Author: Momo Chan

The day my childhood sweetheart urged me to divorce my vampire husband, I started seeing the comments. They floated in the air like ghostly text messages, visible only to me. 【OMG, girlie, no! The second you sign those papers, the main characters are going to sell you off as a blood thrall!】 【Sweetheart, you have no idea. You’re about to abandon a Seventh-Order vampire lord to run off with that manipulative jerk?】 【NOOOO, MY SHIP CANNOT SINK! Can’t the female supporting character just… accidentally eat the divorce papers or something?】 The next second, with my vampire husband watching, I stuffed the entire document into my mouth and swallowed. I offered him a weak, sheepish grin. “I guess I was just… really hungry.” 1 Matthew Malins stared at me, his crimson eyes filled with a quiet confusion, trying to decipher my endgame. I suppose anyone would think I was insane. One second he was signing the papers, the next I was swallowing them whole. I guiltily avoided his gaze, my voice barely a whisper. “If I told you I lost a game of Truth or Dare with a friend, and the dare was to ask for a divorce and then eat the papers in front of you… would you believe me?” A fresh wave of comments erupted in derisive laughter. 【LMAO, she would’ve been better off saying she was sleepwalking.】 【Girl, you can’t just take advantage of the fact that he’s obsessed with you and treat him like an idiot.】 【If he actually believes that excuse, I will personally go wash my hair while doing a handstand.】 I wanted to hide my head under the table, to stammer out another, better excuse. But Matthew simply nodded, his expression calm. His tone even held a trace of guilt. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault for not feeding you enough.” He paused. “What would you like to eat?” Me: “Huh???” The Comments: 【WTF???】 【He is so ridiculously whipped for her!】 【I vote she eats his Adam’s apple!】 【Seconded! Just drink his saliva!】 A rush of blood went to my head, and the words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I want to eat… your cooking?” Damn it. Those perverted comments almost led me astray. 2 Without a word, Matthew rolled up his sleeves and walked into the kitchen. The black apron, cinched at his lean waist, gave him an air of domestic charm that was surprisingly potent. I found myself staring, mesmerized by his efficient movements. The summer air was thick and hot, and he casually undid the top button of his shirt. A single bead of sweat trickled from his temple, tracing a path down the elegant column of his throat. I had never realized how devastatingly attractive a man could be while cooking. Gulp. The sound of me swallowing was embarrassingly loud in the quiet room. Matthew’s pointed ears twitched, and he glanced in my direction, a questioning look in his eyes. The moment our gazes met, my toes curled in my shoes with such intense awkwardness I could have excavated a new basement. Just then, my phone rang, saving me from my mortification. It was Alan, my childhood friend. “Elara? I thought we agreed I’d pick you up after you divorced him. Why did you suddenly change your mind? Are you really planning to spend the rest of your life with that… cold-blooded animal?” A loud crash echoed from the kitchen. My heart seized. I frantically lowered the volume on my phone. The comments were unimpressed. 【Why are you bothering? A vampire’s hearing is superhuman. He can hear you even if you whisper.】 【Girl, if you actually listen to this guy, you’re on the fast track to becoming a human raisin.】 【I’m just saying, if she were even a little nicer to him, he wouldn’t have ended up cradling her corpse in his coffin later in the story…】 My fingers tightened on my phone, a chill running down my spine. I raised my voice, making sure Matthew could hear every word. “Don’t you dare spread rumors! My hus-band and I are doing great, thank you very much! Next time, try shaking the empty space in your head before you talk to me. Hearing your whining gives me a headache.” 3 I hung up and, for good measure, blocked and deleted his number. Matthew was standing at the kitchen doorway, holding a plate, a stunned expression on his face. I forced a gentle smile, a stark contrast to my usual cold demeanor. He blushed, the color creeping up from his neck to the tips of his ears. “The green beans… they might be a little overcooked,” he stammered. “It’s fine! If you made it, I’ll love it.” The next second, I was staring at the unidentifiable black objects on my plate, lost in thought. 【Go on, girl, keep smiling. Why’d you stop? You just naturally hate smiling?】 【LMAO, he heard her say ‘husband’ and got so excited he added five extra spoonfuls of soy sauce.】 I gritted my teeth, speared a… bean… with my fork, and swallowed it whole. “Who said, ugh, these are overcooked? Gag. They’re… fantastic.” It turns out, you can’t fight biology. That night, I was struck with a severe case of nausea and stomach cramps. I distinctly remember Matthew staying by my side all night, but when I woke up, he was gone. 【No way, did he blame himself so much his psychic energy went into a feedback loop?】 【I mean, her blood is supposed to stabilize him, right? She should go to the basement!】 【Please, she hates it when he touches her. You think she’d willingly let him drink her blood? He always just endures it alone.】 The more powerful the vampire, the more susceptible they were to these violent psychic instabilities. If they lost control completely, they devolved into mindless, blood-crazed monsters. 4 When I reached the basement, I found Matthew slumped painfully beside an ornate, velvet-lined coffin. The moment he saw me, he flinched and pulled his jacket tighter around himself, looking like a startled animal. I reached out, wanting to stroke his hair. “Don’t touch me.” His voice was cold, sharp, and it stopped my hand in mid-air. In the year we’d been married, Matthew had never spoken a harsh word to me. The sudden distance was a shock. “You… you just snapped at me?” “I’m sorry, I—I just…” He instinctively moved to comfort me, but as he did, his jacket slipped, revealing his true vampire form. His inky black hair had turned a shimmering silver, and his eyes glowed with an eerie red light in the darkness. He quickly shrank back into the shadows, turning his head away. “Don’t… don’t look at me. I’m hideous…” I took a step closer, trying to soothe him. “No, you’re not. You’re beautiful.” The air was still for a moment. He looked up at me, silver bangs falling over his eyes, looking utterly fragile. His voice was low but certain. “You’re lying.” 【Sigh. A while back, she had a nightmare and stumbled in on his vampire form. She freaked out and screamed that he was a disgusting monster. He hasn’t let her see it since.】 【You can’t really blame her. She watched her mother get killed by a vampire. Anyone would have trauma from that.】 【Am I the only one who’s noticed his psychic energy gets unstable every time she wears that one specific perfume?】 【There are good and bad people, and good and bad vampires. I just wish she would stop being so cold to him.】 I fell silent. 5 Seeing Matthew’s pain intensify, I bit my own finger and held it to his lips. He pressed his lips together, resisting, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead from the effort. I cupped his cheek, my voice a low, coaxing murmur. “Be a good boy. Open up.” He stared at my face, a dazed look in his glowing eyes. Seizing the opportunity, I slipped my bleeding finger into his mouth. The moment the blood hit his tongue, his entire body went rigid. A wave of primal excitement washed over him, and he began to lap greedily at the wound. As he became lost in the sensation, a mischievous thought struck me. I slowly pulled my finger away and used it to tilt his chin up. “Say ‘Master’ for me.” He was hovering in a haze between lucidity and delirium. The corners of his eyes were damp, his voice hoarse. “M-Master.” “Good boy.” As a reward, I offered him my finger again. A moment later, comprehension dawned, and he flushed with a mixture of shame and annoyance, the tips of his ears turning a shade of crimson so deep they looked like they might bleed. But he couldn’t stop himself from gently nipping at my fingertip. If only I had a muzzle for him, maybe a leash… the possibilities were… intriguing.

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I had been in love with Addison Vartan for ten years. The moment I found out he loved my sister, I gave up. That night, he was blind drunk. My first instinct was to call my sister. He snatched my phone and threw it out the window. “Still trying to push me away?” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “You’ve gotten bold, kid.” … After the world tilted on its axis, I told him, “Don’t worry. We’re both adults. I don’t expect you to take responsibility.” Addison’s eyes darkened. He pulled me into his arms. “Maybe not. But I need you to take responsibility for me.” 1 Addison Vartan came back the day before my birthday. I went to meet him, my heart soaring. I was a step too late. I saw him with my sister, Aurora, wrapped in an embrace. My childhood friend, Leo, sighed beside me. “I need to tell you something. You should probably brace yourself.” “What?” My gaze was glued to Addison. It had been so long. He’d gotten even more handsome. Aurora was saying something to him; he just listened, his expression coolly detached, occasionally nodding or murmuring a quiet assent. “Your sister is marrying him.” “Who?” “Addison.” The bouquet of roses I was holding slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor. Addison’s head turned, his eyes finding mine across the space. His gaze lingered on my face for a moment, just as blank and unreadable as ever. Leo grabbed my arm. “Hey, did you hear me?” I shook him off. “Don’t talk nonsense!” I loved Addison. My pursuit of him had always been loud, direct, and anything but a secret. My sister adored me. She would never, ever try to steal him away. I launched myself into Addison’s arms. He stumbled back half a step, catching me. I inhaled the faint, familiar scent of tobacco on his coat, my head swimming with delirious happiness. “Addison, did you come back just for my birthday?” “You’ve misunderstood.” He gently pried my arms off him, making me stand on my own two feet. “I have a temporary assignment. A business trip to the city.” I didn’t care about that. I pressed close to him again. “Do you have time tomorrow night, then? Can you come to my birthday party?” “Skye.” My sister’s voice was firm. She pulled at my sleeve. “Addison is very busy. Don’t be a nuisance.” I tilted my head back, my eyes wide with hope, looking only at Addison. “Stay out of this, Aurora. I want to hear his answer.” Our eyes met. His were sharp, a deep, impenetrable black. I couldn’t read a thing. But I knew that ever since we were children, he could never bring himself to refuse me. Except for that one thing: being his girlfriend. As expected, Addison let out a soft sigh. “If I have time, I’ll be there.” “Okay.” I beamed. “I’ll be waiting for you, Addison.” 2 At 11:46 PM, he came. “He’s on the rooftop, talking with your sister,” Leo told me. “Okay!” I was practically vibrating with joy, ready to sprint up the stairs. Leo grabbed my arm again. “Skye, please listen to me. Go on up, fine. But whatever you see, you have to be able to handle it.” “What is there to handle?” I brushed him off, unconcerned. I ran up to the rooftop, the name “Addison” ready on my lips. But the word caught in my throat, a hard, painful lump. I saw my sister, the one who had cherished and protected me my whole life. She reached up and untied the silk bow at her chest. She took Addison’s hand, which was resting at his side, and brought it up, placing it over her heart. “Addison, I’m in love with you,” she said, her voice trembling but clear. “I don’t know when it started, but by the time I realized it, it was too late to turn back. I know this is wrong, I know it’s not fair to Skye, but my feelings for you… they are just as strong as hers.” My own heart leaped into my throat. I prayed silently, fiercely. Reject her! Addison! You’re so good at rejecting people! But heaven wasn’t listening. I watched as Addison raised his hand. His fingers were gentle, deliberate. He took the ribbons of her undone bow and slowly, carefully, tied them back together. Then he opened his arms and pulled her into a hug. His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear the words. Of course, I didn’t want to hear them. A tear slid down my cheek, a hot, silent drop that felt like it was falling straight into my soul. The two people I loved most in the world. On my birthday. Betraying me. Together. 3 I ran. Not home, not to school. I spent the next seven days and seven nights drowning myself in bars and clubs. Preston, some trust-fund kid who’d had a thing for me, finally saw his chance and stuck to me like glue. He opened a five-figure bottle of champagne, determined to get me wasted. My head was spinning, nausea rising in my throat. He kept pushing the glass toward me. “Skye, drink! If you don’t drink, you’re disrespecting me!” My hair was a messy curtain over one shoulder. I shot him a glare. “Don’t push your luck. What ‘respect’?” “Hey! If you don’t want to drink, fine, but why the attitude?” He was offended, calling over his buddies to back him up. The door clicked open. Like the hero walking into a movie, Addison’s entrance had an unreal, luminous quality. He stood tall, a cut above everyone else, his presence commanding. He was dressed in black, a palpable chill emanating from his sharp features. The restaurant manager scurried behind him, trying to stop him. “Sir! You can’t just walk in here! Who are you?” Addison ignored everyone. His eyes locked onto me, a storm gathering in their depths. He strode over, grabbed my wrist, and started pulling me out. Preston stepped in his way. “Hey, who the hell are you?” “You dare touch someone who belongs to me?” Addison didn’t say a word. He just lifted his gaze and leveled it at him. It was a look forged in crucibles Preston couldn’t even imagine, and it made the boy flinch. Preston started to bluster, but Addison had already turned to the stunned manager. “My name is Vartan.” “Vartan? As in, the Vartans?” “Holy crap! We can’t afford to mess with him!” “Come on, anyone can say that. How do we know he’s not bluffing?” The whispers rippled through the room, but no one dared to move. Addison let out a cold laugh. “Since you’re Skye’s friends, you’re my friends,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. “Their tab tonight… put it on me.” He turned back to the now-terrified Preston. “May I take her now?” 4 A classic hero-saves-the-damsel moment. All I felt was that he was being a meddling busybody. Inside Addison’s black SUV, I asked lazily, “Did my sister send you?” He handed me a bottle of water. “What does she have to do with this?” The cap was already twisted open. So thoughtful. Worthy of being my brother-in-law. I didn’t take a sip. I screwed the cap back on and tossed the bottle into the back seat. “Well, congratulations are in order, I suppose.” The car screeched to a halt. I was nearly thrown from my seat. I whipped my head around to glare at him. His own expression was thunderous. “Skye Everett, can you stop with the sarcasm?” “You want me to talk to you nicely?” I sneered. “Fine. Beg me.” Addison would never beg me. He started the car again and drove me home in stony silence. I slammed the car door when we arrived, still ignoring him. He caught my arm, his voice laced with exasperation. “What will it take for you to talk to me properly?” I walked into the house and went straight to my father’s liquor cabinet, reaching for the strong stuff on the top shelf. Too high. I couldn’t reach. I heard Addison sigh behind me. He stepped up, easily retrieved the bottles, and handed them to me. I set them on the table. “Drink all of these, and I’ll talk to you properly.” Addison was allergic to alcohol. He wasn’t supposed to drink, ever. He looked at me, his gaze intense. “You promise?” “Of course.” I’d never seen him drink. The one and only time was on his 18th birthday. He ended up in the hospital. I sat by his bedside all night, crying my eyes out. When he woke up, I made him promise me. “Swear you’ll never drink again!” He was lying there, pale as a sheet, but he still managed a weak smile. He lifted his hand and gently tapped my nose. “I swear I’ll never make our little Skye cry again.” I was only in middle school then. That brilliant smile was seared into my heart. Even today, I couldn’t erase it. 5 Addison had lost his mind. He actually twisted the cap off one of my dad’s expensive whiskeys and started chugging it straight from the bottle. At first, I didn’t care. But then half the bottle was gone, and he still wasn’t stopping. No. Even without the allergy, drinking like that would destroy his stomach. I didn’t want him dying in my house. I snatched the bottle from his hand. “Stop it! You don’t have to drink anymore! I was wrong! It was a joke, okay? I won’t mess with you!” The alcohol had hit him hard. The corners of his eyes were red, the usual intimidating aura around him gone. He just stared at me blankly, murmuring my name. “Little Skye.” He kept saying it, and my own throat felt dry. This was a mistake. A terrible mistake was about to happen. No. Even though I loved him, I had my limits. A moral code. “Just sit here. I’ll get you some water.” I escaped to the kitchen and fumbled for my phone to call my sister. Before the call could connect, the phone was ripped from my hand. I turned to see Addison swaying behind me. He’d thrown my phone out the open window. We lived in a house, thank God. Otherwise, that would have been a crime. “Addison! What is wrong with you? You owe me a new phone!” He just looked at me, a dumb, drunken haze in his eyes. Then he reached out and pulled me into his arms. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. I could hear his heart beating against my ear. His warm breath ghosted over my skin, and his voice, deliberately low and raspy, was intoxicating. It was melting my resolve. “Still trying to push me away?” “You’ve gotten bold, kid.” 6 His kiss was a storm. Overwhelming, passionate. I never knew the perpetually cool Addison Vartan could be so fiery. At first, I resisted. Then, it became a battle of wills. It’s not like I was losing out, anyway. But I was no match for him. I was losing, badly. “Addison,” I mumbled against his lips, still trying to sound tough. “Tell me the truth. You’ve kissed a lot of girls, haven’t you?” He was dizzy, his arms tight around me. “Little Skye,” he slurred, “I’ll take that as a compliment on my natural talent.” Talent, my ass. I bit his lip. He wouldn’t open his mouth. I pinched his side in frustration. He gasped in pain, his lips parting, and I took my chance. And I lost again. I don’t know how it all happened. When I came to my senses, Addison was cupping my face, his handsome features softened with a tenderness I’d never seen before. “Are you going to push me away again?” I turned my head, refusing to answer. He was stubborn, pressing me for a response. He didn’t stop until a broken sob escaped my throat, until tears were streaming down my face. He sighed, as if he didn’t know what to do with me. He gently, tenderly, kissed the tears from my cheeks. “Little Skye,” he whispered. “I’m so in love with you.”

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Broke and starving, I did the unthinkable. I kidnapped Brook Tyler, heir to the Tyler empire. “Five thousand dollars,” I demanded, my voice trembling, “or I’ll have my way with you.” In the dim, cramped space of my studio apartment, Brook was on his knees, his hands bound behind him. He’d been tense, but the number that tumbled from my lips made him burst out laughing. “Five thousand? Who do you think you’re insulting?” he scoffed. “You might as well just have your way with me.” But his wallet only held five hundred dollars. I snatched the cash and bolted. Later, in the basement of his mansion, he tied me up in the exact same way. Suitcases filled with cash were piled before me. “Ava,” he said, his voice a low growl. “That’s fifty million.” “Tonight, you’re having your way with me.” 1 “Five thousand? Who do you think you’re insulting?” Brook’s laughter was sharp, his face flushing from pale to a deep crimson. “You might as well just have your way with me.” I stared at him, my carefully constructed bravado crumbling into panic. Grumble. My stomach betrayed me with a loud, pathetic growl. I hadn’t eaten in two days. If I hadn’t been so desperate, I never would have risked something as insane as kidnapping Brook Tyler. I just didn’t expect him to have so little regard for his own virtue. Given the choice between his money and his body, he’d picked his body. I guess it’s true what they say: the richer they are, the tighter their wallets. All I wanted was enough cash for a meal. Hearing my stomach’s protest, Brook cleared his throat, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Hungry?” I nodded, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over me. I was starving, practically on the verge of blacking out. He looked at me as if I were a ticking bomb. He strained against the ropes, but they held fast. Defeated, he let out a sigh of resignation and shifted his hips forward, an absurd picture of a man marching to his own heroic doom. “Well, go on then.” Excuse me? What did he mean, go on? Was he telling me to take the money from his pocket? When I just stood there, frozen, he prompted me, a note of impatience in his voice. “You don’t know how?” he asked. “I can teach you. Just… be gentle.” A slow burn of red crept up the tips of his ears. Just checking his pockets. How hard could it be? I crouched down and my hands scrambled over the pockets of his expensive jeans. He was Brook Tyler, the golden boy of the city. He had to be loaded. I’d definitely picked the right target. The moment my fingers made contact, his entire body went rigid. His face, already flushed, deepened to a shade of scarlet. “Not there…” he rasped, his voice tight. “A little more… to the middle.” Following his lead, I slid my hand deeper into his pocket. I didn’t find a wallet, but my fingers brushed against something hard and searingly hot. I didn’t have time to process it. My vision was starting to tunnel from hunger. All I could think about was food. I must have pressed too hard. A low groan escaped his lips, and his body went slack, slumping against me. A rich, warm scent of coconut and almond enveloped me—a surprisingly sweet, gourmand fragrance. Of all the things for a man like Brook Tyler to smell like, he smelled like dessert. Damn it. Now I was even hungrier. 2 I redoubled my efforts, my fingers digging more frantically. But Brook had gone completely limp, melting into my arms like he didn’t have a bone in his body. It was annoying enough not finding any cash, but now he was making it impossible. His heavy breaths ghosted across my ear, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine. I slapped his cheek, harder than I meant to. “What do you think you’re doing, rubbing up against me?!” His eyes were hazy, half-lidded. “Just hurry up,” he pleaded, his voice thick. “Stop torturing me.” Right. Being tied up must be uncomfortable. I could see that from the way he was squirming and whining. I continued my search. Finally, deep in his pocket, my fingers closed around what I was looking for. I pulled it out. Five hundred dollars. I’d hit the jackpot. It wasn’t the five thousand I’d demanded, but five hundred was enough to keep me afloat for a month. I completely ignored the dazed, flushed man at my feet. I ran. I didn’t see him lose his balance as I shot up, tumbling to the floor. And I certainly didn’t see the look on his face as he lay there, seething with a mixture of frustration and unslaked desire. 3 With money in hand, I made a beeline for the first food truck I saw and bought a loaded steak burrito—the kind of meal I only let myself dream about lately. As I ate, hot tears streamed down my face, mixing with the salsa. Two weeks ago, my family’s company had gone bankrupt. Drowning in debt they could never repay, my parents had jumped from the roof of their office building. Every asset we owned was seized. Overnight, the princess everyone envied became a penniless orphan. I left our mansion with nothing but a photograph of my parents. It was winter break, so the university dorms were closed. I’d never been one to save money. When disaster struck, all I had was enough to cover the deposit on a room in a cramped, run-down apartment. I found a part-time job at a 24-hour convenience store, surviving on the free lunch they provided. But two days ago, I’d shown up for my shift to find the store completely gutted, shelves empty. I messaged my boss. His reply came instantly. “Economy’s bad. Had to close up.” “But you haven’t paid me yet!” I typed back, my thumbs shaking. I’d worked there for almost a week. That was nearly eight hundred dollars. “You didn’t even make it through the trial period. What wages?” When I tried to reply, a single red exclamation mark appeared. He’d blocked me. Broke and jobless, my last lifeline was gone. I spent all of yesterday searching for work, with no luck. Today was more of the same. The world was spinning from hunger. And that’s when I saw him. Brook Tyler. I’d only seen him a few times at galas, but his arrogant charisma and infuriatingly perfect face had left an impression. He wasn’t in a tailored suit now, just a grey hoodie, leaning casually against the wall outside a Michelin-star restaurant, waiting for someone. Even dressed down, he drew stares. That face was a public disturbance. But he seemed drunk. His cheeks were flushed, and he swayed on his feet. Watching him, a dark, desperate idea took root in my mind. My life was already in ruins. What did I have left to lose? Taking advantage of his drunken state, I led him back to my apartment and tied him up. 4 It was only after I was full and warm that it hit me: Brook Tyler was still tied up in my apartment. Oh, God. Hunger had clouded my judgment. Now, with a clear head, I realized the catastrophic mess I’d made. Was I tired of living? This was Brook Tyler, a man who could crush me with a flick of his finger. I spent twenty dollars on a fancy boba tea as a peace offering and rushed back, my heart hammering against my ribs. I opened the door, my hands trembling, to an empty room. The ropes lay discarded on the floor. He was gone. Panic seized me. I hadn’t even gotten to apologize. Was he going to call the cops? Even if he didn’t, if he held a grudge, my life was over. My hands shook so badly I could barely pierce the plastic film of the boba tea I’d bought for him. I started to drink it myself. It was already getting cold. Maybe my life was, too. Trapped between the fear of the cops and the terror of Brook Tyler, I cried myself to sleep. 5 The next few days were a blur of anxiety. But thanks to Brook’s five hundred dollars, I survived the worst of it. At this point, I’d almost welcome being arrested. But he never called the police. I managed to find a new job as a caddy at an exclusive country club. The monthly salary was just enough to cover my tuition. If the tips were good, I might even have some money left over for living expenses. I changed into my uniform and waited for the guests I’d been assigned to. When I saw their faces, my blood ran cold. I ducked my head, hoping to become invisible. A group of four or five people strolled toward the green. Leading them was Brook Tyler. Of course. My luck was just that good. And on his arm was Maggie Vance, the daughter of my parents’ biggest business rival. While my family was in ruins, the Vances had been thriving. Rumor had it their families were planning to merge through marriage. That was another reason I’d been desperate enough to kidnap him. Maggie was draped on Brook’s arm like a designer accessory. So, the rumors were true. A bitter taste filled my mouth. I didn’t dare look at them, but as Maggie passed, her eyes scanned me from head to toe. Humiliation and fear made my hands feel clumsy and useless. Then, she smiled, a bright, predatory flash of teeth. “You must be our caddy for today. You look just like a friend of mine.” My voice was a strained whisper. “You… you must be mistaken.” “Hm, you’re right, I must be,” she mused, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “The young lady I know would never lower herself to being a caddy.” In my plain uniform, I was just another face in the crowd. Brook, standing beside her, was a portrait of aloof indifference. He hadn’t even glanced in my direction. The light in my apartment had been dim. Maybe he hadn’t gotten a good look at my face. If Maggie recognized me now, in this state, she would tear me to shreds for sport. But neither of them seemed to know who I was, and my frantic heartbeat finally began to slow. 6 As they played, Maggie deliberately brought up my family. “I heard the Zhou Corporation went under. And Ava’s parents… they actually jumped.” “I haven’t heard anything about Ava since. Do you guys know what she’s doing now?” “Someone said she’s working at a convenience store. Can’t even afford tuition.” Through it all, Brook acted as if he couldn’t hear them, focusing entirely on his game. Each comment was a fresh stab of pain. The Vances and the Zhous had been bitter rivals. My family’s destruction was her victory parade. I kept my head down, focusing on my work, trying to block them out. The entire game was torture. But something was off with Brook. For three solid hours, he didn’t sink a single ball. One of his friends finally ribbed him. “Hey, Tyler, what’s with the off-day? You’re usually a hole-in-one kind of guy.” “Yeah, man, you seem a little distracted.” “It’s gotta be the beautiful Miss Vance. Looks like love has made our golden boy’s hands unsteady.” I risked a glance in Brook’s direction and found myself caught in the pull of his dark, intense gaze. I immediately snapped my head back down, pretending to adjust a club. A low chuckle escaped his lips. “My hands are definitely unsteady,” he said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with ice. “But it might not be love. It could be rage.” A chill went down my spine. Did he recognize me? No, he couldn’t have. He’d shown no sign of it. I glanced at Maggie, who was laughing and chatting with her friends. Maybe the great Brook Tyler was just sulking because he wasn’t the center of attention. His friends, sensing the shift in mood, quickly dropped the teasing and went back to their game. 7 When the game finally ended, I helped Maggie pack up her clubs. As I was going through the inventory with her, she claimed one was missing. A limited edition, she said. Worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. More money than I could ever dream of repaying. I tried to explain, my voice shaking, but she immediately called for the manager. As a VIP member, her word was law. The manager stormed over and, without even asking what happened, turned on me. “Are you an idiot? Do you have any idea how much that club is worth?” he screeched. “We could sell you and not make enough to cover it!” Then, he plastered on a fawning smile for Maggie. “Miss Vance, she’s new, she doesn’t know any better. How about I fire her on the spot? Would that be acceptable?” Panic clawed at my throat. I had just found this job, a job that could actually support me. I couldn’t lose it. I apologized profusely to Maggie, insisting I hadn’t taken her ridiculously expensive club. But her friends all backed her up. No one believed me. Tears of frustration welled in my eyes. Suddenly, Maggie’s expression shifted. She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “Ava Zhou. I never thought I’d see the day.” My body went rigid. She’d known all along. She had pretended not to recognize me just to watch me squirm. She had deliberately dredged up my family’s tragedy in front of her friends. And now, when I was at my most vulnerable, she was accusing me of theft. She knew I couldn’t pay. Faced with her blatant sabotage, I was helpless. All I could do was swallow my pride and keep apologizing. Her friends snickered behind their hands. “What do you expect from the daughter of a deadbeat? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Their baseless accusations rained down on me, and I could do nothing but stand there and take it. Brook stood beside Maggie, his face an unreadable mask of cold indifference. Did he think I was a thief, too? A wave of profound injustice washed over me, and the tears I’d been holding back finally fell. If my parents were still here, would any of this be happening? What was I supposed to do now? Life was already crushing me. Without this job, I might literally starve. “Why don’t you get on your knees for me,” Maggie said, her voice dripping with condescension. “Kowtow three times, and we’ll call it even.” The manager shot me a desperate look. “Ava, just do as Miss Vance says! We can’t afford to offend a VIP!” I had no choice. I closed my eyes in despair. If kneeling would let me keep this job, then I would kneel. I bent my knees, preparing to drop to the ground, when a strong hand clamped around my arm, pulling me up. The familiar gourmand scent of coconut and almond filled the air. “If I recall correctly,” a low voice drawled, “we abolished serfdom a while ago. The era of forcing people to their knees is over, isn’t it?” My heart stuttered. That voice… I turned my head and looked directly into a pair of deep, fathomless eyes. It was Brook.

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I’m the gold digger in this story, the woman who uses men to get money, power, and status. My twin sister, Annie, is the story’s heroine: proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent. She despises my methods; I mock her naivete. But when I overheard her deadbeat boyfriend laughing about what a cheap “independent woman” she was, I called her. “Did you hear that, Annie?” I asked, my voice cold. “‘Independent woman’ is a trap. It’s a pedestal they put you on so they can enjoy the convenience of not having to provide a thing.” “If you can use a man to get ahead, that’s a skill. Why wouldn’t you use it?” She said nothing. But the next day, I heard she finally kicked her cheapskate boyfriend of five years to the curb. 1 I became aware of my role in this story when I was very young. I knew I was the infamous gold digger, destined to use my beauty to climb a ladder of men, all for the sake of wealth and status. My sister, Annie Ashton, was the righteous heroine. Taking help from a man was a mark of shame for her; she had to do everything herself. The moment I understood her character design, I understood my own purpose. The author meant for me to be the foil, the dark reflection meant to prove a point: a woman’s life can only be built by her own two hands, never by relying on a man. For a fleeting moment, I was disheartened, just a supporting character in someone else’s narrative. But the feeling passed. So I wasn’t the protagonist. It didn’t mean my life had to be worse. If the author wanted so badly to condemn my choices, then I would show her a different way to live. And so, armed with my own interpretation of what a “gold digger” could be, I began my life within the pages of this story. 2 The differences between Annie and me were obvious even in kindergarten. At five or six, kids are all about playing and making friends, and the currency of friendship was snacks. Because we were identical and pretty, boys were always trying to give us candy. Annie would meet their hopeful eyes with a blank stare and a firm rejection. I, on the other hand, would always accept with a sweet smile. Annie never understood. “Anya, you don’t even like sweets. Why do you take them?” I looked at her and answered seriously. “Annie, they’re giving us snacks because they want to be our friends. They want us to say yes. Besides, their parents gave them those snacks to share. If they don’t give them to us, they’ll just give them to someone else. So why should we be ashamed to accept?” She turned her head away, a flicker of uncertainty on her face. I knew she loved sweets. I knew she wanted to accept. But she was trapped by the role she’d been assigned, the “independent heroine” label she didn’t even know she wore. “Next time someone offers you something,” I urged her, “just take it. Think of it as a gift to start a friendship.” Annie hesitated, then gave a small nod. 3 The next day, after school, a little boy approached Annie, his arms overflowing with snacks. He seemed to have gathered all his courage. “Annie,” he whispered, “these are for you. Will you be my friend?” I watched from the sidelines, curious to see what she would do. Annie looked from the boy to the mountain of treats in his hands. Her mouth opened as if to say no, but the word wouldn’t come out. Finally, a decision seemed to form in her eyes. She reached out to take the snacks. But a sharp voice cut through the air, stopping her cold. “Annie, what are you doing? You can’t just take things from boys!” We both snapped our heads toward the kindergarten gate. Our parents were standing there, their faces masks of disbelief. They hurried over, pulled Annie away from the boy, and began their interrogation. “Annie, how could you take snacks from a boy? At best, that’s just being greedy. At worst, it shows a complete lack of self-respect! A girl does not get things to eat by cozying up to boys!” The little boy, his face burning red, scurried away. Annie stood there, head bowed, as our parents lectured her. Several times, she glanced at me, her lips moving as if to speak, but she said nothing. She was probably wondering how we could have the same parents, yet I didn’t see this as a shameful act of a girl without self-respect. 4 After that incident, Annie became even more guarded. She refused all help and kindness from boys, determined to prove she could do everything on her own. In middle school, we were in the same class. Annie’s grades were good, but her chemistry scores were mediocre, keeping her stuck in the middle of the pack. Her deskmate, Peter Vance, was a chemistry whiz and consistently ranked first in our year. Peter, probably feeling sorry for his deskmate, tried several times to explain the problems she’d gotten wrong. Each time, Annie shut him down. “Thanks, but I can figure it out myself.” After a few attempts, Peter gave up. In a way, Annie was right. In the story, Peter was a total player. Our plotlines were even supposed to intersect. After his crush on my sister went nowhere, he was meant to turn his attention to me, the girl who looked just like her. And I, seeing his good grades and wealthy family, was supposed to fall for him, convinced I’d found a guy with potential. I was supposed to get so wrapped up in the romance that my grades would tank, and I’d end up in a mediocre high school. But a truly smart gold digger would never let that happen. I would take only what was useful from him and never let him distract me from my goals. 5 When Peter started showing interest in me, I didn’t push him away. Instead, I used his crush to my advantage, bringing him lists of problems I didn’t understand every day. After each tutoring session, I’d thank him with a small snack or a soda. One afternoon, after I’d packed up my books, he took a sip of his Coke and finally asked the question that had been on his mind. “Anya, why are you and your sister so different?” I turned his question back on him. “How are we different?” He tapped a long finger against his chin, thinking seriously. “She seems to hate relying on anyone. But you… you’re good at using people.” I smiled as I zipped my backpack. “Peter, ‘using’ is such a harsh word. I prefer ‘leveraging.’ Only the most capable men offer a woman leverage. So, I’m not using you. I’m acknowledging your value.” Peter had a big ego, and my words stroked it perfectly. He was completely won over. “You know, Anya,” he said, a grin spreading across his face, “I don’t mind being used by you. But…” His tone shifted. “When are you going to be my girlfriend?” I dangled a carrot. “When you help me get into Northwood Prep.” He smirked, full of confidence. “Is that all?” 6 As it turned out, for Peter, it was that simple. With his help, six months later I passed the entrance exam for the most prestigious prep school in the state with the second-highest score in the city. The first thing I did was block his number and all his social media accounts. Annie, who had gotten into the same school through her own hard work, was appalled. “You promised him you’d be his girlfriend if you got in. What do you call this?” I just shrugged. “How many girls has Peter played with? Is it only okay for a guy to mess with a girl’s feelings, but not for a girl to use a guy to get ahead?” Annie’s brow furrowed. “Anya, if you keep relying on men to succeed, you’ll regret it one day.” “I don’t mind,” I said coolly. “The grades I got with his help were real.” Annie looked at me like I was a lost cause. Our relationship, while never incredibly close, had been decent enough. But after that, she started to distance herself from me. I understood. She was the story’s independent heroine; of course she’d look down on my methods. We grew more and more estranged. It reached the point where people were shocked to learn we were sisters. “Wait, Anya and Annie Ashton are sisters?” “But they never even talk to each other at school!” It was true. We didn’t speak at school, and we barely spoke at home. 7 At home, Annie was the sun around which our family revolved, thanks to her innate protagonist halo. I was usually just part of the background scenery. Like tonight. Our parents had prepared a feast to celebrate Annie getting first place in her class. That was the only time they’d bring me up. “Anya, look at your sister. You scored higher than her on the entrance exam, but two years later, she’s at the top of the class. And you? Your grades are slipping. You’re not even in the top fifty anymore.” Their words didn’t bother me anymore. I knew that even if I were number one, they wouldn’t spare me a single glance that wasn’t meant for Annie. I was just her foil, after all. Annie, of course, didn’t see it that way. She thought it was all my own doing. Later that evening, as I was heading to my room, she stopped me. Her expression was calm, tinged with the quiet pride of a winner. “Do you see now?” I looked at her, confused. “See what?” “You can’t rely on other people forever. True security only comes from yourself. You used Peter to help you study and get good grades back then, but what about now? Are you going to rely on him for the rest of your life? If you start studying on your own now, it’s not too late.” Her self-righteous sermon gave me a headache. Annie, did you really think I could have gotten those scores if I hadn’t been studying my ass off on my own? How dare you dismiss my hard work just because he helped me? “And you probably don’t know this,” I said, changing the subject, “but I have a boyfriend now. We’re applying to universities abroad together. His family is covering all my expenses.” Annie froze, her face shifting into a look of profound disappointment. “Anya, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Everything has a price tag attached.” I shrugged. “I don’t care.” 8 After that, Annie and I became complete strangers. Honestly, I never wanted our relationship to get this bad. We weren’t in direct competition, and I could understand her protagonist’s pride. Some of her warnings were even born from a genuine concern for me. But we were two extremes in this story, polar opposites, destined to drift apart over our irreconcilable views. It was a shame, but I knew we could never convince each other. Perhaps being strangers was the best we could do. As college entrance exams approached, I was a bundle of nerves, juggling exam prep and my study abroad applications. Everyone was in the final sprint. And that’s when Annie got caught in a relationship. The boy was Ryan Miller, a broke kid from her class with nothing to his name but a pretty face. The news sent shockwaves through the school administration. Annie was the top student in her year, the school’s only real hope for an Ivy League acceptance. They were terrified the relationship would tank her grades but were equally afraid that handling it badly would affect her performance. So, they came to me, asking me to talk to her as her sister. I refused at first. I knew she wouldn’t listen to me. But Annie’s homeroom teacher told me that Annie often asked about my grades and my class rank. She insisted Annie cared about me, that I was the perfect person for the job. So, one day after school, I waited for her outside her classroom. 9 When she saw me, a flash of surprise crossed her face before being replaced by her usual calm mask. “What are you doing here?” she asked. I didn’t beat around the bush. “I heard you have a boyfriend.” She nodded, unfazed. “So?” “I just wanted to see what kind of guy would make you risk everything right before the biggest exams of your life. Annie, is he handsome? Is his family rich? What are his grades like?” My words wiped the calm from her face, replacing it with a look of derision. “His family isn’t rich, and his grades are average. He’s not the type you’d be interested in. But so what? I’m not you. I don’t want anything from him. I believe I can get everything I want on my own, without needing a man.” Her answer was exactly what I expected. The conversation was a dead end. But as I turned to leave, I couldn’t stop myself from looking back. “Annie, the biggest mistake you can make with a man is to want nothing from him. It’s okay for you to have everything, but it’s not okay for him to have nothing.” Her reply was ice-cold. “Thanks for the advice. I don’t need it.”

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My cover of my sister’s original song went viral overnight. After I got my big break, I gave her everything she ever wanted. Designer clothes, sports cars, a penthouse apartment. But when a famous actor sneered that she’d never be as good as me, she started to hate me. The night I was named “Artist of the Year,” my sister stormed into my dressing room and drove a razor blade across my throat. “If you hadn’t stolen my song, you’d be nothing!” she screamed. “That award was supposed to be mine!” After I bled out, she took her own life in despair. But somehow, we both woke up. Back in our freshman year vocal class. This time, my sister scrambled to her feet before I could. She was going to sing her song. “This time,” she whispered to me later, “I’m the one who’s going to be a star. And you? You’re just the footnote in my story.” 1 After a long, suffocating darkness, a voice cut through the void. “Seraphina? Are you with us? It’s your turn.” My eyes flew open. I was in my freshman year vocal class at the Kingswood Academy of the Arts. Our professor stood on the stage, looking at me expectantly. The girl sitting next to me nudged my arm, her eyes wide with excitement. “Sera, snap out of it! Weren’t you going to sing ‘Echoes of Time’? I heard you practicing in the dorm—it was incredible. I’ve got my phone ready to record and everything.” Her hopeful gaze met mine, and a dizzying mix of shock and joy washed over me. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, a blur of white shot past me. My sister, Selene, rushed onto the stage, snatching the guitar from our professor’s hands, her face flushed with a feverish excitement. “Professor, my sister’s not feeling well,” she announced, her voice ringing with false concern. “I’ll sing for her today. Besides, ‘Echoes of Time’ is my song anyway. I can sing it better than she ever could!” Without waiting for a reply, she began to strum the chords, her voice filling the room with a practiced, emotional melody. A wave of dizziness hit me. It wasn’t a dream. I was reborn. In my past life, in this very class, I was the one who sang Selene’s song, “Echoes of Time.” We both came from a family of musicians, but Selene always insisted she was the one with the real creative genius. We both had music channels online, but neither of us had more than a handful of followers. Selene had posted “Echoes of Time” nearly a year ago, but it had gone nowhere. Impatient and hungry for fame, she quickly abandoned her original work, filling her channel with covers of trending pop songs instead. What she didn’t know—what none of us knew—was that this particular class was being secretly live-streamed. 2 After I sang “Echoes of Time” in that class, my life changed. I went viral. The flood of online attention quickly led to an invitation to compete on a national music show. I was supposed to be the unknown underdog, the cannon fodder. But against all odds, I battled my way through the competition and placed second. That was the beginning. I signed a record deal, released albums, and sold out concerts. I became a household name, and I made a fortune. Selene, however, never caught her break. Even when she tried to ride my coattails, her follower count barely budged. Eventually, she gave up and let me support her, her favorite refrain becoming a constant echo in my life: “Sera, if it wasn’t for my song, you’d be nobody. Anyone could have sung it and become famous. I gave you that chance. At least eighty percent of your success is because of me.” “So what if I ask for a little money? You get all the fame, all the fans. You should be thanking me for everything you have.” “Honestly, your talent was never even half as good as mine. If I had sung that day, I would have been the star. Don’t you dare forget where you came from.” Armed with that narrative, she demanded designer bags, luxury cars, and sprawling mansions. Bound by a sense of sisterly duty, I gave her almost everything she asked for. But then, she set her sights on the one thing I couldn’t give her: Leo Vance, the famously untouchable, award-winning actor. She demanded I set them up. For the first time, I said no. So she went behind my back, using my name to get close to him, hoping for a one-night stand that would launch her into his orbit. It was a disaster. Leo had her wrapped in a bedsheet and thrown out of his hotel room. “You think you’re your sister?” he’d sneered, his voice dripping with contempt as she stood humiliated in the crowded hallway. “A woman like you isn’t worth a single strand of her hair.” Selene never forgave the world for that humiliation. But she blamed it all on me. So on the night I won the “Artist of the Year” award, she stormed into my dressing room. Her eyes were wild, her face a mask of madness as she sliced my throat open with a razor blade. Before the police arrived, she killed herself. As my life faded, her face, contorted with hatred, was the last thing I saw. “If you hadn’t stolen my song, you’d be nothing!” she spat, her voice a venomous hiss. “The award, the fame, even Leo… it should have all been mine!” The memory of her vicious snarl blurred and merged with the serene expression she wore now, her eyes closed as she sang. Perhaps my stare was too intense. Her eyes snapped open, locking with mine. And in their depths, I saw a flicker of defiant challenge. In that instant, I knew. She was reborn, too. 3 Selene and I had studied music together our whole lives, but our styles were worlds apart. She focused on technique, on flashy high notes and vocal acrobatics meant to show off. I poured my soul into the melody, saving the technical flourishes for just the right moment to leave the audience breathless. But now, as she sang “Echoes of Time,” she was a perfect imitation of me. Her voice was soft, delicate, weaving a story with every note, just as I had in my past life. She wasn’t even halfway through the song before the live-stream chat exploded. OMG OMG OMG, this is heavenly! Her voice is unreal! I thought Kingswood Academy was just for pretty faces this year, but this girl is a hidden gem. That storytelling quality in her voice… I haven’t heard anything like this in years. Her voice is so healing. I’m screen-recording this to listen to every night before bed. Send me that recording! I need to make it my ringtone. GOOD NEWS, I found her music channel! And this is her original song?! She’s incredible. Instant follow. The viewers flooded Selene’s channel. Quick-fingered fans had already clipped the performance and spread it across every major social media platform. It was all happening exactly as it had for me. When the song ended, Selene set the guitar down and returned to the seat beside me. Before I could say a word, she leaned in, her voice a low, taunting hiss. “You’re furious, aren’t you, Seraphina? Feeling like I stole your thunder? Well, now you know how I felt. Watching you shine under the spotlights while I was trapped in your shadow… every second was torture. Because all of it—all of it was supposed to be mine!” She leaned back, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Don’t blame me. I’m just setting things right. You never had my talent. I was always the better singer. Why shouldn’t I be the one who’s famous? This time, I’m the one who will conquer the music world. And you? You’re destined to be nothing more than the forgotten sister.” 4 Riding the wave of being the “original songwriter,” Selene’s rise was even faster, even more explosive than mine had been. It wasn’t long before she became the first freshman in our class to receive a contract offer from a major record label. I walked into our dorm room during lunch break, carrying takeout, and was met with Selene’s triumphant voice. “Olympus Records is the biggest music label in the country! With them backing me, becoming a star will be a piece of cake.” Hearing that, I frowned, unable to stop myself from asking, “You’re signing with Olympus?” The cheerful atmosphere in the room instantly froze. Selene shot me a defiant look, her lips curling into a cold smirk. “That’s right. Are you jealous? I guess a second-rate influencer farm like VibeFlow Media can’t really compare to a giant like Olympus, can it?” She said it because, in my past life, VibeFlow was the only label that had offered me a contract initially. They were known for social media influencers, not serious musicians, and their reputation in the industry was nothing compared to the prestige of Olympus Records. I met her venomous gaze, pressed my lips together, and said nothing. But Selene took my silence as confirmation, her smugness growing. “It figures. Someone like you, who only got lucky by stealing someone else’s work, could only ever sign with a place like VibeFlow. Olympus doesn’t just let any stray in. I told you, Seraphina. I’m the one with the real talent. I’m the one who was made for this.” Our other two roommates looked confused. “Selene, what are you talking about?” Selene scoffed. “Oh, you didn’t know? My dear sister here was planning to get famous by covering my song. She even has delusions of becoming Artist of the Year. Pathetic, isn’t it?” 5 At her words, both of our roommates shot me looks of pure disdain. “You’re famous because you’re amazing, Selene. If she’s so talented, why doesn’t she write her own songs?” “Seriously, some people will do anything for attention.” “The way she said that, acting so concerned about you signing with Olympus… I thought she had some better offer in mind. Turns out it’s just a trashy company like VibeFlow.” “Don’t listen to her, Selene! Sign with Olympus! With all their Grammy-winning artists, you’re guaranteed to be a star! That’ll show Seraphina!” In this industry, fame is a magnet for friends. Our little dorm room was already proving to be a microcosm of the entire entertainment world. Basking in their flattery, Selene smiled victoriously. “Alright, I’ll sign with Olympus. And since you’ve all been so supportive, there’s a music competition next month. I’ll see if I can pull some strings and get you two spots in the first round.” The competition she was talking about was The Ascent. It was a brutal series of auditions, eliminations, and live shows. In my past life, placing second on that show cemented my career and took me to the next level. The show was open to anyone—amateurs, online singers, anyone with a dream. But if you had a label and connections, you could skip the grueling open auditions and go straight to the televised first round, where the real exposure began. My roommates’ eyes lit up. “Really? Oh my god, Selene, you’re so talented and generous!” “You’re going to be a huge star! Someone like Seraphina, sick with jealousy, will never be on your level!” Selene shot me one last triumphant, mocking smile before heading off to finalize her contract with Olympus Records. I finished my lunch in silence and climbed into my bunk. Lying there, memories from my past life flooded back. It was true that at first, VibeFlow was the only company that would take a chance on me. But after I made a name for myself on The Ascent, Olympus had come knocking too, offering me a lucrative deal. I turned them down. By then, I had heard things about them, about their predatory contracts and how they chewed up and spat out young artists. Seeing Selene’s smug satisfaction, all I could do was wish her good luck. She was going to need it. 6 News of Selene’s contract with Olympus Records spread like wildfire among the freshmen. The same people who envied her also heard the story of my “jealousy” and began to ostracize me, treating me with open contempt. I didn’t care. After years of fighting my way through the cutthroat music industry, I was used to slander and backstabbing. My heart had only ever belonged to one thing: the music. Soon, the open auditions for The Ascent were announced. Kingswood Academy was one of the first to get the news, and our class president stood at the front of the room with a stack of registration forms. “Who else wants to sign up?” Nearly every student at Kingswood was aiming for a career in music, so the entire class registered. I remembered from my past life that several of them had even made it to the top 100. I took a form. As soon as I finished filling it out, I felt Selene’s dark gaze on me. “Seraphina,” she hissed, “don’t tell me you’re still delusional enough to think you can repeat your past life.” I didn’t answer. She sneered. “With what? You have nothing.” I lifted my chin. The confidence forged by years of walking red carpets and commanding stadium-sized audiences created an invisible pressure that made her flinch. “With myself,” I said, my voice ringing with certainty. Someone snapped a photo of that moment. A second later, a shoulder slammed hard into mine. “Who do you think you are, Seraphina? You’re nothing compared to Selene! You’ll just embarrass yourself on that show!” “I heard you only got into Kingswood because of Selene’s help. It’s a disgrace to have someone like you in our class.” “You have no talent! Go home! Without your sister, you’re nothing!” Their words were just echoes of what Selene herself had told me countless times in our past life. “Sera, you only got famous because of my song. Your success is my success.” “You could never have made it on your own. Everything you have, I gave to you. Understand?” Her words had been a poison, brainwashing me until I almost believed them myself. I clutched the registration form in my hand, my knuckles white. This wasn’t just about chasing the award I had almost won. This was about proving to myself, once and for all, that I was enough. No matter what, I would see this through to the end. 7 The open auditions passed in a blur, and just as I’d expected, I made it through to the first televised round. Frankly, it would have been pathetic if I hadn’t. After years of competing against industry titans and seasoned professionals, I could handle a simple audition in my sleep. Two hundred contestants advanced from the auditions. The show’s producers quickly posted the official list of competitors on their social media channels. The roster was filled with popular music bloggers, viral internet singers, and even a few indie artists with albums and tours under their belts. The hype for the show was already building. Selene’s name was all over the comments section. Her acoustic performance video had amassed over five million likes; there was hardly anyone online who hadn’t seen it. Selene! I remember her! The super talented original singer. She’s got a bright future. FINALLY, some fresh blood instead of the same old faces. I’m putting my money on Selene. I bet she makes the top three. Her vocals and songwriting are honestly better than some established artists out there. WHOA, you guys need to see Selene’s latest post. I feel so bad for her. When the show starts, I’m voting for her and boycotting her psycho sister. Who’s her sister? That Seraphina girl! Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a message from one of The Ascent’s producers, along with a link. His message was blunt. [Is this true?] The link was to a trending news article. The headline was plastered in bold letters: #ViralSinger’sSister Vows to Ride Her Coattails to the Top? 8 The story was based on a social media post from Selene. In it, she tearfully accused me of being consumed by jealousy. She claimed I was trying to steal her spotlight, copying her every move, and that my only reason for joining the competition was to leech off her newfound fame. At first, the public was skeptical. But then, our classmates and roommates began to chime in, one by one, corroborating her story. I can vouch for this. Seraphina totally tried to sing Selene’s original song in vocal class to get attention. I’m their roommate. Seraphina is constantly undermining Selene. She was so bitter and passive-aggressive when Selene signed with Olympus Records. They had a huge fight in the classroom! I saw it! Seraphina was screaming at Selene in front of everyone. It was disgusting. How can someone be so shameless? And then they posted the picture they’d taken—the one of me and Selene in the classroom. The angle was perfect for their narrative. I looked cold and intimidating, my gaze sharp and commanding. Selene looked small, fragile, and innocent. To any outsider, it was clear who the bully was. By the time I saw it, the story had already spiraled out of control. Worse, someone had dug up my audition video, and the comments were flooded with hate. I didn’t believe it at first, but after hearing Seraphina sing, it’s obvious. She’s a total copycat of her sister. Well, they grew up together. She’s a damn good mimic, I’ll give her that. Honestly, if she had sung the song first, she might have gone viral too. Please. A knockoff is a knockoff. Even if she sang it, she’d just be a thief. She doesn’t deserve an ounce of fame. #TeamSelene #CancelSeraphina With the scandal blowing up online, the show’s producers were getting nervous. The show hadn’t even premiered yet, and it was already drowning in negative press. The producer messaged me again: [Maybe you should withdraw. If you appear on the show now, you’re just going to get torn apart by the public. You’ll never build a career this way. You’ll just become a target for their hate.] Looking at the endless scroll of vicious comments, I knew anyone else would have quit. But I had clawed my way through the darkest corners of this industry before. This little storm was nothing. I replied instantly: [I’m not quitting. And don’t worry. I have a way to prove my innocence.] This was my second chance. I wasn’t about to give it up. 9 The day of the first round arrived. Backstage was a chaotic symphony of nerves. The 200 contestants were a whirlwind of activity—some perfecting their makeup, others warming up their voices, every face etched with anxiety. Every face, that is, except for Selene’s. She wore a smile that radiated absolute certainty. A crowd of sycophants had already gathered around her. “Selene, you look so gorgeous and confident today! Can you give us a hint? What are you singing?” “It has to be another one of your originals, right?” Selene tilted her chin up, her gaze sweeping over them with a touch of arrogance. “Of course. And trust me, the song I’m performing tonight will blow everyone away.” Her admirers gasped in unison. “If you’re saying that, it must be incredible! Is it even better than ‘Echoes of Time’?” “I can’t wait to hear it! It’s killing me that we have to wait. If it weren’t for the NDAs, I’d be begging you to sing a few lines right now.” “You’re a shoo-in to advance. You’ll probably make the top ten, easy.” Then, their collective gaze shifted, landing on me as I sat in the makeup chair. Their voices dripped with malicious glee. “Look at her, still bothering with makeup. I guess if you know you’re going to lose, you might as well look good for your farewell performance.” “I can’t believe she still has the nerve to be here. I wonder what she’s planning to sing. A copycat like her is destined to live forever in Selene’s shadow.” Their voices were loud enough for me to hear every word. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my expression blank. I refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Thankfully, the competition started soon after, and we were all herded to the waiting area. A stagehand went down the line, confirming our song choices one last time. Selene was a few spots ahead of me, close enough for me to overhear the staff member confirm her song title: “Dream Fulfilled.” The name was unfamiliar. I wracked my brain, but I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t a hit song, that was for sure. Maybe some obscure track. I dismissed it and confirmed my own song with the stagehand: “Azure Wings.” Just then, the host’s voice boomed from the stage, calling Selene’s name. She stood up, and as she passed me, she shot me a sharp, provocative glance. I frowned, a flicker of unease stirring within me. A moment later, the opening notes of her song filled the backstage area. A gentle, soaring melody… accompanied by a clear, ethereal vocal harmony. It was the intro to my song. My “Azure Wings.”

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The day Richard Lu lost everything, I got engaged to his greatest rival. He had begged me, his voice choked with tears, asking what happened to the love I’d sworn to him. I laughed, my voice dripping with cruelty. “It was just a game, Richard. Don’t tell me you actually fell for it. Can’t handle losing?” On that rainy night, I ground his pride into the mud beneath my heel. Four years later, he returned, more powerful than ever, and dedicated himself to destroying me. But when he finally learned the truth, he broke down, his eyes red with weeping, and begged for my forgiveness once more. 1 Our reunion was anything but glamorous. A torrential downpour had just started, and his car hit me. I was a mess. My pale yellow dress was splattered with mud, and my knee and palm were stinging sharply. Someone helped me into the back of the car. I was about to give the driver a piece of my mind when I saw him, sitting silently in the corner. Richard Lu. He wore an immaculately tailored suit, not a single crease out of place. His brow furrowed the moment he saw me. It was a look of pure, undiluted disgust, the kind of impatience that said even looking at me was an insult, a stain on his vision. He used to reserve that look for his fawning admirers. Now, it was my turn. I caught my reflection in the window. My hair was plastered to my head, my cheek scraped raw. In the five years we were together, even when he was at his lowest, working himself to the bone on construction sites, I’d never looked this pathetic. Richard’s gaze swept over me for a fraction of a second, his lips tightening before he closed his eyes, dismissing me completely. I had no desire to speak to him either. I slowly, deliberately, massaged my injured knee. God, it throbbed. By the time we reached the hospital, the pain was worse, and small blossoms of blood had started to stain my dress. I got out of the car without a word, limping heavily. “And your fiancé?” Richard’s voice, cold and detached, stopped me. “Aren’t you going to tell him you’re hurt?” My hand froze on the car door. I let a small, tight smile touch my lips. “He’s busy. I wouldn’t dream of distracting him.” For a moment, he hesitated, then his mask of indifference fell back into place. I couldn’t help but remember the old Richard. The one who was on call for me 24/7, 365 days a year. A machine gets to recharge, but I often kept him up all night with my whims. The worst time, he stood in the freezing autumn rain for an entire night because he hadn’t managed to buy the roast duck from that one place across town, and I’d threatened to break up with him over it. Everyone said I was impossible, that he should leave me. But he never let go. In our relationship, he was always the one who needed me more. That’s why the day I finally left him, the pain had been so visceral, so absolute. I had shattered his pride, torn it to shreds, and still, he couldn’t believe I didn’t want him anymore. He could have fallen for anyone. But for his first love, he chose a liar like me. 2 When I came out of the hospital, Richard’s car was gone. His assistant was waiting by the entrance to drive me home. My fiancé, Kevin Sterling, saw my bandages and leaned in, his eyes wide with morbid curiosity. “Well, well. You’re hurt. That’s a new one!” His voice grew louder, laced with amusement. “Richard Lu is back, isn’t he? It was him!” Kevin roared with laughter. “Aurora, you are so screwed! Your ex is back for revenge. The way you treated him back then… it was cruel enough to make a devil shake its head.” “Do you want Sterling Construction to go bankrupt?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. The next morning, I woke up to Kevin’s frantic shouting. “Aurora, you’ve ruined me! That lunatic Richard Lu is launching a hostile takeover of Sterling Construction!” He was serious. He’d already acquired a majority of the shares. “I’ll tell him the truth! I’ll tell him why you really left him!” Kevin threatened when he saw my lack of reaction. With a sigh, I dialed a number I knew by heart. I hadn’t consciously thought of it in four years, but my fingers moved with an eerie familiarity. I never expected it to connect. It was five in the morning; he should have been on his morning run. “Hello.” His voice, cool and distant, came through the line. My fingers froze. A second later, I hung up. “Damn it! Aurora, are you insane?!” Kevin yelled in my ear. “It went through! Why did you hang up?!” A moment later, the number called back. 3 Kevin snatched the phone from my hand and answered. “Aurora, I know it’s you.” Richard’s detached voice echoed in the bedroom. My mind went blank. I’d changed my number years ago. “Richard, Aurora wants to see you,” Kevin blurted out. The breathing on the other end of the line hitched. “Is Kevin Sterling with you?” He was jumping to conclusions, but I had no intention of correcting him. “Of course. Is it so strange for me to be with my own fiancé?” Please, Richard, I thought. Misunderstand me. Hate my guts. It’s better for both of us. “Good,” Richard’s voice was a low snarl. “That’s just perfect.” He hung up. I stared at the phone, stunned. Five minutes later, a text message arrived. [If you want to save Sterling Construction, be at the old place. 2 p.m.] When I arrived at the private club, Richard was staring into a glass of whiskey. Sitting beside him was Mia, my old nemesis. She was leaning in, lighting a cigarette for him with a fawning smile. Richard, who was famously obsessed with cleanliness, took it without hesitation. My brow twitched. The old Richard used to speak of Mia with utter disgust. He would actively avoid any place she might be. His reason? A good boyfriend doesn’t entertain other women. He doesn’t give his admirers false hope. He doesn’t give his girlfriend a reason to be jealous or worried. And what had I done back then? I’d smashed a piece of cake in his face. “Richard, get a grip. You think I’d be jealous?” He hadn’t cared about the cream dripping down his cheek. He had just quietly called his assistant and asked him to bring another slice of strawberry cake. 4 I chose a seat as far away from Richard as possible, but the acrid smell of smoke still drifted over, catching in my throat. I couldn’t stop myself from coughing. “Richard,” Mia whined, shooting me a dirty look. “Someone’s here to ruin the mood.” “Then I’ll leave,” I said, grabbing my bag and turning to go without a second glance. CRASH. Richard hurled his glass against the wall. He stalked toward me, each step heavy and deliberate. The closer he got, the more I coughed. He stared down at me for a few long seconds before grinding the cigarette out in an ashtray. “Did I say you could leave?” “Get away from me,” I snapped, covering my nose, my face a mask of revulsion. “You reek of smoke. It’s disgusting.” A cold smirk played on his lips, but he did take a step back. “Richard, have you forgotten how she treated you?” Mia scurried over, clinging to his arm. Richard’s frown was almost imperceptible, but he allowed it. “Don’t let her fool you again,” Mia pleaded. “Then what do you think I should do?” Richard asked, his voice low as he looked down at her. “Punish her, of course,” Mia said, her face lighting up with malicious glee. “I hear the bungee jumping at Crestview Mountain is incredible!” At the mention of bungee jumping, the color drained from my face. A flicker of surprise crossed Richard’s eyes, but he nodded, accepting Mia’s suggestion. “You jump, and I’ll spare the Sterling family.” 5 “Fine,” I said, forcing a smile as I suppressed the terror rising in my throat. Richard’s expression grew even darker as he emotionlessly motioned for the staff to bring the equipment. I clutched my bag. If he had threatened me like this four years ago, I would have slapped him twice, and he would have asked if my hand hurt. Now, the tables had turned. “You regret it now, don’t you, Aurora?” Mia taunted as a staff member strapped the harness around my waist. “Too bad. Richard sees you for what you really are.” “Thank you for being so blind,” I shot back. “Are you done? You seem to love picking up my leftovers.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “I never loved Richard. Not for a second. He’s all yours.” “Richard!” Mia cried out, overjoyed. “Did you hear that? She’s a heartless monster.” “I’ve known that for a long time,” Richard replied, his voice as cold as a winter night. The harness was painfully tight, digging into my waist as if trying to snap my spine in two. But that was nothing compared to the sheer terror of standing on the edge of the cliff. 6 The wind howled in my ears, and the sun beat down mercilessly. I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple and gave a slight nod. The next second, I was pushed. The wind ripped past my lips, my ears, my eyes, a physical force tearing at my chest. Compared to the minor scrapes from yesterday, this was a new level of hell. My ears were ringing, and my head felt like it was being split open with a hammer. After what felt like an eternity, they pulled me back up. My legs were so weak I nearly collapsed. “Tsk. And here I thought you were so tough, Aurora.” Mia leaned in, her voice dripping with scorn. “Look at you, pale as a ghost. Scared, are we? I suggest you stop embarrassing yourself and get lost!” My vision was a blur of gray. I couldn’t make out her words. “Does your promise still stand?” That was all I cared about. “Richard, she only cares about her fiancé!” Mia muttered to someone behind me. I turned my head slightly, my eyes unable to focus. “Richard. Your promise. Does it stand?” There was a long silence before he finally spoke. “Yes.” Relief washed over me. At the same time, a warm trickle ran from my nose. I heard Mia’s gasp. “Aurora, you’re bleeding!” I tried to answer, but my head spun, and the world went dark. Just before I passed out, I caught the clean, sharp scent of pine. “Aurora!” The hands that caught me were trembling. The voice that called for an ambulance was shaking uncontrollably.

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After the car crash, Sterling Foster lost his memory. He reverted back to the time when he doted on me the most. He was possessive, jealous, and practically threw himself at me. Every glance was a plea for affection. Everyone warned me. “Don’t get too comfortable. You have three months of this, max.” “The doctor said his memory will come back once the blood clot clears.” Three months later, Sterling’s memory did return. Everyone smirked, waiting for me to be cast aside again. But instead, Sterling took a deep breath, his expression a mixture of terror and hope, and dropped to one knee. “Will you be my wife?” he asked, his voice trembling with reverence. 1 In the VIP hospital room, a chorus of voices was carefully trying to reason with Sterling Foster. “Sterling, it’s true. You sent Cora away four years ago. She’s not your little shadow anymore. She’s at a university overseas. She’s not coming back.” “Come on, man, stop messing around. Your condition is cured now. You can sleep through a rainstorm without holding her. You don’t need to summon the queen bee back.” “Besides, she’s at a top-tier university now. She’s got her own life. She’s not going to drop everything to come back and be your little babysitter. Can we please face reality here?” But no matter what they said, the man sitting on the hospital bed wasn’t listening. His gaze grew colder by the second, a silent threat that one more word would have dire consequences. They tiptoed around him as if he were a volatile emperor, trying to decipher his royal decree. And his decree was simple: “Call her. Tell her to get back here. Now.” They braced themselves and told him the truth. “We tried. No answer.” “She won’t come back.” “She’s blocked all of our numbers.” Sterling’s face darkened, and the air in the room grew thick with tension. From the moment he’d seized control of his family’s empire at sixteen, he had inspired fear. In the years since Cora had left, that fear had only intensified. He’d become more ruthless, his moods more unpredictable. He was a king in his own dark kingdom. He tossed his phone onto the bed. “Use mine. She wouldn’t dare ignore my call.” His friends could only think, Dude, where are you getting this confidence? Still, his right-hand man, William Croft, picked up the phone and dialed, putting it on speaker for Sterling to hear. “Beep… beep… The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later.” William didn’t dare look at Sterling. “Boss,” he explained cautiously, “that usually means… you’ve been blocked.” A palpable darkness seemed to emanate from Sterling, but his voice remained controlled, his signature confidence unshaken. “I still have her on social media.” The silent consensus in the room was, This guy just won’t quit. William, once again, did as he was told, placing a video call. It didn’t connect. A four-word message popped up on the screen: [Unable to connect.] William swallowed hard. “Boss… that usually means… you’ve been blocked on there, too.” The darkness in Sterling’s eyes finally cracked, revealing a flicker of stunned disbelief. His hand, elegant and long-fingered, slowly clenched into a fist, veins popping as his entire body began to tremble with rage. It was clear he was fighting a losing battle against a tidal wave of fury. Just then, a loud clap of thunder shook the building. BOOM. CRACKLE. The sky opened up, and rain began to pour. It was as if a beast had been awakened inside him. His eyes turned a feral, bloodshot red. A suffocating pressure descended on the room, and his gaze swept over his friends as if they were prey he was about to tear apart. They all flinched, ready to bolt. “Oh, crap. He’s relapsing.” “I thought he was cured! Why is he going crazy again?” “Get to Cora! Find her! Beg her, bribe her, do whatever it takes to get her back here!” 2 While Sterling’s most powerful lieutenants were flying across the globe, I had just successfully defended my thesis. These were men who were used to being revered, men who never bowed to anyone. And now, they were all kneeling in front of my apartment. “Please, Cora, we’re begging you. Just come back with us.” “Sterling was in a car accident. He has amnesia. His memory is stuck before he turned sixteen. He still thinks you’re his… favorite person.” “And his old condition is back. He can’t sleep when it rains unless he’s holding you.” “We all grew up together. For old times’ sake, can you just do us this one favor?” I pressed my lips together, a dizzying mix of old hurt and new surprise swirling inside me. From the age of five until I was sixteen, I had been Sterling Foster’s personal teddy bear. He was handsome, brilliant, and wealthy beyond measure, but he was also deeply troubled. When it rained, the only thing that could keep his demons at bay was holding me. Everyone assumed I would one day be Mrs. Foster. Then one day, out of the blue, he told me, “You don’t need to come here anymore.” Just like that, I was banished from his world. I can only imagine how many people laughed at me, at my foolish, shattered dreams. Who would have thought that four years later, the tables would turn so dramatically? It all started when I was five. The media reported a suspected case of abuse at my preschool. When the police investigated, they discovered the horrific bruises covering my body weren’t from school. They were from my nanny. One day, the door to my house burst open. A dozen bodyguards stood respectfully behind a small, brooding boy. He strode in, scooped me up with a possessive air, and carried me away to his home. He was seven, I was five. We were complete strangers. Later, the housekeeper at his family’s estate told me what had happened. The young master had been watching television when a news report about my case came on. The sight of my bruised body had sent him into a silent rage. He’d stood up, summoned his bodyguards, and left without a word. “The young master was also abused by a nanny,” the housekeeper explained. “By the time anyone found out, the damage was done. He had developed severe psychological issues. He would go for weeks without speaking, just sitting alone in the living room, reading. No one could get close to him. It wasn’t until he brought you here that he started to speak again, even if it was just a word or two to answer you.” Even then, he barely spoke to me. If he could answer in one word, he would. Any request for further explanation was met with a look that screamed, “You foolish mortal.” He was a child prodigy, with a genius-level IQ and a photographic memory that made the rest of us feel like simpletons. And yes, there was a “rest of us.” Sterling was the crown prince of a corporate dynasty. Every other wealthy family was desperate to have their children befriend him, hoping that a childhood connection would pay dividends in the future. Their gamble paid off. To keep up with Sterling, we all became hyper-competitive overachievers. We had to be the best at everything. Now, the men kneeling before me were the very same overachievers, Sterling’s most trusted executives and advisors. I was the only exception. The only one who was unceremoniously kicked out of his inner circle. I was sent away to study abroad, alone. I completed my bachelor’s and master’s degrees in four years. How many lonely nights did I spend burying my hurt in textbooks? And now, they tell me he’s lost his memory, his old illness is back, and he wants me to return. On what grounds? 3 The whole “he can only sleep when he’s holding me” thing started by accident. It was my fifth night at the Foster estate. A violent thunderstorm was raging outside. I was alone in a guest room, terrified, huddled under the covers. The only person I knew in this massive mansion was the little boy who had brought me here. Clutching my pillow, I padded down the hallway in my fluffy slippers to find him. The entire villa was lit up, and all the adults were pacing anxiously. Sterling’s grandmother was in the living room, tearing into his parents. “This is all your fault! Always traveling for work, leaving my grandson with that monster of a nanny! Look at what she’s done to him! He has these episodes every time it rains, and even the doctors can’t help! What have I done to deserve this, to watch my grandson suffer and be completely helpless?” Before I even reached his room, I heard a scream. A doctor in a white coat ran out, his hands covered in blood. “Mrs. Foster, we can’t get near him! He won’t let us give him a sedative. He has a knife. He’s trying to attack anyone who gets close.” While the adults were distracted, I slipped into Sterling’s room. He was drenched in sweat, his eyes a terrifying shade of red, like a little demon clawed up from hell. He was slashing at anything that moved. Another crash of thunder, and I burst into tears. “Big brother, I’m scared!” By the time his grandmother and the others rushed in, Sterling had me on the bed. The knife was on the nightstand. He was covering my ears with his hands. When he heard them enter, he grabbed the knife again, his eyes wary. But he kept one arm wrapped tightly around me. Everyone stared, dumbfounded. I copied him, covering his ears with my small hands. “It’s okay, big brother,” I cooed. “Don’t be scared. Time for your shot.” The doctor cautiously approached. Sterling tensed, the veins in his arm popping as he fought the urge to lash out. I just hugged him tighter. In the end, he didn’t attack anyone. After the shot, he just said, “Get out.” But he kept me with him, his little human teddy bear. That night, I secured my place in the Foster household. 4 A couple of weeks later, another storm was brewing. Without a second thought, his grandmother placed me in Sterling’s arms like a science experiment. “Here, sweetie. Try this. Maybe it’ll help.” Sterling glanced at me with his usual disdain but didn’t push me away. He was a sensible child, deep down, and didn’t want to worry the adults. He just couldn’t control himself when it rained. He was sitting on the sofa, reading. I was bored and tried to wriggle free. He pressed my head back down. “Don’t move.” Then he looked at the adults hovering nearby. “All of you, leave. I don’t want to see you.” When it rained, he couldn’t stand the sight of another living thing. His anxiety would skyrocket, leaving him feeling utterly exposed and unsafe. Even a mouse scurrying past would send him into a violent frenzy. If there was a chance for a cure, he was willing to try it. Half an hour later, the rain started to fall, a gentle, hypnotic rhythm against the windows. I yawned and quickly fell asleep. Later, I heard that his grandmother had watched on the security cameras. Sterling’s hand had hovered over my neck several times, as if he was contemplating strangling the only other living creature in the room. But each time, he had pulled back. In the end, he had covered me with a blanket and fallen asleep beside me on the sofa. His grandmother had watched the monitor, tears streaming down her face. From then on, I was officially part of the Foster household. Not even my own father could get me back. Until that summer, the year I turned sixteen. Sterling suddenly told me, “You don’t need to come here anymore.” I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Had he been cured? Did he not need his teddy bear anymore? If he hadn’t given me a bank card with a staggering amount of money in it, I would have made a scene. Now, looking at these powerful men, my former “colleagues,” kneeling and begging me to return, I clenched my fists and asked calmly, “Is the amnesia temporary or permanent?” “Well…” William hesitated, then told the truth. “The doctor said it’s from a blood clot caused by the accident. Once it clears up, his memory should return. They said it could be up to three months.” I let out a bitter laugh. “So you want me to go back and humiliate myself? I’m twenty years old, not a child. Do you really think it’s appropriate for me to be his human teddy bear now? If he wants to see me, tell him to send a royal procession.” 5 I thought that would be the end of it. Even with amnesia, the proud Sterling Foster would never tolerate such a demand. For ten years, my role was clearly defined: I was the sidekick. The reason he kicked me out in the first place was because he’d heard people whispering that I was his future wife. He must have thought I was getting too ambitious. Who was I to dream of marrying the prince? Besides, when he held me on those stormy nights, it was completely platonic. I was just a remedy for his anxiety, nothing more. We were just kids. By the time I was sixteen and he was eighteen, the age of raging hormones, we were separated. But three days later, I came home from the university lab to find a fleet of Rolls-Royces parked outside my house. William was directing bodyguards as they carried suitcases inside. I walked into my closet to find them arranging custom-made shirts, suits, shoes, and ties. “What are you doing?” I asked, stunned. William gritted his teeth. “Sterling got tired of waiting. He came himself. He said, ‘If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.’ He also told us to rent a royal sedan chair from a film studio. It’s being flown in as we speak.” But the look in his eyes said, Don’t get too smug. You’ve only got three months. “…” I was speechless for a moment, then tried to sound calm. “Where is he?” William rolled his eyes. “You think he’s got nothing better to do? He’s at the corporate headquarters, surveying his future kingdom.” The Foster Group’s headquarters was in North America, under the watchful eye of Sterling’s grandfather. But since he was sixteen, Sterling had been in complete control of the domestic operations. In four years, he had crushed every veteran executive who had dared to underestimate him. His future was global. This was why I had chosen to study here. I had always foolishly hoped that one day, I would stand before him again, not as his sidekick, but as a brilliant and capable executive in his own company. I had pushed myself to finish my degrees in four years, all so I could join the Foster Group and work my way back into his world, on my own terms. And now this? He was really moving in with me? The worst part was, I couldn’t even kick him out. This house had been his final gift to me when I got into college. Both our names were on the deed. I never understood why he would put his name on a parting gift. It just meant that now, I couldn’t scream at William, “This is my house! He can’t just move in whenever he wants!” Even more unsettling, the weather forecast was calling for a severe thunderstorm tonight.

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Adrian Shaw, heir to a staggering fortune, spent years chasing me, humbling himself in ways a man of his stature never should. I never said yes. Then, in the seventh year, a new girl appeared by his side. I heard she was beautiful, kind, from a family as prominent as his, and that she only had eyes for Adrian. Adrian’s friends would smirk at me, their voices dripping with schadenfreude. “Careful, Mara,” they’d say. “You keep playing games with him, you might just find he’s been snatched away for good.” 01 Adrian Shaw was in love with me. He had been since we were children. Adrian was born with a silver spoon, carrying an air of quiet nobility from his earliest days. He was used to being the sun everyone else orbited, the one people fell over themselves to please. But he was in love with me. The way the world fawned over him was the same way he followed me, catering to my every whim, orbiting my silent world. And I was always cold, always distant. Some said I didn’t know what was good for me. And maybe they were right. My grandmother was the Shaws’ live-in housekeeper. She’d started working for them long before Adrian was born and had become a personal attendant and confidante to his mother. So, while her title was housekeeper, the Shaws treated her with respect and affection, like family. But no matter how much they treated us like family, Adrian and I were from different universes. His love for me was a ladder I was terrified to climb. I never understood what he saw in me. My personality was a locked room, my temper a slow-burning fuse. I didn’t understand the subtleties of people, the art of connection, and I’d certainly never shown him a moment of warmth. And the girls who adored him were a legion. Ever since kindergarten, little girls in pigtails would trail after him, their voices sweet as candy, “Adrian, Adrian, can we play together?” But he would stubbornly trail after me instead, his little face set with solemn purpose as he rejected the others. “No. I only play with Mara.” This pattern held from kindergarten through elementary and middle school, and then into the years when I finally realized his persistence wasn’t just friendship. I once asked him, my voice devoid of the coyness he probably expected, “Adrian, what is it that you even like about me?” The mouthful of Coke he’d been sipping erupted in a spray. He whipped his head around to stare at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend a girl asking such a question so bluntly. He choked for a moment, his ears turning a furious, fascinating shade of red. He looked away, unable to meet my gaze, and his hand tightened around the soda can, crushing the aluminum in his nervousness. He fiddled with the mangled can, his voice a low mumble, trying desperately for an air of nonchalance. “Liking someone is just… liking them. There doesn’t have to be a reason.” His head was bowed, his hands resting on the railing of the balcony. The wind gently ruffled his hair. The tall, proud boy seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping. “Besides,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand.” I watched him, a slight frown touching my lips. He was right. I didn’t understand. In fact, I recoiled from anything related to love. I didn’t believe in its existence. My parents had been childhood sweethearts. They got together at sixteen, and everyone said their love story was something out of a fairy tale. But when I was five, my father—the gentle, scholarly man I adored—fell hopelessly in love with his eighteen-year-old student. To be with her, he used every cruel trick in the book to force my mother into a divorce. They fought for a year. The year I turned six, my mother killed my father with a kitchen knife. Then she used the same blade to sever the artery in her own neck. When my teacher dropped me off from daycare that afternoon, a sticky, crimson tide had already crept from the living room all the way to the front door. The teacher behind me let out a piercing scream and fainted. But I just stood there. I looked down at the blood that had pooled around my little shoes. My hand clutched the strap of my backpack, where I’d carefully pinned a gold star sticker the teacher had given me. I had planned to give it to my mother. She and my father had been fighting for so long. I wanted to tell her that even if Dad didn’t bring her flowers anymore, I would. I would always bring her flowers. But she would never hear it. After that, my grandmother came and took me away to live with her at the Shaw estate. And that’s where I met Adrian. 02 Adrian said I wouldn’t understand. When our English class studied Romeo and Juliet, he was completely wrecked by the ending. He read the lines about the star-crossed lovers taking their lives and slumped over his desk, his voice filled with a tragic sigh. “Mara,” he asked, “what do you think love really is?” I paused, then answered with clinical patience. “Dopamine. Endorphins. Phenylethylamine. Norepinephrine. Oxytocin. Our entire lives are dictated by these hormones.” Adrian stared at me, his expression a complex mix of confusion and disappointment. I thought for a moment and added, “These chemicals usually peak in the human body for about six to eighteen months. After that, they fade, day by day. Only a new partner can reignite the surge.” For some reason, that made him angry. He sat up straight, his jaw tight. “I’m not like that,” he snapped. I turned away, saying nothing. Everyone thinks they’re the exception. Everyone, when faced with the one who makes their heart race, swears they’ll never change. Just like my father. And just like I felt the first time I heard the name Isabelle from one of Adrian’s friends. His friends never really liked me. Maybe it was because I was a poor orphan whose only relative was a housekeeper, yet I remained unmoved by years of devotion from their golden boy, Adrian Shaw. They were convinced I was playing some kind of manipulative game, a master of hard-to-get, and they all felt a fierce, protective indignation on his behalf. So, when a girl so perfectly suited for him finally appeared on the scene, my so-called mutual friends couldn’t wait to drop her name into conversation, their teasing words edged with malice. They told me Isabelle was different from all the other girls who orbited Adrian. She was a truly special person—gentle, kind, and, of course, from the same privileged world as him. They told me he’d pulled her from the bottom of the pool during swim class when her leg cramped up, and that she’d fallen for him instantly, a classic damsel in distress saved by her knight. They told me how much she adored him, showing up every day just to see him. And even though Adrian was his usual polite but distant self with her, she never missed a day, rain or shine. They’d say to me, their smiles not quite reaching their eyes: “Mara, Adrian has loved you for so many years. You’ve tested his devotion long enough, don’t you think?” “Yeah, Mara. So many girls would kill to be in your position. If you keep stringing him along, you might just find he’s been snatched away for good. And by then, it’ll be too late for regrets.” I ignored them. Back at the hotel for the academic competition, I pulled out my phone. As expected, it was flooded with messages from Adrian. He told me our physics teacher had worn his shirt inside out today. A moment later, another message: the school groundskeeper had removed the bird’s nest from the window of the science lab on the third floor. Two sparrows had returned to find their home gone and were just circling and circling, looking lost and pitiful. He sent me a picture of them, two blurry specks fluttering against the glass, probably wondering how their entire world could vanish in an afternoon. A little while later, another message popped up. “Mara, when are you coming back?” Then another. “Leo’s already back.” I paused. I was here representing our school at a national competition. Leo had been eliminated in the second round; of course, he was back early. Adrian’s academics were a disaster. In high school, he could never wrap his head around vector calculus or the geometry of conic sections. I remember one summer in middle school when, in a fit of ambition, I spent an hour trying to teach him the basics of sine, cosine, and tangent. I finally slammed the textbook shut in frustration. “You’re hopeless,” I told him coldly. “It’s a terminal case of stupidity.” He’d just looked at me with wounded eyes. “It’s not my fault! You’re just too smart. Isn’t this stuff for, like, juniors?” The truth was, Adrian was brilliant, just not in the same way I was. His intelligence was for a different world. He could read the hidden meanings in the conversations of adults, grasp complex business strategies in an instant, and dissect a convoluted corporate structure with ease. His math was terrible, but he had an intuitive feel for numbers on a financial statement, spotting patterns and discrepancies no one else could. And his emotional intelligence was off the charts. He had a natural charisma that charmed everyone, a public persona of steady, understated confidence. He was born to be the heir to the Shaw empire. It was its own kind of genius. My genius, however, was confined to academics. A trait I likely inherited from the father my mother had hacked to pieces. I snapped back to the present, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I decided not to reply and instead scrolled up through our chat history. It was almost entirely a monologue from him. Since the day I’d left for the competition, his messages had been a constant stream of consciousness—from the first buds on the peach trees by the road to the updated menu in the school cafeteria. He reported every trivial, mundane detail of his life to me. I rarely responded. When he sent me a picture of a math test he’d scored a 65 on—barely passing—I’d replied with a single word: Moron. He hadn’t been offended. He’d replied, beaming with pride, that it was a passing grade on a notoriously difficult test. Only eighteen kids in the whole class had passed. I scrolled all the way back to the day I left. I confirmed it again. The name Isabelle was nowhere in our chat history. He had mentioned going for a swim that first day. He’d sent a picture of some greasy, high-calorie junk food he was eating afterward, complaining about how exhausted he was. I paused. Adrian, the boy who would tell me about sparrows losing their home, had never once mentioned pulling a girl from the bottom of a pool. 03 The first time I saw Isabelle was the day I returned to school after the competition. Our classroom was on the ground floor. As I stepped onto the covered walkway outside, the sky, which had been a clear, brilliant blue just a moment before, cracked open. A sudden, violent downpour began, fat drops of rain splattering against the concrete before blurring into a relentless, deafening curtain of water that swallowed the world in a gray haze. Instead of going straight to class, I stopped by the headmaster’s office to discuss my early admission application—winning the national competition had all but guaranteed my spot. When I came out, the bell for the end of class was ringing. It was on the walk back to my classroom that I saw her. Isabelle. She was holding an umbrella, her back to me, standing across from Adrian. I rarely saw Adrian look so distracted. He leaned against the wall, a lazy, indifferent posture, his brow furrowed with a hint of impatience. When Isabelle offered him the umbrella, he waved her hand away dismissively. And then he looked up and saw me, standing at the other end of the long corridor. His eyes lit up. A slow smile spread across his face, and in the same instant, he pushed away from the wall, leaving Isabelle behind without a second glance. He strode toward me, his steps long and eager, his voice buoyant with a happiness that was impossible to miss. “Mara, you’re back! How’d the competition go?” I nodded. “It was fine. I won.” His smile widened, his handsome features crinkling with a pride so fierce you would’ve thought he’d won himself. “I knew it,” he said, his voice full of certainty. “We have to celebrate. Let’s go.” “It’s raining,” I said flatly, declining. “And I have to pick up some forms from the dean’s office.” Adrian was unfazed. “In this downpour? Mr. Davies’ office is two buildings over. I’ll walk with you.” He paused, as if just remembering something. He turned and called back to Isabelle, who had since turned around and was watching us with a quiet, unreadable expression. “Hey, you. Can I borrow your umbrella?” I followed his gaze and finally saw her face. The Isabelle that Adrian’s friends had praised so highly. She was beautiful. Even now, after all these years and all the faces I’ve seen, I have to admit that Isabelle possessed a kind of heart-stopping beauty. She had a delicate, small face with exquisite features and skin so pale it made her dark eyes seem like pools of ink. Her long, thick lashes fluttered, hiding the disappointment in her gaze. She seemed to be staring at me, lost in thought. Only when Adrian spoke did she snap out of it. Her eyes darted back to him, and she managed a small, strained smile. She nodded, handing the umbrella over. Then her gaze flickered between me and Adrian. “I should get going,” she said softly. “Mm-hmm,” Adrian replied distractedly, already taking the umbrella and moving to my side. He opened it, tilting the majority of it over my head. “Come on, let’s go.” I stepped out into the rain with him. After we’d gone a little way, I glanced back over my shoulder. For some reason, Isabelle was still standing there, a lone figure watching us through the thick, gray sheet of rain. The mist blurred her features, but I could still make out her solitary, forlorn silhouette. I turned back around. “Did she need something from you?” I asked. Adrian shrugged, completely unconcerned. “We’re in the same SAT prep class. She was just asking if I was going today.” I hesitated. “Since when are you in a prep class?” He suddenly seemed shy, almost embarrassed. But just as quickly, the embarrassment morphed into a flash of indignation. He shot me a resentful look. “Well, it’s your fault for being so smart! Besides, college applications are next year. If I don’t start cramming now, you’ll leave me in the dust.” I stared into the white, hazy curtain of rain and said, deadpan, “That’s because you’re a moron.” Adrian sputtered indignantly behind me, but the umbrella over my head never wavered. I lowered my gaze, a quiet sigh escaping my lips. 04 The news of my early admission to Aurelia University came faster than I expected. Adrian only found out when the celebratory banner was hung in the school’s main hall. He was angry when he came to find me. I was reading a book on functional analysis at the time. The Shaws had given my grandmother and me a small, separate guesthouse on the property, and from my second-floor window, I could see Adrian storming across the lawn, his face a thundercloud of fury. He was clearly mad that I had never mentioned the early admission to him. I watched from the window as he marched toward the guesthouse, looking like he was on his way to avenge a mortal enemy. But then, strangely, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He stood there for a long time. Then he suddenly reached out and started ripping leaves off a nearby decorative shrub, a flurry of violent motion until the ground was littered with green shreds. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and started up the stairs. I returned to my desk with my book. Two minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, the Adrian standing before me looked perfectly calm, all traces of his earlier rage erased. He even offered a small smile. “I saw the banner at school,” he said. “Early admission to Aurelia. How come you never told me? But… congratulations, Mara.” He paused, then asked with studied casualness, “So, when do you leave? You won’t be finishing senior year here, will you?” For years afterward, I would remember the way he stood there, congratulating me. His voice was tight with a sorrow he was desperately trying to hide behind a mask of indifference. I suppose Adrian saved all his patience and gentleness for me. Just as everyone said, he catered to my every whim, bent to my will. The celebrated heir of the Shaw family was, in my presence, willing to lower himself, as the poet once wrote, “into the dust.” I didn’t call him out on his act. I just answered calmly, “I’ll report to Aurelia at the start of the next semester.” “Oh,” he said quietly. Then, again, “Well, congratulations, Mara.” I looked at him and simply said, “Thank you.” After securing my admission, I no longer had to attend school every day. But that year happened to be our school’s 100th anniversary, and I returned for the celebration gala—seated in the front row with the school board as this year’s “outstanding student representative.” It was at the gala that I saw Isabelle again. I’ve always been oblivious to things that don’t directly concern me, so I had never paid any mind to the fact that Isabelle was our school’s reigning “campus belle.” She was in the International Baccalaureate program, a track designed for students planning to study abroad. Grades were secondary to a curriculum filled with international courses and specialized language prep for exams like the TOEFL or IELTS. Adrian was supposed to have been in that program. But I had no interest in studying abroad—my grandmother was getting older, and despite my emotional detachment, I couldn’t bring myself to abandon her for a life overseas. So Adrian stayed. But as I sat in the front row, watching Adrian on the piano and Isabelle performing a contemporary dance, their synergy was breathtaking. A thought struck me: if Adrian had never met me, if he had joined the IB program and met Isabelle there… they would have had a very different story. They were a perfect match. Their performance was the grand finale. Adrian, in a sharp, tailored black suit that made him look even more impossibly handsome, his long fingers flying across the black and white keys. And Isabelle, spinning and leaping under the stage lights, her slender form ethereal, as if she might take flight at any moment. I don’t understand music or dance, but I could see that their performance was flawless. When it ended, the auditorium erupted in thunderous applause and whistles. They took their bows together, side by side at the center of the stage, as a shower of confetti rained down on them. They looked like something out of a movie. In that moment of roaring adulation, Isabelle turned to Adrian, her face glowing with happiness. But Adrian’s gaze wasn’t on her. It was locked directly on me, in the front row. His eyes were so focused, so intense, it was as if the entire world had faded away and I was the only person left. A cocky, triumphant grin spread across his face. He looked every bit the polished performer, but I, and only I, could read the silent words he mouthed at me from the stage. How’d I do? I tore my eyes away from him and looked at Isabelle, standing beside him. Her gaze had followed his to me. Under the bright lights and falling confetti, I saw her head dip, the brilliant joy in her eyes dimming, flicker by flicker, into shadow. She was in love with Adrian. Desperately so. That night, for the first time in a long time, I had a nightmare. I dreamed of Adrian at sixteen, the first time he tried to confess his feelings for me. I saw him looking at me with that same lost expression from the balcony, saying, “You wouldn’t understand.” In the dream, he started backing away, and at first, I just watched him go, cold and unmoving. But just as he was about to disappear, I lunged forward to grab him. My hand passed right through him, and instead, I pushed open a door. It was the door to my house, the summer I was six. Behind it was a world painted in blood. My mother, who had slit her own throat, and my father, whom she had butchered into pieces. The trail of blood that snaked from the kitchen to the front door would stain the rest of my life. I woke up with a gasp, sleep impossible. I threw on a robe and went downstairs. I found a beer in the fridge and was sitting out on the terrace when I heard a voice. “Mara?” I turned. Adrian was standing there, a complicated look on his face. His eyes went from the can in my hand to my face. “You upset?” he asked softly. I didn’t answer. I popped the tab on the can, the fizz a brief hiss in the quiet night. Adrian came and sat next to me. His voice was low and gentle. “What’s wrong? Need a shoulder?” I managed a small, humorless laugh and looked up at the moon. The night was clear, the stars sparse, and a cool breeze drifted by. I took a sip of beer. “Adrian,” I said, my voice light, “Isabelle is in love with you.” He froze, his body going rigid. It took a long moment for him to relax. He reached over and took the beer from my hand. He didn’t deny it. He just took a long swallow and said, “Yeah. But I’m not in love with her.”

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My childhood sweetheart got into a car accident and lost his memory. He was stuck at eighteen. He complained that I’d aged ten years overnight and insisted on a divorce. The joke was on him. I had just time-traveled from ten years in the past. To me, he was the old man. At first, I thought he’d traveled back in time with me and was just pretending to have amnesia. Then I overheard him talking to a friend. “Amnesia? Nah, I’m faking it.” “The wife’s been a little overbearing lately. A little divorce drama will give us some space to cool off.” “Relax. She’s so in love with me, she’d never actually go through with it.” I didn’t say a word. I just quietly watched him sign the divorce papers. The moment the mandatory cooling-off period was over, I pushed his wheelchair right up to the doors of the city courthouse. As he stared at me, dumbfounded, I planted my hands on my hips. “We are getting this divorce today!” 1 I’d been in this timeline for two days when Barry Pierce, my husband, got into a car crash and conveniently lost his memory. His mind was stuck at eighteen—the year he found me most annoying. The first time I walked into his hospital room, our eyes met. The first words out of his mouth were: “I want a divorce.” He scowled. “You were annoying enough back then. Now that you’re ten years older, you’re even worse.” A hot sting burned behind my eyes. He really did sound like the eighteen-year-old Barry. Just as cruel, just as thoughtless. Staring at this familiar yet foreign man, I remembered my sister’s words from earlier. She’d urged me not to make any rash decisions, to think about my future. She reminded me of how Barry had spent ten years chasing me, just for the chance to marry me. All those beautiful memories we were supposed to have. But I wasn’t that woman. The seventeen-year-old me, the one without a decade of shared history with him, could walk away without a second thought. But what would happen to the twenty-seven-year-old me when—or if—she ever came back? I didn’t argue with the man screaming for a divorce. I just turned, my eyes blurring with tears, and left. I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting alone in the hospital garden. Everything here felt alien. Everyone I knew had changed so much. If only the eighteen-year-old Barry had time-traveled with me… I shot to my feet. Of course! What if he did come with me? How else could you explain the sheer coincidence of his memory stopping exactly at eighteen? The thought sent a jolt of desperate hope through me, and I raced back to the hospital wing, my heart pounding. As I approached his room, I hesitated. If we recognized each other, what would he say? Knowing his arrogant personality, he’d probably complain about his broken leg and demand I wait on him hand and foot. A wicked smile touched my lips. If he was really incapacitated, this was my golden opportunity to get back at him for all the times he’d tormented me, knowing full well I had a crush on him. When I reached his floor, I saw that the hallway outside his room was overflowing with flower arrangements. As I got closer, I could hear a lively mix of male and female voices from inside. I peeked through the doorway. The people inside all looked older than me; I didn’t recognize a single one. I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach. After a moment, I took a deep breath, summoned my courage, and looked inside again. That’s when I saw him. Barry was propped up in bed, letting a young woman feed him peeled grapes. They looked… intimate. 2 Barry seemed to be in high spirits. A crowd of people surrounded his bed, all clamoring for his attention. “Jules, you’re always such a careful driver. How did you manage to total the car?” one of them asked. Barry opened his mouth for another grape, his uninjured hand casually tracing patterns on the back of the woman beside him. “You’ll get it,” he said with a meaningful smirk, “when you have a girl like this in your passenger seat.” The room erupted in knowing laughter and suggestive hoots. “I heard the girl was disfigured,” Barry added, his tone nonchalant. “A real shame.” He said it with a shrug, but there wasn’t an ounce of regret on his face. The others, used to his callousness, changed the subject. “So, what’s this about you losing your memory?” A smug grin spread across Barry’s face. “Amnesia?” he scoffed. “Nah, I’m faking it.” “The wife’s been on my case lately,” he continued, his voice dripping with condescension. “A little divorce drama will give us some space to cool off.” His friends roared with laughter, praising his performance. They’d almost fallen for it. But standing in the doorway, a chill seeped into my bones. How could this be? How could the Barry I knew have turned into such a despicable, cheating scumbag? Or… was this who he’d been all along? And I had actually, genuinely, loved him. He was disgusting. I didn’t want to love him anymore. I wiped away a tear and turned to leave, my heart a hollow ache in my chest. I walked straight into someone. It was Carter Evans. He was Barry’s arch-rival in high school, a guy known for being reserved and aloof. I glanced at the fruit basket in his hands; he must have been here to see Barry, too. Carter steadied me, then immediately let go. He was even colder than I remembered. Just a few days ago, in my timeline, he had been helping me study for our final exams. Now, he was a sophisticated, polished man in a tailored suit. I didn’t know what to say. I managed a tight smile and started to walk away. But he fell into step beside me. His dark eyes were unreadable. “Need a hand?” he asked casually. I looked at him, confused. He raised an eyebrow, gesturing with the legal file he was holding. “I can help you,” he clarified. “With the divorce.” 3 Carter Evans was, without a doubt, a legal prodigy. Within a few days, he had the divorce agreement drafted. He walked me through the process, explaining all the steps. I had no idea getting divorced ten years in the future was so complicated. There was even a mandatory “cooling-off period.” Carter was incredibly professional, reminding me several times to contact him on WhatsApp if anything came up. But I wasn’t used to WhatsApp. As I was leaving his office, I asked him sheepishly, “Can we… use Discord instead?” Carter froze. He gave me a long, searching look, then nodded slowly. “Whatever works for you,” he said, his voice low. I beamed, relieved. Clutching the papers, I waved enthusiastically as I left. “This is great, Carter! Thanks again! Bye!” He gave a small, formal nod and escorted me to the elevator like a perfect gentleman. It wasn’t until the doors opened on the ground floor that he spoke again, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “I haven’t seen you in a dress in years. Why the sudden change?” The question hit me like a physical blow. “Years?!” I blurted out. Good heavens, what kind of life had I been living? I looked down at my own outfit—a delicate, lace-trimmed sundress that screamed “first love.” I looked back at Carter, genuinely puzzled. “I just thought it looked nice. What’s wrong with it?” Carter didn’t say another word, just silently saw me out of the building. 4 Back at home that night, I started going through the divorce agreement. Carter had told me to pay close attention to the division of assets and let him know if anything was missing. Even with the papers in my hand, I felt a flicker of hesitation. Was it fair for me to make this decision for my twenty-seven-year-old self? I mulled it over for a long time but came to no conclusion. The only thing I knew for sure was that, right now, I was on top of the world. No final exams, no school, and I’d painlessly skipped ten years of my life to become… A soon-to-be divorced, incredibly wealthy woman. I counted the string of zeros on the asset list five times. There were so many. My older self and Barry had accumulated a staggering amount of wealth together. I immediately pulled out my phone and ordered the entire new Apple ecosystem—phone, watch, laptop, the works. It was late by the time I finished reading the thick stack of documents. After taking inventory, I realized the agreement didn’t specify who would get the condo I was currently living in. I pinged Carter on Discord to ask him about it. He replied almost instantly. See if you can find the deed. If not, I’ll run a property search. It’s late. You should get some sleep. Don’t worry. Leave the rest to me. Carter was just as reliable as I remembered—quietly competent, always getting things done. His message was a small comfort. Confirmed: Carter, you are officially the most dependable person on the planet. A moment later, three dots appeared, followed by a new message. …That’s a little cheesy, but I’ll take it. I giggled and rolled around on the bed, phone in hand. Then, out of habit, I opened my private blog. First step of the divorce: get rid of the “couples” theme I shared with Barry. But when I logged in, I found the blog was already wiped clean. 5 I don’t know when the “couples” theme was removed. The blog was now starkly empty, save for four private, self-visible posts. The earliest was from six months ago: So tired. So broken. Marriage has changed Barry into someone I don’t even recognize. The second post was four months after that. It was a photo taken from the back seat of a car, showing Barry at the wheel. In the passenger seat was a young woman, her profile uncannily similar to my own. The caption was long: Barry has been so much better lately. He’s been attentive, clingy… it almost feels like we’re dating again. He’s picked me up for a date three days in a row. Today, I had a sudden craving for hot pot and decided to surprise him at his office. When I popped up behind his car, he jumped. He seemed angry. “What are you doing here?” he snapped. I told him I missed him and started to open the passenger door. He stopped me. “Don’t sit there. It’s dangerous. Get in the back.” I just said “oh” and closed the door, my heart sinking as I got in the back. He must have forgotten that I get carsick and always have to sit in the front. For a long time after I got in, he didn’t say a word. He didn’t start the car. He just sat there, head down, texting. My good mood completely evaporated. When he finally finished, he turned to me, frowning, and asked where I wanted to go. He didn’t seem happy either. I’d lost my appetite and was about to ask him to just take me home. But then the passenger door swung open. A young woman slid into the seat. “Let’s get hot pot today, babe!” she said, her tone familiar, almost intimate. I don’t know why, but I took this picture from the back seat. Maybe because in that moment, seeing her, I was thrown back in time, to when I was her age, calling Barry “babe” just as sweetly. The third post was from just a few days later. The image was a photo of a phone screen, showing a text exchange. The other person: Is your wife mad? Barry: She won’t stop crying. I don’t even want to deal with it. She wasn’t like this before. Barry: Women are so much trouble. Married women are the worst. Barry: Be more careful next time. Don’t let her see us together. The other person: Okay, Mr. Pierce. Barry sent a winking emoji. Not “babe” anymore? Barry: I only fast-tracked your hiring because you look so much like my wife did when she was younger. Barry: Don’t be nervous. I just think of you as a little sister. Barry: I’ll take you for a drive sometime soon. Reading this, I suddenly remembered the scene in the hospital, when Barry was talking about “cooling off” with a divorce. The girl by his side had looked intrigued. “Are you really planning to divorce her, Mr. Pierce?” she’d asked tentatively. “You want to take her place?” Barry had sneered, grabbing her chin, his eyes cold and cruel. “You look a little like her, sure. But who the hell do you think you are? You’re not worthy.” He shoved her face away. The room fell silent. Barry’s voice dropped to a menacing growl. “That’s my wife. The one I chased for ten years. You think I’d ever really let her go? I’m just scaring her a little. She’s so in love with me, she’d never agree.” … My gaze returned to the phone screen. There was only one post left. It was dated the day before my arrival in this timeline. Exactly six months after the first post. This time, the picture was of an open safe. Inside, two marriage certificates lay side-by-side with a stack of property deeds. The caption was only four words: I want a divorce. 6 I was rummaging through the safe, searching for treasure, when Barry called. I couldn’t be bothered to answer. I silenced the call and ignored it. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. I checked the security camera. It was one of the guys from Barry’s hospital room. I didn’t open the door. I spoke through the intercom. “What do you want?” It was the middle of the night. If I’d been asleep, I would have been furious. The guy on the screen looked awkward. “Uh, Mrs. Pierce… Barry is craving your corn chowder. He was hoping you could bring some to him tomorrow.” Corn chowder was one of the few things I knew how to make, and I made it well. I snorted. “He’s got some nerve. We’re getting a divorce and he still expects me to wait on him? Tell him to get lost.” The guy’s face fell. He started to say something else, but I cut him off, my voice sharp. “Are you deaf? I said he can get lost. That goes for you too!” For the next few days, I holed up at home, preparing the divorce documents. Once the agreement was finalized, I had Carter submit it to the court to start the cooling-off period. Then, I took a copy of the agreement and went to see Barry. He’d been stewing over my recent cold shoulder and was already in a foul mood. The second he saw me, his face soured. “Old woman! Who let you in? We’re getting a divorce, what are you doing here?” The other people in the room tried to play peacemaker. “Mrs. Pierce, don’t be mad. Barry’s lost his memory, he’s basically a kid right now. Just say something nice, humor him a little.” I crossed my arms, staring at Barry without a word. Men are boys until they die, huh? Why was everyone telling me not to be angry? Why wasn’t anyone telling him to stop being an ass? “Did I cause his amnesia?” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “Is it my fault he was driving like an idiot and broke his own arms and legs? He’s a child? What am I, then? Am I not my parents’ child? Barry, you wanted a divorce? Fine. You’ve got it.” I threw the prepared agreement onto his lap. “Sign it.” No one had expected this. Barry, especially, looked at me with utter disbelief. “Stella, you want to divorce me?! We’ve only been married for six months! Are you cheating on me? Who is he?” He gritted his teeth, his eyes boring into me. “Don’t you dare tell me it’s Carter Evans.” “Barry,” I said calmly, “you remember we’ve only been married six months? Did you get your memory back?” 7 My question left him speechless. It took him a moment to stammer out a reply. “They… they told me.” He clutched the papers, his knuckles white, his eyes locked on mine. “They also told me I was famous for being a devoted husband. That it took me ten years to win you over. I might not remember that, but you should. Are you really this desperate to leave me?” I was done arguing. I snatched the papers back from him. A wave of relief washed over Barry’s face, but he quickly covered it with a defiant sneer. “Hey, what are you doing? I thought you wanted me to sign.” I didn’t say a word. I flipped to the signature page, placed it in front of him, and handed him a pen. I tapped the line. “Sign.” His face darkened. He snatched the agreement, hopped over to the window on his good leg, and threw the papers out. He shoved away a friend who tried to help him, standing stubbornly before me. “You think I’ll divorce you just because you say so, Stella? Fat chance! You want a divorce? Maybe in your next life!” I sighed, a little exasperated. Then I reached into my bag and pulled out another copy. Before he could protest, I spoke, my voice low and soothing. “Barry, your memory is stuck at eighteen. It’s not fair to you to be tied to me like this. But if you never get your memory back, it’s not fair to me, either. Your friends are here today as witnesses. This agreement is a promise. I’ll give you one month. If you’re still like this in a month, we get the divorce. Of course,” I added, “if you get your memory back, we can talk then.” I didn’t know the twenty-eight-year-old Barry, but I knew the eighteen-year-old one. He was stubborn and rebellious. The only way to handle him was to stroke his ego and humor him. His anger visibly subsided. I watched quietly as he signed the document without even reading it. He then tossed it back at me. “Fine. Who needs you anyway.” I tucked the agreement safely away. Then I looked at him, my eyes pleading. “Barry, I hope you get your memory back soon. There’s so much I want to tell you.” The moment I turned my back, the mask of vulnerability dropped from my face. I walked out, my expression a cold, hard blank. After all, he was unfaithful. And for that, there would be a reckoning. 8 After I left, Barry flew into a rage, smashing everything he could reach in his room. “What the hell is her problem?! We just got married and she wants a divorce?” His remaining friends didn’t dare try to calm him down, fearing they’d become the next target of his fury. In the days that followed, Barry realized I was serious about ignoring him. Panic started to set in. “Do you think… do you think my wife is really angry? Was faking amnesia a mistake?” he asked them, his voice laced with uncertainty. His friends just exchanged nervous glances, unwilling to offer an opinion. But Barry’s arrogance was his default setting. He quickly recovered, blaming everyone but himself. “I get it,” he sneered. “She’s playing hard to get. Trying to use a divorce to control me. Whose idea was that? I almost fell for it. And she probably never imagined I’d actually sign the papers. I bet she’s at home crying her eyes out right now.” With that, he ordered them to arrange for his discharge from the hospital. He pointed at one of his friends. “You. Drive me home.”

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On a school holiday, as I drove into a mountain resort with my daughter, a hypercar crossed the solid line and hit us from behind. The driver stormed out, furious. “Do you even know how to drive? This car costs more than your life!” I was about to argue when I recognized the car—it was the hypercar my mother gave me when I took over the family business. Even the license plate matched. My wife had claimed it was at the service center for engine failure. I asked calmly, “Is this car really yours?” He hesitated, then boasted, “A gift from my wife! Limited edition! You owe me a million dollars—start selling your house.” He threatened, “Don’t try anything. My wife is the CEO of Vanguard Enterprises. She’s on her way here.” I laughed coldly. So this was the “business dinner” Miranda skipped our daughter’s holiday for—to be with her lover and his son? 1 The first day of the school holidays, and we hadn’t even parked. I was driving my daughter to a mountain resort when a hypercar illegally crossed the line and slammed into my rear bumper. The man who emerged was a storm of fury. “Do you even know how to drive? Do you have any idea how much this car is worth? I could sell you for parts and it wouldn’t cover a scratch!” I frowned, pointing at the unbroken white line on the road. “Sir, you crossed the solid line, which caused the collision. This is clearly your fault—” He cut me off impatiently. “It’s your fault! When you see a multi-million-dollar car like this, you’re supposed to get out of the way! You deserve to pay!” I almost laughed. I was dealing with a lunatic. I pulled out my phone to call the police. But the man, Leo, shot me a disdainful look and snatched the phone from my hand. “Calling the cops won’t help you,” he sneered. “My wife has connections. I want one million dollars, right now. Start calling your family to sell your house, or I’ll make sure you lose everything you own!” It was utterly insane. He was the one at fault, and he was the one making threats. A crowd of onlookers had started to gather. “Wow,” someone breathed. “I’ve seen that car on TV. It’s one of only fifty in the world. Worth at least five million dollars! We’re looking at a serious tycoon here!” “That poor guy in the electric sedan is screwed,” another person commented. “He’s going to be bankrupted.” A third person sighed sympathetically. “Just bad luck. Anyone who can afford a five-million-dollar car has the power to make black look white. Even if it was the rich guy’s fault, the other driver is going to be the one who pays.” Leo swelled with pride under their gazes. “You hear that? Be smart about this. Right now, it’s just a million dollars. If you push it…” “Is this car yours?” I interrupted, my voice cutting through his tirade. The hypercar had seemed familiar from the moment I saw it. Then it hit me. This was the gift my mother gave me the year I became Chairman of Vanguard Enterprises. The last four digits of the license plate were my birthday. I clearly remembered my wife, Miranda, telling me the engine had seized and she’d sent it to the dealership for repairs. We had so many cars that I didn’t always keep track, which is why I hadn’t recognized it instantly. I’d chosen to drive our high-end electric sedan today precisely to be low-key. Leo’s face hardened. “What’s that supposed to mean? My wife gave it to me, so it’s mine!” Then, as if remembering his trump card, a smug, arrogant grin spread across his face. “My wife is a big deal. She runs Vanguard Enterprises, the biggest conglomerate in Haven City. She’s not someone a peasant like you can afford to cross!” My eyes narrowed. “Vanguard Enterprises?” I repeated slowly. He nodded, his chin held high. “That’s right. Scared now? Call your family and get the money. Or you’ll be doing it from a jail cell!” A part of me had wondered if this was a misunderstanding—maybe a mechanic from the dealership had taken the car for a joyride. But now it was clear. Miranda was cheating on me. Seeing my silence, Leo assumed I was intimidated. He shot me a contemptuous look. “Let me warn you, my wife is almost here. If you ruin our family’s holiday, she’ll have you blacklisted from every industry in the city. I don’t care what you do for a living—you’ll be finished!” A cold fury simmered within me. “You’ve got a lot of nerve!” An older woman in the crowd stepped forward. “Son, you can’t fight people like this. Just apologize, admit you were wrong. Maybe you can negotiate a smaller payment.” A frosty smile touched my lips. “Oh, someone is definitely going to pay today,” I said. “Someone’s going to lose everything they have. But it won’t be me.” What was the penalty for stealing a five-million-dollar hypercar, I wondered? The woman just shook her head. “You’re not listening. In Haven City, everyone knows what the name Vanguard Enterprises means.” “So naive,” someone else sneered. “Thinks the world is fair. He’s going to learn the hard way.” My defiance enraged Leo. “You low-life! You want to do this the hard way? Fine! Just you wait until my wife gets here. You’ll regret this!” I lowered my eyes, hiding the murderous glint in them. “She’s coming, is she?” Perfect. I had a few questions for Miranda myself. Starting with why, when she had everything, she was so determined to throw it all away. 2 As Leo and I argued, a commotion erupted from my car. A boy of about eight or nine darted out and ran to Leo’s side, holding up a small, silver locket. My daughter, Diane, scrambled out after him, her hair a mess, her eyes red and swollen. “Daddy,” she cried, “he got in our car and started going through our things! He stole the locket with our family photo inside!” Before I could react, Leo exploded. “I knew it! You two disgusting parasites! I thought it was too much of a coincidence, running into you here. You hit my car and act all tough because this was your plan all along—to seduce my wife!” He clenched his fist around the locket and swung at my face. The sheer audacity was breathtaking. I blocked his punch easily, my eyes glacial. “You know damn well who the homewrecker is here.” He snarled, trying to lunge at me again, but I held him fast. My years of boxing weren’t just for show. With a quick twist, I used his own momentum to send him sprawling to the ground. He instantly changed his tune, crying out to the crowd. “Everyone, look! Can you believe the nerve of this homewrecker? First, he crashes into my car, and now he’s trying to steal my wife in broad daylight!” He was just getting warmed up. As more people gathered, they started pointing and whispering at me and my daughter. “Oh my God, and I actually felt sorry for him! I thought he was just a regular guy being bullied by the rich. Turns out he’s the scumbag!” “How disgusting. What a great example he’s setting for his daughter!” I pulled Diane into my arms, shielding her face in my chest. My own chest was heaving with rage. This was beyond belief. I took out my phone, pulled up a photo of my marriage certificate, and held it high. “Everyone, look closely!” I said, my voice ringing with authority. “I am the legal husband of the CEO of Vanguard Enterprises. This man is the one who interfered in our marriage. And as for Miranda, she’s no better!” Someone leaned in for a closer look. “He’s right! I’ve seen her on the financial news. That’s Miranda Vaughn!” “Wait, so we got it wrong?” The crowd’s gaze shifted to Leo, now filled with doubt. Leo shot me a venomous look and pulled out his own phone. “Don’t be fooled by him! Anyone can photoshop a picture. My wife and I just celebrated our tenth anniversary. I have a video to prove it!” On his screen, he and Miranda were on a beach in Hawaii, holding hands, kissing, feeding each other strawberries—an display so intimate it made some of the onlookers blush. My head spun. A month ago, while my mother was on her deathbed, Miranda had insisted she had to fly overseas for a massive deal. She had gone against my express wishes. My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms. She had abandoned my dying mother to be with her lover. The rage of betrayal coursed through me like poison. The crowd immediately switched sides again. “He’s right, a picture can be faked, but a video can’t!” “His marriage certificate is probably a fake! I bet he knew Ms. Vaughn would be here today and staged the whole thing. What a disgusting way to try and break up a family!” Leo’s son, Max, picked up a rock and threw it at us. “Get away from my mom, you jerks!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you for hurting my dad!” I shielded Diane, dodging the rock. Over the boy’s head, I met Leo’s eyes. They were filled with undisguised triumph. He subtly gave me the finger. A humorless, chilling laugh escaped me. This was interesting. I was done trying to prove myself. In one swift motion, I put Diane back in our car and slammed the door. The engine roared to life. I spun the car around and floored the accelerator, heading straight for Leo and his son. The crowd gasped. “What is he doing?!” A piercing scream cut through the air. I slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt, the front bumper barely a hand’s breadth from them. Through the windshield, I saw the pure, undiluted terror in Leo’s eyes. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the pavement. I offered him a sarcastic smile. Scared already? We’re just getting started. Just then, a sleek Maybach sped towards us. I glanced at the license plate. Miranda had arrived. 3 Miranda leaped out of the car and rushed to Leo and her son. Max immediately started sobbing. “Mommy, that man tried to run us over!” Leo put on a show of righteous anger. “It’s all your fault, Miranda! I don’t know where you picked up this psycho, but he’s trying to kill me and my son just to get to you!” Miranda cooed at them, her voice full of concern. “Don’t say that. You and Max are my whole world. Whoever hurt you, I’ll make them pay. Anything you want, it’s done.” I watched this tender scene from my car, then opened the door and stepped out. “That would be me, Miranda,” I said, my voice cold as stone. The anger on Miranda’s face froze. Her color drained. Leo wrapped his arm around her possessively, pointing at me. “That’s him! Miranda, you have to stand up for us! Have him blacklisted! Ruin him!” I took a step closer, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Miranda. Don’t you have something to explain?” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Someone in the crowd yelled, “Ms. Vaughn, that’s the low-life who claimed to be your husband! He even showed a fake marriage certificate! You can’t let him get away with it!” “Yeah, trying to worm his way into your life! Anyone can see how much you and Mr. Vance love each other. He’s a disgusting homewrecker!” “Don’t worry, with Ms. Vaughn’s power, she’ll crush this nobody! He’ll get what he deserves!” Spurred on by the crowd, Miranda steeled herself. She took the locket from Leo, threw it to the ground, and ground it under her heel until the family photo inside was completely destroyed. “Sir,” she said, her voice low and sharp, “do you have any idea that using someone’s image without their permission is illegal? I don’t know who you are, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped spreading these rumors. You’re making my husband and everyone else uncomfortable.” She paused, then added, “And as for your assault on my husband today, I will not let it slide. I demand that you apologize to him, right here, in front of everyone.” A cold smile twisted my lips. The woman whose entire career I had funded was defending her lover like this? Fine. I would give them exactly what they wanted. Just as I was about to speak, Diane bolted from the car. She saw the shattered locket at Miranda’s feet. “Mommy?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “That was our family picture. It was my favorite one. Why did you break it?” Max glared at her. “Who are you calling Mommy, you little witch?” The crowd’s murmurs turned venomous again. “Like father, like daughter. Ms. Vaughn already said she doesn’t know them, and the little girl is still calling her ‘Mommy.’ No shame at all.” Diane’s eyes welled with tears, but she stood her ground. “She is my mommy! Mommy, look at me!” Miranda finally turned to her own daughter, her voice like ice. “I don’t know you. Little girl, don’t let your father corrupt you. It’s wrong to call strangers ‘Mommy.’” I pulled Diane to my side, gently patting her back. I scanned the crowd and noticed several people were live-streaming the entire event on their phones. I smirked and raised my voice. “I’d like everyone here to be a witness. This woman, Ms. Vaughn, just stated that she does not know me or my daughter. Is that correct?” The crowd, though confused, nodded. “Is this guy crazy? One minute he’s forcing her to admit she’s his wife, now this?” “He’s lost his mind!” My gaze locked onto Miranda’s. “Then I hope you have some integrity, Ms. Vaughn. Because you’ll be held to every word you’ve just said.” Miranda scoffed. Leo looked smug, basking in the crowd’s support. The murmurs against me grew louder. “What is wrong with this guy?” “Is he trying to act crazy to avoid the consequences? Everyone in Haven City knows how ruthless the Vanguard legal team is. He can’t escape!” “Come on, everyone, get a good look at the most disgusting homewrecker in history, right here on my stream!” The insults kept coming. Just then, the sound of police sirens cut through the noise. A group of officers arrived. “Who called this in?” one of them shouted. “We received a report of a stolen hypercar worth five million dollars.”

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