthday. It was the fifth anniversary of the day we met. Our wedding was scheduled for the first of next month. Ron and Nina were high school classmates. He’d returned from overseas three months ago, and Nina had personally hired him, claiming the company “needed new blood.” Ever since he became her assistant, my relationship with Nina had slowly soured. Ron was a master of manipulation. On his first day, he brought coffee for the entire office, greeting everyone with infectious enthusiasm. He always managed to appear “at the right time,” handing Nina a file she was just about to look for, offering an opinion she was just about to voice. He was a charmer, a sweet-talker, and he’d quickly won over all of Nina’s colleagues and friends. In contrast, my quieter, more reserved nature seemed jarring and out of place. He always called me “Ryan, my man,” with a deferential tone, but the smile never reached his eyes. He would casually bring up funny stories from his and Nina’s school days, using nostalgia to make her relax when she was stressed with work. Then, he’d shoot me a look that was part apology, part challenge. Nina’s attitude had shifted, too. At first, it was normal. Then, I started seeing a comparative glint in her eyes when she looked at me. She would laugh at one of Ron’s insignificant jokes but brush off the dinner reservations I’d meticulously planned. She would listen patiently to his over-the-top flattery but cut me off with “I’m too tired from work” when I tried to talk about our future. Just like now. In the face of my actions, Nina just stared at me, her eyes, once filled with love, now cold with impatience and disgust. “Ryan,” she finally said, her voice like ice. “Delete the post. Don’t embarrass yourself here.” Ron chimed in immediately. “Yeah, Ryan, come on, man. Just delete it. It’s Nina’s birthday, let’s not ruin the mood.” He reached out to pat my shoulder, but I sidestepped his touch. I kept my eyes on Nina. “Embarrass myself?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Weren’t you the one who told me a dare’s a dare?” Ron’s face tightened for a second before he forced another smile. “Dude, I was just kidding around, it was a random thought. Why are you getting so worked up…?” “A joke?” I cut him off. “Some jokes have a way of becoming real.” My gaze flickered to him. “And some people, if they pretend for long enough, start to believe their own act.” 2 The implication was clear. Ron’s smile froze on his face, a flicker of malice in his eyes. The whispers around us grew louder, colored with the excitement of impending drama. “Damn, the gloves are off…” “What crawled up Ryan’s ass today?” “Guess he’s been holding it in for a while. But starting a scene like this is just going to push Nina further away, isn’t it?” Nina took a deep breath, visibly trying to control her anger. “Ryan. I’m saying this one last time. Delete the post.” Her voice was low and dangerous. “And then apologize to Ron.” I just chuckled, picked up my phone, and in full view of everyone, added a comment to my original post: “Note: Not a joke. Serious inquiries only. I’m in this for the long haul.” Then, I turned the screen towards them. I saw Nina’s pupils contract, her face draining of color. “I lost the game. I accept the penalty. As for the apology…” My gaze drifted to the diamond ring on her finger, the one I’d saved a year’s salary to buy. She had been so happy when she’d put it on. “I refuse.” The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Others tried to intervene, to smooth things over, but the damage was done. Nina, her chest rising and falling with suppressed fury, shot me a venomous look but finally dropped the subject of the post and the apology. When it came time to cut the cake, the atmosphere was painfully awkward. Nina picked up the cake knife, her eyes scanning the crowd, deliberately skipping over me, though I was standing right in front. “Ron, come help me.” “It would be my honor, Nina,” he replied instantly, stepping up to her side. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their hands clasped together over the knife. They were so close their faces were almost touching. The room filled with applause and catcalls. I stood there, a cold observer watching a play I was no longer a part of. After Nina made her wish and blew out the candles, Ron produced a small, velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a platinum bracelet, glittering with pavé diamonds. “Happy birthday, Nina,” he said, his voice soft but clear enough for everyone to hear the intimate use of her first name. “I had this custom-made in Paris last month. I hope you like it.” A brilliant smile bloomed on Nina’s face. “Ron, you’re too thoughtful!” she gushed. “Anything from you, I’ll love!” She immediately slipped the translucent, emerald-green antique bracelet from her wrist and tossed it casually onto a nearby table, as if it were a piece of clutter. That bracelet had been a family heirloom. My mother gave it to her before she passed away, telling her it was for the woman who would marry into our family. “Here, help me put it on,” Nina said, extending her wrist to Ron with a hint of a flirtatious pout. He carefully fastened the sparkling new bracelet around her delicate wrist, his fingertips brushing against her skin. They locked eyes and smiled. “Wow, it’s gorgeous!” “So sparkly! The design is amazing!” “Yeah, way better than that tacky old thing she was wearing before!” “This is what I’m talking about! This suits Nina’s style so much more!” “Ron, you have such good taste! So thoughtful!” The compliments flew, each one a stinging, invisible slap across my face. Expressionless, I walked over. While all eyes were still on the new bracelet, I reached out and picked up the emerald one from the table. The chatter died down. Curious, expectant eyes turned to me. Nina noticed, her brow furrowing slightly. I held the heirloom securely in my palm, then looked up at her, my voice calm but loud enough to cut through the silence. “Since this ‘tacky old thing’ isn’t good enough for you, maybe it should go back to its rightful owner. Back to my mother.” The room went dead silent. Nina’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so direct, to bring my mother into it. A dark look flashed in Ron’s eyes before he masked it with a smile. “Ryan, man, why are you being like this? Nina was just trying on the new bracelet. Why are you getting worked up over an old piece of jewelry? It’s her birthday. Can’t we all just be happy?” “I’m not worked up,” I said, my tone still flat. “She doesn’t want it. So I’m taking it back.” “I’d rather not insult my mother’s memory.” 3 Without waiting for their reactions, I carefully placed the bracelet in the inside pocket of my jacket and turned to leave. Behind me, Nina’s voice, sharp and cold, cut through the air. “Take it back then! Who do you think cares about that ugly thing? It’s old and gaudy. I wouldn’t wear it if you paid me!” Ron hurried after me, grabbing my arm. He lowered his voice, but it was still loud enough for those nearby to hear. “Ryan, don’t be impulsive. She’s just angry. If you leave now, you’re blowing this whole thing up…” I violently shook his hand off. The force sent him stumbling back a step, the concerned mask on his face nearly cracking. “Save it, Ron,” I said, giving him a cold glance. “You’re overplaying your part.” Nina’s voice was shrill. “Ron! Leave him alone! Let him go!” I walked out of that suffocating room without looking back. Outside, the night air was cool. I leaned against my car and lit a cigarette, the nicotine finally loosening the knot in my chest. My phone buzzed. A reply on my social media post. I opened it. Without even looking at the photo the person sent, I dropped a pin of my location. “Come now. I’ll be waiting.” Less than twenty minutes later, a girl on a shared electric scooter pulled up. She jogged over, asking hesitantly, “Hey… are you the guy?” “I’m Mia.” I looked her over. She was the stereotypical E-girl. Short skirt, tight top, brightly colored hair, heavy eyeliner. But her eyes held a surprising timidity, and her voice was soft. “Yeah,” I said, stubbing out my cigarette. “Let’s go. I’ll take you somewhere.” Mia followed obediently, sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, careful not to touch anything. I drove to a nearby bar I frequented. It wasn’t top-tier luxury, but the ambiance was decent. I found us a booth, ordered her a beer, and got myself a Coke. She sipped her drink quietly, occasionally stealing glances at me. “So, you…” She was about to speak when a familiar wave of noise came from the entrance. I looked up and sneered internally. You’ve got to be kidding me. Nina, Ron, and the whole party crew swaggered in. Ron was leaning close to Nina’s ear, saying something that finally brought a small smile to her face. Then they saw me. And they saw Mia. Nina stopped in her tracks. The smile on her face froze, then melted into a scowl. Her eyes, like shards of ice, cut across me and landed on Mia. A flash of triumph lit Ron’s eyes before he replaced it with a look of perfect, manufactured concern. “Well, well, if it isn’t Ryan,” he called out, his voice just loud enough to draw attention from the surrounding booths. “Found an E-girl to rock your world already? That was fast.” He emphasized the words, drawing a few snickers from his cronies. His eyes raked over Mia like she was a piece of meat, a contemptuous smirk on his lips. “Seriously, man? Even if you’re fighting with Nina, you don’t have to… debase yourself like this, do you?” He shook his head, a picture of disappointed pity. “Comparing this trash to Nina is like comparing heaven and earth.” “Have your fun, I guess, but don’t get too serious. You might catch some disease. Ruin your whole life.” The words were vicious and cruel. Beside me, Mia flinched, her head sinking lower. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her glass. “Ron’s right,” a woman who was always sucking up to Nina chimed in, her critical gaze sweeping over Mia. “Look at how she’s dressed. That whole vibe. She’s obviously not a decent girl.” Another man snickered. “Yeah, she’s not even worthy of shining Nina’s shoes.” “Ryan, are you trying to slap Nina in the face?” “He’s probably just hit rock bottom. Can’t have the best, so he picks up the worst.” “So pathetic…” 4 The insults came one after another. Quiet, but each one a poisoned dart. Ron stood among them, smiling faintly, pretending to mediate. “Alright, alright, that’s enough, everyone. I’m sure Ryan’s just not thinking straight right now.” Nina remained silent, her face a cold mask. She held her chin high, watching the scene as if it were a boring play that didn’t concern her. Only the tight line of her lips and the fury brewing in her eyes betrayed her true feelings. She probably felt that me being with a girl like Mia was the ultimate insult to her. I ignored the buzzing flies, took a sip of my Coke, and looked at Ron. “Are you done?” His smile didn’t waver. “Ryan, don’t get me wrong. We’re just looking out for you…” “Looking out for me?” I cut him off, my gaze shifting to the proud woman beside him. “Nina, control your dog. His barking is getting on my nerves.” Nina’s face changed instantly. Ron’s smile froze. He recovered quickly, sighing dramatically. “Ryan, how can you talk to Nina like that…” I didn’t look at him again. I turned to Mia, who was still staring at the table, her shoulders trembling slightly. I couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anger. Nina shot me a cold, contemptuous look. “Let’s not bother the happy couple. We’re here to drink.” She turned, and Ron was instantly at her side, his hand hovering protectively at the small of her back. They moved to a large, reserved booth not far from ours. Through the music, Ron’s eyes would occasionally flick over to our table, a cold, triumphant smirk on his face. I couldn’t be bothered with him. “Mia, call your friends,” I said. “As many as you can get. Tonight’s on me.” She blinked, looking at me, her eyes uncertain. I nodded. She finally pulled out her phone and started typing. Before long, the entrance to the bar became a hive of activity. Groups of young women started arriving, each dressed in a unique, colorful, and bold style. They found our booth and squeezed in, laughing and chattering, instantly filling the space with life. “Mia, is this the hottie you were talking about?” a girl with bright pink hair leaned in, sizing me up without any pretense. Another girl in a crop top chimed in, “Damn, girl, you lucked out! He’s actually cute!” They knew how to have a good time. They ordered drinks, started playing dice, and moved to the rhythm of the music, their laughter infectious and carefree. The somber mood at our table was instantly incinerated, replaced by a vibrant, chaotic energy. Soon, our booth was clearly the life of the party, drowning out Nina’s more subdued corner. The sound of our laughter, the clatter of dice, and the occasional cheer drew glances from all over the bar. Ron looked over several times, a strange expression on his face. Nina kept her back to us the entire time, her posture ramrod straight. I played a few rounds of dice with the girls, drinking Coke whenever I lost. I listened to their ridiculous stories, chiming in here and there. In this simple, loud, and unpretentious environment, I felt a sense of ease and happiness I hadn’t experienced in years. It was late when we finally left. I paid the bill and walked out with Mia. And of course, in the parking lot, our paths crossed again. Nina and Ron were standing by their car. Nina’s eyes landed on me and Mia, and she let out a cold, scornful laugh. “Well, Ryan, you certainly work fast,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “First meeting, and you’re already rushing off to get a room?” Ron stood beside her, silent, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the show. I opened the passenger door for Mia. Once she was in, I turned back to Nina, a careless smile on my face. “Why not?” Before she could react, I got in, closed the door, and started the engine. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I could see Nina in the rearview mirror, standing frozen, her face a mask of fury under the dim lights. I didn’t go home. I found a nearby five-star hotel. “Two adjoining king rooms, please.” Mia looked at me, surprised, but said nothing, just stood quietly to the side. I handed her one of the key cards. “Get some rest.” She took it, murmuring, “Thank you.” We went to our separate rooms. After a shower, I lay in bed, the darkness broken by the glow of my phone. A new notification. Ron had updated his social media. It was a single photo. Shot from above, he was leaning against a headboard, shirtless, with a drunk-looking woman in his arms. “The world I’ve been searching for… and it’s all you. Finally found you. Glad I never gave up.” The woman’s face was censored, her long hair fanned out. But I recognized the profile, the silhouette. And the background. It was Nina. And they were in the master bedroom of the home I had been preparing for our marriage. I smiled, liked the post, and left a comment: “The mood is set. Might as well make it official tomorrow.”

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To pay for my college, my sister married a rough widower from the next town. She smiled, saying he had a trade and we’d never go hungry. But that night, I heard her crying through the wall. For three years, she hid bruises under thick makeup, telling me to just study so her misery would end. One day, seeing fresh marks on her, I reached out and suddenly heard her thoughts: 83 more days. Once Wanda gets accepted, I’ll turn on the gas and take him to hell. I froze, then forced a smile. I pulled out my top-of-the-district report card, tore it up, and said coldly, “This is useless. I’m getting a job at the factory.” 1 The sound of ripping paper was deafening in the cramped kitchen. The sheet that boasted a score in the 99th percentile, proof of my top ranking, was reduced to a confetti of failure, fluttering to the grimy floor. Kate’s hands, busy washing vegetables, went still. After a long moment, her gaze lifted from the scattered pieces of paper to my face. Her eyes, usually so full of quiet endurance, flashed from confusion to disbelief, and then to a tidal wave of fury. “Wanda!” Her voice trembled. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Have you lost your mind?” What’s wrong with Wanda? She always shows me her grades like they’re treasures! Does she know what I’ve given up for her? After everything, she says this to me now? I forced my chin up, affecting a smile that felt like cracking glass. “I haven’t lost my mind. I’ve just realized that school is a dead end. I’m going to work.” She lunged, grabbing my wrist. Her fingers were shaking. “This is your future! I’ve worked myself to the bone to give you this chance, not for you to throw it all away for some factory job!” “My future?” I laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. “My future is hiding in my room studying while I listen to that man beat you every day? Besides, jobs are scarce. By the time I graduate and make any real money, he might have already killed you.” “I’m done letting you plan my life,” I spat. “I’m going to make my own way.” “You—” Kate raised her hand, her palm whistling through the air toward my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the sting. But it never came. Her hand stopped, hovering in the air, trembling violently before falling, limp and defeated, to her side. She was only twenty-three, but strands of premature silver already threaded through the hair at her temples. Did I want to marry this monster? Did I want to be his punching bag? If it weren’t for her, I could have had a better life. She… Wanda, what right do you have to say these things to me? Her silent, screaming despair ripped through me, a pain so sharp it felt like my own heart was tearing apart. But I held her gaze, my careless smile plastered on my face. Her expression was a storm of emotions: pain, confusion, disappointment, and something else… resentment. As we stood locked in a tense silence, a knock echoed from the front door. “Kate, you home? Mail’s here!” 2 It was Mrs. Gable from next door. Kate hastily wiped her tears, took a deep, shuddering breath to compose herself, and went to open the door. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, simply taking the envelope with a mumbled “thanks” before shutting the door again. Her eyes fell to the letter in her hand, and her entire body went rigid. Written on the envelope in elegant, flowing script was a single name: Kate. The return address bore the name of the sender, printed in clear, stark letters: Clara Bellweather. Kate’s fingers gently traced the name, her eyes suddenly burning with a fierce, forgotten light. I heard the envy and bitterness swirling in her thoughts. Clara… She’s probably on the biggest stage in the country by now… I should have been there with her. If I hadn’t chosen Wanda… I was six, and Kate was eleven. Our father had gambled away everything we had and vanished. Our mother, broken, had swallowed a bottle of bleach on a rainy night. Just as we were sinking into despair, Clara and her parents had arrived, Clara in a beautiful dress that seemed to glow in our dim, dusty house. While I was sleeping, they took Kate into the other room. “Come with us, Kate,” they’d said. “You and Clara grew up together. We’ve always thought of you as our own daughter.” “And you have such a gift for dance. We’ll make sure you can keep training, right alongside Clara.” Kate had hesitated for only a second. “What about my sister? What about Wanda?” “Wanda’s too young. We can’t take on another. But we can arrange for her to go to a good group home. They’ll feed her, clothe her…” From that day on, Kate never danced again. She collected cans, worked market stalls, washed dishes in greasy diners—propping up our fragile world on her slender shoulders. And Clara? She had gone on to the best performing arts school in the country. Now, on the verge of graduation, she was rumored to have already been recruited by a prestigious dance company. Kate still clutched the letter, her fingertips trembling. The envelope was thick, as if it held a photograph. I didn’t need to see it to know what it was: a picture of Clara, radiant under the lights of a grand stage. “Kate…” I began, my voice soft. She jolted back to the present, stuffing the letter into her apron pocket as if it had burned her. She turned back to the sink. “Go do your homework.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears. She kept her back to me, saying nothing more. I watched her, her silhouette so thin it looked like it could be torn apart by a stiff breeze, yet it carried the crushing weight of our entire existence. Did she resent me? I didn’t know… But every time a letter from Clara arrived, an uncontrollable flicker of anger and grief would surface in Kate’s eyes when she looked at me. She’d be cold for days. And yet, she would still wake up before dawn to make me breakfast. She would still wait up late into the night until I came home. I clenched my fists. You’re right, Kate… I thought. You shouldn’t have given up dancing for me. You shouldn’t have endured his fists for me. And you damn well shouldn’t be planning to die for me. Your life is worth a thousand times more than my future. 3 The internet cafe was a haze of stale smoke and blinking screens. I sat at a terminal in the far corner, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless. “Wanda!” A familiar, sharp voice, laced with a tremor I knew all too well, cut through the din. I whipped my head around. Kate stood at the entrance, her worn-out sundress clinging to her frame. Her hair was a mess, and her forehead was slick with sweat. She stared at me, her chest heaving, her eyes a blaze of frantic anger and a flicker of something else—fear. She stormed over to my terminal and ripped the headphones from my ears. “Mr. Davison called me!” she hissed. “He said you haven’t been to class in a week! What the hell are you doing?!” I looked down, making a deliberate show of tugging at the collar of my oversized school jacket. “Nothing. Just didn’t feel like going.” My voice was flat, layered with a practiced, defiant slouch. “Didn’t feel like going?” She sounded like she’d just heard a foreign language. “You once went to school with a 102-degree fever. And now you ‘don’t feel like going’? I asked around on every block until someone told me you’ve been wasting your days in here!” “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to get you this far? Who do you think you’re answering to?” Her grip was like a vice, bruising my wrist. No… this can’t be happening… I traded my entire life for Wanda’s future. How can she do this? Her thoughts were a silent, desperate scream, a wire tightening around my own heart. I hardened myself, wrenching my arm from her grasp. I stood up, looking down on her. “That’s right, I don’t want to go. What’s the point? Vince doesn’t have half your brains, but you’re still the one depending on him to survive.” The words landed like a physical blow. She staggered back, the color draining from her face. She didn’t say another word. She just grabbed me, practically dragging me out of the cafe and all the way home. The moment we pushed open the door, the stench of cheap whiskey hit us like a wall. Vince was sprawled on the sofa. He saw us and immediately started yelling. “Where the hell have you been? I’m starving! Where’s my damn dinner?!” Kate flinched. “I… I’ll make it right now.” “Make my ass!” Vince shot to his feet, grabbing an empty bottle from the coffee table and hurling it straight at her. “I’ll teach you to keep me waiting!” Without a second thought, I threw myself in front of Kate. The bottle grazed my temple and shattered against the wall behind us. Glass sprayed everywhere. “Vince,” I said, lifting my head to meet his furious, bloodshot eyes. “Calm down. I was just having a drink with Ace yesterday. He might have mentioned that little loan you took from him…” At the name “Ace,” a muscle in Vince’s jaw twitched. I pressed on, my voice deliberately casual. “Ace said not to worry about the money. Said it was on the house, on account of me. But…” I paused, my gaze flicking to my sister, who was trembling behind me. “He’s got this thing… he can’t stand guys who get rough with their women at home. Says the noise is bad for his nerves.” Vince’s expression shifted. He looked me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time. After a moment, he spat on the floor and forced a grotesque smile. “Well, damn, Wanda. Look at you, all grown up. A hell of a lot more useful than your sister! Should’ve said so earlier. We’re all family here…” Muttering under his breath, he grabbed his jacket and slammed the door behind him. The room was left in a dead, ringing silence. Slowly, Kate lifted her head. She looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. Her eyes were wide with shock, fear, and something deeper—a kind of soul-crushing despair. “How do you know someone like Ace? Wanda, tell me, what have you really been doing this past week?!” I met her gaze, my heart hammering against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. “Nothing much,” I lied, forcing a smirk. “Just figured hanging with his crew is more interesting than staring at textbooks. Ace says I’m sharp. Says if I stick with him, I’ll be set for life…” “Shut up!” Kate shrieked, cutting me off. She rushed forward, her hands clamping down on my shoulders, shaking me hard. “Do you know who Ace is? Drugs, violence… he’s a monster! You’ll destroy yourself! Snap out of it!” “I am snapped out of it!” I shoved her away. “I’m wide awake! Awake enough to know that a diploma won’t save us! At least if I’m working, I can take care of myself and not end up beaten to death alongside you by that animal!” It was as if all the strength drained out of her at once. She froze, her face a mask of disbelief. Tears began to stream silently down her cheeks, but she made no sound. She just stared at me, her eyes filled with a hollow emptiness, with resentment, and with absolute despair. How did Wanda become this person? This is the sister I gave up everything for? The one I threw my life away to protect? No… she’s just confused. She’ll still take the exams. She has to. It’ll be over soon. I just have to hold on a little longer. Just a little longer. Kate, once you’re dead, it’ll all be over. It’s better for you, and better for Wanda… She turned away, shuffling silently toward the kitchen. Listening to her thoughts, I felt an invisible, icy wall rise between us. 4 For the next month, Kate seemed to be waging a war within herself. She remained cold and distant, but there were no more explosive confrontations. I could see the effort it took her to contain her pain and her bitterness. After all, if it wasn’t for me, she would be living a completely different life… And every day, I heard her heart’s silent weeping. Maybe it would have been better if I’d died with Mom that night… I’m so tired… Your life is over, Kate. Stop dreaming. It’s all your fault for being weak, for raising that little parasite. No… don’t say that about Wanda. She’s just lost. She’ll come around… On the day of the final practice exam, I sat with a blank test paper in front of me for two hours. When the bell rang, I was the first one to walk out. The result was predictable. A perfect zero across the board. My homeroom teacher called Kate in. In the cramped office, the teacher’s voice was heavy with disappointment. Kate stood beside me, head bowed, her hands twisting the hem of her worn-out dress. “Mrs. Miller,” he said, his tone strained, “this was the last exam before the finals! She handed in a blank paper! Does she even want to go to college anymore?” “It’s not that she can’t do the work! Her previous scores put her at the top of the district. She could get into any Ivy League school she wanted!” All eyes were on me. I looked at my sister’s hunched, humiliated posture, took a deep breath, and spoke, my voice sharp and cold. “What’s the point of a degree? You get it, you come out, and you still can’t protect yourself. You just learn to take a beating and then put on a smile, just like her. A future like that? You can have it. I don’t want it.” The air in the room froze. Kate’s head snapped up. The color drained from her face, leaving it a ghostly white. She stared at me, and I watched the last glimmer of light in her eyes shatter, leaving behind nothing but dead, grey ash. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just looked at me as if I were some grotesque, alien creature she’d never seen before. My heart gave a painful lurch. Does she hate me? Does she truly hate me now? I hate you… Wanda, you’ve ruined my life, and now you’re going to ruin my dignity in front of everyone? No… what dignity do I have left? Am I even a person anymore? Her thoughts were fragmented, broken. She said nothing. She simply turned and stumbled out of the office, her back so slumped it looked as if her very soul had been ripped out. It was dark when I got home. Kate was sitting in the living room, shrouded in shadows. She hadn’t turned on the lights. “Kate…” I started, my voice hoarse. “Do whatever you want,” she cut me off. Her voice was laced with an undeniable disgust and frustration. “From now on, just do whatever the hell you want. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a sister anymore.” She got up, went into her room, and shut the door. I’m just her sister. I’ve done enough. I took pity on her, but who’s going to take pity on me? I fought back the urge to run to her, to hold her, to apologize for everything. I wiped away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling and went to my own room in silence. The silence held until the next afternoon. Vince came home, cursing and fuming. He’d clearly gambled away all his money again. His eyes, red and wild, scanned the room, finally landing on Kate. His fists clenched. “Damn it all! Useless! Where’s the money? Get me some goddamn money! What happened to my paycheck this month? Didn’t I give it all to you?” Kate stood there, numb, unresponsive. It was a lie. He’d given her a pitiful amount for groceries, keeping the rest for himself. “You useless bitch, feeding two deadbeats like you… I should just kill you and be done with it!” Vince’s face was purple with rage. He snatched his leather belt off a chair and brought it down hard across Kate’s back. He was a mountain of a man, over two hundred pounds, crushing my sister’s small frame beneath him. Fists and slaps rained down on her. Her screams echoed through the small house. My heart hammered against my ribs. I walked over, pulled the envelope with the tuition money from my backpack, and held it out to him. “Vince. I have some.” He froze, his arm mid-swing. He snatched the envelope, licked his thumb, and counted the bills. His scowl melted into a grin. “See? Wanda’s the smart one!” he crowed, peeling off a small stack and shoving it back into my hand. “Here, this is from your big brother. You stick with me, kid, I’ll take care of you!” He pocketed the rest of the cash and swaggered out the door. Kate’s face was swollen, blood trickling from her nose and mouth. But she acted as if nothing had happened. She quietly got to her feet and, without a single word or glance in my direction, went back to her room. It was as if she was no longer a part of this world. Had she given up on me completely? Late that night, I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me. Suddenly, a faint noise came from the next room. I held my breath, straining to listen, focusing my mind. …Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. While she’s gone… it’ll all be over. …The gas valve… just have to turn it… It’ll be quick… no more pain… The thought, so clear and calm, was a bullet straight through my heart. My mind went blank. The blood in my veins turned to ice. No… It can’t be happening… not like this.

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1 I am the designated sidekick to a super-rich heiress. She calls me her best friend, swipes her card to buy me clothes and bags, and never lets me pay for anything when we go out. Lately, she’s developed a massive crush on the campus king. And she wants me to be the one to date him. “I know we can never be together, but it would kill me to see someone else have him. So you go for it. He’s all yours.” Help! How am I supposed to tell my best friend that I just slept with her older brother? “Anna, you’re my best friend. Everyone else just wants my money. You’re the only one who likes me for me.” Jenna linked her arm through mine, resting her head affectionately on my shoulder. Hearing her say that, I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. Because I didn’t just want her money. I wanted her brother. I’d seen him once in high school, dropping her off. He had the face and body of a runway model. The way he’d leaned down to stub out his cigarette, the sharp line of his jaw… it hit me right in the heart. So, I latched onto Jenna. She had a massive circle of “friends,” but I managed to outlast them all. Being friends with an heiress is the life. A luxury car picks you up, you never have to look at a price tag, and you get to experience a world completely different from the one you were born into. I studied my butt off to get into the same university as her, all because I couldn’t bear to give up this lifestyle. “Anna, I’m so in love with Alex,” Jenna sighed, looking lost in a romantic haze. As her loyal lackey, I immediately chimed in. “He’s totally worth it! He’s gorgeous, smart… his family is just a little… ordinary. Like mine.” In reality, Alex was from a perfectly normal, middle-class family, and he was one of the most popular guys on campus. But to an heiress like Jenna, he might as well have been a peasant. “But I know we can never be together,” she continued, a determined look on her face. “Still, it would kill me to see someone else have him. So you go for it. He’s all yours.” She cupped my face in her hands, a playful smile on her lips. “My beautiful Anna, a guy like Alex will be a piece of cake for you!” The serious look in her eyes made me panic. Oh god, Jenna, how do I tell you? I just slept with your brother last night… My legs are still weak… From her perspective, I was the worst kind of person. I forced a tight smile. “Uh, Alex isn’t really my type.” “That’s not what you said a second ago,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. “It just feels weird, you know? Since he’s the guy you like…” I tried to hedge, hoping she’d drop the ridiculous idea. “That’s the point! If he got with anyone else, I’d be miserable. But with you? I’d be happy! I’d feel like my best friend found a great guy, and I could finally move on.” The more sincere she sounded, the more my guilt grew. I racked my brain for an excuse. “Actually… I think your brother is way hotter than Alex. Can I go after him instead?” It was a half-joke, half-truth. She waved a dismissive hand. “No way. My brother will end up in an arranged marriage. My parents are already looking for a fiancée for him. If you go after him, you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak. It’s the same as me and Alex. The gap is just too big.” My head started to spin. I’d always known this, of course. I’d even told myself that I wasn’t losing anything, that a wild, passionate affair with a guy like him was more than I could have ever asked for. “Well… I’ll think about it,” I mumbled, looking down. “Trust me, Anna. Alex is the one. He’s from your world.” … She was right. We were both ordinary people. I shouldn’t have aimed so high. But sleeping with Ken Gordon for so long… I’d already won. “Okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “If you’re really sure you don’t mind, then I’ll do it.” Ken had been so busy lately. Sometimes I’d hear him take calls, his voice low and tense. It was probably his family, pressuring him. I was the girlfriend who wasn’t even qualified to walk through his front door. “You’re the best, Anna!” I pushed down my feelings and took the shopping list Jenna handed me. She sent me Alex’s contact info, followed by a series of cheering emojis. She had a fancy party to go to that night, the kind I wasn’t invited to. After we parted ways, I found a bench and started composing a breakup text. I wrote and rewrote a thousand-word essay, but I couldn’t bring myself to send it. A year as the secret girlfriend… our thrilling, illicit affair was finally coming to an end. A voice message from Ken popped up. “What kind of love poem takes half an hour to write?” His voice was as magnetic and intoxicating as ever. I sighed, deleted the essay, and reminded myself that a secret girlfriend doesn’t get to do the breaking up. For a guy like him, being dumped was the ultimate humiliation. “Just thinking about my hubby,” I typed back. I was shameless. I knew he would never marry me, but I called him “hubby” anyway. He’d hated it at first, but eventually, he’d grown to like it. Ken is typing… I quickly sent another message. “Hubby, I saw this bag I really want… it’s two million dollars… can I have it? meow~” I attached a GIF of a kitten aggressively nuzzling a teddy bear. I never wanted for money when I was with him—he was far more generous than Jenna. But this was the first time I had ever asked for something so extravagant. Asking for a two-million-dollar bag the morning after sleeping with him… it screamed “gold digger.” He transferred the money without a second’s hesitation. “It’s yours.” I stared at the number on the screen, and tears started to fall. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. In his eyes, I was just a woman after his money. It was a comfortable, easy dynamic for him. If I had demanded love instead, it would have been a joke. I cried for a while, then picked up my phone again. “You’re so generous, hubby! Can you buy me an apartment, too? One of those penthouses at The Grandview.” “How much.” He replied instantly. I looked up the prices. They started at ten million. “Ninety million.” I scoffed, stopping myself from typing a hundred million. I could already picture him frowning at his phone, confirming his suspicions about me. “I’ll have Chen take you to sign the papers tomorrow.” 2 I shot to my feet. Seriously? You’re not even mad? My mind was a mess. I turned off my phone, trying not to think about it. The next day, Jenna asked for a progress report. I realized I hadn’t even added Alex yet. “Progress: -1.” “?” “He didn’t add me back.” “Ugh, he’s like that. It took him five hours to accept my request.” I patiently chatted with her for a while longer. She was hungover from the party, and this would have been the perfect opportunity for me to play the caring friend. But thoughts of Ken kept weighing me down. That afternoon, as I was leaving the library, a man named Mr. Chen called. He said the paperwork was ready and waiting for my signature. This has to be a joke, right? I got in the car, steeling myself for the inevitable humiliation. But there was no mockery, no lecture. Mr. Chen respectfully led me to the sales office and into the VIP manager’s room. “Are you sure you want to sign?” I asked, half-expecting the act to drop any second. Aren’t you going to call me a gold digger now? Mr. Chen looked confused as he pushed the contract toward me. “Mr. Gordon has already picked out a villa for you, but he said this location is closer for you and would be more convenient.” I glanced at the contract. My name was printed in black and white. I sighed and put the pen down. “I’m sorry, I don’t want it.” Mr. Chen looked baffled. The manager looked like his world was ending. “Ma’am, if you have any concerns, please let me know. I will do my absolute best to resolve them.” Money could be returned. A house was a whole other level of entanglement. What was Ken thinking, actually agreeing to buy me a house? In the end, I just left. A gift like that, given during a relationship, could be taken back after a breakup. It was too messy. “You don’t like it?” Ken’s call came through. His voice was as cool and steady as ever. “I don’t like it. And Ken, I’ve been thinking. I don’t like you anymore, either. Let’s break up.” What was there to be concerned about? For a rich boy like him, the messier the breakup, the more he’d hate you. And if he didn’t hate you, it was even simpler. It was just about money. He’d just find someone new. I hung up before he could respond. For good measure, I blocked his number and deleted his contact. I tried to act casual when I got back to my dorm, but a message from Jenna was waiting. I reluctantly opened my chat with Alex. Turns out you have to actually click “add friend” on a contact card. Who knew? This time, he accepted instantly. A simple “hello” emoji popped up. I was feeling pretty miserable. On a whim, I sent him a series of reaction GIFs that, when strung together, told a story: “See this flower? I’d rather throw it away than give it to you.” After I sent it, I just stared at my phone. I was supposed to be charming him, for Jenna’s sake. But I just didn’t have the energy. I felt like crying, but I held it back. A voice message came through. It was Alex. “It’s okay. Where did you throw it? I’ll go pick it up.” His voice was lighter than Ken’s, with a lazy, sun-drenched quality. And that line… it was smooth. Especially considering he didn’t even know who I was. All he had to go on was my profile picture—a stylized, dark- Goth bunny. Not exactly flirtatious material. …So he was the type to flirt with anyone. A real “cast a wide net” kind of guy. So this was the man my heiress friend was crazy about. “Did he accept? Send me a screenshot,” Jenna texted. I couldn’t bring myself to screenshot my own ridiculous GIFs. I sent her his reply instead. She was ecstatic. “OMG, Alex uses reaction GIFs? And he sent one first? Babe, I’m shipping this so hard.” If you heard his voice, you’d be building the whole boat, I thought. I wanted to block and delete him too, but I restrained myself. After the “breakup” with Ken, I became a hermit. My life was a simple routine: library, eat, sleep. I didn’t even have time for Jenna. “Anna, meet me at The Reverie tonight. I have a party, but you can wait for me in the lobby. It’ll be late and you won’t get a cab. You have to come.” It was an order. Now that I was done with Ken, I knew I couldn’t be Jenna’s sidekick anymore. What if I ran into him? The fallout would be catastrophic. Jenna’s revenge would be terrifying. I didn’t want to go, but she didn’t give me a choice. “By the way,” she added in a follow-up call, her voice buzzing with excitement, “I don’t think Alex is poor! I just saw him with old Mr. Crawford. I think he might be his grandson? Let me do some digging. Hold off on the seduction for now, okay?” I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, an out. “Okay! Should I just delete him, then? I always thought you two were perfect for each other. And now that you’re in the same social circle, it’s even better!” “Yeah, you can delete him. I know you don’t like him anyway,” she said with a laugh. “Oh, and send me a screen recording of you blocking him. I want to make sure you’re really over him.” “Okay.” I had been ignoring Alex’s messages for days, avoiding any place I might run into him. It was just too awkward. After hanging up, I started the screen recording, blocked Alex, and deleted his contact. I took a screenshot of my block list and sent it to her for inspection. Suddenly, a terrible feeling washed over me. I scrolled through my phone, the feeling growing stronger. Oh, crap. I knew I’d forgotten something. 3 The second name on my block list… wasn’t that Ken’s? My best friend’s brother? More than two minutes had passed. It was too late to unsend it. Jenna’s end went silent. She hadn’t replied. Did she see it? What is she thinking? Why isn’t she asking me about it? I clutched my phone, my anxiety skyrocketing. My mind raced, playing out every possible scenario of her explosive anger. Time ticked by. I was sick with dread, but I didn’t dare ask. “When you get to The Reverie, have Old Chen bring the card up to you.” “Anna, Alex is the real deal! He’s Mr. Crawford’s actual grandson! I can’t believe someone with his background could be so low-key at school. I love him even more now! So, so much!” Just as I was about to suffocate from the tension, two messages from her came through. She hadn’t noticed. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, feeling like a beached fish tossed back into the water. I spammed a few reaction GIFs to discreetly push the screenshot further up the chat history, ending with a GIF of a person on a speeding motorcycle. “On my way, my lady!” “I can’t believe the campus king has such a background and is still so humble! No wonder you have such good taste!” As a qualified sidekick, I always knew how to provide the right kind of emotional support, saying exactly what she wanted to hear. And she always fell for it. After the emotional rollercoaster, I collapsed onto my bed. The sky outside my dorm window was dark. With the stress gone, my thoughts immediately drifted back to Ken. Ugh. So pathetic. I put on some light makeup and headed out to meet Jenna, feeling completely drained. At the restaurant, I met up with their driver, Old Chen. He handed me the car keys and a credit card. “We were in a hurry tonight, so we took Mr. Gordon’s usual car. Can you handle it, Miss Anna? If not, I can have someone bring another one over.” My hand froze. Ken’s car? I instinctively clutched the keys, then quickly tried to hand them back. “You know me, Uncle Chen. I wouldn’t dare.” He looked troubled. He made a quick call. “Yes, Mr. Gordon’s car is at The Reverie. You’re coming now? Great, I’ll wait for you to swap.” He hung up and turned to me. “Miss Anna, could you please wait here for Little Chen? He’s bringing the miss’s car over now.” Little Chen? My blood ran cold. That was Ken’s personal driver! He had been a witness to my entire secret, year-long affair, chauffeuring me between villas and hotels. Swap keys with him? No way. I made a split-second decision and bolted. “Uncle Chen, I’m running late! I’ll go up first! Just leave the keys at the front desk for me!” I sprinted away, leaving a bewildered Old Chen in my wake. I paused to catch my breath on the second-floor landing and saw Alex around the corner. He was leaning against a window, smoking, his gaze lost in the night sky. The cigarette in his hand had burned almost to the filter. If it weren’t for Ken’s god-tier looks, I probably would have fallen for a guy like Alex—fresh, sunny, and handsome. But having just blocked him, even though he didn’t know it was me, I felt a pang of guilt. I tried to sneak past him toward the main hall. But his hearing was sharp. He caught my movement out of the corner of his eye. I froze, wondering if I should say hi. Do I normally say hi to him? I racked my brain. When I was deep in my Ken-induced love fog, did I ever acknowledge him when I was with Jenna? While I was hesitating, he stubbed out his cigarette and walked briskly toward me. I looked around. No one else was there. He was coming for me. “Hey… fancy seeing you here, Alex,” I said, my shamelessness kicking in. If I couldn’t hide, I might as well own it. But as I waved, he grabbed my hand. He stared at me, his eyes clouded with a sullen emotion. “Why did you delete me?” He knows?! A fresh wave of guilt washed over me. My mind raced. How do I get out of this social nightmare? “Was I texting you too much? Did I annoy you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost wounded. “Did I say something to upset you?” If his one text every couple of days counted as annoying, then my constant stream of messages to Ken could be classified as harassment. “What are you talking about?” I played dumb. It was the only way. I looked up at him, blinked innocently, and forced a bright smile. “I don’t have your contact info, so I couldn’t have deleted you. You must have me mistaken for someone else. You’re the campus king, after all. So many people want to add you.” I thought it was the perfect excuse. But his gaze hardened. “I didn’t say it was WeChat.” My smile froze. He pulled out his phone and showed me his WeChat profile. “Is it true that a lot of people want to add me? Then you should add me.” I was dying inside. What do I do? Can you even add someone who’s on your block list? I cursed myself for not using a burner account. “Anna, what are you doing?” Jenna appeared, resplendent in a designer gown and towering heels, slowly walking toward us. The click-clack of her shoes on the marble floor sounded like the countdown to my execution. I panicked, trying to pull away, only to remember that Alex still had a death grip on my hand. …It was over. I struggled, but he wouldn’t let go. “Jenna, I need to talk to her. Can you give us a minute?” Alex said coolly, stepping in front of me protectively. No. This was not happening. I was about to pry his fingers off my hand when a chill ran down my spine. I looked up and saw him. Ken. It was really, truly over. Why was he here? What was I going to do? I stood frozen, watching the impossibly handsome, impeccably dressed man walk toward us. He was tall, with long legs, exuding an aura of cool elegance, one hand casually tucked in his pocket, a cold smirk on his perfect face. A coldness I had never seen before. He walked right past me, as if I didn’t exist. The faint scent of his cologne was gone in an instant. I had imagined a thousand different scenarios, but I was not prepared for this—for him to look right through me. A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes began to burn. A tear escaped, then another, splashing onto my arm. Why am I crying?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385328”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was about to graduate and job hunting was a nightmare. Then I stumbled into an audition for a reality show looking for regular people, and somehow, I got cast. On the show, the guests were asked about their childhood friends. I said, “I mostly just played with boys when I was little.” The internet comments immediately lit up: 【And there it is. The ‘I’m not like other girls’ girl.】 But then I added my next line: “We used to blow up cow patties with firecrackers. The girls wouldn’t play with me because they thought it was gross. Looking back, it was pretty disgusting. I deserved to be an outcast.” The internet: 【Wait, what now, sis?】 1 I was a media studies major, staring down the barrel of graduation and a terrible job market. I sent out applications to dozens of companies, but my field is a minefield for new grads. Every offer was either for minimum wage, unpaid overtime, or a soul-crushing six-day work week. I finally found one that offered a decent salary, but my enthusiasm died when the HR rep asked, “Would you be open to dressing according to the boss’s daily preferences?” and sent me a folder of “examples.” I thought they were interested in my talent; turns out, they were just interested in my looks. I applied to so many places that when HR managers called, I often had no idea which job they were even talking about. During one of these calls, it took me half the conversation to remember I’d applied to be an artist manager. I aced the interview. The two HR reps stared at me for a long time, asking everything from my relationship status to whether I’d had plastic surgery. Finally, one of them leaned forward and said earnestly, “We actually have another position that would be a much better fit for you, Ms. Song. Are you interested?” He told me the starting salary was over ten thousand a month after the probationary period, with full benefits and weekends off. I was young and naive. It wasn’t until later that I realized the “position” was as an on-screen personality. But the contract wasn’t one of those predatory long-term deals, so it seemed harmless enough. And just like that, they threw me onto a reality dating show as a civilian guest. The HR guy swore up and down that if it didn’t work out after the show, they’d move me to a behind-the-scenes role. “…” I never imagined the star-making machinery of an entertainment company could be run this haphazardly. Was this place even legit? But hey, I was already there. On the first day of shooting, the makeup artist was chattering away as she worked on my face. “Your company is something else, swapping out a cast member right before filming.” I’m a natural chatterbox, so I played along. “Hey, I’m the new girl. Do you know why they made the switch?” “Oh, the original girl they cast was supposed to be the ‘brainy’ one. But she got a last-minute offer for a PhD program. She chose to break her contract and go to meetings with her advisor instead of becoming famous.” The makeup artist told me the girl had an Ivy League undergrad and master’s degree. A PhD would complete the set. That was some serious brainpower. As a graduate from a decent-but-not-prestigious state university, I had nothing to add. “But don’t you worry, Melora,” she said, patting my cheek. “You’re gorgeous. When filming starts, just cozy up to a few of the guys and girls. If you can get one popular ‘ship’ going, you’re set. And hey, if that doesn’t work, you might just find a boyfriend to take home. I’ve checked them out, and the guys on this show are all keepers.” Wait, what? This makeup artist had clearly been around the block. Following the producers’ instructions, I made my entrance as the second-to-last female guest. I let my eyes sweep across the room, making eye contact with everyone before gracefully taking a seat next to a cool, androgynous woman with long hair and a tailored suit. God, you know my weakness. I can’t resist a butch woman in a suit. 2 I was wearing a simple white dress. On a dating show, you can’t have just one type of personality; they cast for every archetype the audience might want to see. My role was the “innocent college girl,” yet to step into the real world. The last to arrive was a stunning woman in a short, red slip dress. Her long legs captured the attention of every man in the room and quite a few of the women, too. Lust is a human instinct, after all. The show’s selling point was “authenticity.” Not only were there celebrity commentators in an observation room watching a live feed, but the whole thing was also being streamed online for the public. “Alright, everyone’s here. Why don’t we start with introductions?” a man said, taking the lead. He looked a bit older, with deep-set features and a commanding presence. Of the four men and four women, he was the only one wearing a Rolex—a genuine one, and a model you couldn’t get even if you had the money. “I’ll go first,” he said. “My name is Nathan Zhao. I’m 28. I started a new media company a couple of years ago, so I guess you could call me a small business owner.” Wow. The classic CEO type. 【Whoa, a real-life alpha CEO.】 【I knew they existed! Young, handsome, and rich!】 【Just the watch on his wrist costs more than a ‘small business.’ Who the hell stole my trust fund baby life!】 Next was the guy beside him, dressed head-to-toe in trendy streetwear. He was handsome in a very polished way. “Hi everyone, I’m Leo Lin, 25. I did my undergrad and master’s abroad and just graduated from Columbia last year with a degree in finance. I’m working at my family’s company now, but I’m really passionate about music, so I’m also a musician on the side.” So we had the international finance bro, too. The next two men were a lawyer named Rainn Su, who wore wire-rimmed glasses and a simple silver ring, looking elegant and subtly husband-material in his gray slacks and white shirt, and a young actor named Ethan Xu. At only 20 and still in college, he was clearly here for exposure. You could already see his small but dedicated fanbase spamming the live chat. After the men, it was the women’s turn. The cool woman in the suit went first. “My name is Victoria Zhuang, I’m 27, and I’m one of the investors in this show. My family thinks there’s something wrong with me for being single at this age, so when they heard this was basically a matchmaking show, they forced me to join. They said there’d be men and women, and I should just take my pick.” Wait, what? The live chat exploded. 【Did she just say she’s not picky about gender? When did domestic reality TV get this bold?!】 【She’s an absolute queen. That one sentence has me hooked.】 【A ‘matchmaking show’ LMAO.】 【With Victoria here, I’d watch this show even if it was terrible.】 A flustered voice came from the production team’s direction. “Uh, guests, please be mindful of your comments. Please refrain from saying anything that doesn’t align with the show’s core values. This is a live broadcast.” Not only did the chat erupt in laughter, but everyone in the room, including the celebrity panel, couldn’t help but chuckle. The woman in the red dress tossed her long hair back and smiled. “Hello, everyone. I’m Sienna Jiang, 24, and I’m a model.” Her figure was, indeed, spectacular. The last woman had her hair in a high ponytail and introduced herself as a programmer. She didn’t fit the stereotype at all. “Hi, I’m Hannah Xu.” She had a warm, gentle smile, and her eyes crinkled when she laughed. She seemed completely harmless. Finally, it was my turn. “Hi, everyone, I’m Melora Song. I’m 22, and I haven’t graduated from college yet.” On a dating show, being an unemployed student didn’t exactly make me stand out. But someone had a question. It was the lawyer, Rainn. “Melora, how did you end up on this show?” I figured he was just curious about the casting process. I glanced past the camera and saw the hopeful look on a crew member’s face, probably expecting me to spin some charming, media-savvy story. I paused for a moment, then said hesitantly, “Would you believe me if I said I was looking for an internship…?” “…” I think I saw the director’s soul leave his body. 3 【She found a dating show while looking for an internship? Is that a thing?】 【Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.】 【Which company is trying to push this girl? Victoria’s ‘family matchmaking’ story was way funnier. This excuse is so lame.】 Of course, I had no idea what the viewers were saying. The company hadn’t given me a script. I wasn’t an Ivy League student, and I didn’t have a glamorous job. I had nothing to sell but my honesty. The HR guy who hired me said that even if I bombed, they’d just give me less screen time in the final edit. Getting a little hate online was part of the deal. Besides, they were paying me. When you put eight people with different personalities and life experiences together, you’re never short on conversation. Everyone was surprisingly chatty, especially when the topic turned to their own fields of expertise. It was like a group interview. Somehow, the conversation drifted to childhood playmates. Ethan, the youngest, said eagerly, “I grew up at my grandparents’ house. I spent my days climbing trees and swimming in the river with the neighborhood kids. I got in trouble a lot.” Hannah softly shared that she had a best friend she’d known since childhood, a very cheerful and outgoing girl. When it was my turn, I thought for a moment and, again, told the truth. “I mostly played with boys when I was little. The girls didn’t like me.” Everyone looked at me, a little surprised, waiting for the rest of the story. The live chat was buzzing. 【And there it is. The ‘I get along better with guys’ girl.】 【Of course, she’s the one who’s popular with men but ostracized by women. So original.】 But then I continued, “I grew up in the country, and my favorite thing to do was blow up cow patties with firecrackers. The girls didn’t want to play with exploding crap with me. Looking back, it was pretty disgusting. I deserved to be an outcast.” The guests fell silent. The internet: 【Wait, what now, sis?】 【What kind of girl plays with exploding cow dung?!】 【Are you telling me this girl who looks like she smells of sunshine and vanilla was out in a field playing with crap with a bunch of grubby boys?】 After a moment of stunned silence, Ethan asked a very sincere question: “Did you ever get in trouble for that?” The question brought back a flood of memories. “No. There was this really annoying older boy who lived next door. I think he was a clean freak. He would always watch us from a distance, and he wouldn’t let me go home until he’d supervised me washing my hands and feet.” “Annoying older boy?” Victoria, sitting next to me, repeated. I rested my chin on my hand. “I thought he was annoying back then. He was bossier than my parents. But now that I’m older, I realize it couldn’t have been easy for him, dealing with a pack of filthy kids every day.” I couldn’t even relate to my childhood self anymore. The boy had a stern face and seemed intimidating, but he would also wipe the other kids’ faces and play games with them. He just drew the line at exploding cow dung. At the time, I thought he was pathetic for not understanding the joy of it. I sighed. “He moved to the city eventually. After that, I’d come home covered in mud every day, and my mom’s shrieks could break glass.” I finally got the spankings I’d been avoiding. The other guests couldn’t help but laugh. It seemed none of them had much experience with country life, except for Ethan, who had spent time in a remote village for a role once. “What about now? Are you still in touch with that boy?” Sienna asked with a playful smile. The model’s smile was devastating. The moment she aimed it at me, I felt a jolt. Heh. “No,” I said. “I moved to the city for school, too.” 4 My only memory of the clean-freak boy was a vague nickname. The show was scheduled to film for about two weeks. During that time, all eight of us would be living together in a large villa. After the tour, it was time to choose rooms. Leo, the finance bro, suggested with a grin, “Want to make it more interesting?” “How?” Ethan chimed in. Even the usually composed Nathan raised an eyebrow. “We’ll number all the rooms and draw lots. Let fate decide.” Fate. I liked the sound of that. The producers had originally told us to decide on rooms amongst ourselves. The rooms were all different—some larger, some smaller, some with private balconies or walk-in closets. “I’m in,” Sienna said, the first to agree. “Drawing lots is fairer. No one can feel like they got the short end of the stick.” No one else objected, and neither did I. This internship was a dream come-true—no real work, a good salary, and free room and board. After numbering the rooms, Hannah found some paper and a pen, and just like that, we had eight folded slips of paper. “Alright, let’s begin. We’ll go in order. Ethan, you’re the youngest, you go first. Then we’ll go clockwise.” Ethan drew the first slip, followed by Hannah. By the time it was my turn, there were only three left. I picked one at random. When everyone had a slip, I unfolded mine. Number 5. A guest room on the second floor. Nathan had drawn the master bedroom on the second floor, which came with an en-suite bathroom, a small balcony, and a walk-in closet. Hannah was also on the same floor. Nathan, ever the gentleman, offered to switch with one of us. Both Hannah and I immediately shook our heads like bobbleheads. “We agreed,” I said. “Whatever you draw is what you get. We have to follow the rules.” Sienna drew the master bedroom on the third floor, while Ethan and Rainn got the other two rooms up there. That left Victoria and Leo on the first floor. Leo seemed pleased with the result. He grinned at Victoria. “Looks like we’ll be close neighbors for a while.” Victoria was the picture of a wealthy heiress. Her looks, her mannerisms, and her family background combined to make her, arguably, the most eligible woman in the house. After the rooms were assigned, we all had some time to unpack. I was about to haul my suitcase upstairs when I heard Leo offer to help Sienna, who had two large bags. “Melora, let me help you with that,” a voice said suddenly. Before I could react, I saw Victoria effortlessly lift my 24-inch suitcase and start up the stairs. She had taken off her suit jacket, and the sleeves of her blouse were rolled up to her elbows. As she lifted the bag, I could see the defined lines of the muscles in her forearm. Damn, was it possible to be this cool? Is this even allowed? 5 Nathan carried Hannah’s suitcase upstairs for her before even touching his own. It was only the first day, but the initial pairings seemed to be taking shape. I didn’t have much luggage—just clothes, makeup, and some toiletries. While we were unpacking, the live feed cut to the observation room, where the four celebrity commentators were excitedly placing bets on their favorite potential couples. “This Melora girl is interesting. Her hobbies are a bit… unique. I think she and Ethan have potential. They’re around the same age, so they should have a lot to talk about.” “I don’t know, I see a weird kind of chemistry between her and Nathan.” “Are you kidding? Nathan and Victoria are the real power couple here. They’re equals.” “But Victoria and Ethan have that classic ‘mature older woman and puppy-dog younger guy’ vibe.” “What about Sienna and Rainn…” Three of them were debating animatedly when one of them called out, “Liam, what do you think?” Before the man in question could answer, the first commentator added with a laugh, “That story the girl told about the neighbor’s kid who was obsessed with hygiene sounds a lot like you. A little bit of a clean freak, a little bit of OCD.” The man sitting next to him was leaning back casually in his chair. He was young, with a face so handsome it was almost unfair. He was idly spinning a pen in his hand. “I just like to be tidy,” he said coolly, his voice clear and smooth. “I wouldn’t call it a phobia.” “Alright, alright, whatever you say. So, which couple are you rooting for?” “It’s too early to tell.” “No wonder you’re single.” “?” 6 After I finished unpacking, I went downstairs to find that most of the others were already gathered. Dinner was provided by the show, a sort of ice-breaker meal to see who liked what. I was starving. My eyes were glued to the dishes on the table. And I wasn’t the only one. Beside me, Ethan was inhaling his food with gusto. “This braised chicken is amazing,” he mumbled through a full mouth. “You guys have to try it.” “And the spicy boiled pork! It’s so good. If you can handle spice, you need more of this.” “Even the rice is good…” Poor kid. He must not eat well usually. As everyone knows, when one person at the table is eating with that much enthusiasm, it makes everyone else’s food taste better. And it wasn’t just Ethan. I was devouring my food, too, tears of joy practically streaming down my face. This was the best meal I’d had in ages. Suddenly, a piece of meat was placed in my bowl. I looked up, confused, into Hannah’s kind, almost maternal gaze. “Eat slowly,” she said gently. When I looked up, I realized the other six people were watching me and Ethan. Ethan noticed at the same time and looked up, embarrassed. “My company usually has me on a strict diet to maintain my figure,” he explained. He was only twenty, the poor guy. “The cafeteria at my school… is not to my taste,” I said. If the cameras weren’t rolling, I would have been more honest: It wasn’t just “not to my taste,” it was an abomination. It was the kind of food that made you feel sorry for the ingredients that died in vain. It was the kind of food that made alumni shudder years after graduation. And the campus was so far from the city that our delivery options were limited. Ethan and I exchanged a look of shared trauma. We were fellow sufferers, united in our culinary misery. The chat was probably going wild. 【This is not the dating show I was expecting…】 【What kind of lives do these two kids lead? They’re eating like they’ve been starved for weeks. Is the food that good, or is their daily life that bad?】 【Maybe the show should pivot to a food theme. Watching them eat is making me hungry.】 【Melora’s my classmate. I can confirm, our school’s cafeteria is genuinely terrible.】 I didn’t spend the entire meal just eating, though. I eventually joined the conversation. Hannah mentioned that she loved to cook and often invited friends over for big meals on her days off. At that, both Ethan and I lit up. “Really? Can we be friends?” “Me too! Can I be your friend?” Hannah: “…” 7 After dinner, we each had a one-on-one interview to discuss our first impressions of the other guests. This part wasn’t live-streamed. “Please give a brief evaluation of the other seven guests,” the director said. When asked to judge people you’ve just met, anyone with a normal level of social awareness will stick to vague platitudes. I rambled on for a while, and by the end, I couldn’t even remember what I’d said. “If you had to choose one guest to go on a date with, who would it be?” Now that was an interesting question. “I’d choose Victoria,” I said. The director started to say, “You can’t choose—” Before he could finish, I switched my answer. “Sienna.” The director’s face was a blank mask. “You can’t choose someone of the same sex.” “…You could have led with that.” Maybe it was my lack of professional experience, but I had momentarily forgotten the nature of this show. I consume so much diverse media online that I just remembered “dating show,” not “heterosexual dating show.” My own preferences are flexible, but I chose a woman because I genuinely enjoy spending time with other women. My childhood aversion was a phase; I’d grown out of it. “Okay, then Ethan,” I said. We seemed to get along when it came to food, so we’d probably have something to talk about. “Please state your reason.” “He’s handsome, has a great personality, and even though he’s the youngest, he’s always looking out for everyone.” “But Ethan is an actor. His job might require him to be away on set for months at a time. If you were to date, you’d have to deal with long periods of long-distance. Are you okay with that?” I propped my chin on my hand. “Director, you asked who I wanted to go on a date with, not who I wanted as a boyfriend.” There’s a fundamental difference. The director seemed taken aback by my “player” response. He stared at me, visibly stunned. After my interview, he had to talk to all the other guests. By the time he was done, he looked like he had aged ten years. I wonder what he went through. After the interviews, there was another activity. We had to go to a wardrobe room prepared by the show and choose an outfit for our potential date. The villa next door had been rented for this purpose. At first, I thought the producers were trying to be mysterious, but then I overheard a staff member mention that the neighboring villa was originally for a different film crew. The lead actor had a scheduling conflict, so filming was postponed. To cut their losses, they rented it to our director at a discount. Waste not, want not. “…” This villa was much more luxurious than ours, clearly designed for a drama about a wealthy, dysfunctional family. As I walked toward it, I saw a tall man dressed all in black emerge from the front door. It was impossible not to notice him. His long limbs and perfect proportions were not something you see on an average person. As he got closer, I recognized him immediately. Liam Pei. He was a top-tier actor who, despite his young age, had several hit dramas under his belt. His face was flawless, as if sculpted by a master artist. I don’t know when he debuted, but by the time he entered my pop culture awareness, he was already a household name. You’d have to be living under a rock not to know who he was. He was one of the celebrity commentators for our show. I’d done my research beforehand. So, the observation room was right next door. “Good evening, Mr. Pei,” I said. It would have been rude not to greet him, especially since I might end up working in the entertainment industry. It was only proper to be respectful to a senior colleague. I expected him to give a polite nod and keep walking. But he stopped. His eyes rested on my face, his gaze so intense that I wondered if I had something on my cheek. The camera was following me, but this wasn’t being broadcast live. “Melora Song, right?” he asked. His voice was even better in person than it was online. “Yes, that’s me.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, and then he walked past. Maybe it was my imagination, but for a split second, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth lift into a smile. And his eyes… they held a strange, almost fond expression. 8 In the wardrobe room, I put together a men’s outfit based on my own aesthetic preferences. In the adjacent room, the men were presumably doing the same for the women. I understood the point of this activity; a person’s choice of clothing can reveal a lot about their tastes. After the day’s filming was done, we had free time. We removed our makeup, showered, and chatted a bit. But we were all still strangers, and it’s hard to get close to people on the first day. For the first week, our electronic devices were confiscated to prevent online opinions from influencing our choices. It was essentially a closed-door group date. They even took my laptop. Fortunately, I have a habit of being able to sleep anywhere, so I crashed immediately. The next morning, my alarm went off, and I woke up with a yawn, momentarily forgetting I wasn’t at home or in my dorm room. After a quick wash, I went downstairs and found Rainn and Hannah already busy in the kitchen. A lawyer and a programmer—they seemed to have a lot in common. A dating show is a visual medium, and all the guests were attractive. I’m not conceited, just objective. My parents often marveled at their good genes. The pair in the kitchen looked like something out of a magazine, and I couldn’t help but linger on the stairs, watching them. Suddenly, a male voice whispered behind me, “They’re cute together, right?” The unexpected sound made me jump. I turned to see Ethan, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “You walk like a ghost! You scared the life out of me!” The commotion startled the pair in the kitchen, breaking the quiet atmosphere. Ethan just grinned. “Don’t be mad, Melora. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t realize you were so engrossed.” He was a fast worker. He was already calling me by my first name. Ethan and I went downstairs. “Rainn and I were up early,” Hannah explained. “The fridge was stocked, so we decided to make breakfast for everyone. It’s almost ready.” A few minutes later, everyone else appeared, dressed in the pajamas they’d worn the night before. Over breakfast, we all politely praised our two diligent chefs. Hannah blushed slightly. “It was nothing. I just heated up some frozen things and cooked a few side dishes.” “Well, since Hannah and Rainn made breakfast, the rest of us should handle the cleanup,” Nathan suggested. Ethan immediately volunteered. “I’ll do the dishes with Melora.” He turned to me. “Is that okay?” I just nodded, a little dazed. The others looked at us with a knowing glint in their eyes. To be honest, even I felt a little awkward. While we were cleaning up in the kitchen, the conversation was normal. The producers informed us that the outfits we’d chosen the night before had been delivered. We would draw colored balls, and whoever drew the same color would wear the outfit chosen by the other and go on a date for the day. A blind date selection. 9 One by one, everyone drew a ball from the bag. I got a blue one. When I turned, I saw Ethan holding a matching blue ball. Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor. Ethan looked pleased. The other pairings were Victoria and Nathan, Sienna and Leo, and Hannah and Rainn. And just like that, our dates were set. Next came the “fashion show.” The producers, likely for dramatic effect, had us change one by one and make a grand entrance, each reveal met with a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs.” Thankfully, there were no major fashion disasters. Victoria emerged in a pale green cheongsam, a stark contrast to her previous day’s attire. It gave her an air of cool elegance. The outfit she had chosen for her date was a pair of brown trousers and a white shirt, giving off a classic, almost British vibe. Nathan, who clearly took care of his physique, looked quite dashing in it. Next were Sienna and Leo. The outfit for Sienna looked like it had been tailor-made for her: a long slip dress with a black and red rose pattern, paired with red heels. She was breathtaking. She, in turn, seemed to favor a cooler style; Leo was dressed in dark jeans with a silver chain and a brightly colored top. Hannah was in comfortable-looking pants, while Rainn wore light brown, loose-fitting trousers, a white t-shirt, and a short-sleeved dark blue shirt over it, with a black pendant around his neck. When I went into the changing room, I found that Ethan had picked out a tracksuit for me. It was casual and practical, with absolutely zero romantic undertones. When I came out, I was, unsurprisingly, met with a wave of laughter. Ethan defensively insisted, “What’s wrong with it? I think it looks great!” The live chat: 【If my boyfriend picked out an outfit like that for a date, he’d be single by the end of it.】 【Is Ethan completely clueless? Of all the clothes available, he chose the ugliest tracksuit. His taste is a crime.】 I understood the contrast he was going for. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what looked good; it was a deliberate choice to create a moment for the show. This whole outfit-swapping activity was subtly brilliant. Once we were all dressed in clothes chosen by our partners, a new layer of intimacy hung in the air. Each couple had a different date planned. Ethan and I were sent to an amusement park. A whole day at an amusement park. Heck yes. As we stood at the entrance, Ethan and I exchanged a look. “Are you afraid of heights?” he asked. I shook my head. Then we both turned to our cameraman. “Sir,” we asked in unison, “are you afraid of heights?” The cameraman: “?” And so, we rode everything: the roller coaster, the giant pendulum, the drop tower, the spinning swing ride, the log flume… We rode them all. The feeling of weightlessness as we soared through the air was pure bliss. Just as we were getting on the roller coaster, before the cameraman could join us, Ethan quickly and discreetly turned off both of our mics. “Melora,” he whispered conspiratorially, “I know you’re also here on a company assignment to get some screen time. How about we agree to play up a ‘showmance’ for the cameras? It’s a win-win. What do you say?” So that’s what all his earlier attentiveness was about. “Deal,” I said. It was an internship, after all. I had to cooperate. By the end of the day, Ethan and I were glowing. Our cameraman, however, looked like he had seen a ghost. 10 Ethan and I returned, still buzzing from the day’s excitement, to find that all the other couples were already back. The atmosphere was… different. A subtle, romantic tension filled the air. For dinner, we had a barbecue in the backyard, gathered around a charcoal grill. I may not be a great cook in general, but when it comes to grilling, I’m a prodigy. Everyone who’s ever tasted my barbecue has raved about it. This was my time to shine. Ethan was beside me, devouring a skewer of meat and giving me a thumbs-up, his mouth too full to form words. Everyone naturally sat with their date from the day, sharing stories from their outings. I kept my head down, focusing on the grill. My mission was to ensure that no one left without trying my barbecue. “Melora, where did you learn to grill like this? This marinade is incredible!” Sienna said, leaning in close. Her beauty was almost overwhelming. I felt a blush creep up my neck. “I learned from my grandparents,” I mumbled, looking down. On my other side, Ethan let out an exaggerated gasp. “Melora, are you blushing? We spent the whole day together, and you didn’t blush once. Sienna gives you one compliment, and you turn red? Did I not praise you enough today?” In just one day, we had forged a solid bond of friendship. I smiled and gave him a gentle elbow jab. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but I shoved another skewer of meat in it, and he finally quieted down. Listening to the other couples recount their dates was fascinating. Ethan nudged me. “Hey, sis,” he whispered, “how come their dates sound so different from ours?” How should I know? I had no experience in this department either. The third day was a group activity. We were divided into teams to buy groceries within a budget and cook a meal together. There was a shopping team and a home team. I was on the shopping team. Hannah, Nathan, Rainn, and Sienna were in charge of the kitchen. Of course, while we were out, they were free to do as they pleased in the villa, and I’m sure there was plenty of interaction. When the food was served, it was clear that Hannah had been the head chef, but the other three had each contributed a dish. “So, what do you think? Is it good?” Hannah asked, her eyes full of hopeful anticipation. I replied with my now-signature line: “Hannah, we are definitely going to be good friends.” Ethan added, “Count me in! This is delicious!” Everyone else was full of praise as well. Leo said cheerfully, “Hannah, with skills like these, you could be a successful programmer or a restaurant owner. You’d kill it at either.” The greatest compliment you can give a chef is to devour their food with gusto. I don’t know if it was because I was so engrossed in my meal, but I could have sworn I saw that same, gentle, maternal look in Hannah’s eyes again. It reminded me of how my grandma used to look at me when she was fattening me up as a child. That evening, the producers arranged for us to play games. The quintessential ingredients for a romantic atmosphere: Truth or Dare and alcohol. Under the dim lighting, surrounded by attractive young people, with a subtle current of flirtation in the air, I almost started to believe that some of these budding connections were real. At least, my “shipping” instincts felt very real. I finally understood why viewers get so invested in these shows. In this kind of atmosphere, you could almost forget that these people had only known each other for a few days. Or maybe it was precisely because they were strangers that the unspoken attraction was so captivating.

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1 The very first day I met my birth family, I knew my real enemy wasn’t the girl who’d taken my place. It was her sycophantic cousin, standing right beside her. When Sophie, the girl who’d grown up in my stead, was clearing out the master bedroom for me, my cousin Isabelle quietly slipped in and started unpacking her own luggage. She actually thought I would just swallow that. “You’ve just arrived, you’re probably not used to it yet. You can stay in my room for now,” she’d said with a saccharine smile. I walked into the room, grabbed her suitcase, and threw it right out the window. “Now that I’m back,” I announced, my voice calm but cold, “I’m the one who makes the rules in this house.” Behind me, Sophie, who had been bullied and pushed around by Isabelle for more than a decade, started weeping. Tears streamed down her face in two thick, dramatic lines. “I knew you’d come,” she sobbed. “I’m so glad I never gave up hope!” Please. Call me a control freak, I don’t care. If I was going to run the lives of a family I had no blood ties to, you better believe I was going to run this one. … I’ve had this inexplicable urge to control everything around me for as long as I can remember. By the age of three, I was already the tiny, tyrannical matriarch of my household. My adoptive parents and my two older brothers would just scratch their heads in my presence, always repeating the same mantra: “Chloe’s the smartest one in the family. Whatever Chloe says, goes.” I remember when I was a kid, I once stormed into my brothers’ school brandishing two kitchen knives to take care of the punks who were bullying them. The gossip spread through our small town like wildfire. “The Davises are all so quiet and honest,” people would whisper, “but that youngest daughter of theirs is a little terror. You sure she’s really theirs?” Turns out, they were right. The summer I turned nineteen, I was told my birth parents were the Walters family, from the city of Auburndale. Coincidentally, that’s where I was going to college. The Walters family called me repeatedly, making up endless excuses to get me to visit. Curiosity finally got the better of me, and I agreed to go see them. They were well-off, living in a large villa in a gated community, and apparently owned a small company. The day I arrived just so happened to be Mrs. Walters’ birthday, and they were having a small dinner party with relatives. Before the meal, the guests mingled in small groups. Among the younger crowd, one girl, dolled up to an almost painful degree, caught my eye. She was Isabelle, the daughter of Mr. Walters’ younger brother. I couldn’t figure out why a cousin, who was neither the birthday girl nor the host, was dressed like a Christmas tree. She fit my stereotype of a schemer perfectly. And sure enough, it didn’t take long for Isabelle to start showing her true colors. It wasn’t even noon yet, but Sophie had already prepared several hot dishes. She approached me timidly. “Um… I cleaned out the room for you this morning. You can move in whenever you’re ready.” She pointed to the largest bedroom on the second floor. I was surprised; the girl who took my place was more sensible than I’d expected. My gaze shifted from the mountain of plates stacked by the stove to Sophie’s hands, which were covered in small burns. “All this food… did you cook it all by yourself? Didn’t you guys think of going to a restaurant or hiring a caterer?” Sophie managed a shy, awkward smile. “Mom and Dad say homemade food is cleaner. And it shows our sincerity to the relatives.” Sincerity? They were making a young girl cook a three-course meal for a dozen people. If they were so sincere, why didn’t they lift a finger themselves? For the first time, I took a proper look at the girl whose life had been switched with mine. Sophie had her dark hair tied back in a low ponytail. She was thin, with a dark complexion, not very tall, with a pear-shaped figure and a round, plain face. I sighed internally. She was a Davis, through and through; she had our family’s face. Unaware of my thoughts, Sophie said hesitantly, “Chloe… want me to show you to your room?” I smiled and followed her upstairs. The moment we opened the door, the color drained from Sophie’s face. The room was filled with someone else’s luggage. “This isn’t my stuff!” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I swear, I emptied the room for you.” She was on the verge of tears. I just watched her calmly. “So, you’re saying you’ve already given this room to me, which means I can do whatever I want with it, right?” Sophie blinked, then nodded even more vigorously. With her confirmation, I walked in, picked up the duvet and pillows from the bed, and tossed them out the window into the garden below. Then, as Sophie stared in stunned silence, I picked up a laptop from the desk, snapped the screen back until it cracked, and threw it out the window, too. Afterward, I turned to Sophie and smiled. “Don’t worry,” I said, my eyes crinkling. “I know this isn’t your stuff.” “It belongs to your dear cousin, Isabelle.” 2 I’d seen Isabelle sneaking upstairs earlier, dragging her bags into the room. She wanted to claim the best bedroom for herself, thinking she could pull a fast one while I was distracted. I almost laughed out loud. Just how much had the Walters family spoiled this niece of theirs? Did she really think she was so special that I, the actual daughter, would just roll over and accept this insult? Sophie looked at the chaos, then back at me, her eyes shining with pure adoration. I dusted off my hands. “If you really want to thank me, you can help me unpack.” I had only brought a small backpack with some toiletries. The only valuable item was a small aromatherapy diffuser. I have trouble sleeping, and I can’t get a wink without it. Seeing Sophie actually start to reach for my bag, I couldn’t help but pat her on the shoulder. “I’m kidding,” I said, my tone softening. “It was just a joke. You don’t have to act like a maid.” I gently steered her out of the room and downstairs, intending for her to finally sit down and rest. But the girl was pathologically diligent; she scurried right back into the kitchen. The Davis work ethic was clearly hardwired into our genes. Honestly, I had come here with a whole playbook of strategies to deal with the “fake daughter.” I never expected her to be so… disarmingly simple. Luckily, my performative cousin, Isabelle, was still flitting about the party, a big, bright sign on her forehead that practically screamed, “Come at me.” Less than ten minutes after I’d disposed of her luggage, I noticed Isabelle heading back upstairs, probably to bring in more of her things. It was only a matter of time before she discovered her belongings scattered across the lawn. I was curious to see if she would come down and scream at me. That would give me the perfect opening to ask exactly what gave her, a mere cousin, the right to act like the queen of her uncle’s house. But Isabelle was more cunning than that. She decided to give me a taste of my own medicine. A moment later, my things came crashing down from the second-floor window. Then, she came downstairs and sat right across from me without a word. As our eyes met, she shot me a quick, venomous glare. The object she’d thrown was my aromatherapy diffuser. So, later, as she was pouring drinks, she made a point of running her fingers over a glass tumbler and saying to Sophie, “Glass things are just so fragile, aren’t they? Next time you go shopping, you should get the plastic kind. They don’t break, and they last for years.” A command disguised as a suggestion. And Sophie, bless her meek heart, just replied, “Oh, okay. I’ll remember that.” A great-aunt overheard and immediately started fawning over Isabelle. “Isabelle is not only beautiful, but she’s so sensible! Already thinking about being thrifty at her age.” Others chimed in. “I’ve watched this girl grow up. She’s been brilliant since she was a child. Reciting poetry at six, knew her multiplication tables backward and forward at seven.” “I bought her a Lego set once, and she finished it in an afternoon. I knew right then she was going to be successful.” Isabelle’s mother, my Aunt Carol, was a woman whose phoniness was practically an art form. She wrapped an arm around Isabelle’s shoulder and feigned humility. “Well, if she were as smart as you all say, she’d be getting a full scholarship to Auburndale University.” I remembered then—the results for the college entrance exams were being released today. At Aunt Carol’s reminder, everyone started predicting that Isabelle was a shoo-in for A.U. Isabelle smiled demurely. “It’s all thanks to Uncle and Aunt’s guidance. And, of course, the good Walters family genes.” It was a backhanded slap at Sophie—implying she wasn’t smart, wasn’t capable, wasn’t pretty, and now, that her genes were inferior. Sophie sat in silence through it all, her head bowed so low her chin was practically touching her chest. And what were her parents—my parents—doing while this was happening? 3 As the relatives anointed Isabelle the shining star of the family, my own father, Mr. Walters, beamed with pride—at his niece. “That’s just Isabelle being her brilliant self,” he said. “Not like Sophie, who can’t seem to do anything right.” The birthday girl herself, Mrs. Walters, added, “Sophie just isn’t cut out for academics.” Aunt Carol was positively glowing. She raised her glass. “My dear sister-in-law, Isabelle has lived with you for so many years, eaten your food, been shaped by your wisdom… you’ve raised her into such an outstanding young woman. I’m almost ashamed to call myself her mother.” The other relatives piled on. “It’s true! The clothes Isabelle wears, the school supplies she uses—always the best brands.” “Even after my brother’s family made it big, they never forgot about us poor relatives.” “And my sister-in-law is a senior teacher in the district! She treats Isabelle even better than her own daughter, sparing no expense or effort for her education.” An elder of the family nodded sagely. “He’s the head of our generation, after all. He hasn’t forgotten his roots.” My birth parents soaked it all in, sitting at the center of the table, trying and failing to suppress their smug smiles. My suspicions were confirmed. This couple was the type to sacrifice their own child for the sake of appearances, all while patting themselves on the back for their magnanimity. They would bend over backward for a relative just to earn a good reputation. Isabelle knew them inside and out. That’s why she had the audacity to take over my room on the very day I arrived. She knew that even if I made a fuss, they would force me to back down for the sake of their precious public image. And right on cue, my clueless mother opened her mouth. “I treat Isabelle well because she deserves it,” she declared. “Sophie doesn’t look good in anything, unlike her cousin.” Isabelle looked absolutely triumphant. Perhaps tired of picking on the ever-passive Sophie, she decided to set a trap for me. “Chloe has a great figure, too,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “You can tell she’s a Walters girl. Now you can wear my old clothes!” I had to stop myself from laughing. She wanted to fight a control freak for territory? I asked her, my voice light and casual, “Why would I wear your hand-me-downs? Do you think you’re worthy?” I was the one who controlled others. No one controlled me. Isabelle froze for a second, then quickly recovered. “Chloe, you just got here, so you don’t know. Sophie could never fit into my clothes, but you’re much thinner than her.” I set down my chopsticks. “What does my being new here have to do with you offering someone your second-hand clothes?” “Or are you saying that Sophie, who was raised as their own daughter for nineteen years, isn’t even worthy of her cousin’s old clothes?” “But me, the daughter who just walked in the door—I’m just barely worthy enough to receive them?” Isabelle started to panic. “Chloe, what are you talking about? You’re their real daughter!” “I’m just a guest here, I don’t have that kind of power.” “Anyone who didn’t know better would think I was bullying my own cousin.” “You’re being too sensitive. You’re probably just not used to things yet. It’s okay, I don’t blame you.” When people know they’re in the wrong, they resort to playing the victim. Too bad for her, we control freaks are masters at spinning the narrative. I folded my hands on the table. “Am I being too sensitive? Or are you, in your own subtle way, trying to lay down the law for me? Telling me that in this house, all the kids have to use your leftovers.” Isabelle shot up from her chair. “Chloe, that’s outrageous! I never meant that at all!” I immediately glanced at the heads of the household, Mr. and Mrs. Walters, whose faces had darkened. They were obsessed with their reputation. The moment they sensed this girl wasn’t as docile as they thought, they would start revoking her privileges. For people like them, their public image was more important than anything. It must be the Walters family’s control-freak gene. As a fellow sufferer, I knew exactly how to treat the symptoms. “Cousin, why are you so angry? Perhaps you should have some soup to cool down.” “We’re celebrating a birthday here. Aren’t you being a little spoiled, raising your voice at someone else’s party? It’s almost like you have no respect for the hosts.” “All the relatives were just saying how sensible you are. Don’t you think you’re making them look bad now?” After a moment of tense silence, my father, Mr. Walters, finally spoke, his voice tinged with displeasure. “Isabelle. Chloe just got home. Some things are for the adults to arrange.” At his words, my cousin froze in place. The rest of the relatives, who had just witnessed my verbal assault, stared in stunned silence. And Sophie… Sophie was looking at me with a newfound reverence. 4 Isabelle didn’t dare say another word. The heads of the Walters household were her patrons, after all. Her parents, my uncle and aunt, worked out of town and only came back for holidays, leaving Isabelle entirely in the care of my parents. Their financial situation was significantly worse than that of my birth family. Originally, Isabelle’s plan was to stir up conflict between me and Sophie, then sit back and reap the benefits. She never imagined I could dismantle her scheme with just a few sentences and leave her completely cornered. My Aunt Carol’s eyes darted around, and she quickly came up with a new tactic. “You’ve misunderstood, brother. Isabelle is just used to being the big sister; she instinctively wants to take care of her younger cousins.” “Isabelle just finished her exams, she’ll be off to college in September. She’s just going to miss Chloe, that’s why she’s being a little overbearing.” This family was certainly good at sweet-talking. No wonder they’d managed to convince my parents to dote on their niece instead of their own daughter. The other relatives quickly jumped in to smooth things over. “If Isabelle gets into A.U., she won’t be able to come home as often.” “Some of her clothes probably won’t be suitable for college anyway, so it makes sense she’d want to leave them for her cousins.” “That’s right, I haven’t even asked yet. Isabelle, what do you think you scored on your exams?” Isabelle casually brushed her hair back. “Well, in all the practice exams, I was scoring over 600.” A few of the male cousins chimed in, “The exams in our district are notoriously hard. Isabelle definitely broke 650, maybe even 700!” Isabelle, sensing another opportunity, turned her attention back to me under the guise of concern. “Sophie and I both took the exams this year. We don’t need to talk about Sophie’s results, but what about you, Chloe? What did you estimate your score to be?” We don’t need to talk about Sophie’s results? Sophie awkwardly stood up. “There are still a few dishes to finish. I’ll just go check on the stove.” No one answered her. No one cared about her feelings. Aunt Carol, however, was fixated on my academic performance. She moved her chair closer to mine. “Don’t be afraid to say, Chloe. No one will blame you if you’re wrong.” One of the cousins added with a smirk, “Yeah, the schools in the countryside don’t have many resources. Just doing your best is enough.” Amid their gleeful, expectant gazes, I answered clearly, “Seven hundred and thirty-five.” The table fell silent for a few seconds, then Isabelle let out a sudden, sharp laugh. She quickly apologized, claiming she’d choked on her water. “I was just so surprised,” she said, feigning innocence. “Chloe, honey, I asked for an estimate. Why did you give such a precise number, down to the single digit?” “Do you have any idea what that score means? You could get into the best program at A.U. with that.” My birth mother, Mrs. Walters, adopted the tone of a seasoned educator. “Don’t the teachers in your town ever analyze the admission scores from previous years?” She was implying my high school teachers were unprofessional, that they couldn’t grasp the exam’s key concepts and gave their students overly simple tests. Aunt Carol seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She patted my shoulder. “It’s good for young people to have dreams.” Then she started offering “advice.” “If you’re really set on A.U., the Hamiltons’ son next door goes there. You can ask him for some pointers; he’ll give you a reality check.” Mrs. Walters added, “I just ran into Mr. Hamilton yesterday. He said Ethan just got home.” My eyes narrowed slightly. “The Hamiltons? Are you talking about Ethan Hamilton?” The moment I said his name, Isabelle’s face lit up. “He’s a famous e-sports player, on the A.U. team! Do you watch his streams? If you want his autograph, I can get it for you.” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you two close?” Isabelle exchanged a look with my parents, then lowered her head and bit her lip coyly. “I guess you could say that. If you want to retake the exams next year to get into A.U., I can ask Ethan to help you study.” I couldn’t tell if her little act of blushing modesty was for my benefit or for my parents’. Aunt Carol leaned in, her eyes glinting with cunning. “Ethan and our Isabelle are practically childhood sweethearts,” she whispered conspiratorially. “The Hamiltons are very wealthy, you know. Twenty years ago, they had a chandelier that cost a million dollars. Their son has all the debutantes chasing after him, but he’s always preferred to hang out with our Isabelle.” This was a wealthy neighborhood, home to multi-millionaires. The Walters had snagged this villa, one of the least desirable ones in the corner of the development, purely to network with the upper crust. Their own daughter, Sophie, lacked the charm to do so, but their pretty, tall niece Isabelle was a social asset. A single business deal with the Hamiltons could sustain the Walters’ company for a year. Of course they preferred the niece who could help them. In the end, Aunt Carol’s bragging about exam scores and the boy next door was all about putting me down. She was terrified her daughter would lose her favored status and the perks that came with it. To cement her daughter’s image as an irresistible siren, she continued, her voice full of pride, “Ethan is such a proud boy; he won’t give other girls the time of day. But the moment he sees our Isabelle, it’s ‘Izzy, Izzy’ this and ‘Izzy’ that. He absolutely adores her.” I closed my eyes for a moment, a slow smile spreading across my face. Then I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Ethan Hamilton. Heard you have a lot of little “sisters” throwing themselves at you?

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The call came from my fund manager in Switzerland. He was informing me that the beneficiary on my trust fund had been changed and that I needed to come in to sign off on the new paperwork. I froze, the phone feeling cold against my ear as my mind struggled to catch up. That trust fund was my inheritance from my father. My name, and my name alone, was on it. How could the beneficiary possibly be changed? I immediately called my husband, Brian. His voice was a warm, reassuring balm over the phone. “It’s probably just a scam, Eleanor. Don’t worry about it.” “Oh,” I said, my tone deceptively light. “They must be pretty committed scammers, then. They even managed to bribe our family’s long-time fund manager.” Brian’s voice hitched for a fraction of a second before he laughed it off. “These new AI voice scams are getting crazy sophisticated, you know? They can mimic anyone. Just ignore it for now. I’ll handle it when I get back to the States.” I smiled and agreed. The moment we hung up, I was already drafting a text to my legal team, telling them to prepare the divorce papers. Brian seemed to have forgotten. My phone is protected by a military-grade firewall. No scam call is getting through. 1 After hanging up, I sent a concise text to my assistant. 【Find Brian’s current location. And find out who he changed my fund’s beneficiary to.】 That series of trust funds was worth billions. It was the bedrock of my family’s legacy, the source of my own power. When my assistant sent back the location, I booked the first flight out. As I approached the hotel, I could hear the staff whispering amongst themselves. “I’m so jealous of Mrs. Croft. It’s only their third anniversary, and Mr. Croft bought out the entire auction for that jewelry set!” “That’s not all! I heard he just added another three hundred million to her fund!” My heart sank. A leaden weight settled in my stomach. Today was indeed my anniversary with Brian. But it wasn’t our third. It was our seventh. He was cheating on me. And he was trying to give my inheritance to his mistress. I took a step toward the grand ballroom, ready to confront him, but a uniformed attendant immediately blocked my path. “Whoa, whoa, who do you think you are? This is a private event, you can’t just walk in here.” His eyes raked over my simple, understated casual wear. “Dressed like you just rolled out of bed… You think this is the place for you? Get lost before you ruin the atmosphere for Mrs. Croft’s anniversary party.” I glanced down at my clothes. It was true, I was dressed for comfort, not for a gala. For years, I had been the woman behind Brian, the invisible force propelling his success. I only ever stepped into the public eye when his company faced a crisis I needed to personally resolve. Normally, I would have calmly explained the misunderstanding. But right now, all I felt was a cold, simmering rage. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I am Mrs. Croft.” The attendants erupted in laughter, one of them doubling over as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “You? Mrs. Croft? If Mr. Croft heard you say that, he’d die laughing!” One of them poked the sleeve of my jacket, his tone dripping with contempt. “Is anything you’re wearing worth more than twenty bucks? And you have the nerve to call yourself Mrs. Croft? You must be desperate for a payday.” In my thirty years of life, no one had ever dared to speak to me this way. I was about to respond when a soft, feminine voice cut through the air. “What’s going on here?” I looked up. A woman in a stunning, champagne-colored mermaid gown was gliding toward us. The portly attendant who had been mocking me instantly transformed, his face crinkling into a fawning smile. “Miss Reed! What are you doing out here? Please, go back inside and rest. Don’t tire yourself out.” He then shot me a venomous glare. “We’re just dealing with some trash who wandered in. Dressed like she buys her clothes at a flea market and claiming to be Mrs. Croft. Shameless, trying to crash the party.” He turned his head and spat on the ground near my feet, the disdain in his eyes palpable. “Open your damn eyes and look! This is the woman Mr. Croft adores. The real Mrs. Croft!” He jabbed a thumb in my direction. “And you… you’re nothing. Why don’t you go find a puddle and take a good long look at your pathetic self before you dare utter her name again?” Mia Reed? Wasn’t she the scholarship student Brian was sponsoring? He’d told me her story years ago—parents passed away, brilliant student but couldn’t afford tuition. He’d convinced me to help fund her entire four-year degree. I even pulled some strings to get her a comfortable administrative job at his company after she graduated. But how could she be Mrs. Croft? Just then, another text from my assistant lit up my screen. 【Ms. Levinson, Brian Croft transferred the beneficiary status of your trust to a woman named Mia Reed.】 The world seemed to tilt on its axis. It all clicked into place. I walked slowly toward Mia Reed, a cold smile playing on my lips. “If you’re Mrs. Croft,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “then I’d like to know… who am I?” 2 The moment Mia saw me, the triumphant smirk on her face froze. She instinctively hid her hands behind her back, but not before I saw it. The exquisite, one-of-a-kind diamond bracelet Brian had just won at that charity auction. “Eleanor? What… what are you doing here?” Her voice trembled. But she recovered in a heartbeat, her expression shifting into one of weary annoyance. “Miss Levinson, I know you’ve had a crush on my husband for a long time, but you can’t just cause a scene like this.” Her voice dripped with false pity. “No matter how hard you throw yourself at him, he’s never going to be with you.” Hearing this, the attendants shot me looks of pure disgust. “So she’s a pathetic homewrecker! And she tried to impersonate the real wife? God, how shameless can you get?” The whispers started, sharp and cruel. “This is hilarious. If you’re going to be a gold digger, at least aim within your league!” “Miss Reed is the one Mr. Croft cherishes. Does this woman really think she can compare?” I said nothing. I simply took out my phone, my movements slow and deliberate, and pulled up the photo on my lock screen: a picture of Brian and me on our wedding day. “A crush on your husband?” I held the phone up to her face, my voice as sharp as broken glass. “Mia, look at this photo and tell me again. Who is your husband?” She glanced at the screen, then looked back at me with an expression of profound disappointment. “I know you’ve resented me ever since I started helping you with your tuition, you were always jealous of how kind Brian was to me. But really, Eleanor… resorting to photoshop? You should have more self-respect.” With a flourish, she pulled a marriage certificate from her clutch. There, in crisp black ink, were their names: Brian Croft and Mia Reed. “This,” she said, tapping the embossed seal, “is the real deal. It can’t be faked.” The attendant who had been harassing me shoved me backward. “You see that? That is the real Mrs. Croft. You’re just some ungrateful charity case who got a little help and now thinks she can seduce a real man. Pathetic!” “Get the hell out of here before you ruin everything! If you delay Mr. Croft and Miss Reed’s anniversary party, not even ten of your miserable lives would be enough to pay for it!” Not enough to pay? I almost laughed. I’d like to see if Brian had the guts to make me pay for anything. When I met him, Brian Croft was just another intern at an investment bank, wearing a threadbare shirt that had been washed one too many times. At my father’s corporate galas, he didn’t even have the standing to hand a business card to a junior executive. It was I who defied my father, who insisted he wasn’t beneath our family. It was I who pulled him into my own project team, who coached him, who handed him the multi-million dollar deals that made him a tech mogul. “Brian Croft wouldn’t dare,” I muttered. The words had barely left my lips when a stinging slap cracked across my face. The attendant glared at me, his face twisted in disgust. “What, you’re still not done with your little act? Mrs. Croft is being nice to you, and you’re still pushing it.” He then turned to Mia, his voice instantly becoming syrupy and obsequious. “Ma’am, a woman like this who doesn’t know her place needs to be taught a lesson! Otherwise, she’ll never stop! I say we should scratch up that pretty face of hers, maybe then she’ll stop trying to seduce Mr. Croft!” “You’re pregnant, you can’t get worked up. I’ll drag her out of here myself and show her what happens when you cross the Crofts in this city!” He lunged for me, his thick fingers reaching for my arm. Suddenly, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the chaos from the entrance. “Stop this at once! What do you think you’re doing?” 3 Brian stood there, radiating an aura of power in his custom-tailored suit. Everyone froze. “Mr. Croft! This woman was impersonating your wife and even tried to attack her! We were just teaching her a lesson for you,” the attendant explained, fawning over him. Mia immediately crumpled into Brian’s arms, bursting into tears. “Brian, it was horrible…” Brian’s gaze swept over the scene, his brow furrowing in anger. He was about to speak when his eyes landed on me. He stiffened. He took a half-step in my direction, but I was faster. I closed the distance between us and slapped him hard across the face. Twice. The sharp, cracking sounds echoed in the stunned silence. Everyone stared, their jaws hanging open. “Is she insane? She just hit Mr. Croft!” “I thought she was just some broke wannabe, but… does she have a death wish?” Brian’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. I ignored the whispers, a bitter smile on my face as I looked into his eyes. “What’s wrong? Can’t I hit you?” I gestured toward Mia. “Or are you going to defend her now?” His jaw tightened, and he sighed, about to speak. But then Mia clutched his sleeve, her voice a tearful whisper. “Brian, you promised me.” He hesitated. A flicker of something—guilt? fear?—crossed his face before it was replaced by a mask of cold fury. He rounded on me, his voice booming. “Eleanor! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “Are you trying to make a scene? Have I spoiled you too much? Is that it?” Make a scene? How dare he accuse me of anything? “Brian, I have one question for you,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Is the child in her belly yours?” At my words, fresh tears streamed down Mia’s face. “Eleanor, I know you’ve been obsessed with my husband since I started sponsoring your education. I know you send him suggestive pictures late at night. I can ignore that, but how could you say something so vile about my unborn child?” Her voice broke. “Are you trying to force him to divorce me just so you can take my place?” Brian’s expression softened as he looked at her. He pulled her closer, stroking her hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I believe you.” Then, he turned back to me, his face hard as stone. “Eleanor, you’ve disappointed me more than I can say. Get your things and move out of the house. Today.” His words struck me like a physical blow. I couldn’t believe it. He was actually brazen enough to flip the entire narrative, to cast me in Mia’s role and present her as his wronged wife. To make her… me. Hearing Brian’s command, the attendant who had slapped me pointed a finger in my face and started shouting. “The real Mrs. Croft was kind enough to sponsor you, and this is how you repay her? By trying to steal her husband? You’re an ungrateful snake!” “Trying to destroy a happy marriage? Look in the mirror! You’re not worthy to even be in the same room as them!” I ignored the insults, my eyes locked on Brian. I spoke each word slowly, deliberately, making sure he felt the weight of them. “I fought with my own family for you, Brian. I built you up from nothing to where you are today. When you couldn’t even afford to eat, I gave you the seed money for your company.” “And now you cheat on me, you have a child with another woman… Brian, how can you live with yourself?” My words only seemed to make his face darken further with rage.

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At our high school reunion, Rosalind, the former prom queen, posed a question to the women at our table. “After ten years of marriage, what would you do if you found out your husband was cheating?” Most of the women immediately said, “Divorce him!” Then, Rosalind’s gaze fell on me. I laughed and declared, “The only way I’m leaving my marriage is in a black dress.” Everyone chuckled at my dark humor, but Rosalind’s face went pale, a strange look clouding her eyes. … Seven days earlier, Rosalind had called me to organize this reunion. It had been nearly twenty years since we’d graduated, and the thought of seeing everyone again filled me with a giddy excitement. I have a problem: when I get excited, I can’t sleep. The first night, I tossed and turned, unable to settle down. My husband, Eason, drowsily wrapped an arm around me. “What’s wrong, honey?” “Rosalind is planning a high school reunion. I’m just too excited to sleep.” “You’re silly,” he murmured, gently patting my back like he was soothing our daughter. “Let’s count sheep together.” Under his calming touch, I finally drifted off. It’s no exaggeration to say that my husband was the gentlest, most understanding man in the world. Which is why, at the reunion, when Rosalind asked her question and I made my bold declaration, I felt completely secure. “The only way I’m leaving my marriage is in a black dress.” Everyone laughed. Everyone except Rosalind. I thought it was just a bit of party chatter. I had absolute faith in Eason. But for the rest of the night, I felt Rosalind’s eyes on me. Whenever I tried to meet her gaze, she would quickly look away. Later, I cornered her in the restroom. “Rosalind, we’ve known each other for years. If you have something to say, just say it.” She forced a laugh and denied anything was wrong, but I saw right through it. “Spit it out.” Her eyes met mine, her expression deadly serious. “You have to promise me you’ll stay calm.” A knot of dread tightened in my stomach, but I took a deep breath and nodded. Rosalind took out her phone and opened her photo gallery. The world exploded. It was like a landmine had gone off in my head. There were dozens of photos of Eason with different women. I’m not the jealous type; a simple group photo wouldn’t have bothered me. But these were different. The way he held them, the intimate poses—more intimate than any he ever struck with me—and the look in his eyes… it was pure, unadulterated lust. “These… who are…?” Seeing my confusion, Rosalind swiped to another picture with a bitter smile. “Look at this one.” It was a photo of her and Eason. Together. Rage erupted in my chest. The mistress was flaunting it right in my face. “He told me he was single!” Rosalind said quickly. “That bastard lied to me!” “Why should I believe you?” She showed me their chat history. It was a nauseating mix of sappy declarations, explicit flirtation, and financial transactions. “He said he was unattached. He took over a hundred thousand dollars from me, and I was living in a fantasy, dreaming of marrying him and having his kids. Then, one day, Sienna sent me a picture of his family—a picture of him with you—and I realized it was all a lie.” “Sienna? Who’s Sienna?” My head was spinning. “Another woman he scammed.” Anger, confusion… I hadn’t even processed Rosalind, and now there was a Sienna. I left the reunion without saying goodbye. I had to go home. I had to confront Eason. What had he been doing behind my back? How many women were there? Rosalind chased after me. “Cathy, don’t do anything reckless!” Reckless? If she weren’t an old classmate, I would have slapped her across the face. “Cathy!” She grabbed my arm. I violently shook her off. “Get your hands off me! Don’t you dare touch me!” Rosalind’s eyes immediately filled with tears. Playing the victim now, you hypocrite? I spat on the ground and jumped into a taxi, leaving her standing there. As the cab sped away, my mind raced. How should I confront him? How could I possibly unleash the hurricane of fury building inside me? Then, my phone rang. It was Eason. How dare that monster call me? I answered, ready to scream, but a soft voice came through the speaker. “Mommy, when are you coming home? I miss you.” My throat tightened, and tears burned my eyes. After ten years of marriage, I had finally been blessed with my daughter. My five-year-old Lily was my entire world. If I blew up my marriage, what would happen to her? If Eason was prepared for this, he could easily fight me for custody and win. My own words from earlier echoed in my mind. The only way I’m leaving my marriage is in a black dress. I swallowed the tears, my resolve hardening into something cold and sharp. I wouldn’t let Eason just walk away. For a monster like him, the only destination was hell. When I got home, Eason was as attentive as ever. He had my slippers ready and was drawing me a bath. On any other day, I would have melted and rewarded him with a kiss. Now, the sight of him made me want to vomit. He was a beautiful facade hiding a rotten core. “Honey, did you have too much to drink?” he asked, noticing my expression. He didn’t suspect a thing. To him, my forthright personality had always been as transparent as glass. His ability to be a philanderer on the streets and a saint in the home proved he was light-years ahead of me in the art of deception. No woman who discovers her husband’s betrayal can remain calm. It’s impossible. But what could I do? The only thing I could do was force myself to think clearly. I had already lost so much. I couldn’t afford to lose everything. I played along with his assumption, pretending to be drunk. I stumbled into the bathroom and made loud retching noises, letting the tears I’d been holding back finally stream down my face. “I need to shower,” I mumbled, pushing him out and locking the door. I turned on the water and sobbed until I was empty. Later, I curled up in bed with Lily and held her until she fell asleep. Eason quietly opened the door, tucked us in, and left as silently as he came. Everything had happened so fast. One moment, I was certain he was cheating. The next, seeing his familiar tenderness, a sliver of doubt crept in. Could the photos be fake? Rosalind and I hadn’t seen each other in over a decade. Why would she go to the trouble of organizing a reunion just to tell me she was sleeping with my husband? It felt like she had another motive. Was she trying to drive me away so she could take my place? It was certainly possible. Rosalind called again, saying she wanted to talk. “I don’t want to talk,” I said coldly. “If you think you can destroy my marriage with a few photos, you’ve picked the wrong person.” There was a long silence before she hung up. I sneered. Did she think her pretty face gave her a license to do whatever she wanted? Beauty is not a substitute for brains. But she didn’t give up. The next day, she showed up at my office. “Cathy!” she said, pulling me into her car before I could protest. “What the hell do you want?” I snapped. “Is wrecking my family some kind of game to you?” She didn’t say a word, just drove. We ended up in a part of town I’d never been to, a place throbbing with neon lights and pulsing music. Since getting married and especially since having Lily, my world had shrunk to a simple triangle: the office, home, and her preschool. I believed a married woman’s place was as a devoted wife and mother. Rosalind, clearly a regular here, led me to a discreet corner booth. “There’s going to be a show,” she said. “I need you to watch it, and I need you to stay calm.” It was a show, all right. I watched with my own eyes as Eason walked in with another woman, his hands all over her, their every move oozing with a practiced intimacy. “That’s Sienna,” Rosalind whispered, her eyes fixed on my face. “As far as we can tell, besides you, his wife, he has two other girlfriends: me and her.” Watching Eason’s sleazy performance, my mind flashed back to the gentle, caring man at home. The confusion was overwhelming. Should I believe Rosalind, or should I believe Eason was innocent? Ultimately, the three of us sat down together. Me, Cathy, Eason’s wife and a senior manager at a private firm. Rosalind, the owner of a chain of beauty salons, scammed out of her heart, her body, and her money. And Sienna, a wealthy heiress with two private hospitals in her family, who had suffered the same fate as Rosalind. The silence was thick with tension. Rosalind asked me again what I planned to do. As Eason’s legal wife, if I chose to forgive him, they would both walk away and let me try to save my marriage. “We were classmates, Cathy,” Rosalind said earnestly. “I want what’s best for you. Otherwise, I would have never told you any of this.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. My marriage needed a third party to salvage it. “We can back off,” Sienna said, her voice sharp. “But can you guarantee that bastard will change his ways and become a faithful husband?” Who could guarantee that? No one. And even if I saved this marriage, could I ever truly trust him again? Could I sleep next to a man whose body and soul were so thoroughly tainted? I couldn’t. But if I chose divorce, what would I be left with? The company I worked for—the company I had poured my heart and soul into for a decade—was legally registered under his aunt’s name. Eason was the silent owner. I had worked tirelessly, thinking I was building our future, only to realize he had planned this from the start, leaving me with nothing. Our house was in both our names, but what good was half a house? A divorce would leave me unemployed and homeless; Eason had the capital to easily buy out my half. Worst of all, I could lose Lily, the daughter I nearly died to bring into this world. A divorce would leave me with absolutely nothing. I sat in silence, the weight of my failure crushing me. Rosalind and Sienna were smart; they understood my predicament. Rosalind gently took my hand. “Cathy, don’t worry. We’re going to teach that bastard a lesson. Together.” My demand wasn’t greedy. I just wanted what was rightfully mine: a share of the profits I had generated for the company over the past ten years. Sienna scoffed. “Is that all? If it were me, I’d take back ten times what he stole.” I managed a weak smile. That was the difference between being married and just dating. For them, a breakup was the end of it. For me, I had Lily to consider. I couldn’t afford to burn everything to the ground and risk losing her in the process. They say three women are a drama waiting to happen. Our little play was about to begin. The company’s legal owner was Eason’s aunt. That meant in a divorce, I had no claim to it. But I had made that company millions, and I wasn’t walking away empty-handed. As the de facto boss, I knew every corner of the business, especially its finances. The first step was to not arouse Eason’s suspicion. So, I had Rosalind make an anonymous tip to the tax authorities, reporting the company for tax evasion. Soon enough, the auditors showed up.

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I’ve got a crush on my best friend’s uncle. The word is he has shoulders for days and a waist you could span with two hands—a body built to drive a woman mad. The only catch? He’s a man of few words and even fewer desires, completely immune to the charms of the opposite sex. During my sophomore year break, I went to visit my best friend, Rosie, in her hometown. She begged her uncle to pick me up from the airport. Thinking he was collecting a child, the man had my name broadcast over the airport’s PA system. “Paging little Tia. Your uncle is waiting for you at the information desk. Please do not talk to strangers.” I sprinted toward the desk, my face burning. When he saw me, the man froze for a heartbeat, his demeanor instantly cool and distant. But later that night, he held me so tightly in his arms that the very concept of distance between us ceased to exist. 1 Rosie was at a family reunion and video-called me to complain. But I wasn’t listening. My eyes were glued to a man standing in the corner of the room. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. His dark suit jacket was casually draped over a nearby chair. He’d forgone a tie, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms traced with the faint blue of his veins. He had an air of handsome indifference that was, somehow, devastatingly sexy. High-bridged nose, thin lips. The man was a masterpiece. My gaze drifted down… and down… until a sudden warmth flooded my nose. “Tia! Are you okay? You’re having a nosebleed!” Rosie’s shriek echoed from my phone. Her voice was so loud that it drew the attention of several people at the party. There I was, sitting in my bright yellow cartoon pajamas, my hair a mess in a haphazard bun, gnawing on a slice of watermelon. From the corner, it seemed the man’s gaze flickered toward the screen. Thank God I wasn’t there in person. They couldn’t see my current state of disaster, or I would have died of humiliation on the spot. Rosie was still fussing over me, but I just wiped the blood away with the back of my hand. “I’m fine,” I said with a goofy grin. “I think I’m in love.” 2 Rosie’s eyes went wide. “No way! You’re finally interested in someone? You’re dating? When did this happen? How did I not know!” I smirked, lowering my voice. “Not exactly, Rosie. I’m talking about the guy in the corner, just behind you.” I pointed gingerly at my screen. “The tallest, most handsome one.” She followed my finger, and her eyes widened even further. “My uncle? You’ve got a thing for my uncle?” “Your uncle?” Rosie nodded. “Yep, that’s him. I mean, he’s gorgeous, obviously, but Tia, if you’re thinking about trying to date him… you’re in for a world of hurt. It’s basically impossible.” Her words were a bucket of ice water. He was her uncle? I thought he was our age, a senior in college at most. The man had a face that completely defied his real age. “How much older is he than you?” I asked. “Six years.” My eyes lit up. Six years! That wasn’t so bad! Not an insurmountable gap at all. “Why is he so hard to get?” I pressed, my hope rekindled. Rosie started ticking points off on her fingers. “He’s famously aloof, a man of few words, and completely uninterested in romance. He’s ruthlessly self-disciplined, the kind of guy who stays perfectly rational no matter what. Even though he’s only a few years older than me, he’s the one person I’ve been terrified of my entire life.” “As far as I know,” she continued, “the concept of ‘dating’ doesn’t even exist in his world. He’s twenty-six and I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend. Not once. He spent all of college buried in a lab, and the second he graduated, he took over the family business. It’s only been a few years, and he’s already number one in the industry.” Rosie’s tone was cautionary. “Tia, my uncle is the ultimate catch. The number of women who have tried to pursue him over the years isn’t in the dozens, it’s in the hundreds. And every single one of them has crashed and burned. They couldn’t even get close enough to touch him.” She gave me a serious look. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 3 I hadn’t realized he was that accomplished. Hearing Rosie lay it all out, I felt the chasm between us yawn wide. The gap in our age and life experience felt like a canyon I could never hope to cross. Defeated, I decided to give up on the idea. But after that day, something strange happened. It was like I was bewitched. For a solid week, I had a series of… unspeakable dreams. And he was the star of every single one. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I was a complete novice in these matters. His face was seared into my brain, impossible to forget. In the middle of the night, I crept out of bed, flipped open my laptop, and searched for official information on him. John Chen. CEO of Chen Corp. 26 years old. Six-foot-one. Single. “John Chen.” I whispered his name, and it felt good on my tongue. It was a nice name. Staring at his formal, corporate headshot, I couldn’t resist. I opened my chat with Rosie. “Rosie! I can’t get your uncle’s stupidly handsome face out of my head! What do I do?!” I couldn’t help it. I was just a normal woman with a healthy appreciation for beauty. To my surprise, Rosie was awake and replied instantly. “What can you do? How about this: you come visit me, and I’ll get my uncle blackout drunk and deliver him to your bed?” Me: “Get him drunk?” Rosie: “Totally! He might look like he can hold his liquor, but he’s a total lightweight. One drink and he’s out cold!” I considered the plan. A trip to visit Rosie… I was on break anyway. It was perfect! I typed back furiously: “Okay, I’m coming to visit. But…” Rosie: “But what?” Me: “But I don’t want to just sleep with him. I want to win him over! Rosie, I’m going to pursue your uncle!” Rosie: “Holy crap. You’re serious?” “Yes!” She didn’t reply for a long time. When she finally did, it was with the gravity of someone making a momentous decision. Rosie: “Alright. That’s my girl. Go big or go home! I don’t care how impossible he is. I will use every trick in the book to make you two fall in love!” Me: Overwhelmed. Crying. Clinging to her leg… 4 After getting a full debrief from Rosie on John’s personality and preferences, I was finally on a plane to Crestview. At the exact same time, Rosie was on a plane heading out of town. Using her trip as an excuse, she had begged John to pick me up from the airport and look after me for a while. To build the suspense, she deliberately only told him my name, Tia. She emphasized that he needed to take very good care of me, that he had to take me everywhere he went, or I might get lost. Naturally, John assumed he was picking up a small child. After the plane landed, John couldn’t get through to my phone. A few minutes later, as I was wheeling my suitcase through the terminal, I heard my name over the PA system. “Paging little Tia. Your uncle is waiting for you at the information desk. Please do not talk to strangers.” And again. “Paging little Tia. Your uncle is waiting for you at the information desk. Please do not talk to strangers.” The social anxiety was real. Face flaming, I rushed toward the information desk with my luggage. As I got closer, I slowed my pace, catching my breath. My eyes landed on a powerful back. John was standing there, leaning casually against the counter, his fingers drumming a light, impatient rhythm on the surface. He projected an aura that was half relaxed, half intimidating. He wasn’t in a suit today, but a casual shirt and jeans. His perfect physique made him look good in anything. He was like a painting you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. Girls all around were sneaking glances at him, but no one dared approach, deterred by his formidable presence. We hadn’t been properly introduced yet, and I agonized over what to call him. Should I call him what Rosie does? After a moment of hesitation, I finally found my voice. “Uncle?” 5 John heard me and lowered his gaze. His eyes fell on me, and for a split second, he looked completely stunned. He straightened up, gesturing toward the still-broadcasting speaker. A deep, pleasant voice washed over me. “My apologies. I didn’t realize you weren’t a child.” My ears burned as I shook my head and mumbled that it was fine. He took my suitcase from me and extended a hand. “Hello, I’m John Chen.” I had whispered that name to myself countless times on the way here. My eyes were involuntarily drawn to his hand—it was all elegant knuckles and long, graceful fingers, with neatly trimmed nails. Hesitantly, I reached out. The moment our fingertips touched, I whispered, “I know.” Lifting my gaze to meet his, I managed a nervous greeting. “My name is Tia. It’s nice to meet you, Uncle John. Thank you for looking after me.” His eyes were dark pools of ink. Was it my imagination, or did they seem to dim for a fraction of a second after I spoke? It happened so fast, I couldn’t be sure. But his demeanor immediately grew more distant, his voice cooler. “It’s no trouble.” Still, the warmth from his palm sent a jolt through me. 6 John was a perfect gentleman. Once he took my luggage, I didn’t have to lift a finger. In the car, I sat obediently in the passenger seat, buzzing with the excitement of our first real meeting. He had the unmistakable air of a man in charge. His presence was so powerful that just speaking to him made my palms sweat. But the face from my dreams was right there, sitting next to me. I picked at my seatbelt, unable to stop myself from stealing glances at him. He kept one hand on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead, seemingly oblivious to my little movements. As we drove past city landmarks, he would point them out, telling me their stories. History, when told in his voice, suddenly became fascinating. The more I listened, the more I was drawn to his quiet, mature charm. His voice was a clear, comforting baritone that made me want to relax. Gradually, my own inhibitions started to fade. I became more talkative, the initial awkwardness melting away. I even found myself poking his arm to get his attention. “Uncle, look! What’s that?” “Is that another famous Crestview building?” “It’s so pretty!” “And it’s right downtown, it looks like a fun area.” “Wow, look at that one, too!” When I got no reply, I turned. “Uncle, why aren’t you…” My voice trailed off. I found myself looking directly into John’s handsome eyes, which held the lingering traces of a smile he hadn’t quite managed to hide. My voice dropped to a whisper, my ears heating up. “Why didn’t you answer me?” John let out a soft chuckle. “So, Tia’s finally not nervous anymore, is she?” He had noticed my anxiety. And he had been subtly, wordlessly, helping me overcome it. My heart gave a violent lurch. Damn. Was this the power of a mature man? And he called me Tia! Realizing this, I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from turning up. The ripples in my heart were spreading. Maybe John Chen wasn’t so cold after all. 7 The car pulled into the driveway of a beautiful villa. John got my suitcase out of the trunk, and I followed him inside. He opened a closet and pulled out a pair of women’s slippers in a cheerful butter-yellow. My eyes lit up. It was my favorite color! He instinctively bent down as if to help me put them on. My face flushed. “Uncle, I can do it myself!” He’s being too kind! I screamed internally. Is this part of the service? I slipped them on. Damn. They were a perfect fit. My size, and my favorite color. Surely they weren’t bought specifically for me, were they? The thought had barely formed before I dismissed it. No way. If he knew anything about me, he wouldn’t have thought he was picking up a kid at the airport. Which meant… these slippers were for another woman. Rosie’s intel was wrong. Just like that, my giddy excitement deflated. My head drooped. I had a rival. And judging by this, she was someone important to John. He led me upstairs to a bedroom. When he opened the door, it was clear the room had been decorated for a girl. There was a new toothbrush, toothpaste, even a fluffy new towel that had already been washed. Every detail was thoughtful and welcoming. John leaned against the doorframe. “You can stay here for now. My room is to the left, and my office is on the right. If you need anything, even if I’m working, feel free to come find me.” He expected me to be pleased, but my head hung even lower than before. Who said John Chen was a stoic who was uninterested in women? This room, so perfectly prepared… it must have been for her, too. 8 John had noticed my mood shift earlier, but now he seemed baffled by my deepening gloom. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well? Or was I driving too fast? Are you carsick?” “Maybe I’m just a little carsick,” I mumbled, taking a step back. His hand froze in mid-air before dropping to his side. The moment the words left my mouth, I was kicking myself. Tia, what are you doing? You can’t even control your emotions? How rude! You want to make a bad impression on your first day? I wanted to explain, but I didn’t know what to say. In a moment of panic, I blurted out, “Thank you so much for picking me up today! You’ve been a huge help!” I tried to force a winning smile, but it felt stiff and unnatural. “Really, thank you! Because of you, the four seasons are warm! Thank you, because of you…” My hands started moving on their own, performing some bizarre, grateful dance as John just stared at me, his expression unreadable. I snapped my mouth shut, mortified. I wanted to slap myself. What was I doing, trying to be funny? It just made things a hundred times more awkward. He must think I’m a total weirdo. My shoulders slumped in defeat. “Okay, fine. I’m just carsick, Uncle. Don’t worry, it’ll pass. I’ll just rest for a bit.” I thought I was hiding my feelings perfectly, but my act was full of holes. As I started to close the door, I saw a flash of helplessness in John’s dark eyes. The man who always seemed to have everything under control now looked like he was struggling to figure out how to handle my mood. His voice was soft. “Alright. You get some rest. Call me if you need anything. I won’t disturb you.” He gently closed the door for me. Was it my imagination, or did his retreating figure look almost… lonely? 9 My parents are both teachers, and from middle school through high school, I was always in a class taught by one of them. I was raised under a strict set of rules, a product of countless regulations. As a result, I never had a crush during my teenage years. Back then, I genuinely believed that dating young was a serious transgression. It was only when I left my parents’ nest that I realized the world outside wasn’t so scary after all. The desires I had suppressed deep inside began to grow wild. When I got to college, the number of guys who tried to hit on me made me realize I probably wasn’t ugly. But this was the first time I had ever been so intensely interested in a man. After a night of feeling sorry for myself, my fighting spirit returned. So what if the room was prepared for another woman? I was the one living in it now. We were under the same roof! A man of this caliber… I was the one who was winning here. My mind drifted to John’s incredible body, which even his clothes couldn’t hide. I couldn’t sleep. I spent the night trying to guess his measurements, but even his corporate bio didn’t have those details. Moving in together right after we met… this was a test, wasn’t it? John was single, successful, and ridiculously handsome. It would be weirder if I didn’t have any competition. I had timing and proximity on my side. I needed to take advantage of this perfect environment. What was I moping about for? The next morning, I was bursting with energy. When John saw that my mood had lifted, he seemed to let out a sigh of relief. But I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Hadn’t he slept well? Or had he been working all night? 10 In the days that followed, John cleared his schedule to show me every corner of Crestview. A CEO of his stature, personally playing tour guide just for me. He must have been incredibly busy, but he never let it show in front of me. The only clue was the light in his office that often burned late into the night. Every outing was planned meticulously. All I had to do was follow him, no brain required. The more time I spent with him, the more I realized that the man who seemed so unapproachable on the outside was actually incredibly thoughtful and observant. He remembered the food I liked after I mentioned it just once. He picked up on my hobbies, my taste in music, everything. He took me to a high-end auction. Without me saying a word, he knew exactly which item had caught my eye. He bid for it without batting an eyelid, driving the price up until it was his. The next day, it was sitting in my room. I turned to find him, my heart soaring. “Uncle John, is all this for me?” He was just leaning against the doorframe, a faint smile on his lips. “I had a feeling you’d like it.” At glamorous parties where I knew no one, he would instinctively draw me into his circle of safety. Even while talking business with others, his eyes would follow me. He told me that meeting the people at these events would be good for my career after graduation. Because of him, I navigated the galas with ease, making connections and seizing opportunities. Being with John was just… comfortable. I insisted on wearing high heels to go out, loving how they looked. He never tried to talk me out of it. But every single time, just as my feet were starting to ache, he would crouch down, pull a pair of sneakers out of his backpack, and help me change into them. I had no idea when he’d started carrying them. One afternoon, sitting on a park bench, he gently examined my ankle for any redness while lightly flicking my forehead with his finger. “Next time you want to wear heels, how about we just wear them for the photos? Okay?” he asked, his tone gentle and consultative. His perfect manners, his unwavering consideration. I couldn’t tell if this was special treatment reserved just for me, or if it was simply his good upbringing, a favor for a friend. All I knew was that in the moment our eyes met, my heart lost all control. Thump. Thump. Thump. A current zapped through my body. I think, I really think, I’m falling for John Chen.

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