Author: Momo Chan

The year I went undercover, I took a bullet for the city’s most feared crime lord to prove my loyalty. Then, for three years, nothing. A black void where my memory used to be. The day I woke up, I tentatively reached out my hand. The man before me knelt with practiced ease, bringing his face close to my palm. “Can you go a little easy on me today?” he murmured, his voice laced with a strange sort of grievance. “I have a meeting later.” 1 I was utterly dumbfounded. “H-h-h-honey…” The word was barely out of my mouth before Eddie gently took my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles. “There are people watching, angel. Save it for when we get home, okay?” Excuse me? Was this the same Eddie Dillon? The ruthless, decisive crime lord whose name was whispered in fear across the city? My last memory of him was the cold steel of his gun pressed against my forehead, his eyes burning with disgust as he spat, “Get away from me!” Back then, I couldn’t even look at him without getting a death glare in return, let alone touch him. But now? He wasn’t just initiating contact; he was doing it with a look of pure, docile submission. And the most insane part? Everyone else in the room acted like this was just another Tuesday. Panic clawed at my throat, and I tried to snatch my hand back. His grip tightened, a dangerous glint entering his eyes. “Ava,” he purred, his voice dropping low. “Why aren’t you hitting me?” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve fallen for that pretty boy, haven’t you? Is that it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Fine. I’ll have him shipped off to some godforsaken desert until he’s begging for a shadow.” He was being completely unreasonable. But I knew Eddie. He wasn’t a man of empty threats. Gritting my teeth, I raised my other hand and swung. The slap echoed in the silent room. He didn’t even flinch. One side of his perfect face instantly flushed a deep red. My hand trembled, a cold dread washing over me. I half-expected him to pull the gun from his waistband and end me right there. Instead, he touched his cheek, his lips moving almost imperceptibly. “That hurt.” Well, what was I supposed to do about it? You asked for it. You want me to kiss it better? The thought had barely formed when Eddie dropped to both knees, pressing his bruised cheek into my palm and nuzzling against it. “Kiss it better, Ava,” he whispered. Oh, for God’s sake. Just let the world end now. 2 Three years ago, I was sent in as a mole. It did not start well. Eddie Dillon was a ghost, a phantom. Getting close to him was like trying to catch smoke. He was always flanked by a legion of bodyguards. My only way in was to get a job at a high-end club he owned. After weeks of waiting, I finally got word he was coming. I was desperate, reckless. I decided to show off by opening a beer bottle with my bare hands. The cap shot off like a bullet and ricocheted right off Eddie’s nose. The beer foamed over, drenching his custom-tailored suit. That night, I learned what it felt like to be pinned by a gaze that could strip the soul from your bones. My punishment? Bathroom duty. For a month. Then, my chance came again. Eddie was back at the club, this time for a business meeting. My handler had intel that he was getting into some dirty dealings and I had to get eyes on it. I begged the club manager for a chance. She gave me a long, pitying look. “Honey, you’re gorgeous, you’ve got a great body, but…” She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the words out. “The boss isn’t into men.” Oh, right. I forgot. I’d kept my hair short, and when I first applied, I saw all the bombshell waitresses had long, flowing hair. On a whim, I’d lied and said I was a guy. I stamped my foot in frustration. “But what if he is? Secretly?” I pressed. “Think about it! He comes here all the time and never so much as looks at any of the girls. He’s always alone.” A flicker of understanding crossed her face. I’d gotten to her. She came back with a sheer, mesh top. I waved my hands frantically. No way. My chest was… noticeable. It would give me away in a second. I’d heard that men of his stature often had… peculiar tastes. “Get me a schoolgirl outfit,” I said. I scrubbed my face clean of all makeup, applying only a slick of strawberry-flavored lip balm. When I pushed the door open to the private room, every man inside froze, their drinks halfway to their lips. A kind-looking older man spoke up. “You lost, kid?” My eyes found Eddie. He looked bored, unimpressed. I pitched my voice high and innocent. “Big brother?” His brow furrowed. “You’ve got the wrong person.” I rushed toward him, not seeing the empty bottle on the floor. My foot landed on it, and I went down. It was a perfect slide, like a baseball player stealing home, that brought my face dangerously close to… well, his lap. Mortification burned through me. He extended a single finger and tapped my forehead. “Where do you think you’re looking?” I looked up, my hands finding his knees, giving them a hopeful squeeze. “Please, brother, take me in.” The tears came on command, hot and fast. “My dad’s a gambling addict, he lost everything. My mom’s too sick to get out of bed, and my little sister… she hasn’t eaten in days.” Eddie flicked a lighter open and closed, the flame dancing in his dark eyes. He was unmoved. “I’ve heard that story at least ten times this month.” So what? This time, I wasn’t leaving. I was going to get back everything I’d lost. One of his men entered. “Boss, Mr. Shaw is here.” My internal alarms blared. My handler had warned me about this man specifically. Eddie’s expression hardened. He stood, stepping around me. “Get out.” I wouldn’t budge. “Not until you agree to take me with you.” His eyes, black and bottomless, fixed on me. “Are you even legal?” I nodded. He glanced away, a humorless smirk on his lips. “Tough luck. I’m not into adults.” What the—? The man was a total creep. Before I could say another word, Mr. Shaw strolled in, his gaze bouncing between me and Eddie with amusement. “Well, well, Eddie. Didn’t know you were into this sort of thing. You should have said something. I’ve got plenty more where she came from.” In a flash, Eddie had a gun out, the cold barrel pressed against my forehead. His eyes were ice. “Get. Away. From. Me.” I hovered by the door, trying to listen in. Suddenly, voices were raised, erupting into a full-blown argument. I burst back into the room right behind Eddie’s men. Mr. Shaw was clutching his forehead, blood streaming between his fingers. He had his own gun leveled at Eddie. “Go to hell!” he screamed. His finger was tightening on the trigger— In that split second, I didn’t think. I just moved. Something inside me knew he couldn’t die. Not like this. I launched myself at him, a blur of motion. As I tackled him to the ground, the gunshot roared in my ears. My last wisp of consciousness was filled with Eddie’s voice, raw with fury. “You damn fool!” If I hadn’t pushed him, that bullet would have gone straight through his head. Miraculously, I survived. But a piece of me died. My memory was gone. And the Ava who woke up was… different. According to witnesses, she was: A total perv. She’d throw herself at Eddie for kisses at the drop of a hat. She once snuck into the bathroom while he was showering to “measure his dimensions.” And, most bizarrely, she refused to sleep on anything but his chiseled abs. A social cannonball. Her official title was, essentially, “Eddie’s Overlord.” She would cling to him in public, calling him “hubby” without a shred of shame, using his infatuation with her as a license to stir up trouble wherever she went. And, on top of all that, she was extremely violent. She slapped him. Often. When she was feeling particularly inventive, she used… implements. The basement of the Dillon mansion was a testament to her creativity—a private collection of tools, all for Eddie. 3 I slammed my hand on the table. “That’s a load of crap!” Barney, the bodyguard Eddie had assigned me, jumped, his body trembling. “M-m-m-ma’am… it’s all true.” His only real flaw was that debilitating stutter. The truth was, I had flashes, disjointed images of what I’d been like these past few years. But I couldn’t accept it. I was trying to convince myself it was all just a long, terrible nightmare. I leaned in, whispering to Barney. “When I hit him… Eddie… he didn’t fight back? Not even once?” Barney nervously picked at his fingers, his mind replaying the scenes. Every time his boss got slapped, he wouldn’t get angry. He’d just get this… wounded puppy look, gently taking her hand and asking if she wanted to go again. “He… he r-r-re…” Resisted? No, that couldn’t be right. All ten of my fingers were still attached. “…really didn’t seem to mind. You’d just hit him harder,” Barney finished in a rush, looking at me with terrified eyes. “The b-boss used to say that only a man with a wife gets the privilege of being hit. He said he felt s-sorry for us because we had no one to hit us.” I was speechless. Now that my memories were back, my mission was all I could think about. I had to contact my handler. When I finally got him on the line, his first message was a single question mark. You’re not dead? he texted. Me: Are you trying to curse me? I’ll file a complaint! Handler: Ooh, did the little baby get her feelings hurt? Don’t make me come over there and take away your rattle. Me: …Did I do something to you? Why are you being so vicious? The sarcasm kept flowing. Wouldn’t dream of it. You’re Eddie Dillon’s precious little treasure now. I spent months trying to find you, thought you’d been kidnapped. Then I finally spot you on the street, try to get you out of there, and what happens— And then it hit me. I remembered. I remembered everything. His texts became more frantic. You pointed at me and screamed ‘stranger danger’! You said I was an old, crusty fossil! That I wasn’t fit to lick the mud off your precious Eddie’s shoes! I was so mad I couldn’t eat for three days! Me? Crusty? I’m the prize jewel of this entire department! I was so, so sorry. I apologized profusely. Eventually, we got down to business. He filled me in. The investigation was closed. Mr. Shaw had been arrested. Eddie Dillon, for his cooperation with the police, had been given a public commendation as a model citizen. They’d dug into every corner of his life and found nothing. The reason they’d left me with him was simple: during my amnesia, Eddie had guarded me like a dragon hoarding gold. They couldn’t risk spooking him. But more importantly, I hadn’t wanted to leave. I was a clingy, possessive, royal pain in the ass, and they had no idea what to do with me. So, they let it be. But now, it was up to me to find a tactful way to disappear. Right before he signed off, my handler added one last gleeful jab. You know, for all your crazy, he seems genuinely into you. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking. If you just up and leave him… well, heh heh… What the hell was that old fossil ‘heh heh’-ing about? 4 My head was spinning. Just then, a call came in from Eddie’s assistant. “Ma’am, you haven’t done your daily check-in call yet.” “Check-in for what?” He sighed dramatically. “That explains it.” Then his voice turned pleading. “Ma’am, you have to get down here. The boss is about to burn the entire company to the ground.” On my way! I didn’t know the way, so I made Barney drive. He started whimpering. I thought he was just overwhelmed with excitement. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Barney. From now on, you’re my right-hand man. Do a good job, and you’ll be rewarded.” “That’s n-not it, ma’am,” he wailed. “It’s just… I’ve f-f-failed my driver’s test… f-five times.” Useless! I made him navigate instead. Half an hour later, I was deeply regretting that decision. We came to an intersection. “Which way, Barney?” He rolled down the window, sticking his head out so far he nearly fell. “S-s-str…” “S-s-str…” Straight? Got it. I even sped up a little. Barney’s face turned beet red. “STRAIGHT into a right turn!” …I was seriously considering just pushing him out of the car. A little while later, we came to a fork in the road. Barney pointed excitedly at a bridge. “U-u-up…” “U-u-up…” I swerved onto the bridge. His face crumpled in despair. He slapped his knees, nearly jumping out of his seat. “I’ve been this way before! We were stuck in traffic for a whole day!” For the love of God. Thanks to Barney, by the time we reached Eddie’s company, it was already dark. Eddie’s assistant, Mr. Evans, was a true professional. The security guard told me he’d been waiting by the curb for me since the afternoon. “So sorry,” I said. “The traffic was a nightmare.” He offered a cryptic smile. “Don’t worry about it. This is nothing.” He led the way, walking with a strange, stiff-legged limp. “Mr. Evans, what happened to your leg?” Barney, of course, answered for him. “It probably f-f-f-fell asleep!” Mr. Evans shot him a stern look. “Watch your language in front of Mrs. Dillon.” 5 It wasn’t until we arrived that I realized I had no idea what I was supposed to do here. Mr. Evans just smiled. “Ma’am, please. Don’t hold back. Do what you do best.” There was a hidden meaning in his words, and I understood it the moment we reached the CEO’s office. A woman was draped all over Eddie. “So she took a bullet for you, so what?” she whined. “I get it, Eddie, you’re grateful. You feel like you owe her. But you’ve done more than enough. Do you have any idea what a joke you’ve become because of her? Do you know what people are saying about you?” Eddie was slouched in his chair, chin propped on his hand, his attention fixed on the phone sitting on his desk. “What are they saying?” he asked, his tone dripping with boredom. The woman sniffed. “They’re saying you’re whipped. Spineless. That you let a woman walk all over you, that you have no dignity left.” Eavesdropping from the hallway, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back. Eddie wasn’t even listening. “Oh.” He shrugged. “They’re just jealous.” The woman was stunned. Then her eyes welled up with tears. “You treat her like she’s the center of the universe. What about me? What am I to you?” I recognized her then. Lila. The daughter of one of Eddie’s most loyal men, who had died saving Eddie’s life years ago. Eddie, burdened by that debt, had practically raised Lila like a little sister. No wonder she was getting away with this. I’d seen what happened to other women who tried to get this close to him. They ended up so terrified they’d cross the street to avoid him. Eddie didn’t even look up. “You’re thinking too much,” he said flatly. “You’re not in my universe.” Lila’s face crumpled. “If I had been there that day, I would have taken a bullet for you too! What’s so special about her?” I flicked a button from my cuff into the room. “Eek! A cockroach!” Lila shrieked and leaped behind Eddie. When she realized she’d been had, she pointed a trembling, furious finger at me. “That doesn’t count! You cheated, Ava!” “Ava.” Eddie’s eyes lit up. He stood and walked toward me. “You finally came to pick me up.” Honestly, seeing him still sent a jolt of fear through me. I instinctively took a step back. He froze, a look of wounded confusion on his face. Lila wasn’t done. She clung to his arm. “You don’t love him, Ava! You just use him as your personal punching bag. You don’t even give him a shred of dignity. Let’s be real, you’re only with him for his face or his money. You’re a horrible woman!” Damn it. She wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t even argue. Eddie’s face turned dangerously cold. “Get out.” Alright, fine. I’ll make myself scarce. This actually made things easier. I wouldn’t have to agonize over how to say goodbye. I turned to leave, but his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. “I was talking to her,” he said, his voice a low growl. Lila’s jaw dropped. Barney and Mr. Evans, ever the professionals, materialized on either side of her, efficiently escorting her out. “Hey, I was here first!” Lila protested as they dragged her away. “You can’t just cut in line!” The heavy office door clicked shut, sealing us in silence. I had no idea what to do. I was searching for something, anything, to say to break the suffocating tension. “Honey.” Hmm? Eddie moved closer, wrapping his arms around me loosely, as if afraid to hold on too tight. “It’s been too long. I missed you.” We just saw each other this morning. The left side of his face was still swollen from my handiwork. I stood perfectly still. He nuzzled the side of my neck. “Why… why didn’t you hit me today?” I didn’t answer, focusing all my energy on keeping my hands from shaking. It was strange. It was like my body had its own memory. The moment Eddie’s face got close, my hands started to itch. I forced a laugh. “After hearing what Lila said, I did some thinking. Maybe I shouldn’t be trampling all over your dignity like that. I think… I need to break this habit of hitting you.” Eddie immediately let me go. He took a deep, steadying breath and pulled out his gun. My own breath hitched. “What are you doing?” I whispered. He strode past me toward the door, his voice a furious snarl. “I’m going to kill Lila.” 6 Of course, he didn’t get the chance. In that moment of crisis, I acted. I slapped him. Hard. The force of it sent a shockwave up my arm. He wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth, a flicker of excitement in his eyes. “More,” he whispered. “Baby.” No. I couldn’t. I wasn’t a sadist. I held up my throbbing hand. “I can’t. My hand really hurts this time.” Back at the mansion, Eddie expertly located the first-aid kit. He pulled me onto his lap, his touch gentle as he treated my hand. “You can use the tools next time,” he murmured, a mixture of pain and self-reproach in his voice. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Eddie, why do you like it so much when I hit you?” He kept his eyes down, focused on dabbing antiseptic on my knuckles. A small smile played on his lips. “Because it’s you. Anything you do to me… I like it.” He was a lost cause. That was the only explanation. But I had to try. “Lila said you’re only like this because I saved you. But there are a million ways to show gratitude. You don’t have to use your body to…” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t even finish the sentence, the shame was too much. The next second, he was on his knees between my legs. The movement was so fluid, so practiced, it was clear this wasn’t his first time. “You’re acting strange today, Ava.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him my memory was back. What would he do? For now, I had to play it cool, test the waters. I came up with a random excuse. “I’m just… getting tired of it.” “Are you getting tired of me?” Eddie was tall, and even on his knees, his eyes were level with mine. They were glistening, shimmering with unshed tears. It looked like if I nodded, the floodgates would open. A wave of guilt washed over me. I felt like I was a heartless player, about to dump a devoted partner after having my fun. “No, of course not.” He didn’t believe me. “You are! You’re bored with me!” I raised my hand as if taking an oath. “I’m not! You’re handsome, you’re rich, you have an incredible body, how could I ever get tired of you?!” His voice trembled with anger. “Then why haven’t you kissed me all day?!” I fell silent. What could I possibly say to that? Eddie’s eyes, wide and teary, fixed on mine. He held out his arms, his voice catching. “Kisses. And hugs.” He was actually pouting. My God, what had I done? I had taken a stone-cold killer, a man who wouldn’t blink while ending a life, and trained him into a fragile, clingy crybaby. I could have had a career as a lion tamer. I deliberately kept my face a stony mask, refusing to give in. Just like he used to do to me. And then it happened. A single tear escaped the corner of Eddie’s eye and traced a path down his cheek, like a broken string of pearls. Poetic. Pathetic. One minute passed. Two minutes. Five minutes later, the silent stream was still flowing. I gave in.

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My fiancé and I were a 90% genetic match. The problem was, Ramond Marsden was a rebel without a cause. At our engagement party, in front of everyone we knew, he toasted me with a smirk. “I’d marry any woman I actually desired before I’d ever chain myself to an animal who loses control and does nothing but grovel at my feet.” Later, as I was writhing on the floor, my mind shattering from another Psionic Overload, a call came through from the Central Registry. “Miss Vance? A new candidate, Mr. Ewing, has just been registered with a 100% Genetic Compatibility Index. Are you interested in transferring your match?” 1 In this enlightened age of freedom, Ramond Marsden was a genetic Luddite. He’d rather mainline Stabilizers than spend a single second near me when his own Overloads hit. A simple touch of his hand—that’s all it would take to soothe the storm in our minds. But he refused. Of course, Ramond was a Marsden. His family could afford to burn money on Stabilizers. I couldn’t. A single vial of the lowest D-Class Stabilizer cost 2,500 credits. Even with the state subsidy, it was 1,000. My salary was 10,000 a month. By the time I was twenty-three, my Overloads had escalated from once a month to three or four times. The cost was crushing me. I had no choice but to enter the Genetic Matching Program. For ordinary people like me, it was the only path. A D-Class Overload felt like someone was taking a hacksaw to the inside of your skull. The pain was unbearable. A high-compatibility partner was a godsend, a one-in-a-million lottery ticket. So when the system matched me with someone not only wealthy and handsome but also a high-index match, I thought I’d won the jackpot. It felt like a dream. It turned out to be a nightmare. Ramond despised me on sight. He made his position crystal clear at our first meeting in a sterile, overpriced cafe. His hands, gloved in soft leather, rested on the table. “If my family wasn’t so damn paranoid about my condition,” he’d said, his voice tight with irritation, “I would never have consented to this barbaric process.” His family, however, was adamant. They moved me into his penthouse apartment. To my surprise, Ramond agreed to that part. Given his initial hostility, I made myself as small as possible, a ghost in his opulent life. He was the one who crossed the line first. One night, he came home and collapsed, his body convulsing from a sudden Overload. Without a partner’s touch to regulate him, his condition had degraded. He’d jumped from a C-Class to a B-Class. 2 I came home from work to find him on the floor. The moment I knelt beside him, he lunged, pulling me down with him. “Help me,” he rasped, his voice raw with a desperation I’d never heard before. He buried his face against my neck, his skin burning against mine. The brief contact was electric, a jolt of pure, primal relief. It lasted only until his assistant arrived with a B-Class Stabilizer. I expected the proud, arrogant Ramond to be mortified by his lapse in control. Instead, he started seeking me out more. He slowly let his guard down, engaging me in conversation. He’d bring me small gifts—gourmet meals, books, things that wouldn’t make me feel indebted—and I started to see a different side of him. He developed a habit of sitting at the kitchen island while I cooked, talking about anything and everything. “Did you know,” he said one evening, his voice tinged with a strange nostalgia, “that in the Old World, people didn’t follow genetic imperatives? They just… fell in love. Emotion was enough. Genes didn’t chain them together.” Before the age of eighteen, Psionic Overloads are dormant. In that window of blissful ignorance, it’s easy to fall for anyone. A bitter smile twisted his lips. “My parents were like that. A love match. They defied everyone to be together. Then, when I was sixteen, my father found a mistress. A woman with a 74% GCI. When my mother found out, she couldn’t live with it. She ended her life.” That’s when I understood. Wealthy scions like Ramond, when matched with commoners, often kept them as something on the side. A living, breathing Stabilizer. Their real lives, their marriages, were reserved for alliances with families of equal standing. Some even had multiple matched partners. He looked so lost in that moment. I stood there, holding a tray, unsure of what to say. “No wonder you hate being near me.” His eyes met mine, and for a second, he seemed to see me, truly see me. Then the moment broke, and he flashed a brilliant smile. “Let’s not talk about that depressing stuff. What’s for dinner? It smells incredible.” From that day on, we became dinner companions. We talked for hours. To honor his beliefs, to prove our connection was more than just genetic, I never once asked him for comfort. Every time an Overload hit, I quietly excused myself and used a Stabilizer. After six months, my own condition worsened. My Overloads escalated to C-Class. Four D-Class vials couldn’t touch the pain of a C-Class event. A single C-Class Stabilizer cost twenty-five thousand credits. Even with the subsidy, it was my entire monthly salary. In my most naive, love-struck year, I took on every freelance job I could find to make ends meet. I never asked him for help. I wanted to protect his principles. 3 Perhaps he saw my sacrifice. He proposed. That night, I cried until I couldn’t breathe. He slid a diamond onto my finger. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?” “This happiness,” I sobbed, “it feels like I fought a war for it.” We didn’t even embrace, but in that moment, I felt our souls were touching. That perfect happiness lasted less than twenty-four hours. The next evening, he threw a massive party to celebrate. I slipped away to the restroom, and when I came back, he was gone. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach as I saw the predatory glances other women were giving him. I searched the entire crowded penthouse before finally finding him in the back garden, talking with his friend, Marcus Thorne. I was about to call out his name when I heard him laugh. “I told her my mother was dead. She actually bought it.” Marcus lit a cigarette, the tip glowing in the twilight. “What happens when she finds out it’s all a lie and bolts?” “Let her,” Ramond scoffed. “I never liked her anyway. She’s the one who can’t leave me now. She hasn’t had a proper soothing in months. Her savings are gone, she can’t afford C-Class Stabilizers, and she’s probably drowning in debt. After investing so much, you think she’d just walk away?” He laughed again, a cruel, cutting sound. “I never would have broken my own rule if she hadn’t come home that night. The thought of having touched her makes my skin crawl. But since she’s so pathetically devoted, I’ll keep her around. It’s not like I can’t afford it.” Marcus chuckled. “Women from the lower sectors are all the same. So desperate. They think a high GCI means we’ll fall madly in love with them.” “My mother’s plan was brilliant, though,” Ramond said, the grin returning to his voice. “I tell her my mom died, and she actually feels sorry for me.” Marcus snorted with laughter and added his own twisted advice. “While she’s broke, convince her to quit her job. Then buy her a car or a condo in her name. Just make the down payment. You dole out the monthly installments. If you cut her off, she defaults. She’ll be so terrified of losing everything, she’ll do whatever you say.” The world tilted, the manicured hedges of the garden blurring into a nauseating green smear. It was all a trap. A meticulously crafted cage. He had used himself as bait, luring me in with kindness, feeding me a philosophy he never truly believed in, all to domesticate me. To turn me into another one of his possessions. The weight of it all—the debt, the pain, the crushing betrayal—crashed down on me. My Psionic Overload didn’t just escalate. It exploded. A B-Class Overload seized my body, turning my muscles to stone. The thud of my fall caught their attention. Ramond strolled over, a vision of casual cruelty. When he saw me on the ground, he doubled over with laughter. “Oops. I guess you heard that.” The pain was a living thing, a creature of pure agony devouring me from the inside out. I curled into a ball, unable to scream. My hand, acting on pure instinct, reached for him. He crouched down, propping his chin on his hand, a smile playing on his lips. “Helen, the way you beg… you look just like a stray dog.” Through the haze of pain, I noticed his hands. They were still sheathed in those damned gloves. I had never even seen the color of his skin. When the hatred peaked, a wild thought surfaced: endure it. Survive this, and maybe you can break free from the genetic curse altogether. How ironic. The thought was a weapon he himself had given me. As the pain reached its crescendo, something inside me broke. And then, there was peace. I remembered a terrible toothache from my childhood. How did I solve it? That’s right. Terrified of the pain, I’d ripped the loose tooth out myself. And in a fit of rage, I’d pulled out the one next to it, too, even though it wasn’t ready. Ramond was my rotten tooth. But this wasn’t like losing a baby tooth. If I gave him up, the chances of finding another high-index match were slim to none. A drop from 90% wasn’t a guarantee of 89%. It could be 50%, 30%, or nothing at all. 4 After an eternity, a raw, guttural scream tore from my throat. The party guests gathered around, a circle of curious, morbid faces. Someone started taking pictures. Ramond wrapped an arm around a stunning woman in a red dress. He raised his voice for all to hear. “I’d marry any woman I actually desired before I’d ever chain myself to an animal who loses control and does nothing but grovel at my feet.” For a moment, the world went silent. The clicks of the cameras, Ramond’s mocking laughter, it all faded into a dull roar. The starlight that once seemed to hold so much promise for me dimmed to ash. Marcus nudged my hand with the toe of his expensive shoe. “Hey. They say when the love dies, the genetic pull weakens. How’s that working out for you?” A sudden downpour began, the fat drops splattering against the stone patio. The rumble of thunder drowned out my choked sobs. The spectators scattered, seeking shelter. I slammed my head against the ground, again and again, trying to knock the pain out. My wrist-comm, detecting my critical state, automatically answered an incoming call. “Miss Vance? A new candidate, Mr. Ewing, has just been registered with a 100% Genetic Compatibility Index. Are you interested in transferring your match?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. A holographic display flickered to life above my wrist-comm: CRITICAL ALERT: USER INCAPACITATED. AI ASSISTANT ‘HELEN’ WILL EXECUTE OPTIMAL DECISION. I heard my own voice, perfectly synthesized, speak from the device. “Yes. Transfer.” The AI swiftly signed the digital transfer request and dialed the new match. “Hello, is this Mr. Ewing? I am Helen Vance’s integrated AI assistant. She is experiencing a critical Psionic Overload and is incapacitated. As per the Genetic Matching Mandate, you are obligated to provide soothing assistance to your matched partner.” Unlike Ramond, this man’s voice was calm, a deep and steady baritone that seemed to absorb the chaos around me. “Miss Vance,” he said, and the words were a lifeline in the storm. “I’m on my way.” 5 Wave after wave of agony crashed over me. A strange thought surfaced, a desperate urge to expel the tormenting energy from my mind. It was a fantasy I’d had a thousand times during my Overloads, and it had never worked. But this time was different. I was floating. I looked down and saw my own body, lying still and pale on the wet stone, looking for all the world like a corpse. Above me, the sky was a bruised purple, and the rain passed right through my ethereal form. The garden lights, once blinding, were now soft and muted. Each raindrop in their glow was a thread of liquid silver. In the distance, under the eaves of the patio, the party guests whispered amongst themselves. Marcus ground out his cigarette under his heel. “You think she’s dead?” “If she is, she is,” Ramond said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Plenty of people die from Overloads. We have no legal bond. I’m not responsible for her. She should have carried her Stabilizers.” “You have a soothing obligation,” Marcus reminded him. Ramond’s smile was a flash of white in the gloom. “An obligation, yes. But her condition was severe. And I’m a shy man, Marcus. I don’t care for public displays of affection. I hesitated for a moment, and well… she died. Who’s to say otherwise?” In that instant, a venomous thought took root in my mind. I wish he could feel this. The thought was the command. In the blink of an eye, I was standing beside him. I raised my hand and slapped the back of his head. “Agh!” He cried out, clutching his skull and stumbling to his knees. Marcus stared. “Stabilizer!” he yelled at the assistant. The assistant fumbled with a B-Class vial, rushing it to Ramond’s lips. But Ramond didn’t drink. He just pitched forward, unconscious. The assistant’s face went white. “Did he… did he just escalate?” Marcus shot him a furious glare. “Impossible! It takes fifty years for a natural escalation from B-Class to A-Class!” I looked down at my hands. They shimmered with a faint, iridescent light, like mother-of-pearl. “It actually worked.” Before I could process what was happening, the wail of sirens cut through the night. An ambulance had arrived. Marcus charged into the rain, grabbing the paramedic who was heading for me. “Forget her! We have an A-Class Overload here! He’s Ramond Marsden, the heir to the Marsden fortune. Save him first!” A-Class was the threshold. Any Overload of that magnitude required hospitalization. The paramedic looked torn, glancing back at my still form. Then I saw him. A man holding a black umbrella, standing silently beside my body. He seemed to sense my gaze and looked up, directly at me. A slow, gentle smile curved his lips. “Helen,” he said, his voice carrying over the storm. “Come here.” 6 The tension that had held me together snapped. The world dissolved into blackness. When I woke, I was in an unfamiliar room. A king-sized bed with a charcoal gray duvet was pushed against a floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, a thunderstorm raged. As my senses returned, I realized I was lying on top of someone. I tried to push myself up, my hand landing on a firm, muscular arm. He shifted, his own arm wrapping around my waist to help me sit up. He pressed his cheek to my forehead, testing my temperature. “You’re awake. Are you hungry?” My head was still swimming. His calm efficiency only made me feel more disoriented. When I didn’t respond, he casually picked up a long, furry appendage and tucked it into my hands. “If you’re still tired, go back to sleep.” I squeezed the tip. It was warm. “What is this?” I mumbled. “Aren’t we in a hospital?” Why was there someone in my hospital bed? “This is my apartment. I’m your matched partner, Kaelen Ewing. The ambulance I called for you got… commandeered. I had no choice but to bring you here and soothe you myself.” As he spoke, his dark, intense eyes never left my face. It took me a moment to piece together the events before I blacked out. “Thank you,” I said, my voice hoarse. He smiled, and his handsome features became utterly devastating. “Of course. I’ll be needing your help as well, Miss Vance. I’m a recently retired Psion from the military. I sustained some injuries in the Fringe. My current Overload level is dual S-Class. I require frequent soothing from a partner.” “Dual S-Class? It’s a miracle you’re alive.” I was in awe, but also deeply curious. “Can you read minds?” “No,” he said slowly. “But I do have a very fluffy tail.” My gaze dropped to the object in my hands. It was as thick as my wrist. It was his tail. I couldn’t resist giving it another squeeze. The fur was incredibly soft, the sensation deeply comforting. I found myself stroking it, my curiosity piqued. “Are you a cat?” “Mmm… feline family, panthera genus.” His voice had dropped an octave, a low rumble in his chest. I looked up and saw him watching me, his eyes filled with an undisguised hunger. I realized then what he was doing. He was patiently, skillfully, reeling me in. Luring me into touching him, providing the physical contact that would soothe his own storm. Dual S-Class. I couldn’t even begin to imagine that kind of pain. My hand stilled. I felt his tail twitch against my palm, actively seeking my touch. “Does… does being with me help you?” He blinked, his honesty disarming. “Not enough.” Oddly enough, holding his tail was having the opposite effect on me. My anxiety was melting away, replaced by a strange, buoyant excitement. “We could… get to know each other for a while,” I suggested. “Then you can decide if you still want to marry me.” “We’re a perfect match. Why would we need to wait?” His gaze was direct, unwavering. “We can get married right now.” “Huh?” I was stunned. “Really?” Perhaps it was the 100% GCI. Being near him felt like coming home to a place I’d never been. The pain, the betrayal… it all felt like a distant, half-forgotten dream. 7 The memory of Ramond’s calculated cruelty sent a chill through me, and my mood plummeted. “But… I don’t really know you.” What if Kaelen had someone else? A woman he truly loved? What if I was just destined to be the mistress again, the high-end Stabilizer kept on the side, to be used and then put away? Kaelen’s arms tightened around me, a comforting, solid presence. “Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you.” His embrace was a fortress. I felt myself sinking into it, another carefully constructed trap of kindness. The 100% GCI was a siren’s song, intoxicating and dangerous. The scars from Ramond’s betrayal screamed at me to run, but my very genes craved the safety of his arms. My tormented thoughts were interrupted by a sharp chime. My wrist-comm projected a faint holographic screen. An unknown number. Marcus Thorne’s voice, smooth and condescending, filled the quiet room. “Where are you? I’m sending a car. Ramond wants to see you.” Still treating me like a fool. A bitter laugh almost escaped me, but the memory of how I’d fallen for their lies choked it back. “What’s the matter? Worried your trained dog slipped its leash?” Marcus sighed, a theatrical sound of weary patience. “Come on, Helen, don’t talk about yourself like that. I admit, we were out of line. But you know Ramond. He’s proud. I was just going along with him. It’s not what I really think. Can’t we just talk about this face to face?” I could practically smell the hypocrisy oozing through the speaker. A hot flush of anger rose in my chest. Just as I was about to unleash a tirade, the tail in my hand twitched. I instinctively gripped it tighter, kneading the soft fur between my fingers. The anger subsided, replaced by a cold, clear calm. If Marcus was wasting his time on me, it could only mean one thing: Ramond was not doing well. “You’re asking a lot, Marcus,” I said, mimicking his insincere tone. “As you know, I had a rather severe Overload. And I was left out in the rain.” “This isn’t the time to dredge up the past, Helen,” he snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. His reaction didn’t surprise me, but I continued anyway. “If you were just kidding around, why did you leave me lying on the ground in a thunderstorm? Weren’t you afraid I might die?” “Of course not,” he said, the lie smooth as silk. “We would never have let that happen. We called an ambulance right away. And you know you can’t move someone during an Overload. It could have made things worse for you.”

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I’m an NPC in a horror game. Beautiful but tragically weak, my only role is to serve as window dressing. So when a new batch of players arrived, I was eagerly waiting for them to be slaughtered by the ghouls. But then, a message scrolled across my vision. [Still smiling, you clueless cutie? These three players are absolute monsters. They wreck instances for a living and love to break sweet little NPCs like you. Hehe… They’re especially fond of a good sandwich.] A jolt of shock went through me. Only then did I register the three pairs of predatory, almost sick, gazes fixed on me. And I was already trapped between them. 1 “Time for your injection.” The clock struck midnight as I pushed my small cart into Room 401. Inside were an old man and a girl who looked to be in her early twenties. The old man’s face was vacant, his body withered and frail. I slid the needle into his skin and fed him his pills. He showed no reaction at all. After him, it was the young girl’s turn. The sight of the cold syringe in my hand drained the color from her face. A cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she fumbled for a knife, her voice trembling as she brandished it. “Get away from me! I’m not taking it!” I stared at her in silence for a moment before turning my cart and leaving the room. Fine by me. It’s not my life on the line. This new batch of players was painfully stupid. I’d be surprised if they survived three days. 2 Every room had the same setup: one NPC and one player. The players in 402 and 403 were more compliant. Despite their fear, they obediently took their injections. I was in a great mood, humming a little tune as I kicked open the door to Room 404. But the scene inside froze the smile on my face. The NPC from Room 404… He was a heap of mangled flesh on the floor, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles. He’d been cold for a while. And the one responsible, the male player from this room, was sitting calmly on the bed. His long, wicked dark eyes watched me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Time for my injection, little nurse?” a low, magnetic voice drawled, laced with amusement. A shiver ran down my spine, my vision swimming with black spots. This was a real pro. Vicious. He’d killed his NPC roommate on the very first day. What if he decided to kill me, too? The hand holding the syringe trembled. My legs felt like jelly as I inched toward the man on the bed, my eyes catching the name on his patient file. Kael—Severe Mania. Extremely Dangerous. “Sleeve up, please,” I managed, trying to sound calm. Kael arched an eyebrow, studying me for a moment before obediently rolling up the sleeve of his striped uniform. The motion revealed a well-defined forearm, veins coiling just beneath the skin. My knees nearly buckled again. He could probably snap my neck with one hand. But what choice did I have? I was a nurse in this asylum. If I refused to administer medication, the system would erase me. Steeling myself, I took out the syringe and placed one hand on his forearm. It was scorching hot. Was this a normal human temperature? Had Kael merged with some kind of mutated creature in this instance? “Something wrong, little nurse?” the man’s teasing voice floated down from above. I tried to ignore the heat radiating from him, a heat that felt like it could melt me. Swallowing hard, I said, “Nothing.” I tried to push the needle into his skin. But his arm was as hard as a rock. The needle bent, unable to pierce his flesh. Had he merged with some kind of golem? My vision went dark again. “Mr. Kael, could you please relax your arm a bit? It’s too hard, I can’t get it in!” He raised an eyebrow, his tone deliberately playful. “Hard, you say?” I nodded frantically. “Yes!” At that, Kael’s arm relaxed slightly. The needle finally broke the skin, and I completed the injection. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, nearly collapsing in relief. 3 But my relief was short-lived. A pair of long, powerful hands clamped around the nape of my neck, yanking me backward. My back slammed against Kael’s chest. His searing heat and the forceful, rapid beat of his heart pressed through my uniform, practically fusing us together. The burn made me want to scream, and my face went pale with terror. So, he was done playing games. He was going to kill me. For a player of his level, killing an NPC like me was no different from crushing an ant. A fierce will to live surged through me. Trembling, I held out a small, pink, item-class hair tie, my voice cracking. “Mr. Kael, this is for you. Please don’t kill me. I’ll tell you how to clear the instance.” [Nurse’s Hair Tie: A hair tie often used by the pretty but clueless nurse. When equipped, increases Strength by 20%.] Kael’s smile was full of meaning. “A nice little toy.” He released me, though he seemed reluctant to do so, and pocketed the hair tie. “The clue. Now.” Having escaped death, I slumped to the floor, my head bowed. “There’s an exit in the morgue,” I mumbled. 4 Hearing this, a sarcastic smile touched Kael’s lips. His sharp eyes bore into me as if they could see right through my lie. “Alright then,” he said lazily. “Lead the way, little nurse.” My heart skipped a beat. I can’t go there. The whole thing was a lie. The morgue was a death trap. I’d die if I went! I feigned composure and backed away slowly. “I can’t. I have other patients to attend to.” I kept retreating until my back hit a chest as cold and unyielding as stone. A large hand clamped around my waist, trapping me in a firm embrace. A voice, laced with a chilling warning, spoke from behind me. “Lead the way.” Oh god, I’m actually going to cry. When did someone else get in the room? I didn’t hear a thing… Kael clicked his tongue, annoyance flickering in his eyes as he looked at the man behind me. “Zane, don’t scare her.” The man behind me grunted, his grip on my waist loosening slightly. But it still hurt! I gritted my teeth, my mind racing with plans to lure both of these bastards into the morgue and let the monsters tear them apart. “Little nurse, if you’d be so kind.” Kael rose and stood before me. His tall, nearly six-foot-three frame completely overshadowed me. With Zane behind me and Kael in front, I was perfectly boxed in. Sob. It seemed I didn’t have a choice after all. 5 Kael was on my left, Zane on my right. I was wedged between two men, one radiating a feverish heat, the other an icy chill. The faint scent of blood filled my nostrils, and my body was stiff with terror. Ding. The elevator doors opened. Before us, the entire second basement level was the morgue. Under the eerie, flickering lights, countless figures lay shrouded in white sheets. I swallowed hard, my voice trembling with nerves. “Gentlemen… we’re here. The clue to leaving is inside. Can I go now?” Kael crossed his arms, looking down at me. “You sure there are no traps in there, little nurse?” My heart stuttered. I shook my head frantically. “It’s just a morgue full of bodies. There’s no danger!” The more I spoke, the less I believed it myself. This was a horror instance. How could the morgue not be dangerous? Kael’s smile widened. Zane remained silent, his dark, inscrutable eyes fixed on me, revealing nothing. Just when I thought my lie was exposed, the two men exchanged a look and, without hesitation, stepped out of the elevator and into the gloomy morgue. I slammed the “close door” button. In the final second before the doors slid shut, the bodies in the morgue shot upright, ripping off their white sheets. A chorus of bloodcurdling shrieks filled the air as they swarmed toward Kael and Zane. Kael glanced back, a cold smirk on his lips. His voice was a chilling whisper. “See you tomorrow, little nurse.” 6 Hehe. See you tomorrow? Yeah, right. See you in hell. I’d heard from other NPCs that the monsters in the morgue weren’t particularly strong, but they carried a corpse toxin. Once infected, even the most powerful players would succumb to the poison within half an hour. The thought of my sacrificed hair tie made me clench my teeth. I rubbed my bruised waist and pressed the button for the fifth floor. I’d just helped the Director get rid of two powerful players and lost a valuable item in the process. He owed me some compensation, at the very least. 7 I’d heard the Director of this asylum used to be a player himself. He’d apparently taken out the final boss in a mutual kill and somehow became the new Director. I couldn’t care less about his backstory. I reached the fifth floor and knocked on the Director’s office door. “Director, it’s Sherry.” A few seconds later, the door clicked open on its own. A small smile played on my lips as I pushed it open and walked in. The light in the office was a cold, dim white. The Director, wearing a half-mask, sat on a black leather sofa. His long legs were crossed, and his pale, slender fingers tapped a rhythmic beat on the armrest. “What is it?” His voice was raspy, and the eyes behind the mask were as cold as a snake’s. I ignored his intimidating aura and scurried over, sinking to the floor by his feet. I hugged his leg and pouted. “Director, Sherry helped you get rid of two very difficult players, and I lost my favorite hair tie doing it.” The Director’s cold gaze fell to my neck. He reached out, his pale fingertips tracing a line across my skin. “Did they touch you?” I pouted and nodded. This was practically a workplace injury! The thought of the poor NPC from Room 404, who’d been torn apart by Kael, sent a shiver down my spine. I had almost suffered the same fate. Clinging tighter to the Director’s leg, I started to wail, my voice syrupy sweet. “Director, sir! Sherry was almost killed by those players! You have to give me a raise, or at least a better item!” I was convinced my charm was irresistible. But the Director just sat there on his sofa, his narrowed eyes studying me, completely unmoved. My act deflated instantly. My brain kicked into gear, and I suddenly remembered what another NPC once told me: the Director had been a deeply devoted man in his past life. He had died trying to save his girlfriend. Oh god, how could I have forgotten? My memory was getting worse and worse. I’d forgotten my entire human life, and now I was forgetting that the Director had a girlfriend? I scrambled to my feet, letting go of his leg. “I’m so sorry, Director! I’ll go clean the wards right now!” He grunted and handed me a set of clothes. “This is your compensation.” [Pink Nurse Uniform: A new outfit from the Director! Wear it to create an empathetic link with him! Simply put, when you’re in danger, the Director will feel it too~] My eyes widened as I stared at the uniform in my hands. The description was… misleading. An empathetic link with the Director? As far as I knew, countless NPCs and players had died at his hands. I wouldn’t dare share sensations with a psycho like him, not for a million bucks. My mouth twitched. After a moment of hesitation, I held the pink uniform back out to him. “Director, I don’t think this item is very useful for me. Could I maybe swap it for something else?” He stared at me, his dark eyes unreadable. “Go change into it.” Huh? Is he serious? I looked down at the thin, pink fabric in my hands, utterly bewildered. Sensing my reluctance, the Director’s lips thinned. “It’s a new item I acquired. I need someone to test its effects.” Oh. So I was just a guinea pig. I managed a weak nod and went into the adjacent break room to change. 8 “Director, it’s a little… tight.” I stepped out of the break room, pouting as I tugged uncomfortably at the fabric straining against my chest. This damn uniform was suffocating me. The Director’s eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on me. The knuckles of his hand, clenched on the armrest, were white. He was probably feeling the tightness too, thanks to this stupid item. After a long moment, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Come here,” he rasped. He gestured for me to sit next to him. I tugged at my uniform again and sat down with a pout. “Director, when can I take this off? Your item is going to kill me.” He slowly opened a drawer and produced a small, thin whip. “Lie down,” he said, his voice methodical. Excuse me? What did he mean? Seeing my stunned expression, he explained, “We can only share sensations when you’re hurt.” In other words, I had to feel pain… for him to feel it too. He… he was going to hit me?! In that instant, a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. I remembered how, when he first took over, he’d slaughtered every NPC in the asylum who dared to defy him. Merciless, dark, twisted—those words were made for him. If I didn’t do as he said, he would probably kill me, too. Sigh. Fine. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to survive. With a sense of grim resignation, I draped myself over the black leather sofa. “Go ahead, Director,” I said, my voice mournful. “But please, don’t hit me too hard. If you kill me, you’ll never find another little nurse as obedient as me.” With my back to him, I didn’t see the corner of his mouth lift into a smirk. The whip landed on my rear with a sting that was more surprising than painful. Then I heard his voice, strained and hoarse with some hidden emotion. “My name is Lysander.”

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The daughter of my husband’s one true love was kidnapped. Kneeling before me, Elara slammed her forehead against the floor until blood streamed down her face. “Lily is just a child! If you want to kill someone, take me instead!” Eight months pregnant, I had no idea what she was talking about. But my husband’s face darkened with a terrifying fury. “Have I been too lenient with you? How could you orchestrate something so vile?” Adrian, the man who had always cherished me, wrapped his hands around my neck. As my vision blurred and the world faded to black, I finally understood. They thought I had hired the kidnappers. When the ransom wasn’t delivered on time, the kidnappers killed their hostage. Elara, clutching the small, broken body of her daughter, was driven to the brink of suicide. My husband, his eyes bloodshot with grief, hired the world’s top geneticists. They worked around the clock for a month and finally succeeded in creating a viable clone of Lily’s cells. But Elara had suffered complications during childbirth; she could never carry a child again. And so, his gaze fell upon my pregnant belly. 1 “No…” I shook my head in terror, backing away while clutching my stomach. “Adrian, I feel for what Elara is going through, I truly do. But I didn’t kidnap Lily. You can’t do this to me.” “Talia,” he said, his voice cold as ice, “Elara’s husband died years ago. Lily was her only reason to live. Your jealousy has gone too far. You should have never touched her child.” “You owe Lily this.” He ignored my desperate pleas and forced an induction. Our son was full-term; he was big enough to cry when he was born, only to be smothered to death before my very eyes. I never even got to see his face, this child conceived in love and anticipation. Before I could even process the loss, I was being strapped to an operating table. I had just lost my baby, and now they were going to force me to carry the flesh and blood of my enemy. I fought wildly, thrashing on the table, resisting the heavy dose of anesthesia, willing myself to stay awake. Because I wouldn’t cooperate, the procedure couldn’t begin. The precious cloned cells were on the verge of losing viability. That’s when Adrian walked in, carrying the body of our son. His eyes were closed, his tiny face so peaceful, as if he were only sleeping. A pain so sharp it felt like my heart was bleeding tore through me. Adrian’s hand tightened around our baby’s neck. “If you don’t cooperate and this surgery fails,” he hissed, “don’t expect to bury your son in one piece.” “Adrian! He’s your son, too!” I shrieked, my voice raw with agony, but my body was growing heavy, leaden. “You’re a mother, Talia. How could you have been so cruel to Lily?” he asked, his voice thick with disappointment. It wasn’t me. But no one believed me. My body finally lost its battle with the anesthetic. Consumed by a grief that swallowed the world, I let my eyes fall shut. When I woke, my wrists and ankles were bound to the bed. I looked down at my now-flat stomach, and the reality crashed over me: my baby was gone. Truly gone. And the warm cradle where he had grown was now nurturing the bloodline of his murderer. The will to live evaporated. I bit down hard, aiming for my own tongue. The door flew open. Adrian saw me, saw the pristine white sheets stained with the blood pouring from my mouth. He rushed to my side, prying my jaw open. I clenched my teeth, a broken, gurgling laugh escaping my lips. His eyes were blazing red. He called in a team of doctors. For a moment, I thought he was worried about me. But after they saved me, he slapped me so hard across the face that my head snapped to the side. “I’m warning you, Talia. You won’t get to escape your guilt by killing yourself. Not until Lily is born safe and sound.” He loomed over me, a figure of pure judgment. I stared at the canine tooth that had been knocked out, lying on the floor. My heart was a barren wasteland. To prevent another suicide attempt, they fitted me with a bite guard. I’d lost part of my tongue and could no longer speak clearly, but it didn’t matter. No one listened to me anyway. After my tongue healed, I could finally eat solid food again. Adrian himself brought me a bowl of nourishing soup. He sat beside me in silence, gently removing the bite guard. I was too weak to resist, a lifeless doll in his hands. He lifted a spoonful of broth, blowing on it carefully, his movements as tender as they had been when I was first pregnant with our son. “Carrying Lily is your punishment, Talia,” he murmured. “Once she is born, Elara has agreed not to press charges.” He continued speaking, but I offered no response. “I had to take our son from you to teach you a lesson. Life is not a game. If you admit your mistake, we can have another child. We can start over.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned my head to face him, ready to scream, but my eyes froze on the contents of the bowl. It was my own placenta. 2 A violent wave of nausea hit me, and I retched. Adrian calmly wiped my mouth with a napkin. The next second, he clamped his hand over my jaw, forcing the horrid concoction down my throat. “It’s good for you, Talia. Full of nutrients. For you, and for Lily.” I tried to struggle, but my head and limbs were restrained. I could only lie there as the boiled remains of my own body slid down my esophagus. When the bowl was empty, he let me go. “Elara is still not well. I’m taking her abroad to recover. You will stay here and take care of yourself. No more trouble.” He stood to leave, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “Behave, and I’ll find a proper burial place for our son. But if anything happens to Lily, you will never see even a speck of his ashes.” “Wasn’t he your son, too?” The question escaped my lips, a broken whisper. Salty tears traced a path to my mouth, a bitterness that paled in comparison to the one in my heart. He paused at the door but didn’t turn back. “With a mother like you, he would have grown up to be a curse on this world.” The door clicked shut, and the last flicker of love I held for Adrian Vance was extinguished forever. He was gone. For nine whole months. In that time, Lily grew inside me, and I slowly ceased to be a person. She seemed to sense my hatred for her; my morning sickness was relentless, a constant torment that lasted the entire pregnancy. My body withered away, but my belly swelled to a grotesque size. Adrian called every day. Not to see me, but to gaze at my stomach, to coo at the daughter growing within. Elara would even conduct prenatal classes for Lily over the video call. To ensure I couldn’t harm the baby, my hands and feet remained shackled for all nine months. The raw wounds from my struggling had long since fused with the metal cuffs. Bedsores festered, rotting the skin on my back. But no one cared. As long as Lily was healthy, my suffering was irrelevant. In the final month, Adrian and Elara returned, their vacation over. “You’re so thin.” That was the first thing he said to me after nine months. His brow furrowed with concern. “Will Lily be malnourished?” He seemed satisfied when the doctors assured him she was perfectly healthy. “After Lily is born, I’ll get you the best care. We’ll get you healthy again.” Elara’s eyes were soft and loving as she gazed at my stomach. “Lily, my sweet girl. Mommy is finally here to see you again. I’ll never let you out of my sight. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.” She turned to Adrian. “Darling, could you give me a moment alone with Lily?” Adrian’s eyes immediately shot to me, full of suspicion. After a moment, he determined that in my emaciated, near-death state, I posed no threat. He left the room, glancing back nervously every few steps. The instant he was gone, the warmth in Elara’s eyes vanished, replaced by a chilling cold. “I was the one who arranged Lily’s kidnapping.” 3 A smile played on her lips, but it never reached her eyes. “Do you want to know why?” Elara leaned in close, her face inches from mine. She smelled of the unique, woody cologne Adrian wore—the same one I had picked out for him before I was pregnant with our son. My eyes were empty. I gave her nothing. “Five years ago,” she began, her voice turning sharp, “Adrian’s mother tried to break us up. She hired a man to pose as my husband, to trap me, and had me sent abroad. Adrian promised me he would never marry anyone else. But when I finally escaped his mother’s influence and rushed back to find him, I learned he had been married to you for over a year.” Her expression twisted into a snarl. “I suffered so much overseas, and he never once tried to contact me. I thought his mother was controlling him, but no! He had completely forgotten about me!” “He was mine first! What right did you have to steal him from me? I thought you must have been some heiress from a powerful family, someone who could match his status. But you’re just an orphan, with a background even worse than mine!” Her fury escalated, and she slapped me hard across the face. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I spat it directly in her face. She recoiled, shocked that I would dare. She wiped her cheek, the smear of blood making her face look even more demonic. “You’d sacrifice your own flesh and blood just to win back a man who doesn’t want you?” I rasped. She froze. Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across her face. “An illegitimate life isn’t worth much, is it? Since she was useless, I thought I’d gamble with her. My original plan was just to use her to get rid of you and the bastard in your belly. I had no idea Adrian cared so much. Cloning her? Bringing her back to life? Even I couldn’t have predicted he would go to such lengths for us.” Her voice dropped to a triumphant whisper. “The ‘man who doesn’t want me’ has the power to resurrect the dead. Do you still think I made a bad bet?” Her fingertips brushed against my swollen belly. “You know, if you had just been a little more cooperative, Adrian might have kept a lock of your son’s hair, or his fingernails. But he was in such a hurry… he had the entire body incinerated immediately.” At the mention of my baby boy, the fragile control I had shattered. I lunged, snarling, trying to bite her. She jumped back with a laugh, but then a theatrical, terrified scream tore from her throat. “Elara!” From outside, I heard Adrian’s frantic footsteps approaching. Without a moment’s hesitation, Elara bit down hard on her own hand. My breath hitched. My abdomen tightened in a sharp, painful contraction. Elara’s taunts had sent me into premature labor. BAM! Adrian kicked the door open and rushed in. Elara, her hand now bleeding profusely, put on a flawless performance of a terrified, tear-stricken victim. But Adrian’s worried gaze only lingered on her hand for a second before it snapped to me. 4 I didn’t need to look down to know my water had broken. Adrian wasn’t worried about me. He was worried about Lily. Even so, a look of pure venom flashed across Elara’s face. This woman was so monstrous she was jealous of her own daughter. Adrian summoned the best obstetrician in record time, but as he glanced at the wound on Elara’s hand, his voice turned to steel. “A C-section. No anesthesia. I want her wide awake to see her child born safely.” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vance,” the doctor whispered to me with pity in his eyes after Adrian had led a sobbing Elara from the room. He pulled on his gloves. “Don’t blame me. I’ll be as quick as I can. To make it easier on you.” The moment the cold scalpel sliced into my belly, a pain so absolute, so profound, shot through me that my very soul felt like it was being torn apart. I never knew a human could be butchered like a piece of meat, stripped of all dignity. I screamed until my throat bled, fainting several times. They gave me shots of adrenaline to keep me conscious. By the end, I had lost all sense of self. I forgot I was even human. Lily’s first cry was like a pardon. The moment she was lifted from my body, a female doctor on the team quickly gave me an injection. “It’s all over, Mrs. Vance. Get some sleep now.” As my eyes closed, the all-consuming pain vanished. I thought it was the painkiller taking effect. My body felt light, and I relaxed, a sense of peace washing over me. But then I realized I was floating, rising up uncontrollably. When I opened my eyes again, I was looking down at my own mutilated body on the operating table. I was dead. If I hadn’t been alone in the room, I wouldn’t have even recognized the corpse as myself. I hadn’t looked in a mirror since I lost my son. The chubby cheeks of my pregnancy were now gaunt, hollowed-out pits. The stomach I had so carefully moisturized, once smooth and perfect, was now a shriveled, blackened peel of a fruit, crisscrossed with deep, jagged ravines. My limbs were skeletal, my wrists and ankles bearing the permanent, grotesque scars where the shackles had fused with my flesh. I stared at my own broken form for a long time. The door opened. It was Adrian. Even as a ghost, my soul trembled. What was he doing here? Wasn’t my punishment complete? If he found me dead, would he feel sorrow? Or would he be angry that I had died too soon, that my penance for Lily was incomplete? He brought in a basin and a kettle of hot water. Was he going to scald me awake for daring to sleep instead of nursing Lily? He poured the steaming water into the basin, then began adding cold, testing the temperature with his hand again and again. I didn’t understand. When the water was just right, he submerged a soft towel, wrung it out, and then lifted one of my arms. Gently, meticulously, he began to wipe my skin. He was washing my body. A laugh, empty and disbelieving, escaped my spectral form. He had tortured me to death for a crime I didn’t commit, and now he was playing the part of a caring husband? I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized I was gone for good. But to my utter shock, the next second, my corpse’s eyes fluttered open.

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My wife Isabella bought me a yacht for my birthday, but her male assistant, Ryan Lane, had the audacity to name it after himself. He claimed it was to comfort his dying mother. I laughed bitterly and had his name removed from the hull. When Isabella found out, she was angry. “He was just comforting his mother!” “He could have rented a yacht or faked a photo,” I retorted. She fell silent. At my birthday party, she pushed me into the ocean, live-streaming my humiliation with a drone. A photo of me fleeing a shark in my underwear went viral. After the initial panic, a cold calm took over. I stared into the camera and said, “Had your fun? Now come get me.” 01 The moment the words left my mouth, a wave of derisive laughter rolled down from the yacht above. “Hilarious! Look at Caleb Prescott, still acting like he’s the heir to the Prescott fortune!” “That idiot cut ties with his family to marry Ms. Forte. He’s nothing but a stay-at-home husband now. How dare he look down on Ryan, a man who actually works for a living? The nerve!” “Ms. Forte is such a great boss! Punishing her spoiled husband for bullying an employee. We should all learn from her example.” “So, any bets on how long Ms. Forte’s pretty little husband can last in there?” “I give him ten minutes before he’s crying and begging for her to pull him out.” The glacial water swallowed me whole, its icy fingers clawing at my skin. My tailored suit, now a dead weight, dragged me down, tangling around my limbs and making it impossible to stay afloat. More than once, I felt my lungs burn as I sank, convinced I was about to drown. And every desperate, pathetic struggle was captured by the drone hovering above, a live feed of my misery. Isabella’s voice crackled from a second drone’s speaker, sharp and imperious. “Caleb, you want me to pull you out? Apologize to Ryan. Then, scream ‘Caleb Prescott is worthless’ three times.” “Otherwise, you can forget about getting back on this boat. You can wait for the sharks to finish you off.” Ryan’s voice, oozing with false concern, followed hers. “Ms. Forte, I’m just a humble assistant. Mr. Prescott comes from a prestigious family. Making him apologize to me… wouldn’t that be too much to ask of him?” “Prestigious? Ha! The Prescotts disowned him. If he wants to be my husband, he plays by my rules,” Isabella’s voice was a whip-crack. “If I tell him to kneel, he doesn’t dare stand!” Her words hit me like a physical blow, plunging my heart into an icy abyss. I had given up everything for her. I’d refused the arranged marriage my family wanted, severed all ties with them, all to be with Isabella. And this was my reward. Her chilling voice cut through the air again. “I warned you not to mess with Ryan. He’s a kind, gentle soul. But you wouldn’t listen, so don’t blame me for teaching you a lesson.” Kind and gentle? My mind flashed back to the day I’d visited her office. Ryan had “accidentally” spilled coffee all over himself, then run to Isabella with tears in his eyes. “It wasn’t Mr. Prescott’s fault,” he’d stammered. “I was just being clumsy.” Isabella’s face had hardened instantly. She wouldn’t listen to a word I said. She just warned me to stop causing trouble and threw me out of her building. That afternoon, Ryan posted a photo of himself in a new, expensive suit. The caption read: It feels so good to be cherished! When I confronted Isabella about it, she tore into me, accusing me of being petty and bored, telling me to get a job if I had so much time on my hands. From then on, any time Ryan looked even slightly upset, Isabella automatically assumed it was my fault. When he “tripped” and fell down a flight of stairs, she was convinced I had pushed him. She took a fruit knife and carved shallow cuts into my arm, one for each of his supposed bruises, forbidding me from treating them. She wanted me to feel what it was like to be hurt. The memory faded, and the saltwater stinging my eyes mixed with tears. I looked up at the drone, my lips moving, forming a single, silent sentence. Isabella, I’m divorcing you. Someone on the yacht must have read my lips and translated for her. Isabella froze for a second. Then I heard Ryan’s oily voice again. “Ms. Forte, maybe we should just pull him out. He’s still a Prescott, after all. What if he gets his family to come after our company?” That was all it took. Isabella’s expression turned to stone. “A disowned reject? He thinks he can threaten me with the Prescott name? Throw the bait in. Let’s see how his precious family helps him now.” 02 The moment she gave the order, crew members hauled over a massive crate of chum and dumped it into the water right where I was struggling. The sea instantly erupted. Swarms of fish descended, their frenzy creating a swirling vortex that sucked me under. I fought against the pull, kicking desperately for the surface, only to be dragged down again and again. The livestream chat was going wild, placing bets on how much longer I could hold on. Someone even claimed they had audio equipment ready, just waiting to capture the moment I screamed that I was worthless. “Sir, just apologize!” Ryan’s voice, a mockery of concern, drifted down. “You wouldn’t want to bring shame upon the Prescott family name, would you?” Isabella’s voice followed, cold and self-righteous. “Ryan, you’re just too good. He’s been bullying you for weeks, taking advantage of his position as my husband. He even scratched the word ‘worthless’ on you with a knife. This ocean needs to wash away the filth from his soul.” I wanted to scream that I’d never done any of those things. But the vortex below me and the dead weight of my suit were a constant, suffocating force. Every time I opened my mouth to shout, the bitter, salty sea rushed in. Ryan’s pathetic sobs echoed from the drone. “Ms. Forte, please don’t blame him. It’s all my fault. I’m just clumsy and I made him angry. It’s okay if he hits me or screams at me, or even forces me to drink from the toilet. I’ll do anything, as long as I can keep working by your side.” “Caleb! You vile, disgusting creature! You made him drink from a toilet?” Isabella’s roar of fury was terrifying. “I was so wrong about you.” She ordered her staff to bring cases of bottled water so Ryan could throw them at me. He feigned reluctance. “Oh, I don’t know… What if I actually hurt him?” “He deserves it,” Isabella spat. “For everything he’s done to you. Throw them. If anything happens, I’ll take full responsibility.” “Ms. Forte, can we play too?” someone shouted from the deck. “Go ahead,” she replied. “Just don’t kill him.” A sick wave of excitement swept through the crowd on the yacht. They started grabbing whatever they could find and hurling it down at me. CRACK. Something sharp hit my forehead. A warm gush of blood streamed into my eyes. A barrage of objects rained down—bottles, ice cubes, pieces of fruit. I dodged what I could, but more of them found their mark. The cuts on my head multiplied, and the water around me began to bloom with red. Through the chaos, I heard a voice speaking to Isabella. “Ms. Forte, he doesn’t look good. This might be going too far.” Isabella scoffed. “Relax. He won’t die. Caleb is the king of drama. This whole pathetic act is just to get your sympathy so I’ll pull him out. He’s a spoiled, vicious brat. If I don’t teach him a harsh lesson today, he’ll only get worse with Ryan. Besides, he’s not an idiot. If he was really in trouble, wouldn’t he be screaming for help? Have you heard him beg for his life even once?” The other voice went quiet. Their conversation, every single heartless word, reached my ears. Isabella’s indifference was a dagger, twisting deep in my chest. Just as my vision started to blur and I felt myself giving up, a fresh surge of adrenaline, born of pure rage, coursed through me. Gritting my teeth, I used the last of my strength to tear off the suffocating suit jacket and shirt.

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I had been in love with Samuel for years. Then one day, I suddenly asked him to leave, and he simply gave a quiet nod. For many years after, we never saw each other again. Not until I was diagnosed with terminal cancer, my death sentence signed and sealed. I decided to hire a hospice care specialist to help me arrange my final affairs. The man who knocked on my door was holding a beautifully polished wooden urn. It was Samuel. He stood in the doorway, and his eyes met mine. 1. His eyes were as calm and distant as I remembered. A young, fresh-faced boy stood just behind him. Samuel glanced at me with a look of professional compassion, the kind reserved for strangers. “Good morning,” he said, his voice gentle. “My name is Samuel Thorne, from the palliative care agency.” He didn’t recognize me. Not at all. Before the shock could even register, I found myself moving aside stiffly. “Please, come in.” He sat down and placed the wooden box gently on the coffee table, opening the lid. Inside lay several urns of different materials, each one looking exquisitely expensive. “These are our samples. You can choose based on your preference,” he explained, his tone detached. “The materials vary, as do the price and symbolism.” I curled into the sofa, digging my nails into my palms. The tiny flares of pain were the only thing keeping me grounded. He pulled out a tablet and brought up a form. “Next, we’ll need to confirm some of your specific wishes regarding the scale of the funeral service…” I listened, a dull roar filling my head. His voice was still so beautiful, but now, every syllable was a tick of the clock, counting down the last moments of my life. Finally, he asked, “And lastly, is there anything you’d like to have inscribed on your headstone?” A wave of regret washed over me. “Can I request someone else?” The words hung in the air, and the living room fell into a dead silence. Samuel’s thin lips parted as if to speak, but the sound caught in his throat. The young boy beside him looked at me, bewildered and indignant. “My mentor is the most respected hospice specialist in the entire city! You’re lucky you got him. This is his last case before he goes on leave.” “After this,” the boy added, “he’s going back to his hometown to get married.” Hometown… to get married? My heart dropped like a stone, a sudden, sickening plunge into nothingness. A cold, metallic tang of rust and sorrow flooded the back of my throat. Ah. So that was it. He had moved on. He had a better life now. My ridiculous, hopeful little test just moments ago now seemed utterly pathetic. I turned my head, unable to meet Samuel’s gaze. “Is that so…” I forced a smile that felt more painful than crying. “Well… then… congratulations. That’s wonderful.” Samuel remained silent, his eyes fixed on me. The profound grief in his gaze was so heavy it threatened to drown me. “Ms. Quinn.” A cold sweat broke out on my skin. “How do you know my name?” He looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “The information you provided to our agency last month only included your name. Clara Quinn, correct?” It hit me then. I had changed my name shortly after breaking up with him. It seemed the illness was stealing my memory along with everything else. 2. In the end, I agreed to let him be my caregiver. He had a home to return to, and I had a grave to prepare for. After a round of chemo, I was leaving the hospital when I ran into him in the hallway. “Ms. Quinn,” he began, his voice deeper and huskier than usual. “It would be better if you called me for future treatments.” He paused, as if needing to justify the sudden offer. “It’s part of my professional duties.” Those words, “professional duties,” were tiny needles against my already numb nerves. I managed a weak smile. “I don’t think that will be necessary. This was my second-to-last treatment.” “After the next one…” After the next one, it would be the end. “I won’t be coming back to the hospital.” The sentence hung in the air, light and final. I felt the arm that had been supporting me suddenly tighten, the grip so strong it was almost painful. “I thought you’d try to comfort me,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Aren’t you hospice specialists supposed to be experts at managing the emotions of the dying?” Samuel let out a slow breath. “Your emotional state appears to be stable at the moment.” He was right. Death was my foregone conclusion. I had no choice but to face it. My physical condition began to deteriorate rapidly, my body withering into someone even I barely recognized. But the fact that he didn’t recognize me… that was a small mercy. It became the single point of solace in my landscape of pain. Looking at him, a huge, almost frantic wave of longing crashed over me. My throat was painfully dry. “Mr. Thorne… could I ask you to… to stay here for a while?” “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, dropping my gaze. “But I can’t even lift a glass of water on my own anymore.” The silence stretched, thick and heavy. After a long moment, I heard him release a sigh, so quiet and so profound it seemed to carry the weight of the world. “…Alright.” 3. Samuel moved into the guest room next to my bedroom. His presence was like a quiet shadow, filling the vast, empty house that had previously only echoed with the sound of my own coughing. Every morning, I would wake to a fresh wave of pain. And every morning, he would appear at my side just in time, his arm sliding steadily under mine to help me sit up, arranging the pillows behind my back. He moved with a practiced ease that felt anything but new, as if he had done this a thousand times before. On sunny afternoons, Samuel would help me to the lounge chair on the balcony, tucking a warm blanket snugly around me. He would tidy up nearby or simply sit with a book, a silent companion. Sometimes, in the hazy twilight between consciousness and the drug-induced stupor, I would secretly open my eyes to watch him. The profile of his face was still so sharp and handsome, the sunlight gilding his features with a soft, golden halo. His fingers, long and clean, turned the pages of his book. Once, those same hands had wiped away my tears. The memories, like reefs exposed by a receding tide, emerged with painful clarity. I remembered a rough patch early in our relationship. I had convinced myself that I had forced him into it, that he didn’t truly love me. He was always so reserved, so calm in everything he did for me. I felt unbearably wronged, yet I knew I had no right to be. One night, I ran out of our apartment in tears. He was the one who found me. He didn’t say a word. He just took off his jacket, draped it over my shoulders, and then crouched down with his back to me. “Get on,” he said, his voice muffled. I stubbornly refused. He sighed and looked back at me. “It’s late. We can argue at home.” In that instant, all my anger and hurt simply evaporated. I climbed onto his broad back, my cheek pressed against his sweat-dampened shirt. He carried me all the way home, step by steady step, without another word. And yet, that was the closest I ever felt to him. Just like now. He was still a man of few words, quietly taking care of everything. He would gently wipe the sweat from my neck, massage my swollen calves, and bring me warm water and painkillers when the pain made me curl into a ball. In those moments, a dangerous illusion would sometimes take hold. It was easy to pretend that he was just a young husband who didn’t know how to express his love, and that I was not a woman on the verge of death. The warm light from the window fell on his downcast lashes. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to be enveloped by this treacherous fantasy. Just for a little while. Let me steal just this one moment. 4. The day of my final chemotherapy session arrived. Samuel placed the pills in my hand. I swallowed them, avoiding his gaze. “Today… I can go by myself.” The air grew still. His calm eyes rested on my face, as if he had expected me to say this. The final treatment always brought the most violent reactions. Vomiting, fainting, a complete loss of control… I didn’t want him to see me like that. I wanted to hold onto that last shred of dignity I had managed to maintain. He was silent for a long time before giving a barely audible reply. “Alright.” At the hospital, the sterile, suffocating scent of antiseptic was more overwhelming than ever. As my consciousness began to blur, I bit down hard on my lip, fighting the rising nausea. Suddenly, I felt a hand close around mine. My eyes flew open. Samuel was standing by my bed. He wasn’t looking at me; his gaze was fixed on the IV bag dripping fluid into my arm. In his silent presence, all my weakness, all my frailty, was laid bare. On the way back, I was so exhausted I could barely move. I leaned back in the seat with my eyes closed, too weak to even speak. He, too, was silent for the entire ride. When the car finally stopped in front of the house, he got out, came around to my side, and gently lifted me into his arms. The dining table was covered with food. They were all my old favorites. I froze, gripping the doorframe, and stared at him as he took off his coat. He turned and met my incredulous gaze without a hint of surprise. “Sit down and have a little. It’s okay to break the rules just this once.” How… how could he know? My heart leaped, and a powerful sense of dread washed over me. He saw the shock and confusion in my eyes and didn’t look away. Then, he finally met my gaze directly, his voice low and clear, each word deliberate. “You haven’t changed a bit.” “Clara Rhodes,” he said, my old name a tremor on his lips, heavy with exhaustion. 5. The sound of my name, spoken from his lips. In that instant, the carefully constructed facade I had maintained for so long shattered into a million pieces. He knew. He had known all along. A wave of profound shame washed over me, corrosive and sickening. It was followed by a surge of furious grief, the feeling of being watched in my most vulnerable state. How could he? How dare he, now, when I was at my absolute worst? I summoned every last ounce of my remaining strength, my right hand trembling as I lifted it and swung it toward his face. The sound was little more than a soft pat. The sensation of my palm against his cheek was barely a sting. His head didn’t even turn, and no red mark appeared. “Get…” The word was squeezed through my clenched teeth. “Out.” I don’t know why I reacted so violently. Perhaps it was because the memory of our past was so beautiful that it made my present reality all the more unbearable. Samuel just stood there, stunned. He looked into my eyes, his jawline tight. He didn’t argue, didn’t move. He just watched me. After a few seconds of dead silence, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Alright.” I sagged against the doorframe, gasping for breath as black spots danced in my vision. By the time the storm of emotion subsided, the house was empty. He was gone. A colossal wave of panic crashed over me. What have I done? Acting on pure impulse, I forced my weak body to move, making my way to his agency. In the director’s office, I heard my own voice, shrill and sharp. “I want to file a complaint against Samuel Thorne… His service was completely unprofessional! I demand a new specialist immediately!” The director tried to placate me, but I was adamant. Soon, there was a knock, and Samuel walked in. His face was a calm mask, but his eyes were bloodshot. The director looked uneasily between us, about to mediate, when the office door was pushed open from the outside. An elegantly dressed woman burst in. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on me. “Ms. Quinn?” she asked, her tone overly familiar and urgent. She turned to Samuel. “Let me talk to her!” She hurried over to me, trying to take my hand. “Samuel is just too dedicated to his work. I’m sure we can communicate any needs you have…” Her words faded into a dull buzz in my ears. Samuel’s brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said in a low voice. His fiancée. It had to be her. I looked at this vibrant, healthy woman, then at my own reflection in the window—a gaunt, skeletal figure. An unprecedented wave of humiliation washed over me, and the world went dark. 6. When I came to, the first thing I heard was the sound of hushed voices outside the door. “…Sam, don’t worry too much. The doctor said it was just a temporary faint caused by emotional distress, and the fact that she’s so weak…” It was a woman’s voice, soft and soothing. “…I know.” Samuel’s voice was low and hoarse, laced with a bone-deep weariness he was trying to suppress. “But you shouldn’t have come. It only made things worse for her.” Their voices dropped lower, and I couldn’t make out the rest. I struggled to open my eyes, my blurry vision slowly coming into focus. “You’re awake?” I turned my head. It was Samuel’s young apprentice, Leo, peeling an apple. He looked uncomfortable when he saw me looking at him and awkwardly offered me the fruit. He avoided my eyes, his tone filled with a mixture of reluctance and resentment. “…I really don’t know why you’d say those things about my mentor. For this one last case, he stayed up so many nights doing research for you. He’s even delayed his own personal matters… his fiancée came all this way today to see him…” Leo was still mumbling his complaints, but my gaze drifted back to the doorway. Samuel had his head turned slightly, listening to what the woman was saying. She reached up and, with a natural, familiar gesture, straightened his tie, which hadn’t even been crooked. It was an intimate, possessive gesture. Just as I felt the last bit of thin air in my lungs about to give out, the door opened gently. The woman walked in, an apologetic look on her face. She gave Leo a pointed glance, and the boy immediately fell silent and scurried out of the room. Then, she turned to me, her voice so soft it was almost false. “Ms. Quinn, you’re awake. Are you feeling better? You gave us all quite a scare.” She paused, her eyes shifting subtly between me and Samuel’s silhouette in the doorway. “Sam and I have talked. I reminded him that no matter how important his work is, he can’t neglect his client’s feelings. If you really don’t want to see him, I can take over for the remainder of the time. It’s all the same.” She took a step closer, leaning in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “After all… you don’t have much time left. This is your final journey. You should be as comfortable as possible. Why cause yourself any more stress? Don’t you agree?” You don’t have much time left. A chill ran through me, but in the next second, the flicker of anger was smothered by a deeper exhaustion. What had I been hoping for? When I first heard he had a fiancée, a part of me refused to believe it. But now, with her standing right here in front of me… Wake up, Clara. What are you still hoping for? You should have understood the moment you got sick. You would only ever be a burden to him. He had finally escaped your shadow, built a normal life, a respectable career, and was about to marry a healthy, proper woman. You are a sinking ship. Are you really going to try and drag him down with you right before you go under? I looked into her eyes, and then past her, to the blurred figure in the doorway. A strange sense of calm settled over me. I closed my eyes very slowly. “Okay.”

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After just eight hours on a train, I woke to a world fifteen years in the future. My wife, who once sold trinkets on the street, was now CEO of the Astra Group. Yet, I couldn’t call her. Because on the day I boarded that train—our anniversary—I saw her with her first love. “Your parents passed away ten years ago,” an officer said gently. Passed away? I’d just spoken to them yesterday. Swallowing my grief, I gave him her number. “The number is no longer in service,” he said, pity in his eyes. Then I leapt up, pointing at a skyscraper’s digital billboard. “That’s my wife! She can come for me!” The entire station fell silent, every officer staring at me. 1 It was a story straight out of science fiction, but staring at the bustling police precinct and the forest of gleaming towers outside, I had to accept the impossible truth. Me, and everyone else on that train, had traveled through time. “Is it… is it really 2025?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Yes, sir. It’s October 1st, 2025.” The young officer handling my case looked at me with a profound sense of sympathy. My eyes scanned the chaotic room. There were over three hundred of us from that train, all being processed, all giving statements. At first, none of us believed the police, just as they hadn’t believed us. We all looked the same as when we’d boarded. How could a single night have stolen fifteen years? But the proof was undeniable—the futuristic IDs, the technology that was like something out of a movie. We had no choice but to accept reality. “So, besides your parents, is there anyone else we can call to come pick you up?” On the verge of a complete breakdown, I’d instinctively recited Ava’s number. The moment it left my lips, I regretted it. The woman who had promised to love me for a lifetime had already betrayed our marriage. “I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service…” No longer in service. Of course. She must have disconnected it, started a new life with Ethan. A sharp, unexpected pain seized my heart, a brutal ache that stole my breath. In this time, a person could be declared legally dead after being missing for three years, their spouse free to remarry. I’d been gone for fifteen. “Sir, if there’s really no one who can come for you, we’ll have to…” “Her! She can get me!” I shouted, pointing at the hundred-foot screen outside. Ava was up there, wrapped in an elegant white dress. The faint scar on her forehead was still visible—a souvenir from our junior year of high school, when she’d taken a beer bottle to the head protecting me from some punks. Back then, she was a firecracker, a tomboy with a chip on her shoulder who radiated a “don’t mess with me” aura. She was gloriously chaotic, and besides me, no guy could get near her. The woman on that screen, poised and graceful, was like a different person entirely. I suppose this new Ava was a better match for Ethan. The hell-raiser finally tamed by her cool, unattainable dream guy. But why the hell did that make me, the husband, feel like the other man? That’s why I refused to call anyone else. I wanted Ava to come. I wanted to crash into their perfect life, to be a thorn in their side, to make them as sick as they’d made me. They had let me bask in the warm glow of a happy marriage, only to force me to watch it all burn down. “Are you… are you sure, sir?” the officer asked, his voice laced with concern. At the same time, a hush fell over the precinct. Every officer paused, their gazes fixed on me. I saw it all in their eyes: mockery, disbelief, and a flicker of envy. It confirmed my suspicion. Ava hadn’t just done well for herself; she was a titan. You don’t get your face on a screen that big unless you own the damn city. “I’m sure,” I said, my voice firm. “The day I got on that train, she was my legal wife.” My certainty was enough. The officer got to work. Getting in touch with this new, powerful Ava wasn’t easy. It took a flurry of calls, supervisors, and an entire hour before a connection was finally made. But the voice on the other end wasn’t hers. 2 “Hello, you’ve reached the office of the CEO of Astra Group. How may I help you?” Astra. My middle name. Why would she name her company after me? Could it be… that she still had feelings for me? “Hello, this is the City Police Department. We need to speak with Ms. Ava regarding a personal matter. Please transfer the call.” The line clicked and beeped. Ten seconds felt like a decade. When a familiar voice finally came through, my heart leaped into my throat. “Hello?” What if she was disgusted to see me? What if she and Ethan were married, with kids? Suddenly, this act of defiance felt like a terrible, terrible mistake. “Is this Ms. Ava, ma’am? This is the police,” the officer said. “It is. What can I do for you?” I dug my nails into my palms, holding my breath, my shoulders slumped as I pretended not to listen, even though every fiber of my being was focused on that phone call. “Ma’am, I know this is going to sound incredible, but we need you to trust us. We’ve located Mr. Leo, who was reported missing fifteen years ago. He’s here with me now and needs someone to pick him up.” The silence on the other end was absolute. It stretched on, heavy and deafening, each tick of the clock a hammer blow against my heart. I was about to give up, to tell the officer never mind, when her voice came through, cutting through the silence. “I’ll be there shortly.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slumped back into the hard plastic chair. One by one, I watched the other passengers from the train get picked up by their families. Some reunions were tearful explosions of joy, people clinging to each other as if they’d never let go. Others were cold, tense standoffs, filled with resentment and accusations. It seemed I wasn’t the only one whose reappearance was an inconvenience. Many of our partners had given up, rebuilt their lives, started new families. Our return wasn’t a miracle; it was a complication, a burden. The anxiety coiled in my stomach again. When I saw Ava, what would I say? How would I face her? Would she hate me for disrupting the life she’d built without me? Fear crept in, a cold shadow that I didn’t notice had turned into dusk outside. “Hey,” the officer said softly. “It’s getting late. You could… you could come home with me for the night.” I looked around, dazed. The station was nearly empty. All the other passengers were gone. I was the last one left, unclaimed. Just then, the sharp click-clack of heels echoed down the hallway. A young, sharply dressed woman hurried toward me, clutching a faded photograph. “Mr. Leo?” she asked. I nodded. “I’m so sorry for the delay, the traffic was a nightmare. Ms. Ava sent me to pick you up. My name is Chelsea.” A pang of disappointment hit me—Ava hadn’t come herself. But it was quickly followed by a wave of relief. The release paperwork was simple. Just a signature. Leo — Chelsea. The name signed next to mine belonged to a girl I’d known for less than a minute. Not my wife. Not my mother. “This way, Mr. Leo,” Chelsea said, leading me to a sleek, black car parked at the curb. It was larger and more futuristic than any car I’d ever seen. I didn’t expect Ava to be inside, but there she was. She looked exactly like she had on the billboard, dressed in a sophisticated dress, her expression focused as she swiped through something on a thin, glowing slate in her hands. A memory flashed in my mind: us, getting ready for our wedding. Ava hated being confined. Hated dresses. She’d fought me for days about wearing one for the wedding photos. It was only when I’d half-jokingly threatened, “If you don’t wear it, I’ll find someone who will,” that she’d finally relented. I worried she’d show up to the ceremony in a t-shirt. Now, looking at her, I wondered if she’d ever worn a dress for me at all. Ethan had been the quiet, studious star of our department in college. I never thought Ava, with her wild energy and rebellious streak, would ever get his attention. But she did. For him, she shed her tomboy persona, abandoned her crew of misfit friends, and started wearing skirts, pretending to be a model student. I knew it was an act. That wildness was etched into her soul. Their romance lasted exactly one month. We had known each other since we were kids in diapers. To me, it felt like she’d just been lost for a month. After her and Ethan, we fell together naturally, got married, and were happy… until the day I saw them together again. Chelsea opened the back door for me. “Ma’am, Mr. Leo is here.” Ava finally looked up. Our eyes met. There was no joy. No anger. No shock. Just a calm, unnerving stillness. 3 “Leo?” Just yesterday morning, I had kissed that face. Now, it felt like I was looking at a stranger. “Yeah,” I mumbled, sliding in beside her. The small space immediately felt charged with a strange tension. She went right back to her work, her fingers flying across the glass slate. No greeting. No awkward silence filled with unspoken questions. It was as if my sudden reappearance hadn’t caused a single ripple in her life. A bitter disappointment settled in my gut. Fine. If she was going to ignore me, even to kick me out, she could at least have the decency to say it to my face. So, I decided to strike first. “Did my parents know you were cheating on me before they died?” A sharp hiss of indrawn breath came from the front seat. The temperature in the car seemed to drop twenty degrees. I saw Ava’s brow furrow almost imperceptibly, a flicker of anger in her eyes. Was she mad that I’d dared to tarnish her precious first love’s reputation? “There was nothing to know,” she said, her voice cool and even. “Of course, they didn’t.” She paused. “Rest up tonight. I’ll take you to visit their graves in a few days.” Nothing to know? Was she saying it was over between her and Ethan? That it ended after I disappeared? Then why did her assistant call me ‘Mr. Leo’ and not her husband? The silence returned, colder than before. I fought back a surge of anger and turned to look out the window, immediately captivated by the world flashing by. Dazzling commercial districts, skyscrapers that scraped the heavens. Countless glowing screens made it feel like daytime, with celebrities frozen mid-pose inside them. The whole city was a kaleidoscope of light and color. “Ava, what the hell is that!” I yelped, slapping her arm instinctively and pointing at a massive cube on the sidewalk from which a giant, holographic hand was suddenly extending. Startled by my own outburst, I flinched, my head ducking right into the crook of her shoulder. Her body went rigid. She didn’t push me away, but she didn’t touch me either. “Sorry,” I mumbled, my face flushing hot as I scrambled to sit up straight. “I’m… not used to my new identity as a country bumpkin.” I stole a glance out the window. The giant hand was gone, replaced by a lush, impossibly realistic forest inside the cube. “It’s 3D holographic technology,” she explained, smoothing the fabric of her dress where I’d grabbed it. Her eyes never left her work. “It creates immersive experiences.” “So… it’s fake?” “Yes.” Another half-hour passed in silence before the car finally stopped in front of a magnificent, castle-like building with the words “The Grand Regent Hotel” etched in gold above the entrance. “Mr. Leo, we’ve arrived at the hotel,” Chelsea announced from the front. “You can get a good night’s rest here.” So, she wasn’t taking me home. “I’m not going anywhere,” I snapped, my anger finally boiling over. “I want to go home. Ava, take me home!” That house was my parents’ life savings. Even if she had remarried, she wouldn’t be living there with Ethan. She couldn’t. And if she was going to cast me aside, she owed me a clear, clean break. 4 Perhaps she heard the raw fury in my voice, because she finally put down her device and looked at me, really looked at me. “I’m sorry, Leo. The old building was torn down for redevelopment. You can stay here tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll help you pick out a new place you like, okay?” Chelsea chimed in from the front seat. “It’s true, Mr. Leo. The whole Northwood district was demolished. It’s a shopping mall now. You’ve had a long day. Why don’t you just rest here for tonight?” A mall. Of course, it was a mall. I shoved the car door open and slammed it shut behind me. I was about to storm off, to go anywhere but with them, but Chelsea didn’t get out to show me the way. As I stood there, confused, Ava emerged from the car. I thought she was going to try and explain, but she just walked past me, heading straight for the hotel’s grand entrance. “What’s she doing?” I asked Chelsea, bewildered. “The President has a meeting at a nearby branch office early tomorrow morning, so she’ll be staying at the hotel tonight as well.” Chelsea added, “In the room next to yours, Mr. Leo.” Like she needed to explain. As if I cared about sleeping in the same room as her. I followed her begrudgingly. The lobby was breathtakingly opulent, a cavern of marble and crystal that made me feel like I’d stumbled into a royal palace. Money felt good, I guess. Good enough to live like a king. I remembered the cheap, rundown motel Ava and I stayed in once when we were young. The creaky wooden bed, the peeling wallpaper. In that shabby room, we gave ourselves to each other completely. We were poor, but we only had eyes for each other. Now, even though the floor beneath my feet was polished to a mirror shine, the person standing beside me was a stranger. “This is your room, Mr. Leo,” Chelsea said, opening a door. “If you need anything, just call me. The phone is on the nightstand.” The suite was enormous, several times larger than our old apartment. It was filled with things I’d never seen before. A block of stone that produced water when you waved your hand under it. A machine that prepared a hot drink at the sound of your voice. A bed so soft you sank into it. Everything was so luxurious, so perfect. And yet, my heart ached with a pain so intense I could barely breathe. The emotions I’d suppressed all day finally broke free. Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. “Mom, Dad,” I sobbed into the empty room. “She betrayed me. Ava betrayed me!” In a single day, I’d lost my wife and my parents. Why? Why did I have to see them together that day? If I had never gotten on that train, would my parents still be alive? I don’t know how long I cried before a soft knock came from the door. “Who is it?” I rasped. “It’s me.” Ava. I scrambled to my feet, trying to pull myself together. I went to the stone sink to splash water on my face, but it wouldn’t work. Then, suddenly, a shower of water rained down from the ceiling. “Ah!” I yelped, slipping on the wet floor and crashing down hard. Before I could process what had happened, I was soaked to the bone. Click. The lock on the door disengaged, and Ava was standing in the doorway. “What happened?” I looked up at her, my eyes red and swollen, and the dam broke all over again. “I was just trying to wash my face,” I cried, the words tumbling out between sobs. “I don’t know how to use any of this stuff! I don’t know you anymore! Why? Why did I just go to sleep and wake up to find everything… everything is gone!” Whenever I was upset, Ava used to magically produce a candy from her pocket to soothe me. This time was no different. Staring at the familiar orange candy in her outstretched hand, I felt a flicker of surprise. I always wondered if she was some kind of magician. She always had candy, but I’d never once seen her eat a piece herself. “Your skin is sensitive. I brought you some cotton clothes. They’re on the bed,” she said softly. “Eat the candy, get changed before you catch a cold. I’ll clean this up.” She still remembered. I took the candy, unwrapped it, and popped it in my mouth. The familiar, sweet citrus flavor flooded my senses. My favorite. By the time I came out in the fresh clothes, she had a glass of warm water and a toothbrush with toothpaste already on it waiting for me, just like she used to every morning after we were married. Except back then, I was the one who prepared it for her. “Wash up and get some rest,” she said, her voice gentle. “I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight. If you need anything, just call out.” “Are you and…” Are you and Ethan together? The words caught in my throat. I couldn’t ask. It didn’t matter. I’d find out soon enough. That night, I slept like the dead, a deep, dreamless sleep that lasted until morning. When I woke up, a brand-new suit was laid out on the nightstand. It was the one I’d admired in a shop window fifteen years ago but could never afford. The sofa was empty. The company name. The orange candy. The suit I’d wanted for years. Did she… did she still love me? Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe what I saw at the mall wasn’t what it looked like. Maybe it was just a chance encounter. A jolt of excitement shot through me. I had to find her, had to ask her, had to clear the air. If I could just understand, maybe we could fix this. Maybe she could be my Ava again. I washed up quickly and opened the door to find Chelsea waiting for me. “Good morning, Mr. Leo. Ms. Ava instructed me to take you to the restaurant to meet her once you were awake.” “Okay, thank you.” I spotted Ava as soon as we entered the dining area. But she wasn’t alone. Sitting across from her, bathed in the morning light, was Ethan. Even after fifteen years, he was still just as handsome, with the same sunny, charming smile.

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My 71-year-old mom is trapped in her walk-up by severe rheumatism. She called hesitantly today, asking if I could help find her an elevator apartment—just a simple one-bedroom, maybe $800 a month. But my wife, Chloe, immediately pulled up our finances on her tablet. “You went $300 over budget on a tie last month, David. And now this?” It hit me: I earn a seven-figure salary, yet I can’t even buy a tie freely. Mom was already backtracking. “Don’t worry, it was just a thought. I’m used to it here.” I hung up, a knot tightening in my chest. I’m a partner at a top law firm. What part of this is difficult? The difficult part is my wife—a junior associate who appointed herself our “Chief Asset Allocation Officer” and controls every paycheck. 1 “Chloe, that’s my mother we’re talking about.” My voice was tight. “What’s eight hundred dollars to us?” She didn’t even look up from her spreadsheet. “David, familial sentiment cannot override the principles of sound asset allocation. Eight hundred dollars, multiplied by twelve months, is nine thousand, six hundred dollars. That represents a 0.096% fluctuation in our annual yield. Any expenditure outside the budget is a liability against our future.” She paused, tapping on an app and turning the tablet toward me. “Look. Last month, your unauthorized tie purchase caused the ‘Non-essential Lifestyle Goods’ category to exceed its budget by $312.50. This month, it’s rent for your mother. What about next month? Will you want to hire a full-time nurse for her?” I stared at the glaring red number, the sheer absurdity of it all making my head spin. Last month, I won a massive case. On my way home, I saw a tasteful tie in a boutique window. My others were getting frayed. I wanted a new one. It was that simple. That three-hundred-dollar tie was the only purchase I had made in six months without her explicit approval. I took a deep breath, fighting down the inferno rising in my gut. “I make twelve million dollars a year. My mother needs an eight-hundred-dollar apartment. Since when do I need your permission for that?” She smiled, but her eyes were sharp as shattered glass. “David, we are a married couple. Your income is marital property. And let’s not forget, three years ago you signed the Irrevocable Family Trust Agreement. I am the sole administrator of this family’s assets.” She added coolly, “Therefore, I am obligated to eliminate all irrational spending.” She closed the app and pulled a sleek, velvet box from a drawer. “Speaking of which, it’s my mother’s birthday next week. I used our joint account to order her a little something from Chanel. It’s already been logged under the ‘Familial Relations Maintenance’ category—a reasonable expense in service of a core objective.” The knot in my chest exploded. Eight hundred dollars for my mother’s rent was an irrational expense. A twenty-five-thousand-dollar handbag for hers was a reasonable one. My gaze hardened. “Chloe, is your risk management strategy exclusively designed to hedge against my family?” She sighed, as if explaining a complex theory to a child. “David, why can’t you understand? My mother’s social circle requires certain things to maintain her standing. Your mother is a retired factory worker. Living in an old, low-rise building is more… authentic for her. It’s better for her well-being.” With that, she stood up and poured me a glass of lukewarm water. “Let’s not fight. Go to bed early; you have that hearing tomorrow. Oh, and by the way, you’ve already used 87% of your credit card limit for the month. I’ve placed a temporary hold on the card to prevent any impulse buys. It will automatically reset on the first.” I held the glass, my fingertips numb and cold. 2 The next morning, I checked my mobile banking app. Every account in my name—salary, bonus, dividend—I tapped through them one by one. Each displayed the same insulting three-digit balance. On the first of every month, every cent I earned was automatically swept into a single “Family Trust Fund” account managed exclusively by Chloe. Any payment from that fund required her digital signature. I ordered breakfast delivery, only to find that my payment app had also been linked to her account. For any purchase over fifteen dollars, she received an alert. A new message popped up on my screen. It was from her. “Just have the oatmeal and coffee for breakfast. The French cruller platter is $18. Both the calories and the price are excessive.” I deleted the message. On the drive to the firm, I called my best friend, Marcus. Marcus is a shark of a divorce attorney, all sharp angles and brutal efficiency. After hearing me out, he exploded. “Are you fucking kidding me, David? You’re one of the best commercial litigators in the city, and you’re being played like this by a junior associate? What were you thinking when you signed that goddamn agreement? Did a donkey kick you in the head? That’s not a contract, it’s an indenture! If word of this gets out, you’ll be a laughingstock.” I gave a bitter laugh. “I’d just made partner. I was drowning in work. She said she’d handle the finances so I could focus on my career. I didn’t think twice.” “Bullshit! That’s not management; that’s legal fucking embezzlement!” Marcus swore, then his tone turned serious. “You didn’t keep anything on the side?” “My equity, my stock options… it’s all in the trust for tax-sheltering purposes.” “Then you go scorched-earth! Sue her! File for an emergency injunction to freeze the assets!” I shook my head. “She’s smart. The agreement was notarized by the best contract lawyer at Sterling & Cole. The clauses are ironclad. If I file for divorce, the case will drag on for at least two years. In the meantime, every single asset will be frozen.” I let the reality of it sink in. “Two years, Marcus. My partnership, my equity distributions, my active cases… everything would be compromised.” “So you’re just going to let her use your money to buy her mom a twenty-five-thousand-dollar purse while your own mother can’t afford an eight-hundred-dollar apartment?” he roared. He paused, thinking. “Okay, if we can’t go through the front door, we’ll find a back one.” I could hear him typing. “I’m sending you a contact. Sofia. She used to be a forensic investigator specializing in financial crime. Now she runs her own consulting firm. She eats people like your wife for breakfast.” “What can she do?” “She has a saying,” Marcus said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “A balance sheet can be cooked, but greed always leaves a trail. She’s the best at following that trail right to the hole.” 3 That evening, I came home to the rare and welcoming aroma of a home-cooked meal. Chloe, wearing an apron, emerged from the kitchen carrying a steaming pot of soup. “David, you’re back! Go wash up. I made your favorite mushroom and chicken soup to help you de-stress.” She smiled so warmly, it was as if yesterday’s ugliness had never happened. Against my better judgment, the last ember of warmth I felt for her began to glow again. Maybe she was just overly principled, not malicious. Maybe this was just the friction of marriage. I was about to say something to smooth things over when she produced a document from behind her back and placed it on the table in front of me. “Honey, I need you to sign this first.” It was an Equity Pledge and Unlimited Personal Guarantee. My pupils contracted. She pointed to a clause. “A friend of mine has a new renewable energy project. The potential is enormous, but it requires a lot of upfront capital. I want to invest fifty million from our fund, but they need your credit backing and personal guarantee as a partner at the firm.” I flipped directly to the last page and saw the company’s name. “HelioCore Renewables?” I looked up at her. “This company just got a risk advisory warning from the SEC last month. The founder, Zara, served time three years ago for securities fraud.” The smile on Chloe’s face faded. “David, you can’t be so one-dimensional. Higher risk means higher reward. Zara doesn’t have a criminal record; she has experience.” “So you want to gamble our entire net worth on a convicted con artist’s new venture?” She took a deep breath. “This is an investment! It’s for our future!” She suddenly smiled again, her voice softening into a purr. “How about this? You sign the papers, and I’ll call the realtor right now. We’ll get your mom that apartment she wanted. Better yet, I’ll pay for three years’ rent upfront. And I’ll throw in a top-of-the-line shiatsu massage chair and a ten-thousand-dollar bonus for her. How does that sound?” Baiting me with my mother’s $800 rent to sign a contract that could bankrupt us. What did she take me for? A dog that could be bought with a bone? I laughed, a cold, sharp sound, and pushed the contract back across the table. “Chloe, do you know what my legal specialty is?” She froze. “Corporate bankruptcy and liquidation,” I said, looking her dead in the eye. “I’ve seen countless investors just like you, blinded by greed, who ended up losing everything, right down to their underwear.” Her face turned to stone. “David, don’t be a fool! I’m trying to elevate us to the next level!” Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, and a cruel smirk touched her lips. “Your uncle just called me. I ignored it. He’s probably calling about your mother’s apartment. I suggest you reconsider. My patience is wearing thin.” Before she even finished speaking, my phone lit up. It was a picture message from my uncle. It was my mom, sitting alone on the dusty steps of her building’s stairwell, her head bowed, her silhouette a portrait of loneliness. Beneath the picture was a line of text. David, your mom’s leg is acting up again. She’s in too much pain to leave the apartment. It’s a shame, son. You’re making millions, but you can’t even spare a little for an elevator for her. The whole family is talking… My heart seized, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. 4 At two in the morning, I lay awake, listening to the steady rhythm of Chloe’s breathing beside me. We shared a bed, but there were mountains between us. I slipped out of the room and went to the study. Her laptop was open, a single password-protected folder on the screen. I tried our anniversary. Her birthday. Her mother’s birthday. All incorrect. On a dark impulse, I typed in the date we signed the Irrevocable Family Trust Agreement. Click. The folder opened. Inside was a document: Formal Complaint for Professional Misconduct, prepared for submission to the State Bar Association. Complainant: Chloe. Subject of Complaint: David. She had taken some of the most complex and difficult cases of my career, twisted the facts, and reframed them as gross professional negligence on my part. She had attached audio and video clips as evidence. One was a clip of me at home, yelling in frustration after losing a tough case. She’d labeled it “Emotional Instability, Lacks Professional Temperament.” Another was a recording of me venting to her about an unreasonable client, edited to make it sound like I held all clients in contempt and lacked professional ethics. But the fatal blow was a hidden clause she cited from our Trust Agreement: “In the event that either party has their professional license suspended or revoked due to personal conduct, thereby creating a joint liability risk to the family’s assets, the other party shall automatically gain sole and exclusive right of disposal over the Family Trust Fund.” She was planning to destroy my career, get my law license revoked, and then legally seize every asset we owned. A chill shot up my spine, cold as ice. I forced myself to be calm. The lawyer in me took over. I took a deep breath, encrypted the entire folder, uploaded it to my private cloud server, and then meticulously erased every trace of my activity from her computer. The second I closed the laptop, the study door creaked open. Chloe stood there, leaning against the doorframe in her silk robe. “What are you looking for?” she asked lazily. “You woke me up.” My heart skipped a beat, but my face remained a mask of calm. I gestured to the computer. “Just remembered a detail about the evidence for tomorrow’s hearing. Wanted to double-check.” She stared at me for a few long seconds, then chuckled. “Such a workaholic. Have you seen the time? Our electricity bill is going to be through the roof again this quarter.” She turned and left. I stood frozen in the dark, a profound cold seeping into my bones. She wanted to use the law as her weapon. Fine. I would use the very thing I was best at to personally liquidate her. 5 “Ms. Sofia, I’d like to hire you to investigate my wife, Chloe.” She leaned back in her chair, raising an eyebrow. “Investigate what?” “Everything. Her financial transactions, her social networks, her call logs. And the background of that renewable energy friend of hers, Zara.” Sofia arched a brow. “That won’t be cheap, Mr. David.” I slid a debit card across the desk. “PIN is six eights. If you need more, just ask.” She didn’t take it. She just smiled. “I don’t take cases based on the fee. I take them based on how interesting they are. Give me a reason to be interested.” I met her gaze directly. “She’s using the money I earned to build a legal trap designed to end my career and leave me with nothing. I want you to help me switch the roles of the hunter and the prey.” The smile vanished from Sofia’s face. “Now that’s interesting.” She picked up the card, spinning it deftly between her fingers. “Three days. I’ll have a report for you that you’ll be very happy with.” I went back to the firm and called my paralegal. “Jake, I need you to draft a complaint. The cause of action is a ‘Petition to Revoke the Irrevocable Family Trust Agreement.’ The defendant is Chloe.” Jake was silent for a moment. “Uh… partner? Are you… are you sure?” “Just do it. Also, schedule an appointment with the firm’s chief notary. I need to execute a new will and a durable power of attorney.” In the will, I would stipulate that in the event of my death, all my personal assets, after funding a trust for my mother’s care, would be donated to the senior center in her neighborhood. In the power of attorney, I would designate that if I ever became incapacitated, my legal guardian would be my best friend, Marcus. You want to leave me with nothing, Chloe? I won’t give you the satisfaction. That afternoon, Chloe called, her voice tight with suppressed rage. “David, what the hell is this? You’re suing me?” “As an attorney,” I replied calmly, “when my rights are violated, I trust the law to provide a just resolution.” “Are you insane? Do you have any idea what this will do? All our assets will be frozen! What about my HelioCore deal?” “That’s your deal, Chloe. Not ours.” “David!” she shrieked. “You will regret this! I have a hundred ways to make you drop this suit before we ever see a courtroom!” I hung up and looked out at the river of traffic below. You want to take everything from me? I’ll use the very trap you set to make you swallow your own poison. Game on, Chloe. 6 Chloe’s retaliation came faster than I expected. The next day, a post appeared on the firm’s internal message board. It was anonymous and pinned to the top. “SHOCKING: Top Partner at Prestigious Firm Suffering from Severe Bipolar Disorder, Has Allegedly Threatened Suicide Multiple Times!” The post detailed my supposed emotional breakdowns, complete with several blurred photos that were still clearly identifiable as me. They were the same files I’d found on her computer. The post ended with a concerned question: “How can a lawyer in such an unstable mental state be responsible for his clients’ massive assets?” It was like dropping a bomb in a quiet library. The firm’s managing partner, Mr. Davison, called me into his office immediately. His face was grim. “David, what in God’s name is this?” I handed him the psychological evaluation report I had already prepared. “Mr. Davison, I had a full psychological workup done last week at Mount Sinai. The report concludes that I am in perfect mental health.” He scanned the report, but his brow remained furrowed. “The damage is already done, David. Clients are talking. Two of our biggest accounts have already requested a new lead attorney.” I knew. This was Chloe’s real goal. To sabotage my career, cut off my income, and turn me into a dependent she could control. As I walked back to my office, I could feel the questioning stares of my colleagues burning into my back. I shut the door and called Marcus. “Marcus, I need a favor. Pull the last five years of call logs between Chloe and her best friend, the one who’s a psychiatrist.” Marcus chuckled on the other end. “Oh, so we’re hitting back now, are we?” “She went after my livelihood. It’s only fair I return the favor.” Later that afternoon, Sofia called. Her voice was electric with excitement. “Well, David, your little ‘Asset Allocation Officer’ is quite the treasure trove.” “The highlights, Sofia.” “First, her friend Zara. In that securities fraud case three years ago, Chloe was her defense attorney. She got her a reduced sentence. The quid pro quo? Once Zara got out, she was to help Chloe set up a new scheme to lure in more investors. They were going to split the profits.” I let out a cold laugh. “A den of vipers.” “Exactly,” Sofia said. “Second, and this is the masterpiece. Over the past three years, Chloe has used an SPV she registered in the British Virgin Islands to funnel five million dollars out of your family trust under the guise of ‘overseas asset diversification.’ On paper, the money went into an art fund in Panama. In reality, that fund’s only assets are a handful of limited-edition classic cars parked in her mother’s garage and the anonymous ownership of a private vineyard in Bordeaux. The investment was written off as a market loss, but in reality, the money was just converted into her family’s private property.” My heart turned to a block of ice. “The reason she’s so desperate for you to guarantee Zara’s new project is because she needs a massive infusion of new cash to cover the hole she created in the books. And to make you complicit in the process.” Sofia let out a low whistle. “Using your own money to dig your grave, then making you thank her for the shovel. David, your wife is a goddamn financial genius.” I hung up and stared out the window as the sky began to bleed into dusk. Five million dollars. My money. Earned through years of grinding, case after brutal case. She had laundered it, effortlessly, into her own family’s pockets. And yet, she couldn’t spare eight hundred dollars a month for my mom. I picked up my phone and called my mother. “Mom, don’t stay in that old building anymore. I bought you a new place downtown. A corner unit with a view. It’s fully furnished. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.” On the other end, her voice was a mix of shock and worry. “David, how… how much did that cost? Did you talk to Chloe?” “Mom,” I said, my voice steady for the first time in months. “This is from your son. It has nothing to do with anyone else.” After hanging up, I sent a text to Sofia. [Compile all the evidence into the most professional, airtight legal opinion you can. I’m going to destroy her in court.]

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1 Dating my childhood friend Jack, I drowned him in sweet nothings. Every time, his ears turned crimson. I was lost in our perfect romance until “Summer’s Simp Tapes” went viral. My voice, bright and sincere: “I love you.” Then Jack’s, laced with irritation: “If not for helping Ava, would I play this love game with Summer? Her ‘I love yous’ make me sick.” His blush was an act. Love could be faked. I made no scene, just filed transfer papers and vanished. A year later, Jack saw a viral video: two Ivy League freshmen confessing. A girl smiled. “I love you.” A boy blushed, his voice earnest: “I love you a hundred times more. More than yesterday, less than tomorrow.” The night I clinched the top rank in my grade again, an audio file titled “Summer’s Simp Tapes” was dropped into the class group chat. Seeing my name in the title, my stomach plummeted. My hand trembled as I clicked play. It opened with my own voice—the sound of me being playful, earnest, and full of light. “I love you.” And then, Jack’s voice, dripping with disdain. “If it wasn’t to help Ava get her top rank back, you think I’d waste my time playing this little love game with Summer? Listening to her ‘I love you, I love you’ crap all day makes me want to puke.” My hand clenched into a fist. My nails dug into my palm, a sharp, stinging pain. But I only squeezed tighter, as if the physical hurt could somehow numb the gaping wound in my heart. The group chat exploded. “Damn, Summer really was a simp. I heard her telling Jack ‘I love you’ like, a million times.” “LMAO. The ultimate simp story. She got played so hard.” “For real, I’ve never seen a girl so desperate. So cringe.” “Wait, but didn’t Jack ask her out first? (Don’t come for me, just saying!)” “Dude, everyone knows he only did it for Ava. Get Summer distracted, her grades slip, and bam—Ava’s back on top.” “I was always wondering how the new girl could possibly win against the childhood sweetheart. Turns out he was just a double agent, lmao.” “Team Ava and Jack forever! The new girl can see herself out.” “Ava was always number one before Summer transferred. I’d be pissed too if she just showed up and stole my spot.” “Ugh, Summer is so annoying! Always with the ‘You’re so cute!’ and ‘I love you so much!’ Who does she think she is, trying so hard to be this bubbly little ray of sunshine?” “Finally! I feel so validated. I’ve hated her for ages, and now everyone else sees it too.” … They were feasting on the drama, completely forgetting—or maybe not caring—that the main character of their gossip was right there in the chat. My presence was irrelevant. Ava and I were polar opposites. She was the class president, the perfect student, the girl everyone’s parents wanted their sons to date. I was the outgoing, cheerful one. I thought I got along with everyone. Today, I learned that was just a story I told myself. I silently left the group chat. But a sliver of foolish hope remained. I called Jack. I needed to hear it from him, to ask if the recording was true. Did he get close to me just for Ava? Did being with me really make him sick to his stomach? The phone rang for a long time before he picked up. The background was loud, filled with music and chatter. Jack’s deep voice rumbled through the speaker. “Summer?” I hesitated for a second. “Aren’t you supposed to be at home, resting?” Before he could answer, a girl’s clear voice called out from nearby. “Jack, come on! It’s your turn!” I recognized it instantly. It was Ava. Jack spoke quickly into the phone. “Hey, Summer, something just came up. Can we talk at school tomorrow? Be good.” He hung up before I could say a word. The line went dead, replaced by the monotonous dial tone. I stood there, clutching my phone, a bitter, acidic feeling rising in my throat. My mind was a chaotic storm. Just then, my screen lit up with a notification. It was a video from Ava. The scene was a dimly lit private room at a karaoke bar, the lights casting a hazy, intimate glow. Ava and Jack were playing a game, passing a bottle cap between their lips. A single die was balanced precariously on top of it. Ava’s cheeks were flushed, her cherry-red lips holding the cap as she looked up at Jack with wide, glistening eyes, like a kitten waiting for a treat. Jack smirked. “What genius came up with this game? Mouth-to-mouth bottle cap transfer? And the die can’t fall?” The people around them thought he was backing out and started jeering, teasing him about being scared to play. Ava’s hopeful expression faltered, the light in her eyes dimming. The next second, Jack leaned in. He didn’t just take the cap; he plucked it from her lips, tossed it aside, and then pressed his mouth to hers in a deep, lingering kiss. A handsome boy and a beautiful girl, lost in a passionate embrace. It was a picture-perfect, romantic moment. The onlookers were stunned for a beat, then erupted into deafening cheers and whistles. When the kiss ended, Jack glanced at the cap on the floor and chuckled, a lazy, roguish grin on his face. “Oops. The die fell.” He threw his hands up in mock surrender. “I lose.” The video ended there. A few more texts from Ava popped up. “Summer, congrats on getting first place again.” “But oops, so sorry.” “I heard you asked Jack out for sushi after school, and he said no?” “That’s because he’s with me. I bombed my exams, you know. I’m the one who needs comforting, right?” “You don’t mind if I borrow your boyfriend for the night, do you?” I stared at the provocative messages and let out a hollow laugh. Perfect. All the questions that had been swirling in my head now had their answers. I had asked Jack to get sushi after school today. I was still buzzing from my exam results, practically bouncing as I walked. “That place has been open for six months and it’s always packed! I’ve been dying to try it.” Jack had his hands shoved in his pockets, his mood clearly sour. He even looked annoyed. “It’s just first place. Why are you so happy?” I tilted my head, looking at him with wide eyes. “Of course I’m happy! Northwood is one of the top four schools in the state. Nailing the top spot twice in a row here? Isn’t that something to be happy about?” The dark cloud over his features only intensified. I finally registered that he wasn’t just in a bad mood; he was genuinely upset. Jack had scraped by with his usual barely-passing grades, but he never cared about school. It couldn’t be that. So why was he unhappy? Was it because I did too well? Was his pride wounded? Thinking that might be it, I took his hand, my voice sincere. “Grades aren’t everything. In my heart, you’re just Jack. Good grades or bad, I love you for who you are.” He ripped his hand away from mine, his voice dripping with venom. “Summer, do you ever get sick of hearing yourself say ‘I love you’ all the time? It’s fucking disgusting.” He sneered. “Honestly, you’re the clingiest person I’ve ever met.” I froze, stunned. A dull ache spread through my chest, mixed with utter confusion. I couldn’t figure out what I’d said wrong to make him lash out like that. Is telling someone you love them… clingy and disgusting? My parents were deeply in love. They always told me, “Sweetheart, love is meant to be expressed. Don’t hide it away. Never be afraid to tell the people you care about that you love them.” Was everything they taught me wrong? Seeing my dazed expression, a flicker of regret crossed Jack’s face. His voice softened. “Sorry, Summer. I’m just… I’m tired. I want to go home and rest. We can get sushi another time, okay?” I quickly forced a smile and waved my hand. “It’s okay, no problem.” But the boy who said he wanted to go home and rest was actually on his way to comfort his childhood sweetheart. It was only today that I finally understood. A blush isn’t always a sign of a fluttering heart. And love, it turns out, can be faked. I hid in the bathroom, turned the faucet on full blast, and sobbed until my chest ached and I felt light-headed. As I gasped for air, memories of my time with Jack flooded my mind. A year ago, my dad’s company expanded, and I transferred to Northwood High. Jack was my desk mate. He slept through every class. The rumor was his family was loaded, so the teachers left him alone. As a seat partner, he wasn’t bad. He was quiet when he slept, sometimes with his face buried in his arms, other times turned towards me. The early morning sun would filter through the window, tracing the sharp, sculpted lines of his face. His eyelashes were long, his nose straight and strong, his lips thin. I’d rest my chin on my hand and just… stare. God, he’s ridiculously handsome, I’d think. One day, he opened his eyes without warning. Our gazes locked. I froze, but he just smiled. It was the first thing he ever said to me. “Like what you see?” My heart hammered against my ribs. My face went hot, and I immediately looked down, pretending to be engrossed in my textbook. After that, Jack pursued me relentlessly. Soon, we were together. He was my first boyfriend, my first real crush. I took our relationship seriously. And to be fair, he played the part of a perfect boyfriend flawlessly. He showered me with gifts, planned surprises, and created romantic moments. His study was a fortress even his parents weren’t allowed in, but he gave me free rein. When I had cramps and craved wontons from a little shop on the south side of the city, he’d brave the freezing winter night, racing across town on his motorcycle just to bring me a warm bowl. … Each memory was like a sugar-coated pill of poison. The last of my hope died. I composed myself, splashed my face with cold water, and knocked on my dad’s study door. Even though I’d held an ice pack to my eyes for what felt like an eternity, he knew instantly. “Sweetheart, were you crying? What happened?” I looked down at my feet. “Dad, I don’t want to go to Northwood anymore. The pressure is just… it’s too much. I want to transfer.” He agreed without a second thought, ruffling my hair with his big, gentle hand. “Okay. Wherever you want to go, sweetheart.” He said softly, “Just do your best in school. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Even if the sky falls, Dad will be here to hold it up for you, you know that?” His warmth and concern made my nose tingle, and I had to fight back a fresh wave of tears. When Mom heard I wanted to transfer, she didn’t ask why. She just supported my decision unconditionally. That night, before I went to sleep, she slipped into my bed, saying she wanted to keep me company. I curled up in her arms, breathing in her familiar, comforting scent. I thought I’d be up all night, but I fell asleep almost instantly. The next day, Dad went to the school to handle the transfer paperwork. I was going to go with him, but he stopped me and pressed a credit card into my hand. “I’ve got this. You go have some fun. Go shopping, buy whatever you want. Don’t you dare try to save me money.” I bought a few blind boxes and ended up in a bookstore. My favorite author had a new book out, and they had one last copy. Just as I reached for it, a delighted voice came from behind me. “Jack, look! They still have one!” Without hesitating, I grabbed the book. I turned to face Jack and Ava. Standing together, they looked like a perfect couple, straight out of a magazine. Jack looked surprised to see me. “Summer? Why aren’t you in class?” I ignored him and started walking towards the cashier. Ava rushed to block my path, her hand grabbing my arm. Her expression was pitiful, her voice a soft plea. “Summer, could you please let me have this book? I’ll pay you ten times the price for it. I’ve been to every bookstore in the city today, and it’s sold out everywhere. This is the last one.” “Sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m not short on cash.” Ava’s face went pale. She looked humiliated, and her eyes welled up with tears. Jack frowned at me. “It’s Ava’s birthday today. Just be the bigger person and let her have it. They’ll restock it in a few days.” I couldn’t help but retort, “Then why can’t Ava wait a few days? I got to it first. First come, first served. What’s the problem?” Jack’s face turned to stone, his eyes icing over. “Are you really this petty? Do you have to be jealous of everything? Is it really worth it, Summer?” His tone was mocking. “Honestly, are you even a fan of this author? Or are you just doing this because Ava likes them, trying to get under her skin?” Behind him, Ava shot me a triumphant little smile. I looked straight at Jack, my gaze unwavering. “So that’s how you see me.” Maybe it was the seriousness in my eyes, but for a split second, he looked flustered. He quickly regained his composure, his expression softening as he tried to placate me. “Come on, Summer, don’t be like this. As soon as it’s back in stock, I’ll buy it for you first thing. Okay?” Suddenly, the whole thing felt utterly pointless. I shoved the book into his chest. “I don’t want it anymore,” I said, each word deliberate and clear. I don’t want to like you anymore, Jack. From this day on, we are strangers. The mountains will stand silent, and the fields will stretch on, indifferent. I didn’t want to risk running into them again, so I transferred to South Crest High in the neighboring city. It was just as prestigious as Northwood. I’ve always been adaptable, and I caught up with my new classes quickly. This time, I kept my head down, buried myself in my books, and avoided socializing. Then the mid-term rankings were posted. I’d accidentally landed in first place again. Students were clustered around the bulletin board, buzzing. “Whoa, am I seeing things? Did our academic king Leo actually drop to second place?” “You’re not blind. I see it too.” “Seriously, who is this Summer? I’ve never even heard of her.” “She’s in our class. Super pretty, but kind of cold. Doesn’t talk much.” “I think she’s the new transfer student. From Northwood High, I heard.” “Oh, from Northwood? Say no more.” “What’s that supposed to mean? Why are you hyping up another school?” “Well, looks like Leo’s got some real competition now. This is gonna be fun to watch, hehe.” They chattered excitedly, but my heart sank. Great. So South Crest had a reigning academic king, too.

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The heroine of this redemption story, Tessa, had a system that projected scrolling comments into the air. After she bullied me, she tailored them specifically for my mother. “Checking in on the chapter where the evil sidekick frames our sweet girl for bullying. I’m so mad.” “Just what you’d expect from the villain who’s going to drain her mother’s savings for a deadbeat boyfriend and won’t even spend a few bucks on her mom’s medicine. All her lies are just empty words!” “Mom, wake up and look at our sweet Tess! She’s the same poor little thing you fed a piece of bread to three years ago. She didn’t bully anyone, and she still remembers you, sob.” “Mom, please take the heroine home with you! She’ll be the most filial, most successful daughter! Not like your real daughter, who’ll just leave you to rot alone in some cheap apartment.” My mother, who had been storming into the school ready to demand justice for me, suddenly looked at Tessa with an unnervingly soft expression. She reached out her hand. “I believe you,” she said gently. “Would you like to come home with me?” They didn’t know I was reborn. And this time, I could see the comments, too. 1. In the principal’s office, Tessa bit her lip, her gaze fixed defiantly on my mother. Her eyes held a kind of shattered loneliness, her whole body coiled like a cornered animal, ready to spring at the slightest touch. Her voice was cold as she asked, “What do you mean… come home with you?” My mother sighed softly and took Tessa’s wrist, revealing several faint, faded scars. “It means I’ll take care of you from now on. I’ll give you a real home. Would you like that?” Tessa froze, her eyes wide as tears silently pooled, threatening to spill over. She looked as if she’d never dared to dream this could happen. “…Really?” “Really,” Mom nodded without hesitation. “But from now on, you and Abby will be sisters.” She paused, adding softly, “And you have to promise me you won’t bully her.” Then, Mom took Tessa’s hand and led her toward me. Yes, I’m Abby. Her biological daughter. And the one Tessa had locked in the bathroom yesterday, stripped, and photographed. Mom looked at me, her tone gentle but firm. “Abby, Tessa knows she was wrong. She didn’t mean it… Can you forgive her?” I stared at the familiar scene, the relentless stream of comments floating past my eyes. For a hazy moment, I couldn’t even remember… In my last life, how had I answered? 2. “Hahaha, go Mom! But here comes the drama from the evil sidekick!” “Yeah, start your tantrum! The more you act out, the more it proves Mom made the right choice.” “Who wouldn’t run from such a heartless, selfish, and stupidly rebellious brat?” “Her only purpose is to make our sweet Tess look even smarter and kinder, hehe.” “Later on, she makes her mom’s life a living hell. Runs off with her deadbeat boyfriend, steals money, and even forces her mom to sell blood to pay off debts! If Mom can see this, she needs to ditch this ungrateful brat and run as far away as possible!” Any hesitation on my mother’s face vanished as she read the scrolling messages. Her gaze hardened as she turned to me. “Abby, what have I taught you?” I lifted my head and met Tessa’s smug, challenging smirk. I didn’t cry. I didn’t hide. I just looked calmly at my mother and spoke, word by word. “She burned my shoulder with a cigarette. She had her friends take turns slapping me. She locked me in the bathroom, stripped me naked, and took pictures… She even picked up a mop handle and said she was going to ‘teach me a lesson for good.’” “Mom, is this the person you want me to forgive?” “—And give a home to?” In my last life, that bathroom became a nightmare I couldn’t escape for over a decade. I couldn’t bear to think about it, couldn’t speak of it. It was like my soul had been ripped out. The final blow was my mother announcing she was adopting Tessa right after. I couldn’t accept it. I screamed and thrashed on the office floor, pushing away anyone who tried to touch me. I was nothing but a ball of shrieking rage. My reaction perfectly validated the comments: “crazy,” “immature,” “can’t even be as calm as Tessa.” Tessa just stood there, watching me with cold eyes until I was exhausted. Then she let out a small, contemptuous laugh. “Some people just don’t know how good they have it.” 3. Seeing me so calm, so unlike the hysterical girl in the comments, both Mom and Tessa were visibly stunned. Mom’s eyes darted around nervously, her gaze flicking up into the air. I knew she was reading the comments again. “What a load of crap! Our Tess would at most scare her a little. She’d never actually hit someone!” “She only said something because she saw Abby arguing with her mom and felt bad for her! Now she’s being framed for it. Poor Tess must be so heartbroken!” “Don’t believe a word this little liar says! If she’s so sure, let her show the burn. If there’s a mark, I’ll eat my phone right here and now!” “Our girl didn’t even touch her! I’m so pissed, I want to punch her!” “She’s been framing people since she was a kid. No wonder she grows up to be so vicious…” Just then, Tessa lowered her head and gave a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “Whatever she says, I guess… No one will believe me anyway. I don’t have a family or friends to stand up for me. If she says I bullied her, then just do whatever you want with me.” Instantly, Mom’s heart went out to her. She turned to me, her eyes filled with disappointment. “Abby, tell me the truth. Did this student really hit you? Are you lying?” Suddenly, all eyes were on me. Even the principal looked confused, trying to mediate. “Mrs. Evans, Abby has always been a well-behaved student. She gets along well with her classmates…” The comments exploded again. “Heh, is this principal a snake? Praising Abby is just a backhanded way of saying our Tess is badly behaved.” “So passive-aggressive. No wonder Tess feels like no one will ever believe her.” “She only dresses like a punk for self-protection! Otherwise, her aunt would beat her half to death at home!” I pulled my gaze away from the comments and looked steadily at my mother. “So, you want me to take off my clothes and prove it to you right now?” Just like last time. 4. My life was destroyed twice. The first time was that Friday after school, when Tessa dragged me into the bathroom. The second time is right now. The mother who had always doted on me was suddenly a stranger. Her expression shifted from gentle to suspicious, and finally to cold indifference. She simply didn’t believe Tessa was capable of such things; she was convinced I was lying. She watched me break down sobbing, then turned around and brought Tessa, a girl who ran with a rough crowd, into our home. She said she was going to “save” this child. I still remember the crushing disappointment in her eyes. “Abby, I’m done with you. You always wanted freedom, right? Well, here it is.” And just like that, Tessa moved in. My room was literally split in half. Mom decorated Tessa’s side into a dream bedroom for any young girl, stroking her hair with a smile. “Don’t worry, Tessa. Anything other girls have, I’ll make sure you have it too.” Tessa burst into tears and threw herself into my mom’s arms, her voice choked. “Can I call you Mom? Just once… I’ve always wanted a mom.” They clung to each other, bathed in the sunlight streaming through the window as the curtains billowed in the breeze. I was huddled in the darkest corner of the room—where there was no light, and no breeze. I didn’t understand. I truly didn’t understand how my mother had changed so completely. I begged her, pleaded with her, even secretly prayed to God: Please give me my old mom back. After that, no matter how Tessa bullied me, I never said a word. My mother wouldn’t believe me anymore. Because she had once forced me to strip in the principal’s office to prove I had a cigarette burn— But it was gone. The mark Tessa had laughed while pressing into my skin had vanished without a trace. It was as if I really was the liar the comments claimed I was—the ungrateful brat who would one day be the death of her. From that day on, our lives were inverted. Tessa transformed into the “reformed” good girl. Her grades soared, she grew more beautiful, and she was beloved by teachers and students alike. Mom drove her to school, sat with her during piano practice, and cherished her like a precious jewel. I became sullen and withdrawn. I started skipping class, getting into fights, and dating the wrong kind of people. …But it didn’t matter if I was good or bad. My mother never gave me a second glance. I became Tessa’s opposite. The better she was, the worse I became. In the end, she became a renowned scientist, thanking my mother for her guidance at an awards ceremony. And I lay in a rundown apartment, swallowing a full bottle of pills. It wasn’t until I died that I finally understood the answers to the questions that had haunted my dreams for so long. 5. In this moment, I finally understood. It was because of those comments, floating in the air, that my mother had decided to abandon me. I looked up at her, a smile on my face, and asked again. “Mom, are you really telling me to take off my clothes right now… to show you if there’s a cigarette burn?” The office fell silent. Tessa made a soft “tsk” sound, pulling her hand from my mother’s and taking a deliberate step back, as if afraid I’d try to frame her for something else. Just as my mother was about to speak, the comments flared up again. “My heart aches for her… No wonder Tess ends up with no friends, just burying herself in her research.” “That feeling of having hope dangled in front of you only to have it snatched away… it’s too cruel.” “She wins so many awards in the future but has no one to share it with. I can’t breathe just thinking about it.” “Blood means nothing! A true connection is what matters!” “Ten biological daughters aren’t worth a single hair on our Tess’s head!” As expected, my mother’s expression softened again. She looked at me, her voice quiet but insistent. “Abby… just show me. Otherwise, I really don’t know what to do.”

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