Author: Momo Chan

My sister got married at twenty and had my nephew at twenty-one. I’m twenty-seven and can’t seem to get a man to stay. Over the years, I’ve brought home a string of boyfriends. But every time things start getting serious, my father invites them into his study. I don’t know what he says in there, but when they come out, they’re like different men. Strangers. Their eyes filled with a terrifying coldness, some looking at me like they wanted to wring my neck. My latest boyfriend swore he wouldn’t let my dad intimidate him. But after he stepped out of that study, his face was a mask of fury. He broke up with me on the spot, sealing it with two vicious slaps across my face. What is the real reason they all leave? What dark secret is hidden in my father’s study? 1 “You’re a disgusting little tramp! Don’t you have any shame?” “Next time, I’ll just let your boyfriend kill you. Maybe then you’ll finally learn your lesson.” The moment my boyfriend was out the door, my father’s face twisted into a dark scowl. The curses began. To be honest, I was on my fifth boyfriend, and they all ended the same way: ugly. And every single one of them had walked into my father’s study a loving partner and walked out a monster. It was a transformation so sudden, so complete, it felt impossible. Yet, it happened every time. I stared at my father, my cheek still stinging, hoping for an apology that I knew would never come. The look in his eyes wasn’t just anger; it was a chilling regret that my ex-boyfriend hadn’t just finished the job and strangled me. He’d always favored my sister, showering her with affection while I was barely an afterthought. When I first wanted to date as a teenager, he forbade it. Yet, the moment my sister turned twenty, the legal age, he practically pushed her down the aisle. I watched with a hollow ache in my chest as my brother-in-law moved in, doting on my sister, their life a perfect picture of marital bliss. All I ever wanted was that—to be with someone I loved. But if my father caught me looking at them for too long, he’d kick me to the floor, snarling that marriage was a dream I should never dare to have. When my sister and her husband went on their honeymoon to Europe, he made me kneel in the living room for hours as punishment for my “improper thoughts.” He even had my sister call me, her voice laced with pity, telling me not to get married, not to “ruin someone else’s life.” I never imagined my own father could be so cruel. For a while, I even wondered if I was adopted. A private investigator confirmed the bitter truth: I was his biological daughter. Desperate for answers, I posted my story on an online forum. The responses poured in, a torrent of theories from strangers. [Maybe you were born on the day he was supposed to close a huge business deal. Your birth made him lose a fortune, and now that he’s struggling, he’s taking it out on you.] [I bet you look like his mistress. Your mom hates you for it, so your dad does too.] I did some digging. My dad was a teacher; he’d never been in business. And by all accounts, he was a faithful husband. No mistress. The reason remained a mystery, a dark cloud that hung over my life. I was beautiful, men fell for me easily, but it never mattered. My father was a wall I couldn’t get past. Finally, I begged my uncle for help. He was furious when he heard, telling me it was insane for a parent to wish loneliness upon their own child. He stormed over to our house, ready to confront my father. “What is wrong with you?” he shouted. “Your daughter found someone she loves! Our job as parents is to support them, not to sabotage them! Have you lost your mind?” My father said nothing. He just stared at my uncle with cold, flat eyes, then grabbed his arm and pulled him into the study. 2 When my uncle came out, the warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by a venomous glare. He didn’t say another word about my right to find love. Instead, he kicked me hard in the stomach. “You filthy mutt,” he spat. “Still thinking about dating at your age? Who do you think you are?” Just then, my aunt arrived, looking for him. She saw what he’d done and started screaming at him. But then my father led her into the study. When she came out, her face was grim. She warned me that if I ever thought about getting married again, she would personally poison me. I couldn’t understand it. What was in that study? What could possibly cause such a complete, chilling transformation in everyone who entered? Even my sister, who I’d been so close to growing up, now insisted I was better off alone. She’d secretly burned all my photos with ex-boyfriends and deleted their numbers from my phone, forbidding me from seeing them. The mystery consumed me, keeping me awake night after night. Through it all, my mother was my only ally. She owned three bustling restaurants and worked from dawn till dusk, so she was rarely home to see the worst of it. But she was on my side. After each breakup, I’d cried, screamed, pleaded. Nothing worked. The disappointment carved a hole in my chest, a gaping void that let the cold winds of despair howl through me. My father shot me a look of pure contempt before settling onto the sofa to watch TV. I walked over and stood directly in front of the screen. “Dad, just tell me. Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to you? Can’t we just talk about it instead of… this?” We were family. Surely, we could resolve this. He didn’t even glance at me, his eyes fixed on the television. “I’ve told you. No dating, no marriage. If you disobey me again, I will kill you.” His eyes slid to the side, pinning me with a look of pure malice. A shiver of primal fear ran down my spine. He wasn’t joking. He stood up, walked to the kitchen, and came back with a cleaver. His face was contorted in a mask of rage as he lunged at me. I screamed, scrambling back into my room and locking the door. I fumbled for my phone and called my best friend, Maya, begging her to call the police. They arrived quickly, with Maya right behind them. A female officer tackled my father, sending the cleaver skittering across the floor. Only then did I dare to creep out of my room. “Mr. Morgan, you’re under arrest for suspicion of attempted murder. You need to come with us to the station.” Even in handcuffs, my father looked completely unfazed, a smirk playing on his lips. Maya saw the gash on my arm from the cleaver and her face went pale. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she lunged forward and punched my father’s shoulder. “What is wrong with you? That’s your daughter!” she sobbed. “You’d rather kill her than let her get married?” She buried her face in her hands, her body shaking with sobs. I knew if the police weren’t here, she would have fought him herself to defend me. In a world of enemies, she was my one true friend. The police questioned my father, but he remained silent, a mask of unrepentant defiance on his face. 3 Maya stepped forward, holding up her phone. “I have proof. Monica has had five boyfriends since she was twenty, and her father instigated every single breakup. He even told them to hit her! I have photos of all her injuries. These men need to be punished!” A low, guttural laugh escaped my father’s lips. His expression was terrifying. He gestured for the officers to loosen their grip. “Fine, I’ll go with you,” he said, his eyes glinting. “But first, I need to get some important evidence from my study. If you’re afraid I’ll run, you can all come with me.” The air left my lungs. I threw myself in front of the study door, my body trembling, a cold sweat breaking out on my skin. “No! None of you can go in there!” I knew what would happen. If they went into that room, they would come out changed. They would become like all the others. Maya wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “Monica, it’s okay. The police are here. He can’t hurt you now.” She looked at me with such concern, but I just gripped the doorknob tighter, refusing to move. My eyes were wide with a terror the officers couldn’t understand. Two of them gently pried my hands from the door. “It’s alright, Monica. We’ll be right with him. He won’t be able to do a thing.” I shook my head wildly, tears splashing onto the floor. “No, please. You can’t go in there. Please.” My frantic reaction only made them more suspicious. One officer ordered me to stay put while the others followed my father inside. Maya was the last to enter. “It’s the end of the line for you,” she spat at my father. “You can play whatever games you want, but you tried to kill your own daughter. You’re going to prison.” She turned back to me, giving me a reassuring smile and a wink. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” I stood there, my heart a tangled mess of hope and dread. Maybe Maya was stronger. Maybe she could resist whatever poison was in that room. But I was a fool to hope. Through the crack in the door, I saw her face shift from confidence to confusion, then to sheer terror. Finally, it settled into a mask of cold, hard fury. She let out a scream of rage and smashed a teacup on the floor. My father just watched, a smug, knowing look on his face. When they came out, Maya calmly smashed her own phone on the ground. She turned to the police with a polite smile. “My apologies, officers,” she said. “This was all a misunderstanding. Mr. Morgan was just having a… spirited discussion with his daughter. He never intended to harm her. It was my mistake.” The officers’ faces hardened as they turned to me. “Don’t you ever file a false report again! You get a warning this time. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.” I collapsed to the floor, all the strength gone from my body. It was over. I had lost my last chance for help. Maya jabbed a finger at my forehead, her nails digging in. “Did you hear that? If you hadn’t lied about your dad trying to kill you, I wouldn’t have made a false report! You need to think about what you’ve done!” They all glared at me with contempt. The police uncuffed my father and left. As the front door closed, Maya’s face morphed into a cruel sneer. 4 She stormed into the kitchen, came back with two more cleavers, and thrust them into my father’s hands. “Uncle, you were right. Monica is a worthless tramp,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “She has a good life, and all she can think about is chasing men. If she’s going to be so disobedient, you might as well just kill her.” “A waste of oxygen like her is better off dead!” Hot tears streamed down my face. I stared at her, my world tilting on its axis. “Maya, what are you saying? You’re my best friend!” She shoved my hand away. “I’m saying what I mean. You brought this on yourself.” My heart felt like it was being ripped in two. This was the girl I’d grown up with, the one who’d sneak me warm pretzels when my dad punished me by withholding dinner. The one who swore she’d always be there for me. Just a few weeks ago, we were walking together, and I’d asked her, “What if I never get married?” Her eyes had shone with fierce loyalty. “Then you won’t! I bought a house, remember? You can move in with me. I won’t get married either. We can adopt a kid and be a family, just the two of us.” She was the one who told me those men weren’t worth my tears, that their sudden change of heart proved they never truly loved me. And now, she was one of them. The pain was a physical blow, a heavy weight crushing my chest. The suspicion in my mind was a thorny vine, tightening its grip until I could barely breathe. What was the magic in that room that could turn love into hate so completely? After that day, Maya and I were strangers. The physical wounds healed, but the psychological damage was deep. I started seeing a therapist, trying to claw my way back to some semblance of normalcy. My father and sister continued their campaign of control and cruelty, uncaring. Finally, my mom came home for her annual vacation. Every year, she took a few weeks off to spend with family. When she found out I’d been in therapy, she was overwhelmed with guilt. She came into my room and found me staring blankly at the wall. Tears streamed down her face as she wrapped me in a tight hug. “Monica, my baby, it’s all my fault. I’ve tried to talk to your father so many times, but he’s just so stubborn.” The pain in her eyes was real. I knew how hard it was for her. If it weren’t for her love, I don’t think I could have survived. She had always been my shield, the one person who would stand up to my father’s tyranny. But her work kept her away, and in her absence, the house had become my prison. Still, knowing she loved me was my lifeline. 5 I’d thought about moving out, but my father watched me like a hawk. He made it clear that if I tried to leave and secretly marry someone, he would find me and make me suffer in ways I couldn’t imagine. The image of the study flashed in my mind, and I shuddered. I wrapped my arms around my mom’s. “Mom,” I whispered, “you’ll listen to me, right? No matter what?” She stroked my hair. “Of course, sweetheart. You’re my precious daughter. I’ll always listen to you.” I looked at her, my eyes pleading. “Then promise me you won’t go into Dad’s study. Can you do that?” “Is there something in there?” “I don’t know! Just… please don’t go in. Promise me.” “Okay, okay, don’t get upset,” she soothed. “I promise. I won’t go in.” “You’re the best, Mom.” “I’ll always be here for you,” she said, her expression serious. I believed her. As long as she stayed out of that room, she wouldn’t be brainwashed. She would still love me. She even told me she’d arranged a date for me with a wonderful man from a matchmaking site, muttering that no decent parent would ever stop their child from getting married. A wave of relief washed over me. I agreed to meet him on the weekend. The next day, she told me the date was off. We were supposed to get breakfast together that morning, but she didn’t wake me. I slept until noon. When I finally emerged from my room, thinking she’d been called into work, she picked up a bowl from the dining table and hurled it at my head. Pain exploded across my forehead. Blood trickled down my face, dripping onto the floor. My father stood there, a vein throbbing in his temple. “Sleeping all day, you lazy good-for-nothing! Why don’t you just die in your sleep so I can bury you!” Terror and disbelief washed over me. Tears fell like broken pearls. At the table, my mom was calmly eating a plate of barbecue ribs, not even glancing in my direction. My father grabbed a leather whip and brought it down across my back. The pain was white-hot, electric. I screamed. “Dad, what did I do? For years you’ve ruined my life, and now you’re going to beat me to death?” His nostrils flared. “That would be for the best!” he roared. “Just looking at you makes me want to skin you alive! You want to get married so badly? When you’re dead, I’ll find you a groom in the morgue!” The whip whistled through the air again and again, splitting my skin. The agony was blinding. I thrashed and screamed until my voice was raw. Through a haze of pain, I could hear my mom laughing at a video on her phone, completely indifferent to the fact that her husband was beating her daughter to a pulp. I scrambled over to her, grabbing her leg. “Mom, make him stop! He’s going to kill me!” I expected her to leap up, to shield me with her body. But she didn’t move. She just gave me an annoyed look. “Well, you shouldn’t have provoked him. You’re getting what you deserve.” My mind went numb. My arms trembled. She had been in the study. She had to have been. “You went into the study, didn’t you!” I shrieked, my voice cracking. “You promised me you wouldn’t! You promised we would go on that date! Did you forget?” My mother slammed her chopsticks down on the table. “Will you shut up! Of course I didn’t go in the study! A pathetic creature like you wants to get married? If you don’t learn to behave, I’ll have your father choke the life out of you myself!” She was gone. The mother I knew was gone, replaced by another monster. Now, everyone in my life wanted me to either be alone or be dead. My sister and her husband walked through the living room, dressed to go out. They saw me, bruised and bleeding on the floor, and didn’t even flinch. They just walked out the door. My father’s fists rained down on me until he was finally satisfied. Then he left, my mom clinging to his arm as they went into their bedroom. My body and soul were shattered. I couldn’t understand it. I was a normal girl. Why couldn’t I have a normal life? It was the middle of summer, but my heart was frozen solid. My mother was lost to me. If I stayed in this house, I would die. That night, I waited until the house was silent. I packed my essential documents into a backpack, ready to escape. As I tiptoed through the dark living room, I saw a light on under the study door. I crept closer and peered through the keyhole. My father was sitting at his desk. On his face was the most terrifying smile I had ever seen, a grotesque grin stretching nearly to his ears. My body went rigid, ice flooding my veins. And in that single, horrifying moment, I finally understood why my father would never let me marry. Why he would never let me leave.

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Everyone in the city of Crestfall knew that Asher Howard lived and breathed for me. At a high-profile auction, he’d dropped a fortune on a pair of matching, priceless rings, just for us. For my eighteenth birthday, he rented out an entire private island. This was the man who adored me. And yet, when my sister was bullied to death, he did nothing. Worse, he protected the one who did it. I knelt before him, tears streaming down my face, begging him to get justice for my sister. He gently wiped my tears away, his voice a soft caress. “Elara,” he murmured, “I would give you the world. But this… this one thing I cannot do.” “Aria is my sister. I can’t be the one to send her to her ruin.” 1 Asher’s voice was a velvet whisper, but his words were a dagger to my heart. He held out a legal settlement. “Be a good girl and sign this. I’ll make sure your family is well compensated.” “Elara, you know I spoil you. Just this once, please? For me?” I took the document, my eyes scanning the cold, printed words. My voice trembled as I read them aloud. “Following an investigation, the death of Sienna Moore has been ruled as natural causes. Aria Howard is considered an innocent party. The plaintiff agrees to this settlement, absolving her of all wrongdoing. The defendant agrees to pay the plaintiff twenty million dollars in compensation. Both parties consider the matter resolved.” “Well?” Asher asked, his tone expectant. My hand shook, and a tear splashed onto the page, blurring the ink. I looked up at him, my voice raw. “Asher, are you even human? My sister was bullied to death by Aria. How can you call that ‘natural causes’?” He reached out, his thumb brushing away a tear on my cheek. “Elara, Aria is only sixteen. She’s just a child.” “She didn’t know what she was doing. Can’t you find it in your heart to give her a second chance?” Sixteen. What a pathetic excuse. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “And wasn’t my sister sixteen? Who’s going to give her a second chance? You think saying ‘she didn’t know what she was doing’ erases what she did?” “Elara!” His eyes flashed with a warning. I knew that look. It was the one that always made me back down. But not this time. Not with Sienna. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. “So, you’re not going to help me. Is that it?” “I would do anything else for you, Elara. You know that. But not this.” His voice hardened. “And twenty million is more than enough to cover your sister’s entire life. Even if she had lived, graduated, gone to college, gotten a job… even if she made a hundred thousand a year, she would never have earned this much. It’s the same thing, Elara.” “What did you say?” My heart stopped. I stared at the man in front of me, a complete stranger. Was this the same man who cherished me, who would move mountains to see me smile? I stood there, frozen, letting the tears fall unchecked. A chill crept over me, deep and unsettling. Asher’s expression softened again, his voice dropping to a coaxing purr. “Come on, Elara, don’t be difficult. Once this is all over, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you something special. Okay?” A sob caught in my throat. “And what about my sister? She adored you. She used to follow you around, calling you ‘big brother.’ Is this how you repay her?” The pain in my chest was so intense I could barely breathe. “I’m devastated about Sienna’s passing too,” he said, his voice laced with false sympathy. “But we can’t bring her back. There’s no need to ruin another life. Aria is young. She can’t have this stain on her record. Elara, please try to understand.” Ruin another life? A bleak emptiness spread through me. “If you won’t help me, I’ll find a lawyer myself.” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. His face was cold. “Elara, are you sure you want to do this?” “Yes.” My voice was unwavering. “I can guarantee,” he said, his tone dropping to a deadly whisper, “that if you walk out that door, not a single law firm in this city will touch your case. You know I don’t make idle threats.” My breath hitched. I ignored him and walked out. 2 He was right. For days, I went from one law firm to another, covering every corner of Crestfall. No one would take my case. The moment they saw me, their faces would close up, their doors would shut. “Miss Moore, please, don’t put me in this position. Mr. Howard gave specific orders.” “You should try somewhere else, Miss Moore.” “Miss Moore…” I sat on a park bench, the file of evidence for my sister’s case heavy in my lap. I pulled out my phone, and a new social media post popped up. It was from Aria. The caption read: [My brother’s sending me abroad! Yay! ~] Below it was a selfie of her posing with a new Chanel bag. A moment later, a “like” appeared on the post. From Asher. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. Blood rushed to my head, and the image of my sister’s broken body flashed in my mind. Aria had pushed her from the fifth-floor window of their school. The coroner’s report detailed multiple injuries sustained before the fall. Just hours before she died, Sienna had texted me, promising to bring me a cupcake after school. By the time I got there, her body was gone. Under pressure from Asher, the school claimed the security cameras were broken. Aria had looked at me with smug triumph. “So what if my brother spoils you? When it comes to my future versus your sister’s life, there’s no comparison.” Rage coursing through my veins, I decided to go to the most prestigious law firm in the city. They were powerful. Surely, they wouldn’t bow to Asher’s influence. I went to the bank and withdrew every penny I had—a million dollars in cash. I walked into the law firm, ignored the receptionist’s protests, and dumped the entire bag of money on her desk. “I need to file a lawsuit. Is a million dollars enough?” The receptionist recognized me and fell silent. A moment later, a partner came out. “Miss Moore, I’m afraid we can’t…” “If a million isn’t enough, then take this.” I ripped off my emerald earrings—the ones Asher had bought for ten million at that auction—and threw them on top of the cash. That had to be enough. The partner just shook his head. “Please, Miss Moore, you’re making this very difficult.” “Still not enough?” I tore the diamond necklace from my neck and the bracelet from my wrist, thrusting them at him. “How about now?” “I… I can’t accept these,” he stammered. Suddenly, his eyes flickered to something over my shoulder. “Mr. Howard. Miss Howard.” My heart plummeted. I turned around. It was Asher and Aria. Aria smirked at me, a look of pure victory on her face. The memory of my sister’s death choked me. Asher strode forward, his brow furrowed, and grabbed my arm. “Elara, are you trying to give away my gifts?” he demanded. I wrenched my arm free. “Yes. Do you want them back?” “You…” He looked furious, but then seemed to collect himself. He pulled me into his arms. “Elara, stop this tantrum. I told you, no one will help you without my permission. Why can’t you just be reasonable? Sign the settlement, and all of this will be over.” “I even brought Aria here to apologize to you.” He pushed Aria in front of me. She bowed her head, her expression a mask of perfect contrition. “Elara, I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for it to happen. Sienna and I were just playing around, I didn’t think…” She went on and on, then leaned in close, grabbing my hand. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You should have seen the look on her face when I made her drink toilet water. That little bitch. She kept crying for her big sister while I was hitting her. You really are a good sister, aren’t you, Elara?” 3 Her eyes were dancing with amusement, locked on mine. A demon whispering in my ear. The horrific images of Sienna’s last moments played on a loop in my head, tearing me apart. “Enough! Stop talking!” I shoved her away and slapped her hard across the face, twice. “Elara, what are you doing?!” Asher lunged forward and yanked me back. I lost my balance and fell, my head cracking against a large ceramic planter by the door. A starburst of pain exploded behind my eyes. The world spun. I staggered to my feet, leaning against the wall for support. Aria was already nestled in Asher’s arms, her face a mask of terror. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Brother, I’m so scared. I don’t know what happened, Elara just attacked me.” Seeing her performance, a fresh wave of hatred burned through me. I lunged for her, but Asher threw me aside again. I landed in a heap on the floor. “Elara,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “sign the settlement and apologize to Aria. I won’t ask again.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Asher, are you insane? She provoked me! Is a human life really worth less than Aria’s reputation?” “I told you, you will be compensated,” he said, his voice like ice. The man who had once promised to love me forever was a stranger. Aria peeked out from behind Asher’s shoulder, a triumphant smirk on her face, as if to say, See? Compared to me, you’re nothing. Rage and grief intertwined in my heart. I clenched my fists. “You want me to sign that settlement? In your dreams.” I pushed myself to my feet and looked past him, directly at Aria. “Murder is murder,” I said, my voice ringing with conviction. “You can’t hide it. Even if no one in this city will take my case, I won’t give up.” If I couldn’t find a lawyer in Crestfall, I’d go somewhere else. There had to be someone in this world who wasn’t afraid of Asher Howard. “Elara, are you sure you want to do this?” His eyes were cold with warning. I met his gaze without flinching. “I will never stop fighting for my sister.” “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took Aria’s hand and left. A few minutes later, the law firm threw me out. I knew Asher’s threats were never empty. I just didn’t expect him to move so quickly. The story of my sister’s death was suddenly all over the internet. But it was a twisted version. She was painted as a home-wrecker, a teenage seductress who had been chased down at school and pushed to her death by a scorned wife. They posted her photo, alongside doctored images of her with strange men, checking into hotels. The internet exploded. The comments were a torrent of hate. “So the victim wasn’t so innocent after all. Figures.” “Wow, only sixteen and already stealing husbands. What kind of family raises a girl like that?” “A bitch like that deserved to die. You mess with someone’s family, you pay the price.” “I hate homewreckers more than anything. Good riddance!” 4 In the court of public opinion, my sister had gone from victim to villain. Her photo was turned into cruel memes, spreading like wildfire. Then, I got a text from Aria. [See how powerful my brother is? Get over here and beg for my forgiveness, and maybe I’ll call off the dogs.] [Or else.] A moment later, a video came through. It was a picture of my sister’s funeral portrait, with the word WHORE scrawled across it in red, being scattered like confetti on a busy street. An icy rage consumed me. I ran. When I got to the location from the video, a swarm of reporters surrounded me. “Are you the sister of the girl who was killed for having an affair? What’s your take on your sister’s death?” “Is it true that no lawyer in the city will represent you?” “They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Do you agree?” They pushed and shoved, their cameras flashing in my face. Over their heads, I saw Aria on a second-floor balcony, watching with a smug smile. This was a trap. I tried to push my way through the crowd to get to her, but someone blocked my path. A large, furious woman marched up to me and slapped me across the face. Before I could react, she grabbed a handful of my hair. “You bitch! So you’re the one who’s been sleeping with my husband!” I was stunned. “What husband? I don’t—” “Don’t you dare lie to me, you whore!” Another slap. My head was spinning. The crowd grew larger, phones held high, recording everything. “No wonder the sister was a homewrecker. It runs in the family.” “A whole family of sluts. Are they that desperate for men?” “I can’t stand women who break up homes. Her sister got what she deserved, and now it’s her turn!” The woman yanked my hair, the pain searing. I tried to speak, to defend myself, but the crowd surged forward. “Let’s get her! It’s our civic duty to punish a homewrecker!” I was pushed to the ground. Fists and feet rained down on me. I instinctively curled into a ball, covering my stomach. “Stop,” I gasped. “Please, I’m pregnant. Don’t kick my stomach.” That only seemed to fuel their rage. “What? You got pregnant with another woman’s husband?” “We can’t let that little bastard be born!” “Get her!” A heavy boot slammed into my abdomen. A wave of agonizing pain washed over me. I felt a warm gush of liquid, and a pool of blood began to spread beneath me. I clutched my stomach, the pain unbearable. But they didn’t stop. They kept kicking, over and over. Through the forest of legs, I saw him. Asher, walking away, flanked by bodyguards, with Aria by his side. I tried to push through the mob, to crawl toward them.

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After seven years of marriage, my husband—a decorated police captain—still can’t recognize my face due to his prosopagnosia, or face blindness. He relies on my signature crisp apple blossom perfume to “know his wife by scent.” If I forget to wear it, his voice turns to ice: “Excuse me, who are you?” or “Ma’am, please leave. My wife will be home soon.” Living like this is its own kind of hell. Even in bed, I worry that if I sweat too much and the scent fades, he’ll shove me away as a stranger. Still, I found a twisted comfort: if Robert can’t remember my face, at least he’d never cheat. A husband who couldn’t even recognize another woman. That illusion shattered when I found his hidden sketchbook. Page after page, drawn in his own hand, was a woman’s face, rendered with vivid tenderness. Judy. His first love. And I finally understood: the reason he could never remember my face was because his mind had room for only one. But now, as that very same first love—now a hardened criminal—holds a knife to my back, his gun hand is starting to shake. Robert… can you see my face now? 1 A man’s body was found on the riverbank at dusk. By the time I arrived with my M.E. kit, the crime scene was already wrapped in a triple layer of yellow tape. My husband, Robert Hayes, is the captain of the Homicide division. He was surveying the scene, his focus absolute, the shoulders of his uniform pulled sharp and straight over his tall frame. He cut an impressive figure. I was in such a rush that I’d forgotten my official lab coat and credentials. The moment I ducked under the tape, a hand clamped down on my wrist like a vice, forcefully shoving me back. “Civilian! Stay back! You’re contaminating the scene!” My husband’s voice was as cold and hard as frozen steel. I looked up into his eyes. All I saw in their depths was professional vigilance, not a single flicker of recognition. The other detectives froze. A younger one, Mike, scratched his head and muttered, “Uh… Captain? That’s Dr. Hayes. Leah. Your wife?” Robert’s grip vanished. A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck as he struggled for an explanation, for a way to justify the absurdity of a man not recognizing his own wife. “I…” I’m a medical examiner. Perfume is a strict no-go at work. Usually, Robert identifies me by my lab coat and ID badge. Without them, I was just another anonymous face, another potential threat. I quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “It’s fine. Captain Hayes has been burning the candle at both ends. It’s dark, I’m in street clothes… he’s just in the zone.” I set my kit on the ground and crouched, pretending to organize my tools. The truth was, I was hiding my face, willing the burning in my eyes not to turn into tears. Seven years. We’ve been married for seven years. The face blindness started in the third year of our marriage. It was sporadic at first, then became more and more frequent. Once, he’d mistaken me for a burglar as I was cooking in our own kitchen and put me in a takedown hold. My shoulder was dislocated. He has prosopagnosia. A peculiar kind that only affects his ability to recognize women’s faces. Men, he can distinguish just fine. But it’s a dangerous condition, not just for our marriage, but for his career. Department regulations are clear: any severe cognitive impairment is grounds for suspension. He was terrified of being benched, of it torpedoing his career, so he begged me to help him hide it. As his wife, what else could I do but agree? The sun was beginning to stain the horizon by the time I finished my preliminary examination. I climbed into Robert’s car for the ride back to the precinct. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, his voice low. “Thanks. For back there.” He paused. “That was a close call. They almost figured it out.” I turned to look at his rigid profile. 2 “Robert, we can’t keep doing this. Your face blindness is getting worse. Sooner or later, the whole department is going to know.” My voice was pleading. “You need to see a doctor.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. His tone dropped several degrees. “Treat what? So I have face blindness. Has it stopped me from closing cases? Do you want me to get suspended? Shuffled off to a desk job in Logistics?” His voice rose, thick with frustration. “I’m a homicide detective, Leah! My whole life is about solving these cases!” It was always like this. The moment I brought it up, he’d explode. “I’m just worried about you, Robert. I don’t want to see you crash and burn.” I tried again, my voice softer now. “That sting operation last month… you almost shot our female informant because you thought she was the suspect. If I hadn’t screamed your name…” “Enough!” he snapped, cutting me off. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you to manage me. Ninety percent of the perps in my cases are men. I don’t see how not recognizing a woman’s face is some critical flaw. It’s not like I’m working Vice!” The conversation died. We drove the rest of the way to the precinct in a heavy, suffocating silence. He went to his office; I went to the M.E.’s lab. Another long day bled into another long night. When I finally got home, Robert wasn’t there. Not unusual. A fresh murder case meant overtime was the new normal. Despite being exhausted after more than twelve hours on my feet, the wifely duties still called. I went into his study to tidy up, gathering the work notes he’d left scattered on his desk. As I picked up a leather-bound notebook, a loose piece of drawing paper fluttered to the floor. It was the profile of a woman. Delicate features, the corner of her mouth lifted in a gentle smile. The lines were drawn with such care, such obvious repetition, that it was clear the artist knew this face by heart. I froze. He couldn’t remember women’s faces. There was a painful familiarity in her features. I rushed to the bookshelf, pulling out our old photo albums. There, in his Police Academy graduation photo, I found her. It was his first love. The academy’s golden girl, Judy Sterling. So, it wasn’t that he couldn’t recognize women. He just couldn’t be bothered to remember me. His face blindness had one exception, and her name was Judy. I stood there, the sketch clutched in my hand, my own foolish words echoing in my head. “At least he’ll never cheat…” What a pathetic joke. I’d been lying to myself for years. He hadn’t cheated on me. To cheat, you have to be on the same path in the first place. Robert had never even been on my track. I knew the story, or parts of it. She was in his graduating class, a beauty who got a cushy public relations job at the main department office. Then, she’d abruptly resigned, saying she was moving abroad to live with relatives. People said Robert was a wreck for months after she left, before he channeled all that broken energy into his work. He became a machine, closing case after impossible case, climbing the ranks until he made captain by thirty. That’s when I met him. A driven detective and a rookie medical examiner. We were like something out of a TV crime drama, the classic pairing. I used to think it was the most romantic thing in the world—partners in life, partners in justice. Now I just saw it for what it was: a fantasy I’d built all by myself. Robert came home around 11 PM, looking drained. He saw me sitting in his study and his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Is that the new cleaning lady? It’s late, why are you still here? I told you, living room, kitchen, and bathroom only. Don’t touch anything in my study!” He didn’t recognize me. Again. “Robert,” I said, my voice level and calm. “It’s Leah. Your wife.” 3 He blinked, processing, then set down his briefcase. “Sorry. It’s been a hell of a day.” He sniffed the air. “Did you change your perfume? You know I only recognize the apple blossom.” My job means I’m surrounded by the smells of death and decay. In my off-hours, I love perfume. My personal favorites are floral—rose, jasmine, lily. But ever since Robert’s condition worsened, he’d made me promise to only wear that one specific apple scent. I’d never thought much of it. Until today. Until I saw her face sketched from his memory. “Robert… was apple blossom Judy’s scent?” My voice was quiet, but it sliced through the air. “You can’t remember my face, so you make me smell like your first love. What does that make me to you? A substitute? A scented doll?” He stiffened, his expression turning cold. “Leah, I’m exhausted. Can we not do this? Why are you suddenly bringing up Judy? That was over a long time ago.” He wouldn’t admit it. But we were both in law enforcement. We dealt in evidence. I was done with pointless arguments. I held up the sketch, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize someone with face blindness could be such a talented artist. It’s as absurd as a mute becoming an opera singer.” His face darkened. He snatched the drawing from my hand, his voice accusatory. “Who gave you permission to go through my things?” “Go through your things?” The bitterness in my laugh felt corrosive. “My own husband can’t remember what I look like, but he can draw his ex-girlfriend from memory with photographic precision! We’ve been married seven years, Robert. For five of those years, I have covered for you, lied for you, put my own career at risk to protect yours. And this is how you repay me?” He was silent for a long moment before he finally gave a slow, defeated nod. “Yes. I never forgot her. She left so suddenly… I never got closure. I know it’s not fair to you, Leah, but I can’t help it. Her face is the only one my mind can hold on to. It’s a prison for me, too. I hoped you could understand.” Understand? What woman on earth could understand that? This wasn’t about love anymore. This was about dignity. About my very existence as a person. “Robert, let’s get a divorce.” His head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Leah, you want a divorce over this? I haven’t seen Judy since the day she left! You’re jealous of a memory?” “She’s not just a memory,” I said, shaking my head. “She is a part of our present. And you’re right, I’m not just jealous of a memory. I’m furious that you’ve made me live with her ghost.” I held up a hand to stop his protests. “What you call a beautiful memory, Robert, is a whip you’ve been lashing me with for years. I will not spend another day with a man who has so little respect for me.” Seeing the resolve in my eyes, he let out a long, weary sigh. “Alright. I’ll agree to a divorce. I know I’ve wronged you.” He hesitated. “But can we wait until this case is closed? You know the pressure we’re under—a homicide case has to be cleared. I’m up for the Deputy Chief position, and a divorce right now… it wouldn’t look good. Once this murder is solved, I’ll sign whatever you want.” My mind flashed back seven years. I was a fresh-faced intern out of the academy, on my first real crime scene—a brutal gang fight. One of the thugs, high on adrenaline and cornered, made a run for it, charging right at me with a bloody knife. I was too green, too scared to move. It was Robert who threw himself in front of me, taking the blade in his left shoulder. The scar is still there. That was how we began. 4 A wave of something soft and tired washed over me. “Fine,” I said, taking a deep breath. “We’ll wait until your case is closed. But we sign the divorce agreement now, post-dated for one month from today. If the case isn’t solved in a month, the agreement goes into effect anyway. I can’t wait forever.” I rarely go shopping, but that weekend I went to the mall, desperate for a distraction. I found a beautiful cream-colored dress, and after trying it on, I paid for it at the register. When I went back to the counter to pick up my purchase, a glamorous woman was berating the sales clerk, clutching the very dress I had just bought. “I want this dress. Tell the other customer she can’t have it!” she snapped, her voice shrill and arrogant. “I’ll pay double!” It was Judy. She was back. She looked nothing like a former cop; she carried herself like a spoiled mob wife throwing a tantrum. My husband, I could let her have. The dress was another matter. “Excuse me,” I said, stepping forward. “I believe that’s mine. I’ve already paid for it.” Judy whirled around and, without warning, slapped me across the face. The force of it made my ears ring. “Who the hell do you think you are, trying to take something from me?” I am not the same inexperienced rookie from seven years ago. I’ve seen the worst of humanity laid out on a steel table. I’ve been through combat and self-defense training. I no longer needed a man to protect me. I could handle myself. CRACK. My own hand flew, connecting with her cheek in a slap that was just as hard. “I may not be anyone special, but I’m not someone you can just assault.” The slap was immensely satisfying. A red handprint blossomed on her perfect, porcelain skin. “What the hell are you doing?!” A furious voice cut through the air. It was Robert, dressed in plain clothes, storming towards us. His face was a thundercloud of rage as he pointed a finger at me. “What is wrong with you? Assaulting someone in broad daylight? You think you’re above the law?” His voice was a low growl. “You’re coming with me to the precinct for questioning. This is at least seven days in a holding cell!” He turned his back on me, his voice instantly softening as he fussed over Judy. “Judy, are you okay? Did she hurt you?” “Don’t worry,” he murmured, all protective concern. “I won’t let her get away with this.” Judy, the raging harpy from moments before, transformed into a damsel in distress, her eyes welling with crocodile tears. “I’m fine, Robert. I just wanted to buy a pretty dress to wear for you… I didn’t know she was so violent.” “You’re not fine, your face is already swelling,” Robert fretted, his expression full of pain on her behalf. He turned back to me, his eyes blazing with fury. “Well? What are you waiting for? ID! Where do you work? This is absolutely unacceptable!” The sales clerk tried to intervene, to explain that Judy had started it, but Robert silenced her with a glare. “I wasn’t talking to you! Stay out of it! This is official police business!” Watching my own husband play the white knight for another woman, I felt no sadness. Only a profound, liberating sense of absurdity. “Officer,” I said, my voice steady, “am I allowed to contact my family? If I’m being detained, I think my husband should know.” Robert launched into another tirade. “Fine! Call your husband! I’d love to have a word with him! What kind of man lets his wife run around acting like a common thug? He needs to learn how to control you!” I met his furious gaze, my own calm and clear. I bit my lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood, but I felt no pain. “My husband’s name is Robert Hayes,” I said, each word a carefully placed stone. “He’s the Captain of the Homicide Division for the city. And not only does he fail to ‘control’ me… he can’t even recognize my face.”

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My parents were murdered and dismembered in our home, and the family company was collapsing. I begged my fiancée Ginger for help, but she married a man named Finn in a lavish “wedding of the century.” At my lowest point, Ginger’s sister Eleanor—a police captain—proposed to me at my parents’ funeral. She vowed to find the truth and be my support. I said yes. The case eventually went cold and was closed. Grieving, I let Eleanor handle everything: my parents’ affairs, my debts. She brought me into her home. Five years into our marriage, I overheard her talking to a colleague: “Eleanor, there was only one real suspect in the Grant case: Finn. Why did you bury it? How can you live with yourself, letting Caleb stay under the same roof as his parents’ killer?” “Finn is innocent,” Eleanor insisted. “He was just in the wrong place. I believe him.” Then she added, “I may have betrayed my badge, but I’ve been true to my heart. Even if he didn’t choose me, I’ll make sure he’s happy.” The gift I held for her burned in my hands. My parents’ killer had been beside me all along, and the woman I loved had protected him for five years. This marriage was built on a lie—and it was over. 1 Through the door, I could hear Eleanor gazing at a photograph on the wall, her voice thick with the sorrow of unrequited love. “Since Finn didn’t choose me, the only thing I can do is clear the path for him, remove every obstacle. As for Caleb… I’ll keep a close eye on him. He’ll never find out the truth.” Her colleague sounded disappointed, almost pleading. “You’ve been on the force for eight years, your commendations could fill a wall. Why throw it all away for Finn? He doesn’t love you! And his presence at the Grant house that night was no coincidence!” “If this ever comes out, you’ll lose your job, your reputation, everything. You could even go to prison. Are you insane?” Eleanor let out a soft, dismissive laugh. “Insane? Maybe. Love doesn’t follow logic. The case is closed. Don’t bring it up again.” “And what about Caleb? You brought him here, made him face his parents’ killer every single day. Have you ever thought about him? He loves you so much, and you—” Eleanor’s voice turned to ice. “That’s enough. I said, Finn is not the murderer.” A pause. Then, quieter. “If someone has to pay for this, then I’ll give him my life.” “I just don’t get you… You have motive, you have evidence… Fine. If you think this is right, then so be it.” Footsteps were approaching. I scrambled back to my room, a fugitive in my own home. The images from five years ago flooded my mind—the blood, the horror. The company’s collapse that followed. Eleanor had been my salvation, pulling me from the wreckage, paying off every debt, welcoming me into her life. I thought I had found true love, drowning myself in a bliss I never thought possible. But it was all a meticulously crafted lie. She hadn’t brought me into her home out of love; she’d brought me here to keep me under her thumb. To monitor me. To protect Finn. Our marriage, these five years of affection, were nothing but compensation born from her guilt. And I, like a fool, had paraded my gilded cage to the world, showing off the scraps of her pity as if they were treasures. The irony was a blade in my gut. The front door clicked shut; her colleague was gone. Moments later, Eleanor stumbled into our room, a little unsteady from drink. She cupped my face, her eyes, hazy with alcohol, full of a familiar tenderness as she kissed my forehead. “Why are you standing by the door?” “It’s nothing,” I lied. “I was going to get you some water, but I spilled it.” “Let the housekeeper handle that. You’ve been so tired lately. You need to rest. It breaks my heart to see you like this.” She leaned in and kissed my lips, her touch as gentle and loving as it had always been. But this time, I felt no warmth. Only a profound, chilling cold. To think a person could go to such lengths for someone else. As I closed my eyes, a single tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek. I helped her to the bed and tucked her in. She was asleep in minutes. Sitting beside her, I reached for her phone. The password was Finn’s birthday. Typing it in unlocked a secondary, hidden system on her device. The desktop was clean, except for a single, overflowing photo album. She had photographed the entire case file of my parents’ murder. A thousand images. And on every page, one name appeared again and again: Finn. From his motive to the evidence against him. There was even a still from a security camera video showing him at the gate of our villa that night. It was all there. But the final page was stamped with a single conclusion: UNSOLVED. She had taken the physical file home, afraid her colleagues would grow suspicious, leaving only this digital copy for herself. A secret she alone could see. Her bias, her protection, laid bare. The sight was a punch to the stomach, leaving me breathless with a sour, burning pain. Eleanor had always been a principled, decisive detective. It was one of the things I’d fallen in love with. I never imagined she would cast aside every principle for him. There was another folder, a private, locked album. I clicked on it. It was filled with pictures of Finn. Ten thousand photos documenting his life over the past five years, after he had married her sister, Ginger. Every public appearance, every family gathering—Eleanor had saved them all. And in every single group family photo, my face had been neatly cropped out. The implication was brutally clear. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I couldn’t look anymore. I took pictures of everything with my own phone. Then, I booked a flight out of the country, for three days from now. And I began the process of canceling my identity, every official document, every tie to this life. I didn’t sleep. At dawn, as I was in the bathroom, my phone buzzed with an official notification. Eleanor’s voice, laced with confusion, came from the bedroom. “Caleb? Why are you canceling your ID?” I hurried back, taking the phone from her hand, my voice even. “It’s nothing. It’s about to expire, so I scheduled an appointment to get it renewed.” I changed the subject. “Don’t you have training today? You should get going.” She didn’t press, just wrapped her arms around me, nuzzling against my neck. “Honey, are you planning a surprise for me?” I froze. She reached up and playfully tapped my nose. “I saw the new necklace you bought. You can’t hide anything from me, you know. I can read you like an open book.” She grew serious, her voice soft. “It’s almost the anniversary of your parents’ death. We should visit their graves, tell them we’re married. We could have a family dinner, too. Ginger hasn’t been home in a while.” I managed a weak smile, saying nothing. She hugged me tighter, spinning me around in a circle, excited. For five years, she had constantly tried to mend the rift between me and her sister. I’d always thought it was a sign of her love for me. Now I saw it for what it was. A calculated move. An excuse to see Finn. This five-year charade had to end. The moment she left for work, I left the house. I went to a lawyer and had a divorce agreement drawn up. I finalized the cancellation of my identity. With the original case file hidden by Eleanor, going to the police now would be useless. Leaving was my only option. When I went to her precinct to drop off the papers, I overheard some of her colleagues talking. “Is that Captain Hayes’s husband? He looks familiar… Oh, right! The Grant family massacre five years ago!” “Do you want to get assigned extra drills? Shut up. The Captain said he’s not the killer. Don’t start rumors, she’ll lose it if she hears you. She’s fought with the Chief over this case more times than I can count.” “Look at him, though. Dressed head to toe in designer clothes, probably worth a fortune. I heard he just got back from overseas. A guy that rich wouldn’t need to kill someone, right? And the way the Captain looks at him… she’d have arrested him herself if he was the one.” My nails dug into my palms. I stood outside her office, frozen by the familiar voices inside. “Has she been good to you these past few years?” It was Finn. “You know your own sister,” Eleanor’s voice was laced with a bittersweet ache. “When she heard I was coming back, she insisted on buying me a private jet. She’s just like that… married for five years and still acts like a child…” Eleanor’s voice was heavy with a sorrow she tried to suppress. “That’s good. Then I can rest easy.” “Sister,” Finn said, his tone smooth as silk, “I have to thank you for what you did back then. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be rotting in prison right now.” He sighed dramatically. “I probably shouldn’t come to the family dinner tomorrow night. It’ll just upset Caleb. Every time he sees me, he’s reminded of his parents. I don’t want him to cause a scene…” Classic Finn. He had gotten everything he wanted, and still, he couldn’t resist taking a passive-aggressive jab at me. I remembered sneaking a look at the case file years ago. I knew he was the only suspect. At Ginger’s wedding, I had publicly accused him, tried to have him taken into custody. But everyone, my own fiancée included, had turned on me, calling me a disgrace. Only Eleanor had stepped in to defend me. She had been my only salvation. And now, she was the one who had cast me into the abyss. Inside the office, Eleanor forced a smile and pulled a small ceramic sculpture from her drawer. “I made this myself. It’s not as fancy as what you can buy in a store, but it’s from the heart. I heard Ginger is pregnant. Think of it as a gift for the baby.” Finn accepted it with a triumphant grin. My hand trembled, rattling the door slightly. Eleanor glanced up and saw me through the glass partition, her expression instantly tightening. “Caleb? What are you doing here?” She rushed to the door. “Don’t misunderstand. Finn just got back in the country and came to say hello. We were just talking about the dinner tomorrow.” “Caleb, long time no see,” Finn said, rising from his chair. He was dressed in the latest bespoke suit, making me feel like a beggar off the street. I forced a nod, swallowing the bitterness. “It’s fine. I was just passing by. If you’re busy, I’ll head home.” Thinking I was angry, Eleanor followed me out, explaining all the way to the car. “Caleb, don’t overthink it. Ginger’s pregnant, and I was just asking him for some advice so we can start trying.” She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “You’ve always wanted a child of our own, haven’t you? I’m ready now.” Looking at her feigned concern, I almost laughed. She would violate her oath to protect Finn, even sacrifice her own marriage. Now that she had what she wanted, who was this performance for? “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice hollow. “The past is the past. You said it yourself, it was all a misunderstanding. I’m not that petty. You two catch up. I’ll wait for you at home.” She breathed a sigh of relief and personally walked me to my car. As I drove away, I saw the looks of pity from her colleagues. I ignored them, pulling over to make final edits to the divorce agreement on my phone. Back at the house, I gathered everything Eleanor had ever given me over the past five years and set it all on fire in the hearth. As the last flame died, the doorbell rang. It was a delivery. The package was purchased by Eleanor, but the recipient was Finn. I signed for it. Inside, it was filled with high-end baby products. A moment later, a text from Eleanor arrived. “Caleb, I had some office supplies accidentally delivered to the house. Don’t open it, I’ll pick it up when I get home.” I sent back a simple emoji and resealed the box. I was already leaving. I had no energy left to unravel her clumsy lies. That night, Eleanor called to say she was working late on a case. A few hours later, Finn posted on his feed for the first time in ages. His location was tagged at a luxury downtown hotel. In the photo, a woman’s police uniform epaulet was clearly visible on a chair. On the table, her hand, with the ring removed, showed a pale, untanned mark on her finger. In the reflection of a wine glass, a woman was smiling beautifully, a man gazing at her with adoration. I gave the post a ‘like,’ just as he wanted. Then I packed my bags. The next afternoon, Eleanor texted, telling me to meet at her parents’ estate. When I arrived empty-handed, my in-laws’ faces immediately soured. “Eleanor is working herself to the bone, and you can’t even be bothered to bring a small gift for us? Who are you trying to intimidate with that long face?” A nearby relative chimed in. “It’s been five years. Do you still think you’re the golden boy of the Grant family? Wake up! The Grant empire is dust! If Eleanor hadn’t used her life savings to pay off your debts, you’d be selling yourself on the street right now!” “We’re your wife’s parents. With your own gone, we’re the only parents you have. Have you no manners? People will think our Eleanor was desperate to marry you!” Just then, Finn appeared at the door, his arms laden with expensive health supplements. My in-laws’ faces lit up, and they rushed to greet him. “Finn, you’re here! The flight must have been exhausting. Your brother-in-law will cook later, you just go upstairs and rest.” “You always bring so much! We’re old, we don’t need any of this. You and Ginger should save your money.” “See? Finn is so thoughtful. Not like some people who show up looking like we owe them money. His parents have been dead for five years and he still can’t let it go. Such bad luck.” Despite her words, my mother-in-law eagerly took the gifts. Finn, beaming, linked his arm with hers. “Mom, don’t say that. The Grant case is still unsolved after five years, it’s only natural for Caleb to be upset. He’s been through enough, let’s not rub salt in the wound. We’re all family now.” He winked. “Besides, Ginger is pregnant, and I hear Eleanor is trying, too! It’s a double blessing for our family today! So please, don’t make my brother-in-law cook. You know how sister gets when she comes home and finds him in the kitchen.” At the mention of Eleanor, my mother-in-law’s smile faltered. “A daughter married is a daughter lost! And here I am, worrying about her day and night.” If this were the past, I would have believed Eleanor stayed away to protect me from her family. But knowing the truth, I felt nothing. She didn’t want to come home because she didn’t want to face Finn as his sister-in-law. She didn’t want me to bring up the murder and make him uncomfortable. The crowd of relatives fawned over Finn, praising how well he looked. I was left forgotten by the door, a cold wind whipping around me. Just then, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. It was Eleanor, finally arrived. She gently tapped my nose. “Why are you standing out here? Did Mom and Dad give you a hard time again?” Seeing her daughter, my mother-in-law’s tone softened. “How would I dare scold the great Grant heir? He’s far too precious. You’d better get him upstairs to rest.” Finn stepped in, playing the peacemaker. “Mom, I’ve already ordered catering from the hotel. It’ll be here soon. You should rest, too. Don’t stress over these things.” The relatives immediately started praising Finn again, and I was once again forgotten. Eleanor guided me to a guest room to rest, then went back to explain to her mother that I was feeling unwell. The family’s chatter and laughter drifted through the closed door, the sound suffocating me. I decided to step out for some air, but Finn was suddenly standing in front of me, a smug smirk on his face as he looked at my pale complexion. “Old classmate. Long time no see. What’s wrong? You don’t recognize me after five years?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, I should really thank you. If you hadn’t brought me home that night, I never would have found my real enemy.” My fists clenched. “Enemy? What are you talking about? What did my parents ever do to you? Why did you have to murder them, to… to cut them into pieces?” He dropped the act, his eyes turning vicious. “What did they do to me? You should ask what they didn’t do! Because of them, my father’s company went bankrupt! He was driven to jump off a building! Your family destroyed mine, and now you can’t handle a little payback?” He leaned closer, his voice a venomous hiss. “How does it feel? Seeing your parents’ killer standing right in front of you, living his best life, while you can do nothing? You know, I have to thank your fiancée and your wife. Without them, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” He grinned. “Your father was crying for you before he died. I even recorded a little video of him begging. Want to see it? Get on your knees and ask me nicely.” The image of my parents’ mangled bodies flashed before my eyes. A red rage blinded me. I swung, my fist connecting hard with his jaw. He grunted, but instead of anger, he smiled. He let my momentum carry him, collapsing dramatically to the floor. Before I could react, Eleanor was there. She kicked me squarely in the chest, the force of a trained officer sending me sprawling. She rushed to Finn, cradling him in her arms, her eyes blazing with fury as she looked at me. “Caleb, what are you doing? Are you insane? Finn came up here to call you for dinner, and you attack him?” The family rushed in, their glares like daggers. Finn, clinging weakly to her shoulder, sobbed. “Ellie, I’m so sorry. I was just trying to apologize to Caleb for the misunderstanding five years ago, I didn’t think he would just… attack me.” He sniffled. “It’s okay. Ginger broke off the engagement, we wronged him first. Let’s just call it even. Please don’t be mad at Caleb.” A sharp pain shot through my chest. A broken rib. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. “Misunderstanding? How dare you call it a misunderstanding?” I looked past him, at my wife. “Eleanor, what really happened five years ago? Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” A flicker of panic crossed her face, but she held her ground. “I am still investigating that case. I told you it has nothing to do with Finn. Why do you insist on blaming him? I am a police officer. Don’t you trust me?” Her voice hardened. “You had no right to lay a hand on him. Caleb, apologize to Finn. Now.” My mother-in-law stormed forward and slapped me across the face. “You lunatic! Still trying to frame Finn! Everyone knows how good my daughter is at her job! If she says he’s innocent, he’s innocent!” Her voice dripped with contempt. “You’re just an orphan whose parents are dead. Who do you think you are? If my daughter hadn’t saved you, you’d be selling your body in some hotel to pay off your debts! Your parents were crooks, and they got what they deserved!” She turned to Eleanor. “Ellie, forget him. Let’s get Finn to the hospital.” Eleanor didn’t give me a second glance. She helped Finn up and left. Five years of my life, gone, in a single moment. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. That night, my in-laws threw me out of the house. A passerby found me and took me to the emergency room. A broken rib, just a centimeter from my heart. Late that night, I got a text from Eleanor. It was full of placating words. “Caleb, don’t overthink what happened tonight. I know you didn’t mean it. Finn is my brother-in-law, I have to answer to Ginger. How about this, once he’s stable, I’ll take you to your favorite restaurant to apologize? Please don’t be angry. My parents were just upset, they didn’t mean what they said.” So, she remembered she had a husband. A bitter, ironic smile touched my lips. “Okay. I’ll wait for you.” “Thank you for understanding, honey.” That same night, Finn posted a photo from his hospital bed. In it, a woman was asleep in the chair beside him, her face etched with worry even in her dreams. The next morning, I checked myself out of the hospital. I took my luggage and went straight to the airport. On the way, Eleanor sent me the location of the restaurant. “Honey, I have a surprise for you. I’ll be home to pick you up soon. Wait for me, okay?” I opened Finn’s social media feed. He had posted a video two minutes earlier. In it, Eleanor was carefully feeding him spoonfuls of porridge, her eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen before. I quietly liked the video, then deleted their numbers and blocked them. As I boarded the plane, I sent an anonymous, formal complaint to the chief of police, attaching all the photos of the case file I had taken from Eleanor’s phone. I mailed the signed divorce agreement to her office. At the restaurant, Eleanor was busy directing her colleagues, helping them set up for her surprise. Rose petals covered the floor. She kept checking her phone, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach as my messages went unanswered. She was about to call me when a uniformed officer rushed in, his face pale. “Captain Hayes, it’s bad! You need to get back to the precinct, now! Someone filed an official complaint about the Grant case, and the Chief is looking for you everywhere! And… and there’s been an incident with Mr. Grant!”

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After my best friend got a boyfriend, she became a phone addict. One night, her 47th call made me miss a critical work alert, costing me my job. Yet she accused me of being jealous of her happiness. The next day, she “surprised” me by showing up with her boyfriend at my job interview, getting me disqualified. When my mother had a heart attack, her incessant calls caused my phone to crash—I missed the hospital’s update and never saw my mother alive again. At the funeral, she sobbed louder than I did, claiming it was her fault. Driven to despair, I jumped off a rooftop. When I woke up, I was back at the day she started dating him. 01 The name ‘Chloe’ glowed on my phone screen. Memories from my past life flooded back like a tidal wave. This was the first day she started dating him, and the first day of my nightmare. Taking a deep breath, I answered. “Anna!!! I have the most amazing news!” Her familiar shriek pierced my eardrum. “I’m in a relationship! It’s with Mark! You know, that gorgeous guy from the party last week!” “He just asked me to be his girlfriend! Ahhh, I’m going to lose my mind!” I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning white. “Anna, are you listening? Why aren’t you saying anything?” “I’m listening,” I said, forcing my voice to remain calm. “You’re not happy for me, are you?” Her tone immediately shifted to wounded. In my past life, this was where it all began. Every reaction, every word, was twisted into an accusation of jealousy. “Congratulations,” I said flatly. “That’s it?” she huffed, dissatisfied. “We’ve been best friends for ten years! Can’t you at least pretend to be a little more excited?” “Chloe, I’m at work.” “Work, work, that’s all you ever care about!” Her voice climbed an octave. “Is your stupid job more important than me getting a boyfriend?” I glanced at the project timeline on my computer. The proposal was due in three days. Last time, her endless calls had made me miss the deadline. “Chloe, can we talk tonight? I’m really busy right now.” “No! I need to share this with you right now!” “Mark just kissed me! In the middle of the coffee shop! Oh my god, my heart is still pounding!” “He said I’m the cutest girl he’s ever met!” “And he wants to take me to the movies!” I silently put the phone on speaker and continued typing. She rambled on for twenty minutes. Finally, I had to cut in. “Chloe, I really have to get back to work.” The line went silent for a few seconds. Then, a quavering, tearful voice. “Anna, you’ve changed.” “You used to be happy for me. Now, all you care about is your job.” “Is it because I have a boyfriend now? You don’t want to talk to me anymore?” The familiar guilt trip. Last time, I would have felt guilty. I would have apologized, dropped my work, and spent hours listening to her. Not this time. “Chloe, I wish you all the best. I’m hanging up now.” I decisively ended the call. The phone immediately rang again. I silenced it and focused on my work. Ten minutes later, a storm of texts. Chloe: “How could you hang up on me!” Chloe: “Anna, you’re being so unfair!” Chloe: “I thought you were my best friend, and this is how you treat me?” Chloe: “Are you jealous of me?” Chloe: “ANSWER ME!!!” I muted her notifications. By the time I left the office, I had 32 missed calls and 156 unread messages. I turned off my phone and went to the hospital to pick up my mom from her check-up. “Annie, you’re so early today!” my mom said, her face lighting up. “The project’s wrapping up. I’m taking you out for a nice dinner.” Last time, I was always late to see my mom because I was too busy managing Chloe’s emotional crises. This time, I was saving my time for the people who truly mattered. At 9 PM, I turned my phone back on. 78 missed calls. Over 300 messages. The latest one read: “Anna, Mark and I are downstairs. Come out and talk to us.” I walked to the window and looked down. Chloe was in a pink dress, nestled in Mark’s arms. The sight of them, so close, was like a needle in my eye. I drew the curtains and texted her back: “I’m asleep.” Her reply was instantaneous: “I can see your lights on! You’re just avoiding me!” “Anna, you get down here right now, or I’m going to keep ringing your doorbell!” Sure enough, the piercing buzz of the doorbell started, sharp and incessant. I picked up the intercom. “Chloe, if you press it one more time, I’m calling the police.” “The police?” Her voice crackled through the speaker, thick with disbelief. “I’m your best friend! You’re going to call the cops on me?” “It’s ten o’clock at night,” I said calmly. “You’re disturbing the peace.” “Disturbing the peace? I just want to see my best friend!” Her voice grew shriller. Then, Mark’s voice cut in. “Come on, babe, maybe she’s really tired.” “She’s not tired! She just doesn’t want to see me!” “I don’t care! She needs to come down here!” Chloe started throwing a full-blown tantrum. The doorbell ringing became more frantic. I disconnected the power to the doorbell and calmly dialed 911. “There’s someone causing a disturbance outside my building.” Ten minutes later, the police arrived. Chloe and Mark were taken to the station to give a statement. As they were led away, Chloe screamed at me, tears streaming down her face, “Anna! How could you do this to me? We’ve been best friends for ten years!” I closed the door, my face a mask of indifference. Ten years of friendship? Or ten years of me being her emotional support animal? 02 The next morning, my phone vibrated violently. A glance at the screen showed 48 missed calls. Chloe had been calling since 2 AM. I turned off the phone and got ready for work. As I opened the door, I found them standing there. Chloe’s eyes were red and swollen, Mark was in a crisp suit. “Anna!” Chloe lunged to hug me. I stepped aside. She stumbled, looking at me with wounded eyes. “Are you still mad?” “I didn’t mean to bother you, I was just so excited and wanted to share.” “We were at the station for three hours last night. I did a lot of thinking.” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come over so late.” As she spoke, the tears started again. Mark handed her a tissue. “Don’t cry, babe. Anna’s not the type to hold a grudge.” He turned to me. “Anna, Chloe is really sorry. She was worried all night that you were really mad at her. You two have been friends for so long, after all.” I checked my watch. “I have to get to work.” “Wait!” Chloe grabbed my arm. “Have you forgiven me?” “Let go of me first.” “Not until you say you forgive me!” “Chloe, I’m in a hurry.” “Then I’ll go with you!” she insisted, clinging to me. “I’ll drive you,” Mark offered immediately. I wanted to refuse, but Chloe was already dragging me towards the elevator. The whole ride, Chloe chattered nonstop. “Anna, you know what? Mark is so good to me.” “After we left the station last night, he wasn’t mad at me at all.” “He even said it was his fault for letting me go to your place so late.” “He’s honestly the kindest man I’ve ever met.” Mark caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Which company do you work for, Anna?” “Apex Tech,” Chloe answered for me. “She’s a project manager. She’s amazing!” “Impressive, making it to management at such a young age,” Mark said, his tone layered with something I couldn’t quite place. “It’s a shame she’s too busy to date.” “Anna’s 28 and still single!” Chloe said thoughtlessly. “My mom always says a woman’s priority should be her family. No matter how successful you are in your career, it’s pathetic if you don’t have a man to love you.” I stared out the window, not bothering to reply. As we neared my office, Chloe suddenly said, “Anna, let’s have lunch together!” “My treat, as an apology.” “I have a meeting.” “Then dinner! You have to be free for dinner!” “I’m working late.” “Anna!” She was on the verge of tears again. “You just don’t want to forgive me, do you? You’re still mad!” Mark pulled the car over. “We’re here.” I opened the door. “Thanks for the ride.” “Wait!” Chloe scrambled out after me. “When are you free? I really want to have a proper talk with you. It’s been so long since we just sat and talked.” I turned to face her. “Chloe, we’re adults now. I have my work, and you have your life. We can’t be joined at the hip like we were in school.” “But we’re best friends!” “And because we’re friends, we should respect each other’s lives.” With that, I walked into the building, the sound of her crying echoing behind me. For the next few days, Chloe left me alone. She sent a few texts, but they were just casual updates. I thought she had finally gotten the message. Until Friday afternoon. I was putting the final touches on my proposal when the office door swung open. Chloe walked in, carrying a birthday cake, with Mark trailing behind her. “Surprise!” she yelled. The entire office turned to look. “Anna! Happy birthday!” I froze. It was my birthday. But I never, ever celebrated at the office. “What… what are you doing here?” “Celebrating your birthday, of course!” Chloe placed the cake on my desk. “I remembered you love mango cake!” “Make a wish!” My coworkers started to join in. “Make a wish! Make a wish!” My team lead, Sarah, walked over, frowning. “Anna, what’s this?” “My… my best friend,” I managed, my face burning. “I’m sorry, I had no idea she was coming.” “Well, since it’s your birthday, cut the cake quickly,” Sarah said, glancing at the clock. “Don’t let it interfere with work.” Chloe had already lit the candles. “Hurry, make a wish!” With everyone watching, I had no choice but to close my eyes and pretend. When I opened them, I saw Chloe was livestreaming the whole thing on her phone. “Hey everyone! This is my bestie!” she narrated to her phone. “It’s her birthday, and I came to surprise her! Look! She’s so touched, she’s about to cry!” I snatched the phone from her hand and ended the livestream. “Chloe! What are you doing?!” “I’m capturing a beautiful moment!” she said, completely unapologetic. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime memory! Of course, I have to go live!” “This is my office!” I hissed, keeping my voice low. “You can’t just livestream in here!” “Why not?” she shrugged. “It’s not like I’m filming company secrets.” Sarah’s expression was thunderous. Mark finally stepped in. “Babe, maybe we should go. Anna still has work to do.” “No!” Chloe shook him off. “We haven’t even cut the cake!” She grabbed the plastic knife and sliced into the cake. A glob of frosting splattered onto my keyboard. “Oops, sorry about that,” she giggled.

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1 For three years, my soul has been trapped in the ceiling. Tonight, my family hired a paranormal livestreamer to prove I faked my own death. During the broadcast, my mother wrapped her arm around Lily, the girl they raised in my place, and called me a venomous, ungrateful snake. My brother’s voice was cold as ice. “When she was home, all she did was hurt Lily with her pathetic little schemes. Now she’s learned to play dead just to torment us. A monster like that doesn’t deserve to be my sister!” My father nodded in agreement. “Exactly. She’d better be dead for real this time. If not, I want this streamer to drag her out and humiliate her.” Everyone cursed my name, saying the world was better off without me. It made me wonder. If they saw that I was well and truly dead, would they feel even a flicker of sadness? … Deep in the night, a dilapidated, abandoned building stood silhouetted against the moon. A streamer, a camera strapped to his head, pushed open a rust-eaten iron gate, the beam of his high-powered flashlight cutting through the darkness. “What’s up, folks! Daredevil Dave, your number one Myth Smasher, coming at you live.” “Tonight, we’re at a location that’s become a hotspot for ghost hunters over the last three years. The story goes that Clara Ashworth, the heiress who was cast out by her family, threw herself down a well right here, turning this place into a seriously haunted house.” “Yesterday, her family contacted me. They want me to get to the bottom of it. So tonight, we’re going to uncover the secrets of this so-called haunted mansion!” The yard was choked with weeds, and the mournful cries of a few night birds echoed under the chilly moonlight, making the scene feel unnervingly strange. The live chat was already exploding. 【Clara Ashworth? You mean that evil bitch they found and brought back to the family?】 【I heard that after she moved in, she used her ‘real daughter’ status to frame the adopted one, Lily, over and over. Then she tried to poison Lily, but her own father drank it by mistake!】 【Damn, she deserves to rot. The Ashworths should have never taken her back!】 【Almost killing her own dad? She’s worse than an animal!】 Someone else chimed in with more gossip: 【Heard when they kicked her out, she stole a bunch of jewelry and stuff. Probably came here to party and live it up every night…】 【For real? But this place looks creepy as hell. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘party central.’】 【Plus, people say they hear a woman crying here at night. Totally gives me the creeps…】 【What do you know? She was probably scared her family would find her, so she had her ‘fun’ here! Crying? Please. Probably just noises she made while she was getting wild. If you know, you know!】 Watching the fiery debate in the chat, my brother’s voice cut in, low and grim. “We thought she might have learned her lesson, but instead, she’s resorting to these sick games to curse us. Dave, please, show everyone what she’s really up to.” My parents urged him on. “Yes, we can’t let her continue this madness!” The chat went into a frenzy. 【Whoa, so the haunting is fake? She’s still alive?】 【What a psycho! Dave, go in there and expose her!】 Daredevil Dave chuckled. “I’ve said it a thousand times, folks. There are no ghosts in this world. Just people causing trouble.” “Tonight, I’ll show you exactly what kind of game this wicked heiress is playing.” His righteous declaration earned a wave of cheers and a flood of digital gifts in the livestream. Dave raised his flashlight and waded through the tangled weeds into the yard. He stopped at the edge of the old, dry well where I was rumored to have ended my life. A massive stone slab covered the opening. Moss crawled over the stone, and in the ghostly moonlight, you could see several dark, dried bloodstains on its surface. On the video call, Lily clutched her head and let out a pained cry. “That’s it! In my dreams, Clara was there… biting her own finger to write a curse, saying she would trap me in that well for eternity…” My brother comforted her. “Don’t be afraid, Lily. Her pathetic black magic can’t hurt you.” My father spat, his voice filled with rage. “All this hocus pocus! I’d like to see what kind of trick she can pull from the bottom of a well!” Dave found a crowbar and started working on the stone. Ten minutes later, panting, he finally pried the massive slab away. He aimed his flashlight into the abyss. A gasp escaped his throat. “Holy crap! What the hell is this?” The moonlight poured into the well, but instead of the expected glint of water, there was only a pit of impenetrable darkness. A foul, rotting smell drifted up, and Dave pinched his nose, taking a step back. 【Whoa! Did the evil bitch actually jump?】 【I remember three years ago, after they threw her out, she did a livestream, crying. She said she didn’t poison anyone and that she’d prove her innocence with her life!】 【Don’t fall for it! There’s no water in the well. She couldn’t have drowned. How could she kill herself by jumping in? It’s so fake!】 Dave pulled on a mask and tied a rope around his waist. “Only one way to find out! If she really did it, her bones will be down there.” 【Dude, are you insane? What if it’s real? You don’t want to piss off a vengeful spirit…】 Dave pulled out a silver medallion. “Look, I don’t believe in ghosts. But even if there is one, this little baby will send it packing.” The chat erupted in laughter. I managed a bitter smile. These strangers, who had never met me, were filled with such malice, all based on whispers and rumors. They didn’t care about the truth; they only cared about the version of justice they’d constructed in their minds. How pathetic. At the bottom of the well, Dave found only a few animal skeletons. And a strange, yellowed piece of parchment. My mother recognized it instantly. “That’s a hex! That’s Lily’s name and birthdate on it! She’s really cursing my daughter!” The chat exploded. 【Holy shit, she’s pure evil!】 My brother explained that he and my parents had been having nightmares recently, dreams where they could hear me crying. They had considered looking for me, but Lily had tearfully begged them not to. “Clara came to me in my dreams, too,” she sobbed. “She said she’d find a way to make you take her back. And when you did, she promised she’d make my life a living hell!” Her words were enough. My parents and brother promised they would wash their hands of me, leaving me to my own fate. But soon after, Lily started having accidents—a sudden fever, a near miss with a car. Fearing for her safety, the family had decided to call in a paranormal streamer to expose whatever game I was playing. Now, seeing the hex, my brother’s hands clenched into fists. “The police searched this place three years ago. There were no animal bones or hexes in this well then. This has to be Clara’s doing!” My father’s voice was laced with fury. “And she has the nerve to haunt our dreams, claiming she was framed. It’s clear she just wants to make sure we never have a moment’s peace!” “But… if she can visit our dreams, does that mean something really happened to her?” my mother murmured, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. As if to answer her, a cold, unnatural wind swept through the yard. Dave’s flashlight suddenly died. The chat freaked out. 【WHOA DUDE, YOU STILL ALIVE?】 【I’M GONNA PEE MY PANTS, DON’T DO THIS TO ME!】 Before Dave could say anything, the livestream cut out. “Did something… actually happen to Clara?” My parents and brother stared at their phones, a nervous energy filling the room. The comment sections on social media were already buzzing. 【Dave’s been streaming for five years, and his feed has never just cut out like that! Something’s seriously wrong!】 【What if we were wrong about the real daughter? What if she’s actually dead? Oh god, please forgive our ignorance…】 A dark glint flashed in Lily’s eyes. She buried her face in my mother’s arm and cried, “If something really happened to Clara… then who put those things in the well to curse me?” “Maybe… maybe I should just leave the Ashworth family. Then she won’t have any reason to curse you all.” “It’s all my fault,” she whispered. “I made her go down the wrong path…” Any shred of concern my family had for me evaporated, replaced by cold fury. “It was her own petty, jealous heart. How could you possibly blame yourself?” “If she hadn’t been constantly trying to drive you away three years ago, your father would never have been poisoned.” “We kicked her out to stop her from doing something unforgivable! It had nothing to do with you!” At this, my brother slammed his glass down on the table. “I can’t believe she’s still pulling these stunts. She doesn’t deserve to be part of this family!” My mother agreed. “That’s right. We will never let her back in!” My father snorted. “When the stream comes back on, we’re going to make sure the entire world sees her for the monster she is!” Five minutes later, Dave’s stream was live again. He had climbed out of the well and was grinning into the camera. “Positive energy, folks! Just a bad signal. And the flashlight ran out of batteries!” 【You scared the hell out of us! So… are you still gonna check out the house?】 Dave declared that since he was already there, he had to do a full sweep. He walked to the front door of the house and pushed it open. A blast of cold, musty air rushed out, carrying a cloud of dust. The broken windows rattled in their frames. Empty liquor bottles littered a table. 【Damn, she was really living it up in here. Look at all that booze!】 Dave’s flashlight then caught something on the floor—several empty condom wrappers. 【She was definitely sleeping around with a lot of guys here!】 “These things… they were confirmed to belong to Clara. The police documented all of this back then,” my brother stated flatly. As soon as he said it, the chat filled with insults, calling me a slut. “We asked the police to keep it quiet at the time, to protect what little was left of her dignity.” “But now… after being gone for three years, she’s using black magic to harass our family and curse Lily. We’re not protecting her anymore!” 【That’s right! That ungrateful bitch doesn’t deserve to be your family! Dave, find more evidence! Nail her to the wall!】 As the crowd’s anger reached a fever pitch, a scraping sound, like fingernails on wood, echoed from the second floor. 【What the hell was that?! Maybe you should get out of there, Dave. I’m scared…】 “We have to be scientific, folks! I’m going up there to see who’s trying to spook us!” Dave said, his voice a little shaky as he grabbed his silver medallion and headed up the stairs. It turned out to be nothing more than the wind pushing a tree branch against a windowpane. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. But then, a pair of eyes glowed in the darkness. 【AHHH! A GHOST!】 Dave fought to keep his legs from turning to jelly and shone his flashlight toward the glowing eyes. “Oh, for crying out loud. It’s just a stuffed rabbit.” The moment he picked it up, the rabbit spoke. “My family found me at the orphanage today. Mom cried and said she was so sorry, that it was all her fault I was switched at birth at the hospital.” “Dad said he’d never let me suffer again.” “And my brother gave me this little rabbit. It can repeat what you say.” “I’m so happy. I finally have a family.” My own voice, young and hopeful, startled Dave, but he quickly realized what it was. “Is that… Clara’s voice?” My brother’s tone was heavy. “That was my gift to her. I think… I think it had a recording function.” The chat exploded. “Whoa? That must have been recorded like, five or six years ago. Her voice is so young!” Dave quieted the chat and gently pressed the toy again. “There’s another sister at home. She’s dressed like a princess.” “When Mom saw her crying, she held her and comforted her for a long time.” “Dad and my brother told me that her name is Lily, and she’s our family, too. They said thanks to her, Mom wasn’t so sad all those years.” “I understand. I’ll love my sister, too.” … Hearing this, Lily’s voice choked with a sob. “But she didn’t love me. She hated me…” My brother put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and motioned for Dave to continue. “Today, the butler’s son called me a hick. My brother punched him hard.” “The butler almost called the cops, but I said I did it.” “Mom was furious. She sent me to bed without dinner.” “My brother snuck a piece of chicken into my room. He asked me why I took the blame for him.” “I said I was scared the police would take him away. He laughed.” “He said he’d get arrested a hundred times to protect his little sister.” “This is what it feels like to have a big brother. It’s the best feeling in the world.” Dave looked surprised. The chat was scrolling wildly. 【Huh? The evil bitch was once this sweet?】 【Maybe something happened to make her change?】 My brother stared at the rabbit, his mind drifting back. He remembered telling me I was just like that bunny, soft and lovable. What had happened to that gentle, kind sister to turn her into the person she became? Lily tugged at his sleeve, crying. “Clara wasn’t always bad, brother. Please, don’t hate her for this.” As she spoke, she casually brushed her hair back, revealing a deep, ugly scar on her forehead. The sight snapped my brother back to the present. His expression hardened with disgust. “You’re always too kind, Lily. She’s the one who gave you that scar. Don’t you dare defend her.” 【Whoa, that scar is from her? Never mind, can’t trust a word she says!】 Dave frowned and pressed the rabbit again. “My sister didn’t come home tonight. It got really late.” “Dad was about to call the police when she finally showed up, her dress torn, her head bleeding.” “She fell to her knees in front of me and begged for forgiveness.” “She said she knew she was wrong to compete with me for Mom and Dad and brother’s love.” “She begged me to stop sending people to hurt her, and she promised she’d leave home right then.” “My brother was so angry. He wanted to call the police and have me arrested.” “I cried. I told them I didn’t do it… I really didn’t.” “My sister pleaded for me.” “She said we couldn’t let a scandal like that get out, especially since I’d only been back with the family for a year.” “For the first time, my whole family looked at me with disgust.” “They made me move into the storage room. They told me to think about what I’d done.” “I’m so lost. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?” Dave paused again. He was confused. The recordings were filled with Clara’s desperate pleas for her family’s trust. She didn’t sound like someone who would bully her sister. Someone was lying. Noticing his suspicious gaze, Lily buried her face in her hands, weeping. “Why would Clara twist the truth like that? She knows what those people almost did to me…” she wailed. “Would I really use my own reputation, my own safety, to frame her?” The chat was once again filled with rage. 【So this monster started her crime spree way back then!】 【And she has the nerve to record herself playing the victim? Disgusting! Find her and throw her in jail!】 Amid the storm of curses, a thin crack suddenly appeared on the silver medallion in Dave’s hand. Everyone was shocked, asking him what had happened. His face paled, and he shushed the chat, pressing the rabbit again. But the next recordings were just more of my lonely ramblings, my desperate yearning for family, and my terror at the bizarre things that kept happening. Every incident somehow pointed to me, and no one ever believed I was innocent. I sounded heartbroken. “Little rabbit, why don’t Mom and Dad and brother believe me?” I cried in one recording. “Is it because I’m not as perfect as my sister?” So, I channeled my grief into determination. I started studying relentlessly. Finally, I was accepted into a decent state college. I was ecstatic, mainly because the school was far from home. I threw myself into a new life, and the recordings filled with my joy about college and the new friends who actually cared about me. Dave’s expression softened. It seemed that a change of scenery had done me good. But the rabbit’s next words sent a shockwave through everyone watching. “Why won’t they believe me?” “I didn’t seduce my sister’s boyfriend… I swear I didn’t.” “It was New Year’s Eve. We all had too much to drink.” “I just woke up and he was in my bed.” “My sister cried and asked me why I would steal him from her. Mom and Dad and brother called me shameless.” “I begged him to tell them the truth, but he said… he said I dragged him into my room when he got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.” “I didn’t do it. Why would he lie about me?” “My sister didn’t believe me either. She ran out of the house, crying, and was almost hit by a car.” “Dad hit me for the first time. But I really, really didn’t touch her boyfriend…” Hearing my choked sobs, Dave’s brow furrowed. He glanced at Lily on the screen, searching her face for something, anything. The medallion cracking wasn’t a coincidence. Something was very wrong. Lily threw herself into my mother’s arms, whimpering that her leg, the one injured in the accident, was aching again. My brother scoffed. “Her lies might fool a ghost, but not us. We know exactly what she’s like.” My father’s anger flared. “She’s a compulsive liar! She almost poisoned me to death, and you expect anyone to believe her?” Someone in the chat snarked: 【This recording is so fake. So the whole family just misunderstood her over and over again? Yeah, right. I’m not buying it.】 My heart ached, but I couldn’t make a sound. No one noticed the single drop of water, like a tear, that traced a path down the dusty mirror behind Dave. He pressed the rabbit again. “I went to the hospital to see my sister today. I saw her hand her boyfriend a debit card.” “She told him he’d put on a good performance.” “It was all an act to frame me!” “I confronted them, but then Mom and Dad and my brother arrived.” “Her boyfriend threw the card in my face. He said it was from me, that I paid him to keep tormenting my sister.” “I screamed that they were lying, that it was all a setup. My sister threatened to jump off the roof to prove her innocence.” “They believed her. They kicked me out of the house.” “I don’t have a home anymore…” 【Just check whose name is on the card, problem solved, right?】 My brother laughed, a cold, harsh sound. “We checked. The card was in Clara’s name.” 【Well, there you go. What’s she playing innocent for? So gross!】 Dave remained silent, pressing the rabbit one last time. “The dean called again about my tuition and dorm fees.” “I tried to call my brother to borrow some money, but he called me a liar and a thief.” “But I’m not lying. And I didn’t steal anything.” 【What a joke. If she was so broke, how was she partying and living it up here?】 My brother’s voice was dripping with contempt. “She didn’t steal? Then how did my mother’s jewelry and the cash from my father’s safe just disappear?” “If we weren’t trying to spare her some public humiliation, we would have called the cops on her long ago!” Dave noticed another crack spiderweb across the medallion. “It’s been three months since I dropped out of school.” “I was waiting tables at a hotel and saw my family celebrating Christmas Eve with Lily.” “My brother told me to stop making a scene and get lost.” “My dad said if it wasn’t for the family’s reputation, he’d have me thrown in jail.” “But I don’t have money for my treatment. Is it a crime to work?” “The doctor said if I don’t get treatment soon, my stomach cancer will get worse.” “I don’t want to die.” 【She was sick? Why didn’t she tell her family? It’s another lie, isn’t it?】 Dave pressed the rabbit, and it provided the answer. “It’s New Year’s Eve. My sister begged the family to let me come home.” “I was going to tell them about the cancer.” “But after my father drank the juice I poured for my sister, he collapsed. He’d been poisoned.” “The dose was small, thank God. He survived.” “He made a public statement disowning me.” “Everyone called me a monster. I had nowhere left to go.” 【Serves her right. You play with poison, you get burned!】 A desperate, broken wail came from the rabbit. “I tried to go back to get my medical records, but a group of drunk men knocked me out.” “When I woke up, the records were gone. And those men… they had violated me.” “Someone kind called the police.” “But the men they arrested said I was willing, that I did it for money.” “And there was a pile of cash under my bed.” “My parents called me disgusting. My brother told me to stop making up excuses for being a whore.” “He said if I couldn’t handle living, I should just die and stop shaming the Ashworth name.” “Should I? Should I just die?” The recording stopped. No matter how many times Dave pressed it, the rabbit remained silent. 【If she was assaulted, where did all the booze, condoms, and money come from?】 【Jesus. She almost kills her dad, then comes back here to screw around with a bunch of guys? She probably lied about being assaulted because she was scared of getting caught.】 【The police already investigated the scene. She probably faked her suicide, took the money, and ran. This recording is just a pathetic attempt to look innocent.】 【And then, when she got bitter, she came back to put a curse on the adopted daughter!】 【What a psycho! Someone needs to find her and lock her up for good!】 With every comment, the netizens hammered another nail into my coffin. Dave was silent, his jaw tight. He knew this wasn’t the whole story. He turned, and that’s when he finally saw it. On the mirror behind him, streaks of water trickled down the dusty surface. Like tears. The air was bone-dry. Where was the water coming from? He looked up, following the drip to its source, and his eyes widened in shock. “There’s something wrong with this ceiling. I have to break it open.” He dug a hammer out of his bag and, aiming for a crack where the water was seeping through, he swung. With a single blow, the plaster shattered. Something fell from the hole. Instinctively, Dave threw the stuffed rabbit up to block it. 【HOLY SHIT! IS THAT… AN URN?!】 【Why is there a hex nailed to it?! That’s so messed up!】 Dave picked up the small urn and held the parchment with its strange writing up to the camera. My mother saw it and her face went ghost-white. “That’s… that’s Clara’s name and birthdate!” My father and brother stared, their mouths agape in disbelief. Just then, the rabbit—the one that had just been hit by the urn—spoke again. Its eyes lit up, and a triumphant, mocking laugh filled the air. It was Lily’s voice.

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My childhood best friend was bright and cheerful, like the sun itself. Even his rejection was swift and absolute, leaving no room for daydreams. He’d introduce me to his friends, for example. And I’d see a boy hiding behind a column, peeking out at me with half a face. As someone who’s a sucker for a pretty face, I thought, Well, he’s not bad. After the gloomy introvert started dating me, he began to shine. And the golden boy, my sun, went mad with jealousy. He got completely wasted, clutching the hem of my shirt, his eyes red-rimmed. “You want… me.” And then I saw the other boy, the one hiding behind the column, his knuckles white around a golf club. As someone who’d rather not end up on a true-crime podcast, I thought, Absolutely not. 1. “I like you.” I confessed to my childhood best friend, Greg. He froze for a second, then burst out laughing as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Is this a ‘try not to laugh’ challenge? Not bad.” But when his gaze met mine, the laughter died on his lips. I watched his expression carefully, waiting for his answer, trying my best to convey the depth of my feelings. “We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I’ve always had a crush on you,” I said, my voice earnest. “I just… wanted you to know.” Greg fell silent, his dark eyes fixed on me. I looked down, my palms slick with sweat. Then, I heard his teasing voice from above me. “Chloe, don’t mess with me.” He reached out and gently flicked my forehead. “I always thought of myself as your big brother.” I looked up at him. The usual warmth in his eyes had been replaced by something dimmer, more serious. He lowered his voice. “Chloe, I’m not as great as you think I am. You’ve had me around your whole life, and you don’t really have any other close guy friends. That’s why you think I’m special.” I opened my mouth to argue. “But—” He cut me off instantly. “Besides, you’re not really my type.” His tone was light, almost joking, but the finality in it was unmistakable. He took a small step back, creating a little distance between us, and flashed a carefree smile. “We’re better off as friends.” A summer breeze blew past, drying the sweat on my skin and leaving me feeling cold. The walk home had never felt so long. I remember shamelessly crying the whole way. Greg followed behind me. But he never once stepped forward to offer a word of comfort. 2. When I got home, a text from him was waiting. Greg: Chlo, I don’t want to lie to you or lead you on. Greg: We’re great as friends. I just can’t see us as anything more. Greg and I grew up together. He was the cheerful type, always smiling, revealing two small canine teeth when he did. In elementary school, we were the two chubby kids. During jump rope, we were always the ones stuck holding the ends for everyone else. Two outcasts from different classes, we found each other. We did homework together, shared snacks. But in middle school, he started to change. He joined the swim team and quickly shed all his baby fat. By the time we got to high school, the gap between us was a chasm. I was the slightly overweight girl with black-framed glasses who loved video games. Greg was the helpful class president, the handsome, tall campus heartthrob, the straight-A student. His circle of friends exploded. The moment class was out, a crowd would form around him. Guys wanted him for basketball, calling him an all-star. Girls, like me, either had secret crushes on him or shipped him with someone else. Any task a teacher gave him, he’d rally a group of classmates and get it done in no time. Everyone trusted him. I never saw him lose his temper. He was like the sun in everyone’s sky. I thought we would drift apart, but he still treated me as his friend. Every day after school, he’d call out for me to walk home with him. He’d sling my heavy backpack over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, then turn to me. “Mocha fudge or a chocolate crunch?” “Mocha fudge.” We’d walk side-by-side, each with an ice cream bar. After we finished, we’d talk about our day, the setting sun chasing our shadows. I’d sneak glances at his handsome profile. He was like a sudden gust of wind, sending ripples across the calm lake of my heart. Everyone in our class knew we were childhood friends. But no one ever teased us about it. It was like one of those teen movies: the handsome hero, the bubbly popular girl, and the nerdy, funny sidekick. I managed to be two of those things—the nerdy, slightly chubby, funny sidekick. Sigh. Whatever. Time to boot up Baldur’s Gate. 3. Getting rejected was so awkward. Thankfully, I’d confessed on a Friday, giving me the weekend to recover. Since Greg and I lived in the same apartment building, we often did homework together. But the cringe was too strong, so I didn’t reach out. For a whole week, I avoided him, bolting like a rabbit the second the final bell rang. He must have sensed my distance. He texted me that night. Greg: Chlo, you’re not seriously ignoring me because of that, are you…? Greg: We’re still best friends, right? Greg: Remember what I said about you not having enough guy friends? I have a good friend who’s a lot like you, loves gaming. Maybe you two should meet…? With that, Greg sent me a contact card. The profile picture was a brooding anime character. Greg: His name is Matthew. He’s in the class next door. The boy I liked was setting me up with someone else, decisively crushing my last glimmer of hope. I thought for a moment, then typed back. McNuggetLover: It’s fine, you don’t have to push people on me. Let’s just be friends, like you said. Greg: O(∩_∩)O You’ll always be my best friend, Chlo. I figured Greg just wasn’t interested in dating. The sun, after all, belongs in the sky, not plucked down for one person. Friends it is. We went back to normal. As class president, Greg was always busy. He’d usually ask me to help with things like the classroom bulletin board because I had neat handwriting. One day after school, we stayed behind to work on it. He sketched while I stood on a stool, writing. “Hey, Chlo,” he said, looking over. “Did you add Matthew yet?” “Nah,” I said casually. “I think having one guy friend is enough. Don’t really need to expand my roster.” After I said that, I glanced down. I saw Greg duck his head, a smile spreading across his lips. He was trying to suppress it, but his eyes gave him away, shining with a sweet, secret delight, like a kid who’d just snuck a piece of candy. 4. What was so funny? I was the one who got rejected; I was allowed to be a little bitter. I went back to writing on the board. One by one, our classmates filed out. But then Bianca, a girl from our class, stumbled past Greg, crashing hard into the stool I was standing on. I lost my balance and tumbled to the floor. A sharp pain shot through my ankle, and I let out a muffled groan. Greg immediately dropped his chalk and rushed to my side. But just as he was about to check on me, Bianca’s sobs filled the quiet classroom. She was crumpled on the floor, tears streaming down her face. “Greg… my cramps… they’re killing me.” She looked at me, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to knock you over, Chloe. Please don’t be mad at me.” If Greg was the king of the guys, Bianca was the queen of the girls. She was like the head cheerleader in a teen movie, complete with a little posse. She always wore glossy lipstick and would let her hair down the second the teacher wasn’t looking. Tall and thin, she looked like a mini-influencer. To be honest, as a freshman, I was kind of scared of her. Like I would ever dare be mad at her. Nerds like me steer clear of the popular kids. “Greg, can you take me to the nurse’s office?” Bianca asked, looking up at him with shimmering eyes. “I’ll take you,” he said grimly, then turned to me. “Chloe, could you finish up the board for me?” I rubbed my swollen ankle and forced a smile. “My ankle’s twisted. I think I need to go to the clinic, too.” Greg looked at me, a flicker of conflict in his amber eyes. “Chloe, can you manage…?” Before he could finish, Bianca let out another pained moan, clutching her stomach. “It hurts… Greg, it hurts so much.” “Bianca seems to be in worse shape,” Greg said, his brow furrowed with apology. He clearly meant he had to help the person who needed it more. “Let me borrow your scooter keys,” he said, already reaching for my pencil case, where he knew I kept them. He’d given me the little lamb keychain attached to it. He grabbed the keys, scooped Bianca up into his arms, and strode out of the classroom. At the doorway, he paused and looked back at me. His expression, usually so calm, was now intense and resolute. “Don’t worry, Chloe. I’ll come back for you as soon as I get her to the clinic.” The light pouring through the window silhouetted his strong frame. He looked me straight in the eye. “Trust me.” 5. The sky slowly darkened. The only sound in the silent classroom was the ticking of the clock. Then, the pitter-patter of rain began outside. Two hours had passed. Greg hadn’t come back. We weren’t allowed to have our phones in high school, so there was no way to contact him. But years of friendship made me stubbornly hold on to my trust in him. I was afraid that if I left, he’d come back and worry when he couldn’t find me. The rain grew heavier, drumming against the roof of the bike shed outside. A clap of thunder echoed across the sky. The downpour had begun. I stared out the window, replaying the image of Bianca’s arms wrapped around his neck. Replaying his words: You’re not my type. Replaying the sight of him carrying her, the tall, handsome boy and the petite, pretty girl. A classic pairing. A cold certainty bloomed in my heart. He wasn’t coming back. When I tried to stand, a searing pain shot up from my ankle. I leaned against the wall, hobbling into the hallway. The sound of the rain was deafening. In the empty school, my shadow was my only companion. “Do you… need help?” A voice from the shadows startled me so badly I almost fell again. A tall, thin boy peeked out from behind a pillar, his messy bangs nearly covering his eyes. He was clutching a long, black umbrella, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. “I-I’m from the class next door…” he explained in a small voice. He kept his eyes on the floor, only darting a quick glance at me now and then. His eyes were unfairly beautiful, like obsidian veiled in mist. “Thanks, but I’m okay,” I said, instinctively taking a step back. A torrential downpour, a beautiful boy with his eyes hidden, a black umbrella… it all felt a little supernatural. The boy immediately shrank back behind the pillar, leaving only his pale, umbrella-gripping hand visible. As I painstakingly made my way to the stairs, I heard a soft shuffling sound behind me. He was following me, maintaining a distance of about ten feet. This was terrifying. I was about to tap into my primal survival instincts and make a run for it when I heard his voice again. “Your foot looks hurt. Let me take you to the clinic…” “I’m really a student here. My name is Matthew. I was just on my way back from the library.” Matthew. That was the name of the friend Greg had wanted me to meet. “And how are you going to help me?” I asked, stopping to look back at him. His eyes lit up as if I’d just given him a prize. He quickly walked over, handed me the umbrella, then turned his back to me and bent down. “I… I can carry you.” I looked at his slender back and thought about my own 130-pound frame. Are you sure, dude? I might break you. I asked him again if he was sure. As if to prove his strength, he suddenly turned and scooped me up into his arms. And plunged headfirst into the pouring rain. 6. When I got home, I turned on my phone. It buzzed with a few notifications from Greg. Greg: Bianca’s a single-parent kid, her mom’s never around. I had to stay with her at the hospital. You go on home. Greg: Be safe. I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow to make it up to you. [Cute Cat Emoji] I stared at the emoji for a moment, then closed the chat without replying. I found the contact card with the brooding anime profile picture and sent a friend request. A second later, a notification popped up. He’d accepted immediately. 7. The next day, Greg ran into the classroom carrying soy milk and fried pancakes. He made a beeline for my desk and placed the breakfast down, along with my scooter keys and their little lamb keychain. He pressed his hands together and bowed repeatedly. “I’m so, so sorry, Chloe. It was an emergency yesterday.” I kept my head down, organizing my books, ignoring him. Greg raised his voice. “You can hit me a few times if it’ll make you feel better.” He grabbed my arm. I yanked it away, and he let out a dramatic “Oof!” and fell over. I flinched and looked up instinctively. He was sitting on the floor, propped up on his hands, with a random worksheet now covering his head. He looked up at me, a playful glint in his amber eyes. But his smile quickly faded when he saw me pull a black metal lunchbox from my bag. It had Matthew’s name and class number printed on it. I opened it. Inside were three plump sandwiches, each wrapper decorated with a cartoon penguin sticker. There was also a note from Matthew, written in beautiful handwriting. You got caught in the rain yesterday, so you might be feeling weak. I made you breakfast. I wasn’t sure which flavor you’d like, so I made three. I looked up at Greg and gave him an apologetic smile. “I already have breakfast, so I won’t be needing yours! Sorry.” Greg ripped the worksheet off his head and nodded, a bright smile still plastered on his face. But I heard the soft, crisp sound of paper being crumpled tightly in his fist. Wait a second—that was my literature worksheet. We had literature class next. Dude, now I’m even more pissed at you. 8. Because Greg had abandoned me, crumpled my worksheet, rejected my confession, and then tried to set me up with someone else, I was officially holding a grudge. I had no desire to talk to him. Meanwhile, Matthew and I started getting to know each other. I discovered we had a ton in common. We both loved playing games on Steam. The summer break had just started, so we teamed up in Stardew Valley. We stayed up all night for a week straight, completely lost in the game. Who was Greg? I’d long forgotten. Every morning, I’d wake up with a single thought: Time to hit the mines. And Matthew would be there, quietly farming, fishing, and preparing food for my mining expeditions—Spicy Eel, Cheese, Crispy Bass—all neatly arranged in a storage chest, with a thoughtful stack of bombs and staircases right beside it. His character would always be standing silently at the farm entrance, waiting for me to log on. Then a message would pop up: There’s stuff in the chest for you. You can go straight to the mines. If I was late, he would just wait. Only when I appeared would he add, Caught an eel today. I can make you a meal. I couldn’t help but ask him, “Matthew, why do you always have everything ready before you say anything?” On the other end, he was silent for a few seconds. I could hear his soft breathing through the mic as he chose his words. “…My family taught me to always present results when I speak.” I learned that Matthew’s parents were both entrepreneurs, too busy to spend time with him. Their conversations were always short and efficient. How are your recent grades? Did you pass your piano exam? Are the results from the coding competition out yet? Every sentence had to be packed with information. Every exchange had to have a purpose. Over time, Matthew had developed a habit: he didn’t dare make small talk, didn’t dare chat idly, didn’t even dare to laugh without a reason. As a girl from a normal family, I couldn’t understand it. My heart ached for him, and I instinctively tried to comfort him. “Matthew, you can talk to me anytime. You can talk trash, talk nonsense. Every sentence doesn’t have to mean something or have a point. Friends can just talk, you know? It doesn’t always have to be useful.” On the screen, Matthew’s character suddenly froze in the middle of the farm, as if someone had hit the pause button. After a long moment, a low chuckle came through my headphones. It was tentative, as if he was finally letting out a breath he’d been holding. “Hehe…?” I blinked. “What?” “Haha,” he added, his voice as light as a feather brushing against my ear, the end of the sound lilting upwards with a touch of unpracticed joy. I couldn’t help but smile. “What are you doing?” “Talking nonsense,” he said, a hint of glee in his voice. “…Playing games with you is really fun.” His voice was low and a little raspy, like a kitten finally daring to extend its claws to gently touch someone it trusts. It was clumsy and eager—and impossibly gentle. 9. In Stardew Valley, there’s a festival called the Flower Dance where you can ask someone you like to dance with you. I had been so busy farming that none of the NPCs had ever agreed to dance with me. This time, when the festival arrived, the cheerful music filled the town square as the pixelated characters swayed in their festive outfits. I ran my character around aimlessly while Matthew’s stood quietly to the side. I thought he was antsy to get back to farming. “This game has so many festivals,” I said, trying to console him. “It’s such a waste of good farming time.” I heard the soft click of his keyboard. After a moment, he suddenly asked, “Why don’t you ask Alex to dance…?” “Huh?” I was taken aback. Alex was one of the jock-type characters in the game. “I thought you would like his type,” Matthew said, his voice even but with an underlying tension. “I put a lot of gifts for him in the chest. You should have enough friendship points to invite him now.” I blinked, and then it hit me—he thought I liked Alex. The realization left a strange, sour taste in my mouth. I moved my character in front of his and clicked “Invite to Dance.” “Matthew, I want to dance with you.” The other end went silent. A few seconds later, his character slowly extended a hand and accepted. The two little pixel people spun clumsily in a circle, swaying to the music. I smiled. “And for the record, I don’t like Alex.” “Then… who do you like?” he asked softly. “Sebastian,” I teased. “He’s cold and gloomy on the outside, but gentle on the inside. It’s super cute.” —But I’m starting to like you a little. The words lingered on my tongue, but I didn’t say them out loud. That whole summer, we played Stardew Valley, Don’t Starve, we beat It Takes Two, we played League of Legends, Identity V, Valorant. I really, really love gaming. But by the end of it all, I realized it wasn’t just the games that were fun. It was us. So, in the end, we returned to Stardew Valley. We sat side-by-side on the pier, fishing as the pixelated rain fell on the lake. Fishing in this game was so boring; I had no idea how Matthew did it for hours on end, just to make me food. I chattered on beside him. “School’s about to start. I’ll have to study and won’t have time for games.” He was quiet for a long time. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” I asked. His voice came through the headset, sounding a bit muffled. “After school starts… I’ll take good care of your farm.” He paused, then said, as if it took all his courage, “You can come visit me on the farm when you’re not busy.” My phone buzzed. It was a picture. My eyes widened. “Holy crap!!!” It was a picture of Matthew cosplaying as Sebastian. A black wig partially covered his eyes, accentuating his high nose bridge and pale lips. He had perfectly captured the character’s gloomy, distant aura. He was in a professional studio, the light hitting his porcelain skin. He looked like he’d walked straight out of the game. His voice came through, small and hesitant. “You can just… pretend you’re looking at Sebastian.” “This is amazing! When did you take this?!” I was speechless. His voice was nervous. “Last week… you said you liked Sebastian, so I…” He didn’t finish, but I understood. He was afraid I’d ignore him once school started, so he did this to “keep me.” I couldn’t help but smile. “We can have lunch together every day after school starts,” I reassured him. “I can make you breakfast! Sandwiches, homemade burgers, rice balls, omelets, I can make anything!” he immediately replied, his words tumbling out in an uncharacteristic rush. “I can go home and make lunch, too. Whatever you want to eat…” “Whoa, whoa, stop!” I cut him off. “You’re my friend, not my personal chef!” He was silent for a moment, then I heard him whisper, so softly I almost missed it: “…I want to be.” Those three words, light as a feather, made the tips of my ears burn. As a certified admirer of handsome faces, I zoomed in on the cosplay photo again and again. This face was made for cosplay. A wicked idea popped into my head. “Master!” I said, raising my voice dramatically. “Could you please, please cosplay as Scaramouche? Or Xiao? I’m begging you! This is very important to me!” “…” “Matthew?” “If you insist…” he replied, his voice still a bit muffled, but I could have sworn I heard a faint chuckle.

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The day my mother took my twin sister, Stella, and me for IQ tests was the day our lives split into two completely different paths. Stella was a genius with an IQ of 160. I was just an ordinary person with an IQ of 105. From that day on, the way my mother looked at me changed. When Stella practiced the piano, I had to be there to serve her tea. When Stella’s paintings won awards, I had to kneel on the floor and clean her paint-stained brushes. When Stella, who was always frail, got sick, my mother would grab my arm and have the doctors draw my blood. “You’re twins,” she’d say. “Your blood is the purest. It’s worthy of her.” I became my sister’s shadow, her personal blood bank, her servant. Then, when I was seven, my mother took Stella abroad for an international competition and never came back. I was left all alone in that huge, empty house. It seemed she had forgotten that while she was chasing the stars for her genius daughter, her mediocre one was only seven years old. A child who could only hug her knees in the dead of night, crying out for her mother in a house that never answered. 1 I was finalizing a storage solution for a client when my mother called. She said she was sick and needed me. The woman’s voice on the other end was hoarse and unfamiliar, laced with an urgent sense of entitlement. But I just calmly glanced at the watch on my wrist. “I’m sorry, I’m very busy right now. My schedule is booked through next month.” “How about this,” I continued, my voice even. “You just hang in there. I might have some time in about six months. We can talk then.” After I hung up, my assistant, Chloe, whispered, “Ms. Vance, was that… your mother?” I shook my head without a second’s hesitation, rolling up the design plans. “No. Just a wrong number. A telemarketer.” Chloe hesitated. “But she sounded really desperate. What if…” I just smiled and said nothing. Over the years, every person my mother sent to plead her case said the same things. “She’s your mother. At the very least, she gave birth to you.” “You’re twin sisters. Blood is thicker than water. There’s no grudge you can’t let go of.” Blood is thicker than water. That was a ridiculous idea I used to believe in, too. I thought that as twins, Stella and I would be each other’s closest allies, that we’d hold hands and grow up together. Until that day when we were five, and my mother took us for those IQ tests. Stella was a genius. I was painfully average. When we got home that day, for the first time, my mother didn’t make us practice the piano together. She called me into her study alone, her expression more serious than I had ever seen it. “Your father had high hopes for you both when he passed. I won’t let him down.” “Nora,” she said, her voice firm, “your sister is a genius. A future great artist. She is the only light of this family.” I nodded, still too young to understand, but filled with pride for my sister. “Yeah! Stella’s the best!” But my mother’s expression didn’t soften. Her tone shifted. “So, from this day forward, your sole purpose in life is to be your sister’s strongest shield, her most loyal shadow.” “Whatever she needs, you will provide. Everything for her must come before you. Your existence is to make her shine brighter. She will carry on your father’s legacy.” I stared up at her, dumbfounded. I didn’t understand the full meaning of her words, but I saw the light in her eyes. It was a brilliant, blazing light, but it shone only on Stella. I was standing in the shadows, just outside its reach. I instinctively reached for her hand. “Mommy,” I whispered, “what about me?” She pulled her hand away. The coldness of her fingertips sent a shiver through me. “You?” she said. “You just need to remember not to hold your sister back.” After that day, everything changed. My new clothes were always Stella’s hand-me-downs. My toys were the ones she had grown tired of. The best art tutors were hired for Stella, while I was confined to my room, forbidden from making a sound that might disturb the genius at work. Stella had delicate health—mild anemia and allergic asthma. My diet was strictly controlled. I was only allowed to eat foods that were supposed to enrich the blood, no matter how much I hated the medicinal taste. I didn’t dare ask why. I didn’t dare ask why the look in my mother’s eyes when she looked at me was increasingly like she was looking at an object. I just quietly played my part as the shadow. One day, Stella was working day and night to finish a painting for an international competition. She collapsed with a high fever that wouldn’t break. The doctor said her anemia was severe; she needed a blood transfusion. Without a moment’s hesitation, my mother pushed me forward. The cold needle pierced my thin arm, and tears of pain streamed down my face. I clutched my arm and ran to find my mother, wanting her to hold me. She was just coming out of Stella’s room, and when she saw me, a smile of pure relief spread across her face. “Nora, the doctor said your blood is perfect. Your sister is already doing so much better after the transfusion.” Her voice was light and cheerful. She didn’t seem to notice my red-rimmed eyes or my pale face. 2 From that day on, I became Stella’s personal blood bag. Periodically, I was taken to the hospital to have my blood drawn, kept on reserve for her. My mother always said, “It’s an honor for you that your blood can save your sister’s life.” I instinctively resisted, but I never dared to say it out loud. I was terrified of hospitals, of the smell of antiseptic, of the needles. But in my mother’s eyes, my fear was just selfishness and immaturity. One time, Stella had an asthma attack from a pollen allergy and was having nightmares. My mother dragged me out of bed and pushed me into Stella’s dark room. “Your sister is scared. Go sleep with her. Hold her hand and help her feel safe.” Stella’s room was filled with the scents of aromatherapy oils and paint thinner, smells that made me dizzy and nauseous. I held my nose and whispered, “Mom, the smell is making me sick…” The door slammed shut. Her voice came from the other side, sharp and cold. “Endure it! Your sister is more important than anything!” I sat there all night, holding her sweaty hand. She twitched and whimpered in her sleep, and my head throbbed with a splitting headache from the pungent air. The next morning, I was so unwell that I threw up at the breakfast table. My mother didn’t even look at me. She just frowned and pushed my bowl away. “Why are you so dramatic? Clean this up immediately. Don’t ruin your sister’s appetite!” She then turned to Stella, her voice soft and sweet as she peeled an egg for her, as if Stella were a priceless treasure and I were just a disgusting mess. I swallowed back my tears and nausea, forcing it all down. It was the only way to stop my mother from looking at me with that expression of pure annoyance. Later, from the constant blood draws, I fainted on the school stairs. A teacher brought me home. My mother stood over me, her voice filled with irritation at this disruption to her plans. “What’s wrong with you? Sick again?” A hand touched my forehead. My nose tingled, and I was about to give in to my weakness when I heard her mutter, “Such a nuisance. This is going to mess everything up.” “Why is your constitution so poor? Don’t you ever think about your sister?” I opened my eyes and saw the disgust in hers, clear as day. The doctor said I was severely malnourished and anemic and needed to rest. In the hospital, my mother was constantly on the phone, discussing Stella’s upcoming art exhibition. When she hung up, she looked at me not with concern, but with cold calculation. She took a deep breath. “Nora, this is a terrible time for you to get sick.” “Your sister is going to Paris next month. This is her chance to break onto the world stage. Because of you, I have to reschedule everything.” I opened my mouth, my voice a small whisper. “I’m sorry, Mom…” But her expression remained frigid. “Nora.” “I’ve had a few days to think. I can’t allow anything to happen to your sister.” She paused, her gaze finally settling on me, sharp and determined. “Stella is my masterpiece. She cannot have any flaws. For her, any sacrifice is worth it.” I stared at her, the physical weakness in my body strangely vanishing, replaced by a hollow numbness and a creeping dread. She didn’t see my fear. She continued, as if talking to herself. “Nora, you’re a big girl now. You’ll grow up, and you’ll understand, won’t you?” She didn’t wait for my answer. Perhaps she didn’t need one. She tucked the blanket around me, then picked up her bag and stood up. “I can’t leave your sister home alone. I’m going back. You can handle the discharge paperwork yourself.” Her footsteps faded down the hall until they disappeared. The room was silent, except for the sound of my own voice, hoarsely repeating the word “Mom.” I didn’t understand what she meant by a masterpiece. I didn’t know what sacrifice she was talking about. I just had the vague, chilling feeling that my mother had never truly seen me as her daughter. 3 I handled my own discharge and walked home, clutching the hospital bill. I hadn’t slept all night. That fear, which had kept me awake, turned into a sliver of secret joy as I pushed open the front door. I could still come home. But the next second, I saw two enormous suitcases in the living room. My mother was packing Stella’s art supplies and medication, her movements almost frantic with a joyful urgency. Her eyes, when she looked up, were filled with a hopeful vision of the future that I had never seen before. “Mom?” I asked, walking over cautiously. “You’re back?” she said without looking up. “Stella’s project in Paris was moved up. We’re flying out immediately.” I stood there, stunned. “Mom, what about me?” She finally stopped and looked at me. Her gaze swept over my pale, sweaty face without lingering. “There’s enough food in the fridge to last you a few days. There’s some cash on the table. You’re a big girl. You can take care of yourself.” A few days? Panic washed over me. I grabbed her sleeve, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, don’t go! I’m scared to be alone!” My pleas were sharp and piercing. She frowned and violently shook my hand off. I stumbled and fell to the cold floor. “What are you crying for! There’s nothing to cry about!” she snapped. “I told you, this is for Stella’s future! Can’t you be more understanding? Stop being such a dead weight, always clinging to me! I’m tired enough as it is!” “No one has ever helped me. I just want Stella’s life to be perfect. Why can’t you just be considerate for once?” The zipper on the suitcase was pulled shut with a harsh screech. Stella emerged from her room in a brand-new dress, her face glowing with excitement about her trip to the city of art. She saw me on the floor and froze, a flicker of superiority in her eyes that was quickly replaced by concern. “Nora, what’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” For a moment, I couldn’t tell if her concern was real or just an act. My mother grabbed the suitcases. “Stella, let’s go. We’re going to be late for our flight.” They turned to leave, laughing and talking. My mother glanced back at me one last time, not with worry, but with a warning. “Stay home and get better. And don’t make me have to call back from overseas to deal with your messes.” The heavy security door slammed shut in my face. A few seconds of dead silence. Click. The sound of the key turning in the lock from the outside. She was afraid I’d die out on the street and cause her trouble. That night was the most terrifying of my life. I turned on every light in the house, but the brightly lit rooms were even scarier than the darkness. Every piece of furniture, every one of Stella’s paintings, felt like a wide, unblinking eye, staring at me with cold indifference. I finally broke down and sobbed, but there was no one to answer. The years my mother and Stella were abroad were the longest, darkest years of my life. I survived on expired food from the fridge and tap water. The fear was so deep it became a part of me, waking me from nightmares just to check if the door was still locked from the outside. It was during those years that my small mind finally understood what my mother meant by “any sacrifice is worth it.” The house became my prison. And they became distant voices on the other end of a phone line. Their calls were always for one reason: Stella needed money for an exhibition, Stella needed inspiration. At first, I would cry, begging her to come back. But her response was always the same cool, detached tone. “Mom’s busy.” “You need to be more mature.” “Don’t cause me any trouble.” “I had the neighbor give you the key to unlock the door.” Gradually, I stopped crying. Tears that no one responds to are the cheapest things in the world. When she called, I learned to ask calmly, “What do you need me to do this time? How much allowance are you sending?” Sometimes she would impatiently wire a few hundred dollars. Other times she’d yell at me for only caring about money. But with that money, I learned how to budget, how to survive. How to calculate how many days the money had to last, how much I could spend each day, how to buy the cheapest food that would fill my stomach. It was just enough to keep me alive. But this bizarre arrangement came to an abrupt end one ordinary evening during my junior year of high school. I was holding a college admissions brochure, my fingers trembling with excitement as I dialed my mother’s number. I wanted to tell her that I had gotten into a good college, that I wanted to study interior design. I wanted to ask her if, like Stella, I could finally chase my own dream. The phone connected, and my heart pounded in my chest. But the other end was dead silent. 4 After the call disconnected, I thought it was just a bad signal and dialed again. But all I heard was the same cold, polite automated voice: “The number you have dialed has been switched off.” A terrible feeling washed over me. I opened my messaging app, found her familiar profile picture, and sent a message with trembling fingers. A glaring red exclamation mark appeared next to it. She had blocked me. She had cut off every possible way I could contact her, as decisively as if she were discarding a useless pawn. Panic seized me, and I could barely breathe. I frantically tore through the drawers in the house, searching for any money. All I found was a forgotten envelope on top of the kitchen cabinet. Inside was a thin stack of red bills. I counted them mechanically. Three thousand yuan. Three thousand. That was all. Three thousand yuan, tucked away in a cold envelope along with her other daughter’s brilliant future. It felt as light as air, but heavy enough to crush me. I collapsed onto the floor, all the strength draining from my body. I refused to accept it. I searched online for “Stella Vance, rising star.” A news report with photos popped up, searing my eyes. In the photos, Stella stood under the spotlight like a princess, confident and beautiful. My mother stood behind her in an expensive suit, her makeup perfect, her smile beaming with pride. At the end of the article was an interview with my mother. “Mrs. Vance,” the reporter asked, “you must have sacrificed a lot to cultivate a genius painter like Stella.” My mother smiled for the camera, a perfect blend of gentleness and determination. “Yes,” she said. “For my daughter’s artistic dream, I would give anything. Just a few days ago, to help her find more inspiration for her work, I bought her a replica of Van Gogh’s sketchbook.” My eyes were glued to a line of small print at the bottom of the article. “The sketchbook was reportedly sold at a Sotheby’s auction in Paris for three hundred thousand euros, equivalent to nearly three million yuan.” Three million. Three thousand. In that moment, a hysterical laugh escaped my lips. She left one daughter three thousand yuan to live on, while spending three million on an “inspirational” sketchbook for the other. My survival, it turned out, was worth exactly one-thousandth of their dream. All the bitterness, the anger, the despair, finally broke through the last of my defenses. But I didn’t cry out. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. The tears were ice-cold, dripping onto the phone screen, blurring my mother’s triumphant smile. That was the moment I started to hate her. 5 After that, the hardest period of my life began. Three thousand yuan was a drop in the ocean in a city with a soaring cost of living. My budgeting became even more ruthless. I skipped breakfast, ate two plain steamed buns for lunch, and had a pack of instant noodles for dinner, occasionally splurging on a sausage. Even so, the money dwindled with alarming speed. To save for tuition and living expenses, I started working odd jobs. As an underage worker, I was often bullied, my wages docked, and my labor exploited. I washed dishes in restaurants until the grease and detergent made my hands white and wrinkled. I handed out flyers, standing for hours in the scorching sun and freezing wind until my legs went numb. Once, I was working as a promoter at a supermarket while running a high fever. I collapsed next to a shelf. When I woke up, I was on a makeshift bed in the supermarket’s storage room. The manager, a kind-looking woman in her forties, brought me a bowl of hot congee. She looked at me, her expression a mix of pity and concern, and sighed. “Child, your health is your most important asset. What are you working yourself to death for?” I didn’t say anything. I just took the bowl and ate, gulping it down. Salty tears mixed with the warm rice porridge. I ate quickly, forcefully, swallowing down all my hatred and bitterness along with this stranger’s kindness. I made a silent vow to myself, and to the distant figure of my mother: “One day, I will make you regret this.” That manager, Mrs. Wong, became my employer. She ran a small cleaning and organizing company. She saw that I was a quick and diligent worker and took me under her wing. “Nora, I can tell you’re a girl with a good head on your shoulders,” she said as she taught me how to sort and organize. “A girl with a skill will never go hungry.” She was the first and only person in my life to show me motherly warmth. She would save meals for me, make me brown sugar ginger tea when I had my period, and watch with pride, as if I were her own child, as I transformed cluttered rooms into orderly spaces. In those newly organized spaces, for the first time, I found my own sense of worth and joy. Not as someone’s shadow, someone’s blood bag, or someone’s emotional punching bag. But as me, Nora Vance, an individual. I enrolled in a continuing education program at a local university, majoring in interior design. I took classes during the day and worked with Mrs. Wong on nights and weekends. Life was still a struggle, but for the first time, there was a light in my heart. After graduation, I left my hometown for a major city. The words “mother” and “sister” had lost all meaning to me. In my mind, they had died a long time ago. The wounds they inflicted were too deep, and the warmth I received from Mrs. Wong and other strangers was too comforting. The resentment and bitterness had been pushed into a corner by my busy life and hopes for the future. If she hadn’t suddenly called me, I probably would have never revisited that dark, damp corner of my past. My phone, sitting on the table, wouldn’t stop vibrating. It was the same unknown number, calling again and again. My assistant, Chloe, glanced at my phone and immediately understood. She didn’t ask why I wasn’t answering, or why my face had suddenly gone pale. She just squeezed my hand and, with practiced ease, switched my phone to silent. “Ms. Vance, these telemarketers are so annoying. Come on, let’s ignore them. My treat. There’s a new pour-over coffee place downstairs that’s supposed to be amazing!” She steered me out of the office. In the coffee shop, I listened to her chatter about gossip and TV shows. The cheerful music and the rich aroma of coffee filled the air, and the anger that had started to rise in me slowly subsided. The calls stopped for a few days. Everything was calm. Until a week later, when I took on a project organizing a high-end villa. As I led my team through the gate, I happened to look up. My eyes swept over the gardeners trimming the lawns. And then, my breath and my gaze both froze.

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On the eve of our wedding anniversary, I found a ten-carat diamond ring in my husband’s coat pocket. This must be my surprise, I thought, and slipped it back where I found it. A moment later, I was scrolling through my social media feed when I saw a new post from Brian’s young secretary. [The North Star. Can’t wait for this ‘surprise’ to land on my finger.] I stared at the screen, then walked back to the closet, took the ring out, and slid it onto my own hand. Some surprises, I decided, you just have to give yourself. 1 In five years of marriage, Brian had never given me a diamond ring, not even on our wedding day. So when I first saw it, I’ll admit, a tiny thrill went through me. I’d heard about this ring before. It was the final masterpiece of a world-renowned designer, a custom piece commissioned and named “The North Star.” I thought the old, stoic tree was finally about to bloom. I just never imagined the flower wasn’t meant for me. The sound of the shower was a steady rush from the bathroom. Acting on some strange impulse, I picked up his coat again. I tried the ring on every finger, from my pinky to my thumb, on my left hand and then my right. The damning conclusion was unavoidable. This ring wasn’t for me. The massive round-cut diamond glittered under the lamplight, but it was nothing compared to the frantic sparkle in my own eyes. My vision blurred for a second. I allowed myself that single second of grief, then scrubbed the tears away with the back of my hand. Five years of my life flashed through my mind. At the end of it, I gritted my teeth and forced the slightly-too-large ring onto the middle finger of my left hand. Then, as Brian emerged from the bathroom, his pupils contracting into pinpricks, I waved my hand in front of his face. “Surprise received,” I chirped. “Happy anniversary!” Brian had spent years navigating the cutthroat world of business; the boyish transparency he once had was long gone. Not a flicker of panic crossed his face. After a long moment, he simply opened his arms and pulled me into an embrace. “Hannah,” he murmured into my hair. “Happy fifth anniversary.” “For our next five years, I’ll get you an even more beautiful one, alright?” I buried my face in his chest, my shoulders shaking with laughter. He mistook it for the happy, emotional little sobs he was used to, thinking I was just being cute. He patted my back comfortingly. “This ring is one of a kind,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “A symbol of my unique and singular love for you.” … Well, thank God for a moment of courage. It had secured me this “unique and singular” love. After all, a moment later, and that “love” would have belonged to someone else. Turns out, you really do have to make your own surprises. When can you ever truly rely on a man? 2 I took a series of photos of the ring and posted a nine-photo grid to my feed—a rare indulgence for me. The caption was simple and blunt: “Big enough, sparkly enough. I love it.” It wasn’t long before a like and a comment appeared from his little secretary, Peyton. “It’s beautiful! But it looks like a custom design. Mrs. Hayes, do you happen to know the story behind it?” Every word was a spark, a blatant provocation. But I didn’t care. When you don’t get what you want, you’re allowed to be a little sour, right? I’m a generous person. So I replied to my own post with a “smirking face” emoji: “The story? The story is that it’s worth a fortune, haha…” Anyone who could see my feed could see that comment. Within minutes, likes from a dozen other socialites started pouring in. [LOL, Mrs. Hayes, you always know what’s important.] [Hannah, you’re hilarious as always.] … The next time I refreshed the page, Peyton’s pathetic little comment was gone. And so was the post she’d made an hour earlier. 3 That night, I lay in bed with my eyes closed, sleep a distant country. Vaguely, I sensed Brian getting out of bed. I shifted, and his movement paused. When I was still again, I heard the sound of footsteps, deliberately softened, heading out of the room. So, he did know how to be considerate of others. He just chose not to be. It was like his habit of waking up at the crack of dawn. He never once thought to move quietly, despite knowing I often worked late into the night. He’d just see me blinking awake, confused, and pat my head with some patronizing advice. “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a woman healthy and wise.” He knew my work schedule was flexible, that I often had to burn the midnight oil. It was only now dawning on me. This good man, my husband, had probably never loved me at all. I burrowed under the covers and quietly opened the security app on my phone. On the camera feed from the corner of the living room, I saw him standing on the balcony. I couldn’t hear what he was saying through the glass, but I could see the helpless, indulgent smile on his face. I don’t know how much time passed before he came back to bed, bringing the chill of the early autumn air with him. He fell asleep quickly. I couldn’t. The coldness he carried seemed to seep into my bones, freezing me from the inside out. I opened my phone again. His secretary’s feed had been updated ten minutes ago. [Love and companionship are the most important things in the world.] The accompanying image was a screenshot of a voice call. The name and profile picture were blurred out, but looking at the call duration—nearly half an hour—I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. It hurt. Of course it hurt. In my version of the future, Brian and I were supposed to last a lifetime. I never expected some girl to just waltz into the middle of it. I’d met Peyton a few times. She was a vibrant, energetic young woman… just like I used to be. When I first heard he’d hired a new secretary, I’d felt a flicker of unease. But the moment I saw her, I relaxed. She looked so much like me. And that was a good thing. Because Brian had never shown any particular fondness for the way I was. Add his cold, aloof personality to the mix, and I thought, what kind of girl would be foolish enough to fall for her own boss? Apparently, I was wrong. Or maybe men are just that fickle. Or maybe he hadn’t changed at all. He just didn’t like me. Thankfully, over the past five years, on the rare occasions those cold lips of his had uttered the words “I love you,” I’d always treated it as part of the act. The old saying is true: you can’t get hurt if you never believed in the first place. Love is the most important thing, is it? I looked at the man sleeping beside me, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I turned my back to him. Fine. Because to me, money is the most important thing. 4 I didn’t sleep a wink, mentally cursing Brian in a thousand different ways. I finally drifted off in the early morning, only to be pulled from a hazy dream by Brian. Before I could react, his lips were on mine, a hot, demanding kiss that swept over me like a storm. My sleepiness vanished instantly. On pure instinct, I shoved him away. Ugh. What a disgusting way to start the day. Brian, stunned by my reaction, just laughed. “You’re getting grumpier in the mornings.” His smile was a glare in my eyes, like some kind of pathetic compensation for his infidelity. I closed my eyes and rolled over, turning my back to him. “I need more sleep. You should go.” Silence. Then a low sigh from behind me. “Alright. Remember to get up and eat breakfast.” “I had Mrs. Gable make that seafood congee you love.” I burrowed deeper into the blankets, my mind a tangle of irritation. “Got it,” I mumbled. He must have sensed my mood. With another small laugh, he tucked a card into the bedding beside me. “Go out and have some fun. It’s not good to be cooped up at home all the time.” I shifted to show I’d heard him. A soft chuckle, and then, “Okay, I’m leaving.” I clutched the black card, and all my frayed nerves seemed to smooth over. Instantly, I was back asleep. I slept until the afternoon. When I woke up, I scrolled through my phone and saw Peyton’s latest post. It was from that morning. [Who has the most amazing boss? Not only did he give me a ride to work, but yesterday I mentioned I was craving seafood congee, and today, there’s seafood congee!] The picture was of a thermal food jar. It was a limited-edition one I’d bought overseas. I’d never even used it, keeping it as a display piece. And the photo was clearly taken from the passenger seat of Brian’s car. I understood now. This wasn’t just showing off. This was a declaration of war. I looked at the bowl of congee on my nightstand, and my stomach turned. I walked it to the kitchen and dumped it in the trash. It’s fine, I told myself. It’s fine. If she wants the damn congee, let her have it. I have the black card. There’s nothing I can’t buy. I changed my clothes and headed straight for the mall. Money, after all, is only yours once you spend it. I walked into my usual high-end boutique, and the sales associate recognized me immediately. “Mrs. Hayes, perfect timing! The diamond bracelet Mr. Hayes ordered for you has just arrived.” A bracelet? I never wear them. And after yesterday’s lesson, I knew exactly who this was for. As they say, one act of courage is always followed by… a second. I smiled serenely and accepted the box. “Thank you. No wonder Brian told me to go out shopping today.” “Could you help me put it on?” As she fastened the clasp, she chattered happily. “Mr. Hayes was very specific about the design.” “He even had your initial engraved on it.” I can’t blame her for being oblivious. Brian and I used to come here together often. For years, he’d played the part of the devoted husband so perfectly that of course, everyone believed it. I flipped the bracelet over to look at the engraving. An elegant, cursive P. P for Peyton? That didn’t stop me from smiling. “What a lovely surprise.” I immediately took a picture and sent it to Brian. “Another unexpected surprise! Received. Thank you, darling.”

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The day her college protégé died of cancer, my pregnant wife jumped from the hospital rooftop during a check-up, taking our baby with her. Only then did I realize: Ava, who vowed at our wedding to love only me, had always loved him. When I opened my eyes again, it was our wedding day—we had both been reborn. Without a word, we made the same choice: we fled to chase the lives we truly wanted. Seven years later, she used her future knowledge to secure massive funding, becoming an AI titan. At her product launch, she publicly announced her relationship with her programmer protégé. Spotting me in the crowd—well-dressed, holding a diamond ring—she smirked into the microphone, “Even if you proposed right now, I’d never make the mistake of choosing you again.” But that evening, when the conference’s secret billionaire investor—a powerful, elegant woman—blushed and accepted my proposal, it was Ava who rushed the stage, eyes blazing, demanding, “This is all a stunt to win me back, isn’t it? You swore you’d only love me!” 1 I always knew that after our rebirth, my ex-wife, Ava, and I would cross paths again. I just never imagined it would be on the day I planned to propose to my girlfriend. Right now, Ava was the star of the show, radiant on stage in a stunning crimson dress. Beside her, her beloved protégé from the past, Leo, stood tall in a crisp white suit. Their fingers were intertwined as they made their relationship official for the world to see. The room erupted in thunderous applause and excited cheers. “Leo and Ms. Thorne are the golden couple of the tech world!” “Totally! I heard they built this company from the ground up together, through thick and thin. It’s the ultimate love story!” Amid the buzz, someone shouted a question. “You two are so perfect together! When’s the wedding?” The question stopped me cold. They weren’t married yet? In our past life, the moment Ava heard Leo was dead, she hadn’t hesitated. She’d abandoned our unborn child, leaping from that hospital roof just to join him in death. After being reborn on our wedding day, she’d ditched me at the altar and driven a thousand miles overnight to be with him. I’d assumed they would have been married for years, living a quiet life with a family by now. But seven years had passed, and they were only just now going public. Wait a second… Even in our past life, when she was married to me, Ava never hid her connection to Leo. Why, in this life where they were finally together, was she so secretive, waiting until now to reveal their relationship? On stage, Ava’s smile tightened for a fraction of a second before her polished, professional mask slid back into place. “We’re not in a rush to get married,” she said smoothly. “Leo is already under so much pressure with work, and I don’t want to add to his burden. Besides, we’re more focused on our careers right now. That way, when we do have a baby, we can give them the best possible life.” Her explanation was met with a wave of knowing, affectionate smiles from the audience. “I never knew the ruthless Ava Thorne could be so thoughtful and tender!” “Ugh, what a dream romance! I wish I had a partner like that.” I watched Ava, her smile so perfectly crafted, and I had to shake my head. So, this was the real Ava. Capable of worrying, of considering someone else’s feelings, of planning a future for two. Not the woman I knew, who treated me with a distant, polite respect, her every action tinged with a chilling indifference, as if nothing I did ever truly mattered. Smack! A sharp pain exploded at the back of my head, yanking me from my thoughts. I clutched my head and spun around. The event manager was glaring at me, his face a thundercloud of fury. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m paying you to clean, not to stand around daydreaming!” His roar drew the attention of the entire room. Including Ava. Her eyes flickered over my server’s uniform, a flash of surprise in their depths. “Ethan? What are you doing here?” I answered instinctively. “I’m waiting for someone.” It was true. Today was my seven-year anniversary with my girlfriend, Molly. I’d heard she would be attending this launch as an investor, so I’d disguised myself as a waiter to surprise her with a proposal. I never expected this disastrous reunion with my ex-wife. Leo let out a cold, derisive snort. “Everyone invited here tonight is a major player in the tech industry. Who could you possibly be waiting for, besides Ava? Don’t tell me you’re waiting for that mysterious investor who hasn’t even shown up yet.” He took a menacing step forward. “Just stop stalking her, man. Get lost before I change my mind and have you thrown out.” Ava remained silent, her gaze sweeping past me to land on the manager. “Today is a special day for Leo and me, so I won’t hold you responsible for letting an outsider slip in,” she said, her voice cool and detached. “Pay him double and have him leave immediately.” From beginning to end, Ava stood on that stage, her expression calm and unreadable. After that initial flicker of surprise, she hadn’t looked at me again. It was as if we’d never shared a life, as if we were nothing more than strangers. As the man who had been her husband for years in another lifetime, I knew exactly what this meant. To be ignored by her was the ultimate expression of her contempt. But ever since she’d chosen to die for Leo, my feelings for her had withered into dust. I was no longer the man who would bend and break for her. With that thought, I held up the diamond ring in my hand. “Why should I leave?” I said, shaking my head. “I’m here to propose.” Leo’s eyes finally registered the ring, and he burst out laughing. “Propose? You think we’re children? You really think anyone’s buying that rock? It’s the size of a doorknob. If that were real, it’d be worth a house. You’re just screaming ‘fake’.” His voice dripped with scorn. “Look at you, getting old and still trying to latch onto a rich woman. Did Ava leaving you at the altar break your brain, Ethan?” He was twisting the knife, flaunting his victory. But all I felt was a profound sense of exhaustion. Of course the diamond was real. Ava wasn’t the only one who came back. Using my own memories of the future, I had become a formidable player in the world of venture capital. Over seven years, I’d turned an initial investment of fifty thousand dollars into a fortune of over five hundred million by betting on gold, short-form video, and AI. A multi-carat diamond was pocket change. Seeing my silence, Leo assumed I was ashamed and cornered. He was about to physically shove me out when Ava stopped him. “Leo, don’t. The press is here. It wouldn’t look good.” She turned to me, her expression unreadable. “I know how he is. Let me handle this.” She fixed her gaze on me, her eyes as calm as a frozen lake. “Ethan, it’s been seven years. I thought you would have matured. But you’re still so reckless.” “You came here for money, didn’t you? For old times’ sake, as college acquaintances, I can find a job for you. It’s better than waiting tables for a living.” “I’ll send you the contact for our HR department. Just give them your name.” She pulled out her phone, ready to forward the information. But then she froze, her eyes locked on the stark red exclamation point on her screen. “You… you blocked me?!” 2 Her exclamation reminded me—I’d completely forgotten to delete her contact information! Thank God I blocked her right after the wedding fiasco. If Molly ever found out I still had my ex-wife’s number, I’d be sleeping on the couch for a month. “Oh, right,” I said, nodding thoughtfully. “Thanks for reminding me.” A smug smile touched Ava’s lips. “Now that you remember, you can add me back. My time is very…” Before she could finish, I deleted her contact right in front of her. The smile on her face vanished, replaced by a glacial mask. After a long, tense moment, she spoke, each word dripping with ice. “I see now my decision was the right one. Seven years, and you’re still just as childish.” She shook her head. “This was likely the last time our paths will ever cross, the only chance you had to change your pathetic life. And you just threw it away.” Leo chimed in with a sneer. “Ava, you’re just too kind. This guy is stalking you, posing as a waiter to get close. Who knows what he’ll do next? If you ask me, we should just call the cops and have this scum arrested. Why waste your breath on him?” I felt my jaw clench. If we were talking about scum, Leo was king. After all, in our past life, he hadn’t died of cancer. He’d died from something… messier. A consequence of a reckless, sordid lifestyle. Back in college, he was already using Ava’s living allowance to fund his nights of binge drinking and clubbing with trashy girls. The real reason he’d broken up with her wasn’t to “study abroad,” as he’d claimed. It was because he’d drained her dry and latched onto a wealthier girl, lying to avoid the drama. It was during that period of wild partying that he contracted the disease that would kill him seven years later. I only found out after tracking down his medical records in our previous life. If things had followed the same course, Ava was likely infected, too. Before leaving, a flicker of old-fashioned decency compelled me to warn her. “By the way, you should probably get yourself checked out by a doctor.” Ava’s brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” My gaze shifted to Leo, my tone deliberate and heavy with implication. “Some diseases… they’re contagious.” Leo’s face paled instantly. Guilt was written all over him. But Ava, misinterpreting my warning as a jealous jab, just scoffed. “You’ve changed, Ethan. I used to think you were just incompetent. I never realized you were morally bankrupt, too. Sour grapes, I see. Spreading lies about Leo just because you can’t have me.” Seeing that she was completely unreachable, I gave up and turned to leave. “Stop!” Leo stepped in front of me, blocking my path. I braced myself for a fight, my fists clenching at my sides. But instead of throwing a punch, he leaned in, a slimy grin spreading across his face. “Hey, Ethan. You’re over thirty now, right? Don’t tell me you still haven’t managed to find a wife.” A dark cloud passed over me. Obviously not. If I had a wife, why would I be here proposing to my girlfriend? Leo’s grin widened. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Look at you, dressed in those cheap, no-name clothes. Who would want you? But hey, since you seem to have a taste for mooching, how about I introduce you to a rich old widow? You might even get a nice inheritance out of it!” The people around him snickered, but I looked him straight in the eye, my voice steady and serious. “No, thank you. There’s only one person I love. We’ve built a life together. I would never marry anyone but her.” As I spoke those resolute words, I saw a flicker of something complex and unreadable in Ava’s eyes from across the room. She quickly turned away, avoiding my gaze. A moment later, she pulled a checkbook from her purse and held a slip of paper out to me. “It’s impossible for us, Ethan. Even if you wait forever, it will never happen. You came here for money, right? Here. Two hundred thousand dollars. It’s enough for you to go back to your hometown, buy a house, and get married.” 3 A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. Leo stared at Ava, bewildered. “Ava… you don’t… still have feelings for him, do you?” I looked at the check in her hand and realized she’d completely misunderstood. The woman I was talking about wasn’t her. It was Molly, my girlfriend in this life. After Ava left me at the altar, I sold our would-be marital home and dove into the stock market. That’s where I met Molly. It started with a dare at a trading exchange. Using my knowledge of the future, I helped her sidestep a catastrophic loss. As we spent more time together, we discovered a shared passion for everything from obscure films to street food. We just… clicked. It was only later that I learned she was the sole heir to the vast Linwood Corporation, a conglomerate with interests across the country. She was a prodigy, a brilliant investor whose sharp instincts had propelled her family’s company to new heights. In fact, Ava’s startup was just one of hundreds of companies in Molly’s investment portfolio. With a woman like Molly by my side, any lingering feelings for Ava had long since evaporated. Feeling the weight of everyone’s stares, Ava finally turned to address them, her composure regained. “Of course not. But when we were… together… he helped me with some of the early AI algorithms. This money is to buy out his intellectual property rights. Once the company goes public, it will prevent people like him from coming out of the woodwork to cause trouble and blackmail us.” Her explanation made Leo relax, but I was just speechless. I had forgotten about that, but now that she brought it up… I did more than “help her with some algorithms.” The reason Ava had gotten this far was because she’d built her entire company on the foundation of an AI framework I had spent years perfecting in our past life. After being reborn, her first move was to steal my life’s work to pave the way for her precious Leo, registering patents for my technology. She knew, however, that I still possessed the original data files. If I decided to sue, the ensuing legal battle would tank her company’s stock value. So, this wasn’t about “mitigating business risk.” This was hush money. But what she didn’t know was that my original framework had a fatal flaw, a time bomb that was guaranteed to explode eventually. I wanted no part of it. Besides, I was already financially independent thanks to my own investments. Two hundred thousand dollars was an insult. I took the check from her hand and tore it to shreds. Leo’s face contorted with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “See, Ava? Pathetic people are pathetic for a reason! The guy is insatiably greedy! Two hundred grand isn’t enough for him. You don’t need to waste your pity on trash like this!” His spit flew as he ranted. I took a disgusted step back. Ava, having been rebuffed again and again, had also reached her limit. Her face was a mask of cold fury. “Fine. You’re on your own,” she snapped, turning away from me for good. I shrugged and made to leave the toxic atmosphere behind me. But as I walked away, Leo stuck his foot out, tripping me. I went down hard, the contents of my pocket spilling onto the floor. My watch clattered across the polished marble. Leo bent down to pick it up. The sneer on his face vanished, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief. “This… this is a limited edition Patek Philippe! The new release!” he stammered, his eyes huge. “The auction for these started in the millions! It’s practically priceless… How… how do you have this?!” I scrambled to my feet, brushed myself off, and snatched the watch back. “It’s mine. What’s it to you?” Molly had given it to me this morning for our anniversary. I’d taken it off when I slipped into the waiter’s uniform, thinking it was too flashy for my disguise. Leo looked at me like I was insane. “Bullshit! You don’t even have a job! How could you afford this watch? No wonder you turned down the money. You stole this, didn’t you? You were trying to get away so you could fence it!” At his words, a horrible realization dawned on Ava. Her face went pale. “Ethan, do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she hissed, her voice sharp with alarm. “The only person in this country who owns that watch is Molly Linwood, the heiress to the Linwood Corporation! She bought it at a high-profile auction a while back, saying it was a gift for her boyfriend. Did you steal from the Linwoods?!” The room exploded. “I heard Molly Linwood is crazy about her boyfriend. Some guy posted a video online criticizing his investment strategy once, and she sued him into oblivion. He’ll be paying off that debt for the rest of his life.” “Seriously? This guy has a death wish. Stealing from Molly Linwood’s boyfriend? He’s a dead man walking.” Listening to the whispers, I almost laughed out loud. Stole it? I am Molly Linwood’s boyfriend. I was about to set them straight when Leo, glancing at his phone, broke in with a triumphant shout. “You’re finished, Ethan! I just got word that Molly Linwood is on her way up! We can hand you over to her, you little thief. Maybe she’ll be so grateful she’ll even increase our funding!” He was about to call security when a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. It was Molly. A wave of relief washed over me, and a smile spread across my face. “Molly! You’re finally here. I’ve been waiting for you!” Leo scoffed at my familiar tone. “A common thief, cozying up to Ms. Linwood? The guy’s lost his mind.” As the host of the event, Ava immediately stepped forward, her voice laced with deference. “Ms. Linwood, I apologize for the chaotic scene. But there’s a reason for it. We happened to find the watch you gifted your boyfriend here at the venue and were just about to contact you to return it.” I rolled my eyes. “It was never lost,” I shot back at Ava. “You can stop with the fake sincerity.” My retort left her speechless, her face turning a blotchy red. “You… you are beyond saving! Fine, you can rot for all I care!” she spat, washing her hands of me and stepping back to watch the train wreck she expected to unfold. Ignoring the buzzing swarm of whispers around me, I pulled the ring box from my pocket. Taking a deep breath, I dropped to one knee. I looked up at Molly, my eyes filled with a soft, unwavering love. “Molly,” I said, my voice steady. “Will you marry me?” My voice wasn’t loud, but in the suddenly silent hall, it carried to every corner. Leo was the first to break the silence, clutching his stomach as he howled with laughter. “Ethan, are you brain-dead? Take a good look at yourself in a puddle. Do you really think you’re worthy of Ms. Linwood? Besides, she’s already taken! Her boyfriend is a legend, a titan of industry, not a pathetic nobody like you!” He was getting more and more worked up, practically spitting in his excitement. “Her boyfriend is one of the greatest investment geniuses of our time! And you? You’re nothing! Anyone who tries to get between them ends up as dust! You’re about to vanish off the face of the earth, you idiot!” Ava watched me with an expression of pure, unadulterated disappointment. “Ethan, you never change. Must you always push things until you’re at a dead end?” She shook her head, as if I were a lost cause. The rest of the room looked on with a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity, waiting for the inevitable humiliation. But Molly—the famously ruthless, ice-cold Molly Linwood—blushed. A shy, beautiful blush that spread across her cheeks. Then, slowly, she extended her hand. I gently slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice soft but clear. “And let’s have the wedding next week.”

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