Author: Momo Chan

My period chose the absolute worst week to crash the party: Freshman Orientation Boot Camp. The cramps felt like someone was wringing out my insides with rusty pliers. I raised a shaky hand, my voice barely a whisper, asking the Drill Instructor for a break. A heartbeat later, Sophie’s hand shot up too. Sophie. My boyfriend Liam’s childhood best friend. The girl he grew up next door to. I glanced over at her. Her face was fresh, her ponytail bouncing, not a single drop of sweat on her perfectly tanned skin. Instructor Davis scowled, his patience already worn thin by a hundred clueless freshmen. “This isn’t a spa day. I’ve got one spot on the bench. One. The second person who thinks they need a break can think again.” From the guys’ platoon across the field, Liam’s voice cut through the morning air. “Harper, come on, you’re tough as nails! Sophie… she’s always been kind of delicate.” He wasn’t finished. “It’s just cramps, babe. Can’t you just let her have this one?” 1 A wave of obnoxious laughter rippled through the guys’ formation. “Damn, Liam, already got her cycle tracked on your Google Calendar?” “He said she’s ‘tough as nails,’ man. Guess he’s done his own… durability comparison with his ‘delicate’ little friend.” Sophie blushed and swatted the air in their direction. “Oh, stop it, you guys! A guy can’t worry about his little sister from another mister?” “Ooooh, ‘little sister’!” they hooted back, nudging each other. Someone yelled a crude joke, “If you’re so worried she’s tired, Liam, maybe you should do all the heavy lifting for her tonight!” Sophie feigned anger and tossed an empty water bottle at them. The guys’ instructor barked at them to get their heads out of their asses and run laps. That just left us. Our instructor, Davis, looked at me. My face must have been ghost-white because a cold sweat was prickling my hairline. He pointed a thick finger at me. “You. Go to the medical tent.” Then he jerked his chin at Sophie. “You. Get back in formation. Now.” Her perfectly shaped lips immediately formed a pout. She shot me a look of pure venom. “I guess I just can’t compete with some people’s acting skills,” she muttered, just loud for me to hear. “Truly method.” 2 These weren’t just cramps. This was a five-alarm fire. I ended up having to get a shot of high-strength painkiller from the camp nurse just to uncurl from the fetal position. During the lunch break, Liam showed up at the medical tent. He handed me a bottle of lukewarm water, his words laced with something sharp. “Sophie’s on her period too, you know. Never seen her need a shot for it. Harper, if you’ve rested enough, you should probably get back out there. It doesn’t look good, you taking the only pass. Everyone’s thinking you’re just trying to get out of drills.” A cold dread pooled in my stomach, worse than the cramps. “What do you mean, you’ve ‘never seen her need a shot’? Just because she’s not in pain, I have to be? Liam, are you saying I’m faking this?” He pressed his lips into a thin, annoyed line. I stared at him. “So you didn’t come here to check on me. You came to see when I’d be done playing sick so your precious Sophie could have a turn at slacking off, is that it?” He set the water down with a sigh heavy with martyrdom. “That’s not what I mean. Sophie’s just… she’s sensitive. I’m just trying to look out for her, there’s nothing else to it. Harper, can you please not be so jealous?” My vision went sharp and clear. All the pain seemed to focus into a single point of icy calm. “Childhood sweethearts, inseparable, I get it. If you’re in love with her, Liam, you didn’t have to start dating me.” Panic flared in his eyes. “What? That’s crazy! I don’t feel that way about her at all!” I turned my face away. “Just go. I don’t need you here.” 3 That afternoon, I dragged myself back to the training field. Instructor Davis gave me a curt nod and pointed me back into line. “Wow, a miracle recovery,” Sophie whispered as I stood beside her. Every step was agony. I white-knuckled it until dismissal. The second we broke formation, Liam was there, holding out an ice-cold bottle of Gatorade. “Look, maybe I was a little harsh at lunch…” he started. “I just feel like…” I ignored him, unscrewing my own thermos and taking a long sip of the warm water inside. His hand hung in the air. “Still hurts?” I kept sipping my water, my eyes fixed on Sophie across the field. She was laughing with a group of friends, her cheeks flushed with a healthy, vibrant pink. “I don’t care what you ‘feel like,’ Liam. If you want to play detective, why don’t you go ask her how she’s so full of energy after she was supposedly dying this morning?” He froze. Sophie happened to look over at that exact moment. Her laughing face instantly crumpled into a mask of hurt. “I only bought her that drink because I was worried you were in trouble,” she said, her voice trembling as she walked over. “If she won’t drink it… does she really hate me that much?” 4 Liam immediately went into damage control mode. Sophie’s eyes were already glistening. He hesitated, looking completely torn, then pushed the icy bottle toward me again. “Harper, come on, just take one sip. It’s a peace offering from Sophie…” The seconds ticked by. I didn’t move. Liam’s patience snapped. He roughly shoved the bottle into my hands. “Just get over it! It’s a period, not a terminal illness! Do you have to be so damn dramatic about everything?” The freezing plastic slipped from my grasp and thudded onto the dusty ground. “FALL IN!” Davis yelled. Liam was already by Sophie’s side, walking her back to her platoon. I could hear their voices drifting back. “Liam, why would you date someone like that the second you get to college?” I saw him gently ruffle her hair. “It’s okay, Soph. It’s my fault.” I walked back to my spot. As I passed Sophie, she turned her head just enough for me to see her mouth the word. Loser. A white-hot rage shot through me. I raised my voice, making it loud and sharp enough to cut through the noise of the assembling platoons. “WHO ARE YOU CALLING A LOSER?!” Everyone froze. All eyes were on us. Sophie looked stunned for a second, then her eyes instantly filled with tears. Instructor Davis marched over, his face like a thundercloud. “What’s going on here?!” She wrung her hands, looking helpless. “Sir, I… I don’t know why she’s always coming after me…” The guys’ platoon started murmuring. When Instructor Davis turned his glare on me, I took a deep breath. “Sir, permission to speak, Sir! As I was walking past, I heard someone say your training methods were ‘lame as hell’.”

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The esports god I have a crush on just humiliated me with a frying pan. Three times. The match had barely ended when he blew up our team’s Discord, demanding my number. I was staring at the screen recording that was already going viral, my brain completely short-circuiting. In the clip, he runs me over with a jeep, then hops out to finish me off with a clang from his frying pan. Later, he wins a close-quarters gunfight, knocking me to my knees, only to pull out that same stupid pan for the final blow. And in the final circle, with victory just a second away—a guaranteed “chicken dinner”—he abandons the win. He literally runs through enemy fire just to find me, a barely-alive player with a sliver of health, and smack me into oblivion with that godforsaken pan. Seriously, is my crush a complete psychopath? 1 I’m a student at Stanford, majoring in data analytics. A bit of a nerd, I guess. My scholarships pay the bills. My younger brother, Leo, is a starting player for the top esports team in the country, ACE. Last week, he lost a bet on a livestream. The penalty? He had to dye his hair neon pink for a week. He refused, ghosted his team, and went off the grid, leaving his phone and this whole mess with me. “Chloe! I’m begging you! Emergency online exhibition match just got announced, it’s mandatory and it counts for my performance score! If I lose this, my monthly bonus is toast!” his panicked text read. I was in the library, knee-deep in a data model, and didn’t even look up. I texted back: “Got it. Your sister is a Diamond rank, you know. I won’t lose you any points.” …I really wish I could go back in time and slap myself. Turns out, a “Diamond rank” player looks like a mindless bot to a professional. I logged into Leo’s account. The moment I saw my teammates’ IDs in the lobby, my heart stopped. Besides my brother’s tag, “ACE-Leo,” the other two were legends from his team. And the squad leader’s ID was: “Mars.” Asher Vance. The Asher Vance. A campus celebrity, a computer science prodigy, and a legend in the league. He’d led his team to two world championships. His playstyle was brutally aggressive, his aim was inhuman. His fans called him the God of War. I’d only ever seen him on the esports club posters in the student union. In the photos, he had sharp eyes and a lazy smirk that always played on his lips. Before my brain could catch up, the match started. “Leo, you’re quiet today. No mic?” a teammate named “ACE-Zephyr” asked. “You usually scream your head off before the jump.” My palms were sweating. I followed them, dropping into the hot zone we called “Estates.” I quickly typed in chat: “Mic’s broken.” I had just landed. I hadn’t even found a weapon. A figure vaulted off a second-story balcony, landed in front of me, and blasted me twice with a shotgun. I was down. A notification popped up: “Mars knocked down ACE-Leo with a S686.” I froze. Friendly fire? “Captain, what the hell?” the other teammate, “ACE-Bolt,” sounded just as confused. “You’re shooting Leo?” Asher didn’t say a word. He walked over to my crawling avatar, switched from his shotgun to his melee weapon, and pulled out his frying pan. CLANG. Just like that, I was watching myself dissolve into a loot box. The team’s voice channel went dead silent. “…” After a three-second pause, Zephyr spoke. “Captain, are you still drunk from last night?” 2 My face was burning. I waited for my teammates to revive me at a recall tower. The second time, we were pushing a new town. I had just taken someone down with an M416 when my screen went gray again. It was Asher. It was like he had hacks. He appeared from a blind spot I never saw, and a perfectly cooked grenade sent me flying. Then, he calmly strolled over, the same frying pan in hand. CLANG. Another loot box. “Captain, do you have a personal problem with Leo?” “Did Mars eat a bad burrito today? Why is he hunting his own teammate?” My teammates were shouting now. Asher had team-killed me twice. The third time, we were in the final circle. It was our full four-man squad against one last solo player. An easy win. I was prone behind a rock, my eyes glued to the field in front of me. Suddenly, the deafening crack of an AWM sniper rifle echoed, and my level-three helmet shattered. I was left with a single pixel of health. The one who shot me? Asher Vance. “HOLY CRAP! CAPTAIN, ARE YOU INSANE?!” Bolt screamed into his mic. I watched as Asher charged out of a smoke grenade, completely ignoring the final enemy player, and sprinted directly towards me. In his hand… was the frying pan. CLANG! “ACE has won the match!” The announcer’s voice rang out, but I felt zero joy. I stared at the man on the screen who had just murdered me with kitchenware, and I couldn’t stop myself. I typed one sentence in the all-chat. 【Do you have a problem?】 The channel went quiet. A few seconds later, a man’s voice, clear and lazy with a hint of amusement, came through the speakers for the first time. “Leo, send me your girlfriend’s number.” Girlfriend? My mind went blank. How did he know I was a girl? 3 Before I could process it, my phone started vibrating like crazy. It was a FaceTime call from Leo. The moment I answered, his frantic face filled the screen. “Chloe! What did you do to Asher Vance on my account? He just tagged me in the team group chat saying he’s ‘very interested’ in your ‘girlfriend’!” My face was numb. I sent him the screen recording of the match. Leo watched it. He went quiet. After a long pause, he asked cautiously, “Chloe… did you, like… hook up with him and then ghost him or something?” My hand slipped, and my phone clattered to the floor. Asher Vance. My university’s resident esports god. He thought I was his teammate’s girlfriend, and he hunted me down like a serial killer. And now, he wanted my number. 4 Leo’s attempt to hide out failed miserably. The team manager tracked him down and dragged him back to the team’s gaming house. He was basically on house arrest, which also meant he was hiding from me. Asher’s frying pan saga had earned my brother a new nickname on the team: “Sells-His-Sister-For-Glory.” Three days later, I got a call from an unknown number. “Is this Chloe Hayes? This is the director for the reality show ‘Glory Rush’.” I frowned. “You have the wrong number.” “No, I don’t,” the director said cheerfully. “The ACE team recommended you. We’d like to invite you to be their special guest star for the show. It’s a twenty-day shoot.” I nearly crushed my phone. “I’m not interested.” “Don’t be so quick to refuse,” he said. “We know you’re not a pro, so we’re offering a very generous appearance fee. Besides, ACE’s captain, Asher Vance, personally requested that you be invited.” …Asher Vance. Him again. I hung up and immediately called Leo. His voice on the other end was dripping with guilt. “Chloe…” “Leo,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “do you want to see your allowance this month?” “No, sis, please!” he begged. “It was the Captain’s idea! He said he really admired your… uh… gameplay and thought you had a lot of potential! He wants you to come on the show to learn from the pros.” “Our manager agreed, too! He said even though you played like garbage, you brought in huge numbers! That ‘Frying Pan Triple Team-Kill’ clip is trending on Twitter!” …I stared at the hashtag on my screen, took a deep breath. “Not going.” “Chloe! Please! I’ll give you my entire tournament bonus for the next three months! I’m begging you!” I hung up, opened my voice recorder app, and saved the last part of his plea. Then I sent him a text. “Send me the address.”

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My daughter was eight months old when I finally took some vacation time to visit my parents. My brother, Mike, picked me up from the airport. Back at home, Mom had made my favorite dinner, and Dad was busy hauling my suitcases upstairs. I was basking in the warm glow of a family reunion, the kind of happiness you can only find at home. Then Mike sidled up to me, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Hey, sis,” he started. “That round trip to the airport and back is over a hundred miles. An Uber would’ve cost you at least two hundred bucks.” He paused, then forged ahead. “But since you’re family, just Venmo me for gas and tolls. Let’s call it an even eighty.” 1 I couldn’t believe my ears. Was my own brother really charging me for a ride home? I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. “Mike, what are you talking about?” He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable but doubling down on his logic. “Look, picking you up ate up my whole afternoon. I’m not making money, sure, but I can’t be losing money either, right? Business is business, even with family. Especially since you’re married now.” I hadn’t been back home since my daughter, Lily, was born. It wasn’t just the distance; traveling with a baby is a logistical nightmare of diapers, formula, and a million other things. But Mom had been crying on the phone. “I’ll have Mike come get you. Please, just come home for a few days. I miss you so much I can’t sleep.” I’d tried to get her to visit me instead, but she always had an excuse about the house needing her. So, I took the time off. Formula, diapers, a bottle warmer, a portable sterilizer… I packed three massive suitcases with Lily’s gear. On the drive home, I sat in the back with Lily, while Mike chattered on about old childhood memories. The long drive flew by, filled with laughter. When we pulled up, Mom and Dad were already waiting on the porch. Mom took Lily from my arms, but her eyes were fixed on me. “You’re so thin! Having a baby has worn you down to nothing.” Her own eyes welled up with tears. Dad, seeing us get emotional, turned away and started silently unloading the car. Mom wiped her eyes and pulled me towards the kitchen. “Look what I made! I got a fresh organic chicken from the farmer’s market just for you. The soup’s been simmering since noon. I’ll whip up a few more of your favorites, and we’ll have a real welcome-home dinner.” My own eyes grew misty. My heart felt warm and full. There’s no place like home. My childhood home would always be my home. No matter how old I got, I could always walk through that door and find people who loved and cherished me. 2 I was lost in this sweet, nostalgic daydream when Mike’s cold demand for gas money shattered it completely. What did being “married now” have to do with anything? Was I no longer my parents’ daughter, his sister? Was I not family anymore? My brow furrowed. “I’m married, Mike, not disowned. Do you charge Mom and Dad for rides?” He scoffed. “That’s different. They’re my immediate family. You’re married off, you belong to someone else’s family now. If you use our family’s resources, you’ve got to pay up.” I was shaking with anger. Before Lily was born, I used to drive myself home all the time. Every single visit, my car was loaded with gifts: wine for Dad, new kitchen gadgets for Mom, the latest video game for Mike. I never once asked him to chip in for the things I brought for him. And now, for one ride, he was demanding a price that was probably more than the actual cost. On what planet was that fair? “I’m not paying,” I said, my voice firm. Mike has a stubborn streak and a short fuse. My refusal instantly made his face darken. “Oh, you are paying. Today. You used my car, you pay the fee.” I let out a cold laugh. “Fine. First, you can pay me back the three thousand dollars I gave you. Then we’ll talk about your eighty-dollar fee.” The car he was driving? I’d paid for a third of it. The first year after I graduated and got a job, Dad had mentioned they were thinking of buying a car. It wasn’t convenient living in the suburbs without one. Just a trip to the grocery store was a twenty-minute walk each way. I remembered Mom coming home, her fingers red and indented from the heavy grocery bags. Without a second thought, I gave them all of my savings at the time. The car cost nine thousand dollars. I paid three, my parents paid three, and Mike paid three. Except Mike didn’t have the money, so he “borrowed” it from our parents. The car was supposed to be in Dad’s name, but somehow, the title ended up in Mike’s. I have no idea if he ever paid Mom and Dad back. “You have some nerve,” Mike sneered, “asking for that three grand back after all the money this family spent raising you.” He lifted the lid of the soup pot, pointing at the chicken. “This chicken cost twenty-five bucks. It was for you. You can pay for that, too.” I was about to explode. We were both their children. Why did Mike automatically assume that everything in this house belonged to him? I was about to let him have it when Mom pushed him out of the kitchen. “What is wrong with you? Asking your own sister for money? Get out!” She tore a big, juicy chicken leg from the bird and pressed it into my hand. “Sweetheart, don’t mind your brother. His freelance work has been slow, and he’s stressed. You just eat. I raised this chicken myself, he doesn’t get a say.” I lifted the chicken leg to my lips. Just then, Dad’s voice boomed from the other room. “What is all this? Why is every one of these suitcases filled with baby stuff?” 3 I put the chicken down and walked out of the kitchen. In the guest room, Dad had opened all three of my suitcases. Their contents were strewn across the floor. “Dad,” I asked, stunned, “what are you looking for?” He kicked at a can of formula with his foot, his face a mask of annoyance. “Three huge bags, and not a single thing for us! You’re a college-educated woman, for God’s sake. Don’t you know basic etiquette? Who shows up to their parents’ house empty-handed?” I stared at him in shock. I had never heard of bringing hostess gifts to your own home. The reason I used to show up with a car full of presents was because I loved them. I wanted to spoil them, to make them happy. I never knew they saw it as an obligation. So it wasn’t just Mike. My own father saw me as a visitor now. An outsider. I stood there, frozen, watching my mom kneel on the floor, frantically trying to tidy the mess. Dad grumbled something under his breath and stormed out of the house. When Mike heard I hadn’t brought gifts, he took the entire pot of chicken soup and carried it next door to our grandma’s house. “You show up with nothing and expect a free meal?” he called over his shoulder. “Have you no shame?” A hot rush of anger surged through me. I started stuffing all of Lily’s things back into the suitcases. I’d grab my daughter and leave. I had money; there were hotels in town. If this house didn’t want us, somewhere else would. Mom grabbed my arm, her voice choked with tears. “It’s getting dark, honey. How will you manage with the baby and three suitcases? Please, I’m begging you, just stay the night. Your father is a stubborn old man and your brother is being a jerk, just ignore them. I’ve waited so long to see you. Just stay with me, please?” My resolve softened. She was right. This was my home, too. Why should I let them chase me out? Not only was I going to stay, but I was going to demand the same treatment as my brother. I turned to her. “Mom, are there any more chickens? Because I’m still hungry.” “Yes, yes, of course.” 4 I marched out to the chicken coop in the backyard and caught the biggest rooster. With one swift, decisive motion, I did what I had to do. A few minutes of plucking and cleaning, and that big, plump bird was in the pressure cooker. When Dad and Mike came back, Mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table, happily chewing on chicken wings, our fingers slick with grease. “What… what did you do? You killed another chicken?” Mike stammered. I sucked the meat off a chicken foot. “What, you guys get to eat and we don’t?” Mike, furious, turned on Mom. “Mom, we only have a few chickens left! You killed two in one day! What am I supposed to eat later?” “What about me?” Mom looked straight at him, her voice quiet but firm. “When you took the soup I spent all afternoon making over to Grandma’s, did you think about me?” Mike was speechless. He mumbled for a moment before finally spitting out, “I was just so angry, I wasn’t thinking straight.” He wasn’t thinking straight, but he always forgot Mom. It was a pattern. The sad, funny thing was, Mom did more for this family than anyone, yet she was always the one who was overlooked. I remembered a business trip I took to New Orleans a few years ago. I shipped a box of beignets home. By the time Mom finished her chores, all that was left was a plate of powdered sugar. Dad and Mike were content and full, completely oblivious. Another time, Mike got his first paycheck from an internship. He bought himself new sneakers, a new electric razor for Dad, and a blood pressure monitor for Grandma. Mom watched as the shopping bag grew emptier, the hope in her eyes slowly fading to disappointment. His excuse then was the same. “Oh, man, I was just so excited, I totally forgot.” Mom’s love was like the air in our house. They breathed it in every day without a second thought, but they never felt the need to acknowledge its existence. I’m sure she was thinking about all that now. She didn’t say anything, just kept her head down and quietly chewed her chicken. Dad tried to needle us. “You’re lucky you live in modern times. Back in my day, a wife who ate like that would’ve been kicked out of the house.” Mom and I ignored him. He and Mike eventually gave up and left the kitchen. Mom put a chicken wing in my bowl. “Eat up, sweetheart. Tomorrow, I’ll make you my barbecue ribs.” 5 I absolutely loved my mom’s barbecue ribs. The next morning, while Lily and I were still asleep, Mom was already up and heading to the local market for fresh pork ribs. She came back with a huge rack, more than enough for all of us.

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My best friend was standing at the altar in a stunning white gown. Without a word, I stormed onto the stage and, in front of all her friends and family, slapped her. Twice. Hard. Her husband, her parents, her in-laws—not a single one of them moved to stop me. As she stared at me in stunned silence, I raised my hand again. She screamed in terror, “I’m calling the police!” Her husband grabbed her wrist. “You call them,” he warned, his voice like ice, “and this wedding is off.” 1. Before I laid a hand on her, I asked a very serious question. “Why did you choose a white dress?” My best friend, Rosalie, didn’t even hesitate. “What else is a bride supposed to wear?” A cold dread washed over me. I walked up to her and swung. A maid of honor striking the bride. It was unheard of. A wave of murmurs rippled through the guests. They were all trying to guess what kind of feud Rosalie and I had, what could possibly drive me to attack her on the most important day of her life. The sudden slap sent Rosalie stumbling back, dazed. She nearly fell. Her husband, Daniel Gray, stood right beside her, motionless. “Mia, are you out of your goddamn mind?!” Rosalie shrieked at me. “If you have a problem with me, just say it! Why would you just hit me out of nowhere?” “Are we not best friends anymore?” “We are,” I answered, my voice firm. Of that, I had no doubt. Rosalie cradled her already swelling cheek, her face a mask of wounded betrayal. “Then talk to me. I know you have a temper, but you can’t just hit people.” I fought to keep my own emotions in check. “You really don’t know why I did that?” She shook her head, bewildered. After a moment, she asked, “Did I do something to hurt you?” I let out a long, heavy sigh and beckoned her closer. “Come here. I’ll tell you.” The moment she stepped in front of me, smack! I hit her again. 2. The fragile peace shattered. This time, I put more force behind it. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of Rosalie’s mouth. Her shock curdled into pure rage. “Mia, are you sick? I gave you an inch, and you took a fucking mile! Hitting me not once, but twice!” What seemed to infuriate her even more was that her husband, the man who should have been defending her, remained silent. “Daniel, are you even a man? Your wife is being assaulted, and you don’t say a single word!” The guests below the stage started whispering again, their theories growing wilder. “I bet the maid of honor is sleeping with the groom. I heard the three of them grew up together.” “Maybe the bride stole him from her? That’s why she’s getting revenge on the wedding day.” “To be honest, she and the groom do look better together…” “Enough!” Rosalie roared, silencing the crowd. She turned back, squeezing out a few tears of pure frustration. Her accusing gaze swung between me and Daniel. “Mia, are you in love with my husband?” “And you,” she spat at Daniel, “are you still hung up on her?” Daniel’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t answer. I looked her straight in the eye. “I have zero interest in your husband. But I’m still going to hit you again.” Fear flashed in Rosalie’s eyes and she scrambled backward. “Mia, please,” she begged, “it’s my wedding day. The most important day of my life. Can we please just talk this out? Don’t hit me again.” I shook my head, my expression unyielding. “No.” Someone in the crowd couldn’t take it anymore. Seeing Rosalie weeping, a guest shouted, “Is this maid of honor just jealous? Ruining someone’s wedding like this! She calls herself a friend of twenty years? She acts more like an enemy.” A few of Rosalie’s college friends, unable to watch any longer, came up to intervene. “That’s enough. Whatever Rosalie did to make you this angry, you can’t do this to her today. Besides, assault is illegal.” “If you don’t stop, we’ll have you removed!” My own parents, their faces burning with embarrassment, hurried over and pulled me aside. “Mia, stop this nonsense!” my dad hissed. “We let you get away with arguing with Rosalie, but this is her wedding day! Don’t ruin this for her family!” My gaze fell back to her dress, and the hand I’d lowered started to rise again. “Mom, Dad, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice heavy with sincerity. Then I lunged forward and grabbed Rosalie’s arm. She shrieked and tried to hide behind her parents. “Mom, Dad, help me! Get Mia out of here!” But to everyone’s shock, Mr. and Mrs. Lowe simply stepped aside, leaving Rosalie exposed. If my parents hadn’t rushed forward to drag me back, my third slap would have already landed. My father was shaking with anger. A man who always prized reason, he looked like he was about to strike me himself. “Have you lost all sense of decorum? Is this how I raised you?” My mother joined in, her voice full of disappointment. “Mia, this constant aggression is so ill-bred! If you dare hit Rosalie again today, I will disown you!” Rosalie collapsed onto the floor, sobbing hysterically, but her heart-wrenching cries didn’t move me an inch. The standoff was broken by an unlikely voice—Rosalie’s father. He turned to mine. “Calm down. I’m sure Mia has her reasons.” Rosalie’s mother defended me unconditionally, snapping at her daughter, “Stop making a scene on the floor! Mia didn’t mean it. She’s upset, so what if she hits you a few times?” Rosalie stomped her foot in frustration. “Dad! Mom! Whose side are you on? Who’s your real daughter?!” The bizarre exchange left everyone speechless. Some guests looked so confused they probably wondered if I was secretly the Lowes’ biological child. I looked at my parents, my heart aching. “Mom, Dad, even if you disown me, I have to land this third slap.” They stood there, helpless. They knew I wouldn’t back down once my mind was made up, and they couldn’t truly cut me out of their lives. Rosalie tried to fight back, but I was an athlete. She was no match for me. I rolled up my sleeves, ready to put everything I had into it. She clutched her stomach and screamed, “Don’t hit me again! I’m pregnant!” 3. “So?” My voice was unnervingly calm. Even the wedding officiant couldn’t stand by any longer and tried to pull me away. “Miss, you’ve gone too far. She’s pregnant! You can’t hit a pregnant woman, no matter what!” Rosalie nodded frantically, turning to Daniel’s parents. “Mom, Dad, get her out of here! I’m carrying the Gray family’s first grandchild!” Daniel’s parents, who had been silent this whole time, finally spoke. His mother offered a placating smile. “Ms. Song, please, calm down. Whatever the issue is, I promise we will address it after the ceremony.” I let out a cold, dismissive laugh. “And what if I insist on hitting her right now? Does the Gray family dare to stop me?” His father’s expression hardened. “Ms. Song, what is the meaning of this?” “You stop me from hitting her, and I’m pulling the investment I promised the Gray Corporation.” Mr. and Mrs. Gray exchanged a look. Rosalie, feeling confident, jutted out her stomach. “I’m carrying the Gray family heir! My in-laws will never let you bully me!” To the entire room’s astonishment, Mr. Gray chuckled and gently pushed Rosalie forward. “Ms. Song, if you feel you must… then please, go ahead. Just don’t kill her.” A collective gasp filled the hall. What kind of man would sacrifice his pregnant daughter-in-law for a business deal? Especially when the Grays and the Lowes were both prominent, powerful families in the city. Rosalie’s eyes reddened as she pleaded with her mother-in-law, “Mom, you can’t let her hit me. What if something happens to the baby?” Mrs. Gray hesitated, glanced at her husband, and understood. She cooed at Rosalie, “Dear, if Ms. Song is upset, just let her get it out of her system. Once you’re officially part of the family, I’ll make it up to you.” Rosalie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Mom, how can you say that? I’m your daughter-in-law! When she hits me, she’s not just hitting me, she’s slapping the face of the entire Gray family!” “If you let this happen, I’ll be the laughingstock of the whole city!” Mrs. Gray was unmoved. “Getting pregnant before marriage was already disgraceful enough,” she sniffed. “Don’t waste any more time. Let Ms. Song finish so we can get on with the wedding.” She waved her hand, and two bodyguards stepped forward to hold Rosalie in place. Then, she turned to me with a fawning smile. “Ms. Song, please.” Daniel had long since stepped off the stage and was leaning against a far wall, acting as if none of this concerned him. In the world of the wealthy, love was a cheap commodity when set against profit. Rosalie stared at me, her eyes burning with hatred. “Mia Song, you hit me one more time, and I swear I will make you pay for this!” I pinched her chin, carefully angling her face. “Good,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ll be waiting.” But she was scared. She could see it in my eyes. This last slap was going to hurt. “I’m calling the police!” she shrieked, her voice raw with fear. “Someone, help me call the police!” Instantly, guests in the audience pulled out their phones. Daniel, who had been a statue this whole time, finally moved. He strode onto the stage and snatched the microphone from the officiant. “Nobody calls the police!” At his command, his security team moved swiftly through the crowd, confiscating phones. The guests looked on, utterly baffled. Daniel had been perfectly content to watch his bride get beaten, but the moment she mentioned the police, he sprang into action. The whispers started again. “Is there really something going on between him and the Song heiress? He’s protecting her instead of his own wife and child.” Rosalie stared from me to Daniel, her face a canvas of horror. “Daniel! Are you actually cheating on me with Mia?” He didn’t confirm or deny it. She began pounding on his chest. “How could you do this to me? I’m carrying your child!” He grabbed her wrists and shoved her away. “That’s enough.” “Daniel Gray, you ungrateful bastard!” she screamed, utterly hysterical. I watched her meltdown, but my resolve to deliver that final slap never wavered. Rosalie wiped the tears from her face, her expression hardening into a vicious threat aimed at Daniel. “And what if I insist on calling them?” A flicker of something like relief crossed Daniel’s face. He gave a careless shrug. “You call them, we get a divorce.” Rosalie froze, clearly not expecting him to be so casual about ending their marriage. “You’d divorce me over a phone call? Daniel, do you even have a conscience?” His face was a mask of indifference. “You call the police, I file for divorce.” “Rosalie, don’t,” Mrs. Gray pleaded, grabbing her arm. “This was just about a slap. Don’t let it escalate to a divorce. It’s not worth it.” Even I was curious. How far would Daniel go? Would he really divorce the woman he’d been with for ten years—a woman everyone knew he doted on—just to stop her from calling the police? His behavior today had shattered everyone’s image of their perfect love story. I couldn’t understand it. If he cared so little for her, why marry her at all? But I had a feeling I was about to find out. Faced with Daniel’s ultimatum, Rosalie’s heart broke. Everyone assumed the wedding was over. Suddenly, she spun around and shoved me to the ground. Blinded by rage, she was a different person from the gentle girl I knew. She blamed me for everything. “Mia, are you happy now that you’ve ruined my life? None of this would have happened if it weren’t for you! Now Daniel wants to divorce me! Are you really this cruel?” Was I? I was risking a lifelong friendship, the relationship between our families, and my own reputation. Everyone was confused, but Rosalie… she couldn’t possibly be blind to my motives. “The reason for this third slap,” I said, my voice ringing with authority. “After I’m done, I’ll tell you everything.” Rosalie tilted her face up, a look of grim acceptance in her eyes, and waited for the blow. But I didn’t strike immediately. She trembled. “What are you waiting for? Why don’t you just do it?” And then I said something that shocked everyone. “Weren’t you going to call the police? I’m waiting for you to do it.” My complete lack of fear finally pushed her over the edge. “Mia, do you think you can humiliate me like this just because your family is more powerful than mine?” “Fine! I’ll call them right now! Let’s see how arrogant you are when the police get here!” Just as she was about to dial, Daniel snatched the phone and smashed it on the floor. His raw, furious roar was deafening. “I told you! No police!” “Do you think I’m joking?” Daniel had his assistant produce a set of divorce papers. “You make that call today, and we’re going straight to the courthouse.” Tears streamed down Rosalie’s face. She was completely torn. Calmly, I pulled out my own phone. “If you won’t call them, I will.” The entire room gasped. What was this? I was calling the police on myself.

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The night before the university applications were due, the senior class group chat exploded. “Holy shit! Teri, why did you switch your application to the UK? I thought you and Ava were set on Paris!” Teri’s reply was casual, almost lazy. “I switched. So what? She has my login info anyway.” He followed it up with a smirk I could feel through the screen. “She’ll see I changed it, and she’ll follow me. That little shadow can’t live without me.” I stared at my phone, my mind a complete blank. My half-packed suitcase lay open on the floor, the gift I’d painstakingly chosen for him sitting right on top. I left the group chat, tossed the gift into the trash, and never looked at the application portal again. He had no idea. He could throw away our future for Rachel, but I could throw him away to secure my own. All those sleepless nights, all that grinding—it was never just for him. 1 Teri’s words were like shards of glass in my heart. Paris. We’d worked our asses off for twelve years, dreaming of that specific university. It was our sacred goal. And now, he’d changed it. Just like that. Without even bothering to tell me to my face. Someone in the chat asked him, “What if Ava doesn’t see it? The portal closes tomorrow at midnight.” Teri’s reply was laced with mockery. “Since the portal opened, Ava’s been checking it every ten minutes. She’s more obsessed than my own mother. There’s no way she’ll miss it. Ugh, you guys wouldn’t get it.” The chat filled with sycophantic replies, all variations of “Teri, you’re the man!” Then, another voice piped up. “But what if she doesn’t change it? That school in Paris is a way better fit for her program.” Teri paused for a few seconds before answering, his tone turning icy. “Bullshit.” “Ava has major separation anxiety. I was gone for one day last year, and she dropped everything to come find me. This is three years. You think she can handle three years without seeing me?” “To her, I’m more important than any school. She’ll choose me. She always does.” A heavy silence fell over the chat. After a long moment, someone tentatively typed, “Teri, isn’t that a little rough on Ava? We all saw how hard she worked for this.” “You should at least give her a heads-up.” Teri sent a single, dismissive message. “Tsk.” It took him a while to type again. “It’s a pain in the ass. I don’t want to deal with it.” “You guys know how she gets. If she finds out I did it for Rachel, she’ll cry, and it’ll give me a headache.” “It’s just easier this way. Less drama for me.” The chat immediately sprang back to life. “Yeah, that makes sense. Ava’s great, but she’s no Rachel.” “Damn, Teri, you’ve got it made.” … The banter, the casual cruelty of it all, felt like a physical weight crushing me. I wanted to call him, to scream, to demand an explanation. But my fingers wouldn’t move. In the end, I just threw myself into bed, my body numb, and stared at the ceiling as my thoughts began to unravel. How could a person change so completely? When we were drowning in French lessons, crying from exhaustion, neither of us ever considered giving up. Every time we felt like we couldn’t go on, we’d pull up a picture of the Eiffel Tower and crack jokes to keep each other going. The day our acceptance letters arrived, we cried and laughed at the same time, feeling like all our struggles were finally about to pay off. Our perfect ending was right there, within reach. And he just… let go of my hand and ran toward someone else. Honestly, I wouldn’t have even been angry if he’d just told me he wanted to change plans. But why wouldn’t he just tell me? Did he see me as that pathetic? That insignificant? If I was such a nuisance to him, then what were his promises from that night, when he held me under the stars and whispered about marrying me? Was the night just too dark, the lights too dim for him to see who he was talking to? I curled into a ball, pulling the blankets over my head, and let myself break down in the darkness. The truth is, I’m not the one who can’t live without him. I don’t have separation anxiety. He does. Ever since we were kids, if we ended up in different schools or even different classes, he’d get moody and withdrawn for no reason. The only thing that would snap him out of it was seeing me. So, I just made it a habit. I followed my own path, my own ambitions, and I made sure to drag him along with me. Teri wasn’t wrong about one thing: I had always woven him into the fabric of my future. When it didn’t compromise my dreams, I was happy to pay the price for my heart. But that didn’t mean my love had no limits. I closed the application portal I’d accidentally opened and wiped the tears from my face. I didn’t open it again. He made his choice. I was making mine. From now on, we would go our separate ways. I had just splashed my face with cold water when a video call from Teri popped up on my phone. “Little shadow, pick up! I wanna see you!” When I didn’t answer, he tried again. And again. Finally, a text came through. “We’re all at the old spot. Get over here. Take a cab.” But I didn’t want to go. “Tired. Not feeling it.” The reply was instant. “Are you sick? I’m coming over.” “No. Don’t.” I’d just hit send when a notification from Rachel appeared. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I begged Teri to come out with us. I didn’t know you’d be upset. I’ll leave right now.” “As long as you come, it doesn’t matter what happens to me.” My phone suddenly felt like it was radiating a sickly-sweet, poison-laced perfume. Before I could even think of a reply, someone started tagging me furiously in a smaller group chat. “Ava, what the hell is your problem? Can’t stand to see Teri with anyone else? Your jealousy is getting old.” “Just because Rachel’s prettier than you doesn’t mean you get to throw a tantrum. You’re pathetic.” I froze, my first instinct to defend myself. But then a message from Teri himself flashed on my screen. “Ava, I invited Rachel. If you have a problem, take it up with me. Why are you making things hard for her?” “You know what? Don’t bother coming. We’ll have more fun without you anyway.” A second later, they sent a picture of a table laden with food. Someone added a snarky comment. “Food tastes so much better without all the bitterness.” A bunch of psychos. I left the group chat, then deleted and blocked Teri’s number. A clean sweep. He’d always been my pinned contact, no matter how much we fought. Now, he belonged in the block list. When Rachel first transferred to our school, she was my friend. Back then, Teri even warned me about her. He said she seemed shady and that I should keep my distance. I actually tried to get them to like each other. Then came the freshman orientation party. Rachel took off her nerdy, black-framed glasses, and she was wearing this stunning red dress. She took everyone’s breath away. After that night, Teri never told me to stay away from her again. He and Rachel got closer. He introduced her to all his friends, our friends. Before I knew it, my circle had become her circle. Teri was different with Rachel. Special. We had a massive fight about it once. We didn’t speak for three months. I told him, “If you like her, I’ll step aside.” But Teri cried. He swore to me. “You’re the only one who matters to me.” “Rachel has depression, Ava. Her dad left. I just feel sorry for her, I’m trying to help.” And I believed him. But Teri was playing me for a fool. Their “friendship” became their excuse for everything, a flimsy cover for something more. And now, this. He changed his entire future for her. And I was the idiot who got left behind. By the time I snapped out of it, the sky was dark. My mom had come home at some point and was smiling at me. “Fighting with Teri again? You blocked his number, sweetie.” “He wants you to add him back.” I mumbled a noncommittal answer and headed out the door. My academic advisor had called a last-minute meeting to confirm our final applications. When I got there, the seat next to Teri was empty. That was usually my seat. But Rachel was sitting there now. Teri didn’t say anything, just casually took the bag she handed him. His eyes, however, kept flicking in my direction. He was waiting for me to back down. He was in for a surprise. I turned and sat down next to Ethan, the campus heartthrob, far away from them. “Everyone, double-check your applications! The portal closes for good tonight. No regrets, no do-overs!” our advisor boomed from the front of the room. Suddenly, Ethan glanced at my application form. “That’s a coincidence. I’m going to Paris, too.” Before I could reply, a hand tapped my shoulder. “Ava. Don’t you have something to say?” I ignored him, turning back to Ethan. But Teri grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the room. “Ava, what is your problem?” he hissed. “Throwing a little tantrum is one thing, but blocking me? Seriously?” “I’m warning you. Unblock me right now. If you don’t, you’ll never get the chance to add me back again.” I was forced to stare at him for a few seconds. “Okay. Wasn’t planning on it anyway.” The color drained from Teri’s face. “Fine. Don’t come crying to me later!” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm again, his eyes suddenly serious. “The deadline is close. Check your application again, carefully. Make sure you didn’t make any mistakes…” He was about to say more, but Rachel appeared at his side, cutting him off. “Teri, I don’t really get this part. Can you help me look it over?” “Sure, let me see.” Teri immediately bent his head to look at Rachel’s form. I let out a bitter laugh and walked away. By the time he looked up to say something else, I was already back in the classroom. “Ava! Remember to check it again! Check it carefully!” he called after me. Right. As if his words were gospel. He probably thought I’d do what he said, see that he’d switched his application, and immediately switch mine to follow him. What a joke. He wouldn’t tell me the truth, so I would just pretend I didn’t know. He thought “dealing with me” was a hassle; well, I thought explaining myself to him was an even bigger one. Thank God I finally saw things clearly for once. Back in the classroom, Ethan noticed my foul mood and insisted on dragging me out to a campus concert to cheer me up. As we were leaving, we ran into a stone-faced Teri. He glared at Ethan, his expression thunderous. I knew what he was thinking. But I didn’t feel like explaining. I treated him like he was thin air. As we rounded a corner in the hallway, I ran into him and his friends again. “Dude, just tell her already,” one of them was saying. “The UK isn’t exactly next door to France. Are you really okay with Ava going all by herself?” Teri snorted. “What do I care what she does?” “Besides,” he added, “she’s definitely already changed it. She’s just throwing a fit to get my attention. She’s so damn clingy. I can’t get rid of her.” I froze, and we came face-to-face. Teri told the others to go on ahead, then backed me into a corner. “Going to a concert with him instead of me? You’re getting bold, little shadow.” “You think this little act is going to get to me?” He grabbed my hand, his voice low and lazy. “Fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you the other day. Can we be done with this now?” “Did you check your application?” he asked. Then, he hesitated. “Did you, uh, check mine for me, too?” I said nothing. The silence stretched, thick and awkward. Just as the tension was about to break, Rachel walked up. “Teri! They’re all picking on me! You have to help me!” she whined. Then, as if just noticing me, her tone shifted to one of surprise. “Oh! Ava, you’re here too! You didn’t see my story and follow us here, did you?” “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she rushed on. “I just love a good crowd, so I asked Teri to come. I’ve been a fan of this band forever.” There it was again. That cloying, manipulative sweetness. I was done playing her games. While Teri was distracted, I slipped past him. I was about to make a run for it when Rachel physically blocked my path. “I’m sorry, Ava. Is my being here making you uncomfortable?” “I’ll leave. I just don’t want you and Teri to fight. He’s been in such a bad mood because of you lately, and it breaks my heart.” “I’d do anything to make him happy.” With that, her eyes welled up, and she made a show of bowing deeply to me. “What are you doing? Rachel, get up!” Teri shoved me aside and wrapped his arms protectively around her. “Ava, can you just stop freaking out every time you see Rachel?” “We’re going to be spending the next three years together. Can’t you be less petty?” I stared at him, the absurdity of it all making me want to laugh. “You think this is how normal friends act?” He flinched, then sneered. “So, the act is finally over?” “Weren’t you the one who said she was pitiful and that we should take care of her? What’s with the jealousy now?” I looked at his face, a face I’d known for over a decade, and felt like I was seeing a stranger. “If you want to take care of her so badly, why don’t you just marry her!” I spun around and walked away, ignoring Teri’s furious roar behind me. “If you walk away now, don’t ever come back!” I didn’t even turn around. When I got home and sat down, I saw Rachel had posted a new story. They were playing Truth or Dare. She’d been dared to kiss someone in the group. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on Teri, but he didn’t move. “Teri… you’re the one I know best here.” “Whoa, Rachel, what are we, chopped liver?” one of his friends joked. “You don’t know us?” As the catcalls and whistles grew louder, Rachel’s face turned beet red. She stammered an explanation, tears welling in her eyes as Teri remained motionless. “If Teri doesn’t want to, I’ll just take the penalty drink.” She closed her eyes and reached for a glass. Suddenly, a hand shot out and stopped her. “You’re allergic to alcohol. Are you trying to kill yourself?” Teri’s voice was low. “Well, what else am I supposed to do? I have to finish the dare.” Looking at Rachel’s tear-streaked face, Teri lifted her chin. “You couldn’t have picked someone else?” “No.” Fighting through her embarrassment, Rachel grabbed the collar of Teri’s shirt, stood on her tiptoes, and tentatively pressed her lips to his. This time, Teri didn’t pull away. He wrapped a hand around her waist and deepened the kiss. “TERI, YOU’RE THE MAN!” The cheering and laughter around them swelled, but my heart felt like it had been dropped into a deep fryer, sizzling with a white-hot pain. Even though I’d told myself I didn’t care anymore, seeing that still hurt. A decade of feelings doesn’t just disappear; ripping it out is always going to be agony. At 11:50 PM, a small pebble hit my bedroom window. It was our signal. For a split second, I wished I had amnesia. I leaned out and saw him standing below, the same Teri who had been wrapped around Rachel just hours before. His voice was slurring, pleading. “Ava… stop being angry, okay? Please… just change the application…” “The UK… it’s great… I’ll… I’ll take you to see Big Ben…”

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1 The company retreat was supposed to end with a fireworks display, but my fiancée’s pet assistant, Chad, decided to provide his own. There, under the cascading explosions of light, he dropped to one knee. He held out a diamond ring. “Willow,” he declared for all to hear, “marry me.” He was proposing to my fiancée, right in front of me. My colleagues shot me a fleeting glance, a flicker of pity, before turning back to the main event, instantly erasing me from the scene. “Say yes! Say yes!” they chanted. As I walked toward them, Chad shot me a venomous, triumphant smirk. “You’re not married yet,” he sneered. “Trash like you doesn’t deserve her.” I kept my eyes fixed on Willow. “He’s right, we’re not married. That means you have a choice to make. Me, or him.” “And why the hell would she choose you?” Chad’s voice dripped with arrogance. “Because you’re a high school dropout? Or because you’re nothing more than a glorified guard dog?” A wave of sycophantic laughter rippled through the crowd. “Choose you?” one colleague jeered. “You should take a good look in the mirror. If it weren’t for Ms. Donovan, you wouldn’t even have a job as a security guard.” “Exactly,” another chimed in, eager to curry favor with Chad. “He gets a pity job as head of security and has the gall to ask who she’ll choose.” I said nothing more. I just waited for Willow’s answer. Our engagement wasn’t born from passion. It was a promise I made to her grandfather. He’d asked for three years, a trial period for us to cultivate feelings. If we found love, we’d marry. But in three years, I hadn’t managed to thaw the ice around her heart. Willow didn’t need words. Her actions spoke for her. She extended her hand to Chad. He slid the ring onto her finger, pulled her into a deep kiss, and the world—including me—ceased to exist for them. I watched them, a strange calm settling over me. They held the kiss for an unnaturally long time, as if they wanted to be sure I was thoroughly disgusted. For three years, Willow had relentlessly tested my limits, maintaining zero boundaries with other men. I’d grown used to it. Numb to it. When they finally broke apart, Chad looked at me, his lip curled. “Are you still here? Get lost, unless you’re waiting for an invitation to the wedding.” I walked up to Willow, unclasped the watch on my wrist, and held it out to her. “This was your engagement gift to me. I’d like mine back, please.” Three years ago, at her grandfather’s insistence, we had exchanged watches. A symbol of loyalty and devotion to the time we would share. “Ugh, I don’t want anything you’ve touched,” Chad snapped, slapping my hand away. “Deal with it yourself.” He then turned to Willow. “As for the watch she wore… you have no right to it.” Willow understood immediately. She opened her purse and pulled out the watch I’d given her, handing it to Chad. She only ever wore it when visiting her grandfather; the rest of the time, it lived in her bag. With a dramatic flourish, Chad hurled my watch into the nearby lake. “You really want this piece of junk back? You’ll be a clown your whole life, nothing more.” My gaze sharpened. “I suggest you go fish that out of the water right now,” I said, my voice low and even. “And you’d better pray it’s not damaged. Because if it is, you couldn’t afford to pay me back if you sold your own soul.” “A cheap replica, and you’re acting like you’re the mysterious billionaire who bought the real thing at auction?” Chad scoffed. “You want to know why Willow never liked you? Because you gave her a fake. A tacky, worthless fake.” He was on a roll now, playing to the crowd. “If it were just some generic knock-off, fine. But you had to buy a replica of the Timeless Vow, the one-of-a-kind watch that sold for twenty-five million dollars! Do you have any idea how much people laughed at her behind her back?” “That’s because none of you know what you’re looking at,” I stated flatly. “That watch is the one I bought for twenty-five million. Now, I suggest you get it out of the lake.” “Did you hear that?” Chad howled with laughter, turning to his audience. “This guy, who’s only head of security because our CEO took pity on him, just said he spent twenty-five million on a watch!” The crowd erupted again. Willow finally spoke, her tone dripping with condescension. “Mason, I know you have feelings for me, but you can’t force love. I don’t know how you convinced my grandfather to agree to this engagement, but arranged marriages are a thing of the past.” She looked me up and down. “I was never interested in you. The man for Willow Donovan could never be someone as painfully ordinary as you. Now, please leave. Don’t embarrass yourself further.” “Willow, let me clarify a few things for you,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “First, it was your grandfather who begged me to get engaged to you. Second, I genuinely tried to build something with you. But for three years, you ignored every effort I made. A relationship is a two-way street. You never made it into my heart, either. I don’t love you. I was simply honoring a promise I made to an old man.” “Your ‘effort’?” she sneered. “You mean sucking up to my grandpa? Helping him in his garden, playing chess with him, all so he’d emotionally blackmail me into this farce?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, whatever. You ‘made an effort.’ You didn’t love me. Happy now? Just go.” If it weren’t for the watch, I would have already been gone. “You and Chad are together now. This isn’t about our feelings anymore,” I said, turning my attention to him. “This is about you throwing my property into a lake. I will have it appraised, and you will compensate me for any and all damages.” “Are you kidding me?” Chad’s face darkened. “You’re wearing clothes that cost less than fifty bucks combined, and you’re trying to shake me down for money?” He puffed out his chest. “You said you bought a twenty-five-million-dollar watch, right? Fine. Show me a receipt. Show me any proof of purchase. You do that, and I won’t just pay you twenty-five million. I’ll pay you fifty.” He paused, a cruel glint in his eye. “But let’s be clear. If you can’t produce that proof…” He picked up a paper cup, filled it halfway with champagne, and then deliberately spat a thick glob of phlegm into it. He passed the cup around, inviting the other snickering colleagues to do the same. Soon, the cup was full. He held it out, his eyes locked on mine. “If you can’t prove that watch is real, you drink this. Every last drop. Do we have a deal?” “Deal,” I said, pulling out my phone. The sight of Willow and Chad together didn’t stir a thing in me. But that watch… that watch was different. It held a significance they could never comprehend. I’d paid a fortune for it at auction for a reason—for a person. And it was that same person who had asked me to give it to Willow. Now that this arrangement was over, I was taking it back. If Chad had damaged it, he would pay. As I made the call, Chad continued his performance. “Look at him, putting on a show! Who do you think he’s calling? He probably didn’t even dial a number.” “Hey, Chad,” one of his cronies yelled. “You should probably put a time limit on it, or that cocktail’s gonna ferment!” After I hung up, Chad swaggered over. “So, when are your people getting here?” “An hour, tops.” “I’ll give you two,” he declared magnanimously. “Two hours. If your ‘proof’ isn’t here by then, you drink the cup. Deal?” “Deal,” I agreed without hesitation. “And if the receipts are all in order, you pay for the damages in full.” “Don’t worry,” he sneered. “If you have a receipt, I’ll pay you for ten of them.” For the next while, Chad, Willow, and their pack of followers played party games, pointedly excluding me. Chad even made a grand announcement that once the two hours were up, not only would I drink the cup, but I would also be fired. Then, a low thrumming sound began to fill the air. I checked my watch. It had only been forty minutes since my call. I looked up, my eyes finding the helicopter as it sliced through the night sky, rapidly approaching. Everyone else saw it too. It descended with a deafening roar, landing on a nearby clearing and drawing the attention of everyone at the retreat. “Now that’s real money,” a colleague whispered in awe. “Arriving by helicopter.” When the passenger door opened and a man stepped out, Chad’s eyes lit up. “Willow, look! It’s Chairman Sterling, from the Eternity Group! I can’t believe he’s here. This is a golden opportunity.” Willow straightened her dress, her confidence radiating. “Just watch. Once I introduce myself, even a man like him will be charmed. He’ll be a valuable friend.” Timeless Legacy, Legendary Craft. The Eternity Group was a centennial institution, a titan in the world of luxury watchmaking, revered globally. The watch now sitting at the bottom of the lake was one of their bespoke creations. Willow’s family company, Elysian Beauty, had seen a meteoric rise. In just three years, it had gone from a startup to a publicly-traded company—a legend in its own right. What she didn’t know was that its success was fueled by the anonymous formulas and covert support I had provided. But next to the Eternity Group, Elysian Beauty was a minnow. Naturally, she was eager to network with a titan like Sterling. Being at the same retreat was fate, she thought. She and Chad walked toward him, Willow’s posture perfect, her gait exuding the unshakeable confidence of someone who had never known failure. In her world, at galas and functions, no one ever refused her. She believed that if Sterling had been based in Bayview City, they would have been friends long ago. All the powerful figures she once admired were now in her circle, ready to grant any request. She was certain this would be no different. “Mr. Sterling, what a pleasure,” Willow said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Willow Donovan, CEO of Elysian Beauty.” Chairman Sterling took her hand in both of his. “Ms. Donovan, the pleasure is all mine! I’ve heard so much about the legendary CEO from Bayview. I’ve been meaning to pay you a visit, but a long illness has kept me away. To meet you here… it feels like destiny.” His deference was palpable, exactly like all the other powerful men she’d charmed. The colleagues watching were stunned. They knew Willow was a legend, but to see the great Chairman Sterling treat her with such reverence was mind-boggling. Willow’s smile widened. She introduced Chad, making a point to say, “Mr. Sterling, this is my fiancé, Chad Foster.” At the word “fiancé,” Sterling’s expression flickered. When Chad extended his hand, the chairman’s warmth vanished. He gave it a perfunctory shake, his eyes darting toward me with a look of utter confusion. “Ah, I see you’ve heard about the situation with Mason,” Chad said smoothly, misinterpreting the look. “That’s all in the past now.” “Actually,” Chad continued, a malicious idea taking shape, “speaking of the past, Mr. Sterling, if I recall correctly, your company’s masterpiece, the Timeless Vow, sold for a staggering twenty-five million dollars.” He pointed a thumb at me. “This guy, Mason, bought a cheap replica of it for Willow. A few minutes ago, I threw that piece of trash in the lake, and now he’s demanding I pay him twenty-five million for it.” He smirked. “He even pretended to call your company, asking for receipts and proof of purchase to be delivered.” Chad looked Sterling right in the eye. “I’m sure you know the person who actually bought the Timeless Vow. Tell me, Mr. Sterling… was it Mason Hill?” He turned his smug, expectant gaze back to me.

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Underneath the short video I posted, a girl tagged her boyfriend. 【Everyone move, my husband loves this type. Let him see it first!】 I tapped on her profile picture and froze. It was the girl who bullied me in high school. I’d know that face if it were ash. I didn’t sleep all night. I scrolled through every single one of her videos, then clicked on the boyfriend she’d tagged. I sent him a private message. 【Are you there?】 1 Before I saw Genevieve again, I’d imagined what she’d become a thousand times. I thought bad people got what they deserved. That she’d be miserable, broke, her life in ruins. But she wasn’t. In the videos she posted, one day she was in a ten-thousand-dollar-a-night villa at the Cheval Blanc in St. Barts. The next, she was flying to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. The day after, she was racing a convertible down the Pacific Coast Highway as the sun bled into the ocean. In her most recent photo, she was sitting in the back of a black Rolls-Royce, dressed in a Chanel suit, smiling for the camera with an audacious confidence. Not a shadow of worry on her face. She looked like she was doing great. But why should she? My fingers tightened around my phone, my eyes locked on her smiling face on the screen. Slowly, that smile morphed into the one she wore with her school uniform. She was laughing as she slapped me, one stinging blow after another. When her hand got tired, she’d let one of her friends take over while she stood to the side, grinning, holding a phone up to my swollen, bleeding face. “Smile, Leah. Aren’t you the one who loves getting attention? What’s wrong, can’t smile now?!” She yanked my hair, pulling my head back. Her smile stretched wider. “Smile!” Genevieve’s malice toward me started the day the boy she liked gave me a birthday present. He gave me a handbag. He said his mom had brought it back from a trip to Milan, that it cost over three thousand dollars. I was so horrified I refused to take it. He got angry, shoved it into my arms, and said if I didn’t want it, he’d just throw it away. I was standing there, helpless, clutching the bag, when Genevieve walked in. She snatched it from my hands. She stared at it for a moment, and then a strange, twisted smile spread across her face. It made my blood run cold. “I’ve been asking him for this bag for three months and he never got it for me,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “I guess he was saving it for you.” She looked up at me then, and the look in her eyes made the hair on my arms stand up. “You’ve got some nerve, Leah.” After that, Genevieve made my life a living hell. The thing I dreaded most each day was the final bell. I never knew when she and her friends would corner me in a bathroom for another session of beatings and humiliation. I lived in a constant state of terror, plagued by nightmares every single night. But I couldn’t tell anyone. My parents had divorced when I was young. Both had new families, new lives. The only one who wanted me was my grandmother, Nana, who walked with a limp. She ran a small, beloved local deli, waking up before dawn every day to prep sandwiches and salads just so she could afford to send me to school. I was one of the few scholarship kids at that private academy, admitted on academic merit with my tuition waived. I couldn’t tell the teachers. Genevieve had threatened to go after my nana, and I knew the school administration would turn a blind eye for a girl whose family was as wealthy and influential as hers. All I could do was study harder, dreaming of the day I’d test my way out of that place and leave it all behind. But even that small hope was stolen from me. The night before the SATs, Genevieve locked me in a bathroom again. This time, she had her friends strip my clothes off and take pictures. I was trapped in there all night, so I didn’t know that my photos were already being passed around in local group chats. I didn’t know that Genevieve had deliberately sent someone to Nana’s deli to show them to her. Nana was frantic when I didn’t come home. She locked up the shop and, with her bad leg, limped her way toward the school to find me. In her panic, she didn’t look carefully enough when crossing the street. A semi-truck, the driver exhausted from a long haul, struck her. She was gone instantly. I didn’t find out until the next morning, when a janitor finally let me out. The world tilted, spots dancing in front of my eyes. I collapsed, my mind a complete, roaring blank. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. In a single day, I lost my chance to change my life, and I lost the only person in the world who loved me. I barely remember the aftermath. I think my mind, in an act of self-preservation, walled off those memories. I only recall one of my teachers visiting. I overheard her in the hallway, her voice thick with pity. “She was a shoo-in for the Ivy League,” she said to someone. “Such a shame.” Nothing happened to Genevieve. She got a stern talking-to in the principal’s office. That was it. Her father was a major local entrepreneur, one of the city’s largest taxpayers. The principal wouldn’t dare cross him. I used what little money we had left to arrange Nana’s funeral. There was no money for a gap year or SAT prep courses. I found a job in a factory, earning just enough to survive. And Genevieve? She was sent off to a university in California to begin her brilliant life. … I sat on my bed in the dark, staring at the black ceiling. I used to do this a lot during the hardest years, just stare into nothing. Life did get better, eventually. I saved up, got my degree online, and then scraped together enough to start my own e-commerce clothing boutique. I modeled the clothes myself. Luckily, I had the looks for it, and I caught the wave of a trend at the right time. The business grew, and now, I’m financially independent. I thought I had forgotten. I thought I could start a new life. But the moment I saw Genevieve’s face, I understood. I had never let it go. I hated her. I hated her with every cell in my body. I sat there until the sun came up. Then, with fingers that felt stiff and cold, I finally clicked on the account she had tagged. It was a man’s profile, the picture just a few simple lines forming an abstract face. He hadn’t posted a single video. But it didn’t take me long to find out who he was. Rhys Thorne. Genevieve’s fiancé. Her family’s business had nearly gone bankrupt while she was in college. They’d been saved by a strategic engagement. The Thorne family was the lifeline they’d clung to. And the source of the lavish lifestyle Genevieve now flaunted. She didn’t recognize me. It was laughable, really. She had personally shoved me into hell. Her smiling face was the star of every one of my nightmares, yet she had completely forgotten me. Forgotten me so completely she was tagging her fiancé in my comments section. I tapped the message icon next to Rhys Thorne’s name. I hesitated for a moment, then typed out a single message. 【Are you there?】 2 Three days later, I opened my chat with Rhys for the hundredth time. He still hadn’t replied. I wasn’t surprised. From the research I’d done, Rhys Thorne had a remarkably clean slate when it came to women. Genevieve’s tag was probably just a casual joke, something she did knowing he wouldn’t care. It was strange, really. He was the heir to the Thorne empire. Based on the few photos and videos I could find, he was at least six-two, with a face that could have landed him on a magazine cover—a gift from his mother, a former actress. For a man who was the complete package—rich, handsome, powerful—his favorite pastime wasn’t clubbing or collecting sports cars. It was fishing. Yes, fishing. Like an old man, he’d find a spot by the ocean or a lake, set up his rod, and sit there for an entire day. It was clear that messaging him online was a dead end. I dug deeper, researching everything I could. I even staked out his office building. Rhys’s life was a predictable pattern: office, home, repeat. And every weekend, he dedicated one full day to fishing. After figuring out his schedule, I got in my car and followed him from a distance as he left work. At a red light, I maneuvered my car behind his. And I hit the gas. After the sharp crunch of metal, the car in front of me stopped. Rhys Thorne, dressed in a tailored suit, stepped out, a frown creasing his forehead. He walked back and tapped on my window. I smoothed my hair, glancing at my reflection in the rearview mirror. The makeup had been done by a professional I’d paid a four-figure sum, ensuring every lash was perfect while looking effortlessly natural. It worked. As I opened the car door, the frown on Rhys’s face softened slightly. Genevieve must have known I was his type. That’s why she tagged him. A pretty face alone might not hook him, but at least it wouldn’t create an immediate aversion. I looked up, tilting my face to its most flattering angle, and offered a flustered apology. “I’m so sorry. I’m a new driver, I just got my license. I was in a hurry and I didn’t react in time. Are you okay?” Rhys shook his head and walked to the back of his car to inspect the damage. “It’s not too bad. Let’s pull over so we’re not blocking traffic. We can just go through insurance.” I nodded. We waited on the side of the road while the insurance reps handled everything. When it was all done, I casually pulled out my phone, opened my contacts, and held it out to him. “Can I get your number? Just in case anything else comes up.” My tone was so matter-of-fact, so devoid of any ulterior motive, that it left him no room to refuse. Rhys paused for a beat, then took out his phone and we exchanged information. “I really am sorry about today. Let me buy you dinner sometime to make up for it?” I asked, looking up at him. “That’s not necessary. The insurance is handled. We can just text if there’s an issue.” He rejected me, just as I’d expected, got in his car, and drove off. I watched his car merge back into the flow of traffic, a slow smile spreading across my face as I clutched my phone. Today’s mission was a success. I never expected to get close to him this quickly. Just getting his number was a victory. I like a challenge. If he had been too easy, it wouldn’t have been any fun. I found all of Genevieve’s social media accounts. She seemed genuinely obsessed with Rhys. Nine out of every ten posts were about him in some way. Her infatuation was written in flashing neon letters. The Gu family business had been declining for years. Without the Thorne family’s capital infusion, they would have gone under long ago. Genevieve. I wondered how comfortable her life would be if she lost Rhys Thorne. If fate wouldn’t serve her what she deserved, I would do it myself. 3 I spent the whole night dissecting Rhys’s social media presence. He really was a simple man. His feeds were practically empty, save for the occasional post bragging about a fish he’d caught. I didn’t message him. Instead, a few days later, I posted a photo. In the picture, the wind was sending ripples across the dark water of a reservoir. I was holding up a massive catfish, a small, knowing smile on my lips. 【Another day, another catch!】 I waited a week. No like from Rhys. No comment. But he didn’t post anything that weekend either. Clearly, he’d been skunked. The second week, I posted again. Same reservoir, another huge catfish, this one even bigger than the last. At least ten pounds. 【Fish on!】 Still nothing from him. The third week, another post. 【Can’t stop. Won’t stop.】 Then I put on a face mask and went to bed. The next morning, I opened my phone. Among the dozens of likes, I finally saw the one I’d been waiting for. A comment from Rhys Thorne. 【Where is this?】 I looked at my phone and smiled. Hooked. 4 The next time I met Rhys, he was noticeably more talkative. “So, does that spot you mentioned really have that many fish?” I subtly sized him up. He was wearing a black hoodie and gray sweatpants, his dark hair falling naturally across his forehead without a trace of gel. When he talked about something he was passionate about, his eyes widened slightly, and they shone with an unexpected light. He looked less like the cold, imposing figure from financial magazines and more like a college kid in his early twenties. I nodded. “You’ll see when we get there. I’ve never left that place empty-handed.” The truth was, I knew nothing about fishing. I’d spent the last few weeks cramming, learning everything I could for the sole purpose of catching this one specific fish. I’d found this secluded spot by asking around and spending days hiking the local mountains. When Rhys first commented, I ignored him. The next day, after posting another photo, I finally, casually replied: 【It’s up in the mountains. Pretty hard to find.】 This time, he replied instantly: 【Would you mind if I tagged along next time you go? Thanks.】 I put my phone down, ate dinner, and waited until I figured he was getting impatient before replying with a single word: 【Sure.】 … We cast our lines several yards apart. He didn’t initiate conversation, and I wasn’t about to act needy. Occasionally, when one of us got a bite, we’d glance over. I could tell that every time I reeled one in, he was dying to come over and see, but he was too proud. He’d just pretend to be casually looking around, his eyes darting back and forth. From Genevieve’s posts, I knew this was Rhys’s personality. A little cold, a little aloof. He wouldn’t even bother with polite pretenses for things that didn’t interest him. He’d probably been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, blessed with looks and wealth. He’d rarely encountered a situation that required him to be charming or proactive. He was used to being the center of his own universe. Women had probably been throwing themselves at him for years. If I was too aggressive, he’d lump me in with all the rest, not worth a second thought. After that first trip, I didn’t contact him again. But I had figured out his schedule. I started showing up at the reservoir, making sure we “ran into each other” at least once a week. But the waiting for a bite was boring. After our third meeting, he finally started talking to me again. “How did you find this spot anyway?” “I’d pretty much fished out all the nearby fisheries and public spots. They were getting boring. Found this place by accident while I was hiking one day, gave it a try, and it turned out to be gold.” Once we started talking about fishing, Rhys opened up. He got excited showing me a video of him catching piranha in the Amazon. I was duly impressed, then showed him a picture of me on a deep-sea charter with a yellowfin tuna. His eyes lit up, followed by a flicker of regret. “I’ve always wanted to go for tuna, but I’ve been too busy to get away.” He looked up at me, really looking at me for the first time. “I can’t believe you’re this into fishing. You don’t meet many women who are.” The conversation flowed. We started talking about sports, music we liked, movies, books. He was surprised to find we had so much in common. We both loved to ski. We both loved Yukio Mishima’s The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea. We were both fans of the same obscure Japanese musician. Even when our tastes differed, we could understand the other’s perspective. Before we knew it, we had talked for the entire afternoon, and the sky had turned dark. After that, we started fishing together regularly. We even adopted a stray cat that lived by the reservoir. It was a little yellow kitten, only a few months old. Whenever we showed up, it would curl up nearby, waiting patiently for a fish. If we weren’t catching anything, it would meow impatiently, as if scolding us. I named him Nugget. For good luck. I’d always greet him with cuddles and kisses. Rhys was less enthusiastic. Whenever Nugget tried to rub against him, he’d sidestep. He was a bit of a neat freak and hated getting cat hair on his clothes. One evening, as we were packing up, Rhys asked me for the first time: “When are you coming next?” I thought for a second. “Work’s been pretty crazy lately. Hard to say.” A flicker of disappointment, almost imperceptible, crossed his face. But he just nodded politely and didn’t press. I stayed away for a full week. I came back late in the second. When Rhys saw me, he didn’t let on, but I saw him subtly shift his chair a little closer to my spot. “Where have you been? You haven’t been fishing.” I walked over and knelt down to pet Nugget, who was stretched out on the ground. He had gotten fatter, his coat glossy and smooth. He looked well-cared for. “Have you been feeding him?” Rhys lifted his chin, a hint of accusation in his voice. “You’re the one who insisted on naming him, and then you just abandon him.” He quickly became smug. “Of course I’ve been taking care of him. I’ve been coming every day to catch fish for him.” Nugget walked over and rubbed against his leg. Rhys frowned, his voice full of mock annoyance. “Can you not? You get fur all over me.” But his hands moved with practiced ease, scooping the cat up and placing him on his lap. Nugget settled in comfortably, immediately shedding all over his black jacket. Rhys didn’t seem to mind. He started scratching the cat under the chin like he’d done it a thousand times. I watched from the side, a new understanding dawning on me. So, he was one of those. All tough on the outside. I smiled to myself and sat down to rig my line, but I fumbled and the hook pricked my finger. I hissed, squeezing it, and a bright red bead of blood welled up. Rhys immediately put Nugget down, grabbed a first-aid kit from his tackle box, and walked over, his brow furrowed. “How can you be so careless?” I reached for the band-aid, but he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, “Give me your hand.” “You really come prepared for everything—” I started to say, looking up with a smile, but the words died in my throat when my eyes met his. He was too close. Somewhere along the way, we had gotten too close. The orange glow of the mountain sunset was deepening into blue. The wind, trapped in the valley, carried the damp scent of water and earth. I could smell the faint, clean scent of cedar on him—aftershave, maybe. His eyes were a lighter shade of brown than most, giving them a cool, almost inorganic clarity. But right now, they were filled with nothing but my reflection. The wind blew a strand of my hair across his face. He just stared at me, frozen. It wasn’t until Nugget let out an impatient meow that we both snapped back to reality, jolting backward. Rhys quickly turned away, crouching down to pet the cat. “Alright, alright, I’m getting you food.” A laugh escaped my lips. In the dim light, I could see the tips of his ears had turned red. He sat back down in his spot and didn’t say another word. But Rhys, who usually had the patience of a stone, was fidgety all evening. He didn’t catch a single fish. From that day on, an unspoken understanding grew between us. He would always text me when he was going fishing. We started going out at least twice a week. Sometimes it was in the wild solitude of the mountains, sometimes on the vast, open sea, sometimes at a private fishery he’d booked. But it was always just the two of us. During this time, I kept a close eye on Genevieve’s social media. Her posts about Rhys became less and less frequent, until finally, days would go by without a single mention. I watched coldly, then spent my days with her fiancé, my makeup flawless, my attitude perfect. This delicate dance of ours, where we both knew what was happening but pretended we didn’t, continued for two months. I decided it was time. That evening, as he held Nugget in his lap, I suddenly spoke. “Rhys, do you have a girlfriend?”

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Late-night storms have a way of waking up a hunger you didn’t know you had. The delivery guy’s voice was… strange. “Human, it’s raining. Please wait.” It was weird enough that I peeked through the peephole when he arrived. Standing outside my door was a drenched little cat. “Human, first delivery for cat. Cat got lost.” “Please don’t give cat a bad rating.” 1 It was late, the kind of late that bleeds into early, and my stomach was staging a protest. I sat curled in my desk chair, the glow of the monitor the only light in the room, my stomach’s empty whines a sad counterpoint to the drumming rain outside. My fingers moved on their own, scrolling through the DashEats app. A picture of a spicy Szechuan chicken bowl glistened under the digital lights, a beacon of greasy hope in the stormy night. Estimated delivery time: one hour. Just as I hit ‘Confirm Payment,’ a low rumble of thunder rolled through the sky. The storm had come out of nowhere. I figured a long wait was part of the deal. My phone buzzed a few minutes later. I answered, and a bizarre, electronic voice crackled through the speaker. “Human, it’s raining. Please wait.” The voice sounded like it had been scraped through a voice modulator with a claw, each word laced with a fuzzy, vibrating hum. I stared at the app’s animation: Your Dasher is on their way! A little orange cat avatar was bouncing up and down under a cartoon raincloud. When the doorbell finally rang, I crept to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway’s motion-sensor light flickered erratically, illuminating a soggy cardboard box tied with a lopsided, baby-pink ribbon. Beneath the box, four muddy paws were planted on my welcome mat. An orange-and-white tail was curled around a plastic bag, pushing it forward. “Human, first delivery for cat. Cat got lost.” A pair of amber eyes, dripping with rain, blinked up at me. Tiny, crystalline water droplets clung to its whiskers. The food bag was wrapped in three layers of waterproof film. When I peeled it back, a cloud of steam billowed out, instantly fogging my glasses. On the blank space of the receipt, a perfect, tiny paw print was stamped in ink. Next to it, in wobbly letters, were the words: FIVE STARS PLEASE. My food had been delivered… by a cat. I opened the door and knelt. I saw an old, faded scar on the cat’s right hind leg, pale and puckered from the rain. “Do you… need a towel?” Before I could finish, the orange cat had already backed away to the corner of the landing, its tail-tip deftly pressing the elevator button. Just as the doors slid shut, I could have sworn I saw it lift a front paw to its forehead in a comical, clumsy salute, just like a human delivery driver. If it weren’t for the little paw print still on my receipt, I would have thought it was all some ridiculous, hunger-induced dream. A cat… Dasher? 2 The second time we met, it was raining again. This time, it was a Spicy Tom Yum Soup. The order was accepted by the same orange cat avatar. “Human, ventilation shaft is faster.” This time, the electronic voice was mixed with a soft purring. I pressed my ear against the door and heard a faint, scuttling sound from deep within the metal ducts of the building. It was followed by a dull thump—some clumsy idiot had clearly hit a corner. When I opened the door, the orange cat had a cobweb stuck to its head and a single, wilted wildflower tucked into the side of its delivery box. “Passed a garden. This, for human.” It nudged the flower toward me with its paw, then turned, stumbling slightly on its back leg. “Thank you, cat.” I quietly gave five stars in the app. A series of paw print emojis automatically populated the comment box. After that, I ordered a few more times, but they were all delivered by perfectly normal, human Dashers. I started to wonder if maybe I was just overworked, the stress manifesting as feline-centric hallucinations. Then came the third weekend of the rainy season, the kind of downpour that bleeds the whole city into a blurry watercolor. It was raining again. Watching the sheets of water sluice down my window, a strange thought took root. The other times… it had been raining when I saw the orange cat. Was it a special delivery service, a little cat that only worked for humans on rainy nights? I placed another order. By the time I saw the Spicy Cajun Crawfish order had been assigned to the orange cat, the clock had already ticked past one in the morning. The electronic voice on the phone was choppy this time. “Human… overpass is flooded… can you…” The background was filled with the frantic meowing of other cats. My heart seized. I ran barefoot to the balcony. Through the curtain of rain, I could just make out a small orange blur leaping between the branches of the sycamore trees. The cat was clenching the delivery box in its teeth as it scaled a drainpipe, the rain forming a shimmering silver outline around its tiny body. When it finally landed on my air conditioning unit, I saw that the fur on its neck was blown completely backwards by the wind, making it look like it was wearing an ill-fitting straw coat. “Crawfish. Must be hot.” As it pushed the box inside, its tail was so soaked the fur was matted into little clumps. I reached out to wipe a smudge of mud from its nose and my fingers brushed against a small, cold piece of metal. Using my phone’s flashlight, I saw it was a small copper tag engraved with a crescent moon. On the back, in minuscule letters, it read: Rainy Night Covenant · Seventh Delivery Squad. A rainy night… So it was true. It only appeared when it rained. Just then, the storm intensified. A violent gust of wind slammed a sheet of rain against the window. The orange cat’s ears shot up, and the copper tag emitted a faint blue glow. It started pawing anxiously at the fire escape door, its voice turning sharp. “Alternate route is flooded. Seventeen orders will be late!” It was the first time I had ever seen such a desperate look on a cat’s face. This job, whatever it was, was important to it. That’s when I decided. I slipped on my Crocs and grabbed an umbrella. “I’ll help you.” The cat’s golden eyes widened in the darkness. It ducked its head and rubbed against my ankle, a surprising warmth seeping through my cotton socks. “Human… you are good human.” That night, we navigated the labyrinth of apartment buildings together. It led me to every hidden vent and secret cat-path, its paw pads leaving a trail of tiny, flower-shaped watermarks on the tiled floors. When the last order, a hearty beef stew, was delivered, the crescent moon on its tag began to glow with a soft, pearly light. The orange cat sat in a puddle, looking up at the sky as the rain wove a luminous cocoon around its body. I reached down and felt the scar on its hind leg. It was warm to the touch, and the moonlight seemed to be seeping into the fur like liquid silver. The joint effort of the night had made the cat trust me more than ever before. “Why do you only come out during storms?” I asked softly. The cat turned and nudged my arm with its head. “Big rain, humans cannot cross big water. Many humans are still hungry.” It shook its head, its tail held high. “Humans and cats made the Rainy Night Covenant. When rain stops human delivery, the Cat Clans take orders through special paths.” Finished with its explanation, it looked up at me. “Human, please give cat five stars.” I smiled. Under the cat’s bright, expectant gaze, I gave it five stars and even added a small tip. “No need for money, human.” The cat pawed at my phone. “Just stars for cat.” It paused, then added, “The stars humans give… they can heal many wounds.” The cat’s words were a little jumbled, but I understood. During the worst storms, a cat’s small body could slip through vents and hidden passages. When human drivers were stuck, the cats took on the task of feeding the hungry. And the five-star ratings they received became a kind of energy, a magic that could heal their bodies. As the cat’s silhouette vanished into the morning mist, my phone buzzed. A new notification from DashEats: Rainy Night Special Channel is now open. Would you like to subscribe to Cat Delivery? Without a moment’s hesitation, I tapped ‘Yes.’ I hoped that the next time we met, the scar on its leg would be gone completely. 3 After grad school, I’d landed a city job right in my own neighborhood, a Community Liaison at the city council office. Mostly it was quiet, helping residents with their problems. Lately, though, there had been a string of food delivery thefts in our complex. My supervisor, eager to offload the tedious work, assigned the case to me. Such is the life of a public servant; you can’t say no. I was hunched over the security monitors in the management office when Art, one of the older security guards, shuffled over with his thermos of weak tea. “Last month,” he said, pointing a wrinkled finger at a blurry orange shape on the screen, “I saw a calico cat, clear as day, dragging a delivery box out of a ventilation duct.” He squinted at me. “You think maybe it’s these strays? Weather’s been bad, maybe they’re snatching the food.” “No, that’s not it,” I said, a little too quickly. The cats were the ones feeding people on those nights. The image of the little orange cat’s bright eyes, begging for stars, flashed in my mind. Art just shrugged. It wasn’t really his problem. He went back to his chair and his thermos. I stared at the grainy footage for another hour, getting nowhere. The tiny, fleeting shapes were impossible to track. This was an old complex, with ancient cameras, and any long-term resident knew exactly where the blind spots were. The thief had hit multiple times; they knew how to stay hidden. If only… if only the cats could help me. As if summoned by the thought, my phone vibrated. A special notification from DashEats: You have unlocked Rainy Night Covenant · Special Client privileges. The accompanying digital badge was the same crescent moon from the orange cat’s copper tag. Then, a familiar scratching sound from the window sill. The orange cat was perched outside the security grating, a brand-new blue ribbon tied around its neck. In its paws, it held a half-melted ice cream bar. “Human. A thank-you gift.” It turned its head away, a little bashfully, revealing the fluffy white fur where the blue ribbon was tied. That’s when I noticed it: the scar on its right hind leg was completely gone. In its place was a silvery, crescent-moon-shaped mark. “Your leg is healed!” I said, my voice full of surprise. The cat preened, puffing out its chest. “Cat is very punctual. Cat got many, many stars.” I took the sticky ice cream bar and glanced back at Art. He was already dozing in his chair, a radio playing softly beside him. The life of a night guard was a slow one. I turned back to the cat. “There’s a thief in the complex, stealing deliveries. Do you know anything about it?” “Cat does not know.” It tilted its head, then nudged my phone with its paw. “Human is a Special Client now. You can post a commission in the app. Other cats might have seen something.” “That’s a brilliant idea.” My eyes lit up. I grabbed my phone and started typing out a commission notice, describing the situation. I set the reward for any useful information: two cans of premium tuna. It wasn’t long before a cat accepted the commission. A message appeared in the app’s chat. Human, bring the tuna to the west gate. I bought a few cans of tuna and some cat treat sticks from the corner store and headed over. It wasn’t one cat waiting for me, but a whole crew. Leading them was a beautifully marked calico, her movements sleek and confident. She padded right up to my feet. Behind her, an assortment of other cats watched me with curious eyes. She was clearly their leader. I was glad I’d bought extra. I pulled the cans and treats from my bag. The calico let out a soft meow but didn’t touch the food. Instead, she took two steps in one direction, then looked back at me expectantly. She was telling me to follow. No work, no pay. A cat of principle. I packed the food away and followed her. The group of cats led me to one of the residential buildings. A few years ago, during the pandemic, the complex had installed delivery lockers, but now that things were back to normal, nobody really used them. Since they’d installed new elevators that required a key card, most drivers just left packages on a rack next to the lockers for convenience. It was an unsecured, all-you-can-steal buffet. Our timing was perfect. Just as we arrived, an old woman shuffled up to the rack. She glanced around furtively, then snatched a bag of food, ripping the receipt off and tossing it into a bush. I recognized her. She lived in building 39. She was known for her loud voice and her tendency to throw herself on the ground and wail whenever things didn’t go her way. Most residents just avoided her. I’d already started recording on my phone, capturing the whole thing. I would give it to my supervisor later. The old woman turned and nearly ran right into me. Seeing me glance at the bag in her hand, she scowled. “What are you looking at? Get away from me.” The cats, wary of her, had already melted back into the shrubbery. I put on a pleasant smile. “Oh, nothing, ma’am. I was just going to put up a notice. You know how all that food has been going missing?” A flicker of guilt crossed her face, but her voice boomed even louder. “What’s that got to do with me?” I just smiled wider. “Nothing at all. It’s just, a resident told me yesterday that his delivery was stolen. He’d put rat poison in it, you see, for a pest problem. He was just so worried someone might have eaten it by mistake…” “What?” The woman’s eyes went wide. She spun around and sprinted toward her building. “My grandson—!” That night, I heard the entire family had made a trip to the emergency room to have their stomachs pumped. I passed out the cans of tuna. The calico leader gracefully accepted her reward. “Thank you, human.” I smiled. “You earned it.” 4 The rainy season was in full swing. I was seeing the cats more often than ever. Sometimes it was my little orange friend, sometimes a human Dasher. Occasionally, a new cat would show up at my door. Over time, I started to notice a pattern. The later I placed my order, the higher the chance a cat would deliver it. The orange cat, Rusty, was the one I knew best. If I ordered something he liked, he’d hop right into my lap for a moment. “Human, cat is fat. Climbing stairs… makes hungry.” I’d scratch the scruff of his neck, which had definitely gotten thicker, and marvel at the universal truth of chubby orange cats. I’d share a few bites of my dinner, and then he’d be off, delivery box in mouth, to his next stop. Sometimes, a black-and-white cow cat would deliver. They were usually… a bit neurotic. I’d get messages from them periodically: Human, one moment. I’d reply: Is there a problem? Cow Cat: No. Dueling with a Meow Squad rider. I would just sigh. The beautiful and elegant calico, Cleo, would sometimes bring my food. She would give my hand a dignified rub, a gentle reminder to leave a good review. “Human, cat has many little ones to feed. Thank you for your stars.” Thinking of the kittens I’d seen her with, I would mindlessly smash the five-star button under the spell of her grace. The most responsible delivery cat was a tabby named Ash. He was lightning-fast and would even take my trash out for me on his way down. If I happened to order from a place with questionable hygiene, Ash would stand at my door and inform me, “Human, this place is not clean.” I’d scratch his head. “Thanks, Ash. I won’t order from there again.” Good cat. Bad restaurant. The most athletic was a pure white cat I called Ghost. One evening, I was working late at a client’s office across town. I was on the 30th floor when a tapping sound came from the window beside me. It was Ghost, a white blur against the night sky. I nearly had a heart attack. “Ghost! How did you get up this high?” He just looked at me. “Human, cat is very skilled.” I quickly slid the window open and pulled him inside. “Yes, yes, you are. All you cats are amazing.” “…Not all.” Ghost tilted his head, thinking. “Rusty could not climb this. Too… fluffy.” “Hey, don’t say that about the little guy.” Thanks to my Special Client status, I’d become well-acquainted with every delivery cat in a multi-mile radius. Sometimes, on my way to work, a cat would proudly present me with a freshly caught mouse. My hand would tremble as I accepted it. “Thank you, cat. But please, not again.” The rainy season was almost over. I was having a late-night snack at a 24-hour convenience store when Cleo, the calico leader, suddenly leaped onto the table beside me. She was wearing a tiny, reflective safety vest, and her tail was curled around a digital thermometer. “Human,” she said, her voice urgent. “Cat needs your help.”

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I’m on the set of Second Act, the celebrity dating show, and the host asks me which of the male contestants has caught my eye. I let my gaze drift over the three of them—the award-winning actor, the legendary rock star, the fresh-faced pop idol—and offer a serene smile. “One of the men on this stage is a serial killer. Three years ago, you dismembered my sister.” The studio lights feel like interrogations lamps. “You left her in pieces, made sure there was nothing left for us to bury, and turned her into a cautionary tale for the tabloids to mock.” I lean into the microphone, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that carries through the silent studio. “Now, it’s my turn to find you.” 1 I’m the youngest deception specialist the department has ever had. After a guest lecture I gave on micro-expressions went viral, my public profile exploded. I was the “human lie detector,” the cop who could read your soul. That’s when the producers of Second Act came calling. They offered me a spot alongside A-listers: Ethan Frost, the acting titan; Marcus Croft, the rock icon; and Liam Scott, the current heartthrob of the moment. My captain encouraged me to take it. “This is a huge opportunity, Hayes. Community outreach, public education… the department needs this win.” I feigned reluctance, but my eyes were already fixed on the wall of my apartment. It’s covered in a constellation of their faces, each photo pinned and connected by a web of red thread. Years of obsessive research, every lead, every rumor, every possible connection mapped out in excruciating detail. It’s a spiderweb, and I’m just waiting for the last strand to be spun. A cold smile touches my lips. The man who killed my sister, Sophie, is in that room. He’s one of those gods. One of those untouchable celebrities. 2 Three years ago, my world ended. Sophie was paying her way through Juilliard by playing the harp at private events. One night, a party of celebrities booked the penthouse lounge. She was called in to perform. She never came home. We found her three days later. A homeless man was scavenging behind a restaurant and found a discarded refrigerator. Inside were several black trash bags, heavy with what he thought was discarded meat from the kitchen. A lucky break, he must have thought. Then he opened the first bag. Countless pieces of my sister spilled onto the grimy asphalt. The toxicology report came back clean. No drugs, no sedatives. There were ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. She was awake for all of it. She was conscious as he took her apart, piece by piece. When the medical examiner gently told me that the remains were too fragmented to reconstruct, I collapsed right there in the morgue, a raw, helpless wail tearing from my throat. That was the day I officially made detective. My first case was my own flesh and blood. The story caused a media firestorm, of course. All the celebrities who attended the party were questioned, but it led nowhere. The exclusive club, citing the privacy of its high-profile clientele, had no security cameras in the penthouse. Their PR machines went into overdrive, expertly spinning a new narrative: Sophie wasn’t just a musician; she was an obsessed fan, a stalker who had gotten too close. It was laughable. My sister was at the top of her class, brilliant and driven. But because she had a favorite actor, she was posthumously branded a “crazy fangirl” who “had it coming.” This season on Second Act, every major suspect from that night is on the cast list. How could I possibly say no? The first day of filming is at a remote lodge upstate. I arrive early, choosing a quiet corner of the grand living room to observe. With my minimal makeup and severe posture, I’m sure I stick out. The live-stream comments are already rolling in: [Can she really tell if you’re lying just by looking at you? Seriously?] [Probably just a gimmick. She looks way too young to be a real detective. All for show.] One of the other contestants, a self-proclaimed tech millionaire, is loudly bemoaning his single status to anyone who will listen. I can’t help but chuckle. “Sir, I think showing up to a dating show while you’re actively cheating on two different women is a bit much, don’t you?” His face freezes. “What are you talking about? I’m completely single, that’s why I’m here!” he barks, his voice a little too loud. The producers gave me one instruction: be myself. “You intentionally raised your volume when you said ‘completely single,’ your eyes darted down and to the left, and you started to bring your hand to your nose before catching yourself—all classic tells of deception,” I state calmly. “Your collar carries a heavy rose perfume, you have a phone in each of your front pockets, and I saw you texting on both. Your expression was annoyed when you replied on one, and you were smiling at the other. My guess? You’re in the messy middle of a divorce and juggling an affair.” He’s not the only one staring. The entire crew is silent. The live chat explodes. [NO WAY. She just met him three minutes ago. That’s insane.] I deliver the final blow. “And you can still see the pale band on your ring finger where your wedding band was until very recently. The skin hasn’t even tanned over yet.” After a frantic background check, the producers confirm he is, in fact, married. He’s promptly kicked off the show. I finish my work and mentally count down. Three, two, one… Right on cue, a man sits down across from me. “Detective Hayes. You live up to the reputation. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice smooth as velvet. “Would you do me the honor of being my partner for this first challenge?” He extends a hand, a warm, genuine smile playing on his lips. His face is a masterpiece, the kind of symmetrical perfection that cameras adore. Every lens in the room swivels to capture him. Ethan Frost. Three-time Golden Globe winner. A prodigy who started acting as a child and became a living legend. His filmography is impeccable, his public persona flawless. He funds charities, builds schools in impoverished regions, and has a foundation dedicated to helping fans who have fallen on hard times. I arrange my features into a look of appropriate, flattered surprise. This is exactly what I wanted. My little display of skill was all for him. Ethan Frost was the star my sister, Sophie, loved more than any other. 3 I blink, manufacturing a micro-expression of confusion. “Mr. Frost, I thought you were here as a special guest commentator for the first episode. Did the rules change?” He gives a soft, charming laugh. “The producers verified your claims, and our tech millionaire is no longer with us. They were in a bind, and I happened to be available to fill the spot. It’s a pleasure to be working with you.” When we shake, his hand is warm, his scent clean and subtle, like sunlight and cedar. I study him, my professional mask firmly in place. Could this man, this paragon of virtue, really be the monster who butchered a young woman on a rainy night? My takedown of the first contestant makes me an instant celebrity and a pariah among the other men. They give me a wide berth, terrified I might expose their own secrets. Only Ethan remains by my side, the perfect gentleman. The viewers are eating it up. The live chat is a frenzy. [A walking lie detector. These celebrities better watch their backs.] [Oh no… my fave said he has a phobia of women. Is that true? ASK HER.] I play my part. “Aren’t you afraid of me, Mr. Frost?” Our eyes meet. His smile doesn’t waver. “Everyone has secrets, Detective. But if they aren’t fatal, why be afraid? Or are you telling me you don’t have any secrets of your own?” The comment section sings his praises: [So honest and open. He’s the gold standard. Even if everyone else gets cancelled, he never will.] [Seriously. Talent, integrity, charisma… is there a more perfect man in Hollywood?] I’ve watched his original police interview a hundred times. He passed the most advanced polygraph test without a single flicker. When they showed him the crime scene photos of Sophie—the blurred, unrecognizable masses of flesh—his emotional response was textbook. I’ve magnified the footage, analyzed it frame by frame. “His pupils don’t dilate at all,” I told my captain back then. “He’s not feeling horror. He’s feeling nothing.” “Hayes, I get it, I do,” my colleague had said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “But you can’t let your grief turn into a witch hunt. Our job requires objectivity.” But my gut screamed that he was lying. And I will watch him. I will find the proof. If he is the one, he will not escape my sight. 4 The first episode’s ratings go through the roof. My presence has given the show a completely unexpected edge, and the network is quick to capitalize on it. The second episode’s date activity is set in an escape room. The theme: a murder mystery. We’re in a dilapidated mansion, spattered with fake blood. The lights flicker ominously. Ethan picks up the first clue card. “It says here this scenario is based on a real cold case from thirteen years ago,” he reads. “This mansion is a recreation of the original crime scene…” I don’t even need to look at the card. “The Blackwood Manor Murders.” Everyone turns to me. “Thirteen years ago, a family of three was slaughtered in their beds in a suburban mansion just like this one,” I explain. “The killer was never found. I assume that’s the case this is based on.” Ethan laughs, a low, appreciative sound. “Detective, you do remember this is supposed to be a dating show, right?” I understand my role perfectly. I take a step forward, placing myself in front of him with an air of righteous duty. “The police are here to protect and serve. You have nothing to fear, Mr. Frost.” Ethan sighs, shaking his head with a look of fond exasperation. The live audience goes wild. [Everyone else is playing games and flirting, and these two are solving a cold case. I am SO here for this.] [I’ve never seen him talk this much to a woman on one of these shows. Ever.] We head to the master bedroom on the second floor. A male mannequin, maybe thirty years old, lies on the bed. The prop is disturbingly realistic. While the other contestants shriek and giggle nervously, I scan the room. “The killer only wanted to kill, not to steal. The victim is still wearing his gold wedding ring,” I observe. “This suggests a specific psychological profile. He’s capable of murder, but views theft as beneath him. He likely has a stable job, or at least a strong sense of his own social standing.” Ethan raises an eyebrow. “You don’t just read the living, Detective? You read the dead, too?” “My undergraduate minor was in criminal psychology. What’s your take, Mr. Frost?” “Well, I’d hate to show off in front of an expert,” he says, his tone playful, but his eyes are sharp. He walks over to the balcony, where the female mannequin lies. “The time of death was around 3 a.m. The family was asleep. The killer took care of the child first, then came upstairs. After killing the husband, he could have easily killed the wife right there in the bed. But he didn’t. He dragged her out here.” “Maybe she was trying to escape,” I suggest. “To escape, you’d run for the stairs, for the ground floor. Not onto a balcony cluttered with a washing machine and old furniture.” He points to a single, weather-beaten streetlamp just outside the balcony railing. “He dragged her out here for this.” He closes his eyes, his voice taking on a magnetic, narrative quality. “He used the light. Just enough to see her face. To watch her expression as she died. This killer… he hates women. The husband and child were obstacles. The main event, the real delicacy, is always saved for last.” His words send a shockwave through me. The detail about the streetlamp… no one on the original case file ever noted that. It could be a whole new line of inquiry. Noticing my grim expression, Ethan leans in closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “I just shot a thriller. Did some research for the role. I’m just spitballing here, Detective. You’re not taking me seriously, are you?” His gaze is a challenge. I feel my breath catch. When you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream from one of the female contestants shatters the tension. We rush over to find her pointing at a large prop wardrobe. “Don’t come any closer!” she shrieks. The wardrobe door is slightly ajar. Stuffed inside, folded into an unnatural position, is a female body. It’s not a mannequin. The body is headless. Her feet are bound with duct tape. The cut at the neck is brutally precise. My head snaps toward Ethan. His pupils are dilated, his lips slightly parted. The fleeting expression on his face isn’t shock or fear. It is pure, unadulterated… exhilaration.

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A rich kid offered to buy me dinner. Led on by his sly encouragement, I ordered a feast of biblical proportions for a table of ten: king crab, massive lobsters, the finest French caviar—the works. It wasn’t until he flashed a malicious grin that the trap was sprung. “Babe, if you can’t finish all that, you’re picking up the check.” He thought I didn’t see it—the hidden camera on his chest, the live feed where a torrent of comments was already flooding the screen, all of them mocking me. “Look at her face, she’s screwed. That spread is $95,000. How’s some broke girl gonna pay for that?” “Did you see how greedy she was ordering? LMAO.” “Does she really think you can just leech off a rich guy that easily?” “Another point for the Gold Digger Takedown Team! Yo, share the stream, guys, this is gonna be epic!” But there, under the invisible glare of a thousand eyes, I didn’t panic as they’d all hoped. I just lifted my knife and fork, flashed a playful grin that showed the tips of my canines, and smiled. A takedown? As a creature of myth, known since antiquity for my insatiable appetite, there’s a human expression I’ve always been fond of. The most dangerous predators are the ones who look like prey. 1 A short clip went viral across all the platforms recently. It starred a man and a woman. You only ever heard the guy’s voice, but the woman was on camera the entire time. The setting was a high-end luxury boutique. The woman, giddy with excitement, tried on an array of designer bags and dresses, constantly turning to the man for his opinion. “Babe, that dress was made for you.” “That bag is sick. It’s the limited-edition season drop. Wild that this store has all the colors. You should just get them all.” “You need a pair of red-bottom stilettos with that skirt. Those ones are perfect.” Lost in the flurry of praise, the woman held her head high, preening in one exquisite outfit after another. She even threw her old clothes into a trash can right there in the middle of the store. It was only when she approached the register, arms laden with her spoils, that the fantasy shattered. “I said I’d go shopping with you, not for you.” “No way, no way… After all that posturing, you’re just some broke chick? If you don’t have the money, what are you even doing in a place like this?” The man’s voice was loud, mocking. A crowd was starting to form. The woman panicked. “But you told me to buy all this…” “So? If I tell you to buy it, you just buy it? Do you have any idea what’s in your bank account? If I told you to go jump off a bridge, would you do that, too?” Snickers rippled through the onlookers. Someone pulled out their phone and started recording. The woman, biting her lip, forced a syrupy smile. “You said you liked me. If you just pay for this, I’ll be your girlfriend.” The man let out an exaggerated, booming laugh. “My girlfriend? Who the hell do you think you are? Take a good look in the mirror. A gold digger who can’t even afford a few dresses wants to be my girlfriend? Get real.” “If you can’t afford it, go sell something. Aren’t you girls good at that? Or take out a loan. Why are you looking for a sugar daddy? You think we owe you something?” He went on like that, a relentless, ten-minute tirade. Finally, face flushed a deep, humiliating crimson, the woman returned every single item. She walked back to the trash can, retrieved her old clothes, and put them back on, piece by piece, before fleeing the store under a chorus of derision. 2 I closed the video. A series of voice messages were still popping up in my chat. “Made up your mind, babe? Send me your address, I’ll come pick you up. We can hit the shops, maybe buy a few bags, some jewelry. What do you say?” The voice was a low, gravelly attempt at seduction—identical to the man in the video. I thought for a moment, then cleared my throat and sent back a voice note of my own, my tone dripping with sweetness. “I’m not really into bags and jewelry. I’d be happy if you just bought me dinner, big boy.” Silence from his end. A moment later, a notification popped up from a private group chat. “Dudes, what the hell? Did I actually find one of the ‘good ones’? The new target just wants me to take her to dinner.” The group exploded. “Dumbass. You still believe good girls exist? She’s obviously playing the long game.” “Rule of thumb, bro: there are no women who don’t want something. Only ones who pretend to be saints and ones who know they don’t have the leverage.” The advice started pouring in. “If she wants dinner, give her dinner. Top-shelf wagyu, king crab, imported caviar. The more expensive, the better.” “Broke girls have never seen real luxury. She’ll be drooling. Let her order herself, you just make suggestions. Don’t let her stop until she’s ordered enough for seven or eight people. Enough to make someone her size literally burst.” “Once the food’s on the table, tell her you hate women who waste food. If she can’t finish it, you’re not paying. And unlike clothes, you can’t return a dish once it’s been cooked. She’ll either have to cough up the cash or eat till she pukes.” “Damn, that’s cold. I love it.” “Yes! This is gonna be prime content. The stream is gonna blow up again, hahaha.” The chat was buzzing. No one noticed my burner account, lurking silently among them. Finally, a new message from him came through. “You got it. There’s a five-star Michelin restaurant downtown. I’ll take you for a taste.” I wiped a trickle of drool from the corner of my mouth. “Okay.” 3 Staring at the mountain of exquisite dishes piled high on the table, Connor finally grinned. “Babe,” he said, barely able to contain his glee as he delivered the line he’d been rehearsing, “I can’t stand people who waste food. You ordered so much… if you can’t finish it, I don’t think I can help you with the bill.” I feigned shock. “What? All of this? You expect me to eat all of this by myself?” His smile was pure poison, the hidden camera on his chest zooming in for a tight shot of my panicked expression. “What’s wrong? Feeling the pressure now? You seemed pretty happy when you were ordering.” In the livestream, the comments were a waterfall of ridicule. “Here we go! My favorite part!” “Connor is a legend! He tricked her into ordering for ten people. $95k! Hahaha, she is so done.” “She had the balls to order it, though. I’m a big guy and I can’t finish one king crab by myself. She ordered ten.” “And she was pretending she didn’t want anything before. I thought she was just greedy, I didn’t know she was this stupid too!” “Tonight’s entertainment is top-tier. I can’t wait to see her eat until she throws up and then start crying for help!” Connor savored the comments for a moment before turning his attention back to me. “What are you staring at me for? Eat.” But I didn’t burst into tears and beg for forgiveness as they’d all fantasized. Instead, a contented smile spread across my face as I picked up my knife and fork. “Thank you, Connor. In that case, I won’t be polite.” Under a sea of disbelieving eyes, I devoured every last bite of the ten-person meal. I didn’t even leave a single grain of rice from the abalone risotto. Honestly, if I wasn’t afraid of making too much of a scene, I probably would have eaten the king crab shells, too. It felt like something I used to do, a long, long time ago. I must have been starving, I thought. 4 Connor paid the ninety-five-thousand-dollar bill, his face pale. “So… can I ask you out again sometime? My treat,” I said with a shy smile, as if I wasn’t the person who had just inhaled a meal for ten. He stared at my still-flat stomach beneath my dress, then just let out a dazed, “Huh?” The livestream comments had shifted. “Calculated every move but didn’t account for her being a competitive eater.” “No wonder she was so happy when he offered dinner. With an appetite like that, she must be starving at home.” “I’m trying to believe she went and threw it all up, but she never even went to the bathroom.” “Weird. This is just plain weird. Can’t even be mad at Connor for losing this one.” “Wait, you guys are just giving up? The Takedown Team has never taken an L like this before!” Connor was distracted, lost in thought, until a hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “Hey Connor, out with your new girlfriend?” I turned. A handsome young man with a gentle smile was looking at me. Connor quickly backpedaled. “Nah, just a friend from a game. First time meeting up.” Then he introduced us. “Talia, this is my friend, Simon Hayes.” Simon waved a waiter over and ordered three coffees. “Since we ran into each other, why don’t you stay a little longer?” He glanced tentatively at my stomach. “Ms. Talia, do you have room for a coffee?” He leaned close, and a subtle, intoxicating fragrance drifted from him. I found myself unconsciously twitching my nose. “Simon, you smell amazing,” I said. He chuckled. “You like my cologne? I’ll send you a bottle.” Connor, standing by, sounded a little sulky. “What, I don’t smell good?” I looked down, feigning embarrassment. “You smell good too, Connor. But Simon smells… better.” They both laughed, and the scent seemed to envelop me like a fine mist. I had to swallow hard to keep from drooling as the momentary feeling of fullness in my stomach was replaced by a gnawing hunger. “This might sound a bit forward,” Simon began, his voice smooth as silk, “but I was sitting behind you earlier. I saw you… eating.” He paused. “I just launched a new media company, and we have a food channel that’s looking for a host. We need a competitive eater just like you, Talia.” I looked at him, wide-eyed. “Me?” “Of course. You’re cute, Talia, and your appetite is incredible. It creates this amazing contrast. With a little promotion, you’d be a star.” Simon and I exchanged numbers. It was late by the time I got home. The moment I opened the door, my phone buzzed. A friend request from a stranger. The attached message read: I know what you’re trying to do. 5 I thought about it, then hit accept. It was a brand-new account. Default profile picture, all information blank. I sent a message: “Hello.” The reply was almost instantaneous. “Leave the group. Cut all contact with those people. You have no idea who you’re messing with.” I played dumb. “What group? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Anonymous: “You know what I’m talking about. ‘The Hunt Club.’ You’ve been lurking in there for days, right? You deliberately connected with Connor in the game, arranged to meet him, let him livestream it… You knew exactly what they were planning. Why would you do that? Are you trying to get revenge for the other girls they’ve humiliated?” I didn’t answer. Anonymous: “Whatever you’re planning, I’m telling you to stop. These guys are all rich and powerful. This group is just a sick game for them when they’re bored. If they find out you’re just messing with them, you’re finished. Do you know what happened to the last person who crossed them?” 6 Of course I knew what happened to the last person who crossed them. Her name was Tessa, a senior at City University. Three months ago, on the night before her graduation ceremony, she jumped from the roof of the library. We were both orphans, raised in the same foster home. I called her my sister. I was born with a massive appetite, which meant I was always hungry as a kid at the home. Tessa would secretly give me her food, swallowing her own saliva as she watched me eat. “What can I do? I’m the one who found you. That makes me responsible,” she’d say. She was a brilliant student, and the director of the home, taking pity on her diligence, would slip her extra eggs and milk. All of it ended up in my stomach. As I devoured the food, fighting the burning hunger and guilt in my gut, Tessa would puff out her chest and promise, “It’s okay. One day, I’ll go to college, get a good job, and make tons of money. Then you can eat whatever you want, and you’ll never have to be hungry again!” But she broke her promise. And I was angry. The next time I was starving, who would be there to take care of me? Her roommate gave me a battered journal, a small mercy. She said the school had disposed of all of Tessa’s other belongings, but she’d secretly kept this, a final memento of their friendship. The name that appeared most often in its pages was a group chat called “The Hunt Club.” 7 After lurking in the group for a few days on my burner account, I finally understood what it was for. A pack of bored, wealthy degenerates who used various pretenses to lure out women they deemed vain and greedy “gold diggers.” They would trick them into making huge purchases, then refuse to pay, deriving pleasure from their public humiliation and breakdown. But Tessa… I refused to believe she would fall into their trap for material things. Once, when we were kids, I was so hungry I stole two buns from a bakery. She found out and whipped the palm of my hand raw with a thin bamboo stick. She told me that even the poorest person must hold on to their integrity. She went on and on, lecturing me with all sorts of principles about how a noble person remains virtuous in poverty, blah, blah, blah. The rest is a blur; my hand hurt too much to remember. Tsk. Having a straight-A sister wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Make one little mistake and you get hit with both physical and psychological damage. 8 March 10th. Sunday. Sunny. I never knew people could be so cruel. What did I do wrong to be tormented like this? March 15th. Friday. Light rain. They came to the coffee shop where I work part-time. They made a scene, claiming my cup wasn’t clean, that my hands were dirty when I served them, that they got a stomachache after drinking the coffee and had to go to the hospital. They demanded I pay them. I only make eight hundred dollars a month at this job. They wanted twenty thousand. Where was I supposed to get that kind of money? My boss was kind. Before he fired me, he quietly lent me the twenty thousand. He said not to rush paying it back, but I still feel so guilty. I’ll just have to find more part-time work. If I can just hold on for a few more weeks, until I get my diploma, everything will be okay. March 19th. Tuesday. Overcast. They still haven’t let me go. I lost my tutoring job. They filed a complaint, accusing me of molesting the child, of trying to seduce the husband. The mother, who had always been so nice to me, showed up at the university screaming that I was a homewrecker. She grabbed my hair and hit me. No one helped me. Everyone just stared and pointed. When I got back to my dorm, my roommates had thrown my sheets and blanket into the hallway. They said it was a disgrace to share a room with me. It hurts so much. Why? I didn’t do anything. April 6th. Saturday. Heavy rain. It’s been months since I sent any money back to the home. I wonder how Talia is doing with her studies. Is she eating enough? It turns out there was a reason for everything. If I had known then… No. Even if I could do it all over again, I would still help her. We’re both girls. How could I just stand by and watch them humiliate her, force her to strip naked in the middle of a store? Who knew that just paying for a dress would attract a pack of monsters? They’re the ones who are wrong. Not me. But I don’t know how much longer I can hold on… I haven’t called Talia in a while. I’m not in a good state. She would worry. Endure it, Tessa. To live is to endure. You can’t give up like this. Three months later, she jumped from the university rooftop. It was graduation season, and the university didn’t want a scandal. They quietly handled Tessa’s body and her belongings, and then everything went silent. After all, she was just an orphan with no parents. The loss of a single life barely made a splash, less than the ripple from a pebble tossed into a lake. 9 I became a mukbang streamer for Simon Hayes’s new media company. After one session where I ate eight bundles of Fujian-style noodles, twenty mooncakes, ten bowls of sweet rice ball soup, six bowls of Nanchang spicy noodles, fifty soup dumplings, and for dessert, an eight-inch chocolate cake and five giant fruit teas, I went viral. Of course, the reactions were all over the place. There was shock, skepticism, people trying to replicate the meal, others analyzing the footage frame-by-frame for tricks, and a legion of commenters swearing I must have a bulimia problem. It was a circus. I ignored all of it. As long as I got to eat my fill, I didn’t care. Simon said he wanted to reward me. He took me and the team on a safari hunt in Africa. The savanna was beautiful. Simon raised his rifle and, with a single shot, brought down a magnificent male lion. Blood pooled on the dry earth. “These animals are raised in a private reserve specifically for hunting. Half a million a head,” he explained. “For people in our circle, this is the real game of power.” “Want to try, Talia?” He stood behind me, his body half-embracing mine, as he showed me how to hold the rifle, how to aim. One of his assistants threw a bloody deer leg from the truck, quickly attracting a few leopards. “This is the essence of the hunt,” he murmured, his breath hot against my neck. “A little bait is all it takes to bring out the greed in their bones. Even when they know untold danger lies ahead, they can’t help but follow their hunger—” “And then—bang.” He whispered the last word, and I flinched. The bullet whizzed over the leopards’ heads. Startled, they snatched the deer leg and vanished into the tall grass. Simon wasn’t angry. He just stroked my hair indulgently. “It’s okay. I know you girls have soft hearts.” I buried my face in his chest, forcing the sharp claws that were about to erupt from my fingertips back under my skin. Lately, my body had been changing in strange ways, as if something unknown was on the verge of waking up. The only constant was the raging hunger in my stomach. 10 After we returned to the States, the anonymous account messaged me again. “I know who you are.” “You’re Tessa’s sister. You got close to Connor and his friends to get revenge for her, didn’t you?” “You can’t win against them.” Tired of the warnings, I just blocked the account. A new request from a different burner account came through moments later. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I swear! I just want to help!” “If you really don’t believe me, let’s meet in person.” I considered it. “Only if you’re buying me dinner.” She chose a KFC. I didn’t hold back, ordering five family-sized buckets. The girl across from me, bundled up in a hat and a face mask, stared with wide eyes. I happily munched on a piece of fried chicken, taking a sip of soda and glancing at her. “Oh, you’re Tessa’s roommate.” The one who gave me the journal. She looked stunned. “You can recognize me even dressed like this?” I twitched my nose slightly. “I remember your scent.” She hesitated for a long time before finally speaking. “Don’t you have any questions for me? Like… the real reason Tessa died?” “Oh, I read the diary. It seems like she helped someone, got targeted by that group, and killed herself when she couldn’t take it anymore.” She stared at me. “And that’s it?” “What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely confused. Her voice rose with emotion. “You know how she died, and you can talk about it so calmly? Do you have any idea the kind of pain she went through before she died?” I looked up at her. “So? What did you do while she was going through all that? Weren’t you the one she helped? Why is it that you, the one who started it all, got away clean while she was pushed to the edge?” “How did you know…” “I guessed.” The girl slumped in her seat. “You’re right… I was vain. I fell for Connor’s trap. He took me to that luxury store, tricked me into trying on an expensive dress, and then refused to pay. He was going to force me to strip naked in front of everyone, livestreaming it for laughs… Tessa just happened to be passing by. She paid for the dress for me.” “That’s what set them off.” “They shifted their target to Tessa. First, they tried the same trick on her, but when she wouldn’t take the bait, they started to destroy her life. They used their money and influence to spread lies, ruin her reputation… Eventually, even the university believed them. The day before graduation, they told her she was being expelled for ‘moral turpitude.’ She wasn’t even going to get her diploma. That’s why she… she couldn’t see a way out.” I listened while finishing my buckets of chicken, then licked my fingers clean. “I’m done. Thanks for the meal.” She gaped at me, speechless. “You…” “I get it. You’re saying they’re powerful. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.” Just then, my phone rang. I answered, my voice instantly turning soft and sweet. “Simon?” His voice on the other end was bright and cheerful. “Where are you, Talia? I’m coming to pick you up. We have a big livestream tonight, you can’t be late.” I gave him the address and hung up. The smile was still on my face when I noticed the girl across from me staring with venom in her eyes. “I see now…” she sneered. “You never wanted revenge at all. Your sister’s death was just a ladder for you to climb.” “After all, without this, a girl from the bottom like you would never even get the chance to speak to powerful men like them, right?” “You’ve already been seduced by them, haven’t you? You’ve seen their power, their status, and you think you can climb into their world and live happily ever after? Keep dreaming.” “Do you think you’re special, that they see you differently? You’re just another piece of bait. If you keep this up, your end will be a hundred times worse than mine and Tessa’s combined.” I wasn’t angry. I wiped my fingers meticulously and stood up. “That won’t happen. Simon isn’t like Connor and the others. And I’m not like you.” “What makes you so different?” I tilted my head, revealing the tips of my canines. “You were all after his money. I’m different. I just want him.” “Talia!” she screamed after me, her voice thick with grief and fury. “Your sister died so horribly, and you’re willing to be a lapdog for her killers? She loved you more than anything in this world, you ungrateful, shameless snake!” “Don’t say that,” I said, looking back with a smile. “You know, we were both just orphans. Tessa… she wasn’t my real sister, anyway.”

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