Author: Momo Chan

1 Marcel was a trust-fund kid playing poor to date me. It was all a cruel little game, something for him and his buddies to laugh about. I knew all of this. I knew the script by heart. But even knowing Marcel was a liar, even as I worked three jobs to support his lazy ass, I didn’t complain. How could I? My entire online brand was built on being the “ultimate ride-or-die girlfriend,” the girl who’d do anything for her man. And let’s be honest, with a face like Marcel’s, he was premium content. But I’m also a realist. In the world of internet fame, you have to keep things fresh if you want to stay relevant. So, when Marcel finally decided to drop the act, pulling his childhood sweetheart, Amy, into a nauseating embrace right in front of me, I was ready. I simply pulled out my phone—already live-streaming—and let the waterworks begin. “Hey fam,” I sobbed into the camera, “this is the ninety-ninth time he’s cheated on me. I think… I think I’m finally done.” “Drop some hearts in the chat if you think I should dump him for good!” … Crestwood had been drowning in rain for weeks. I stumbled home, soaked and miserable, just in time to overhear Marcel on the phone. The door to our rundown apartment was so flimsy his voice bled right through it. “Yeah, she’s out delivering food even in this downpour. Says she makes more during peak hours.” A pause. “For my birthday a few days ago? She got me a bottle of designer cologne. She must be totally broke now.” Another chuckle. “Her birthday? I gave her a plastic ring from a gumball machine. You’d think I gave her the moon, she was so touched.” He was really getting into it now. “Friends? Please. She doesn’t have any. Her entire world revolves around me.” “Honestly, though, it’s getting a little boring. She’s just… too easy.” “I’ll give it a little longer. Once I’m completely tired of her, I’ll dump her.” His voice was a lazy, self-satisfied drawl. And why wouldn’t it be? He had a complete doormat worshiping the ground he walked on, a doormat who worked herself to the bone to pay his bills and validate his ego. Instead of anger, a different kind of thrill shot through me. I waited patiently for him to hang up before turning the key in the lock. When I walked in, he flinched, quickly pocketing his phone. “You… you just get back?” he asked, a flicker of panic in his eyes. I played my part, feigning ignorance as I collapsed onto the worn-out welcome mat. “Yeah, I’m exhausted.” Then, I beamed, a perfect picture of naive devotion. “But I made an extra fifty bucks today! We can get something nice for dinner!” I threw my arms around him, and I felt the tension leave his body as he realized I hadn’t heard a thing. Later that night, as Marcel washed the dishes from our takeout spicy noodle bowls, I snuck a picture from behind him. The photo captured half of my face, smiling softly, and the sharp, beautiful line of his jaw. I crafted the perfect caption: “With you, even a cheap bowl of noodles feels like a feast. ” Marcel was used to my constant photo-ops and gushing social media posts. It was all part of the act. A girl this pathetically devoted was a rare find, and he was more than happy to play along, encouraging my obsession. I posted the photo, set my phone to silent, and curled up next to him on the lumpy sofa to watch some dumb TV show. Within the hour, the post was already gaining traction. Most of the comments, as usual, were calling me an idiot. A few defenders would pop up: “She’s just having noodles with her boyfriend… why is everyone being so mean?” And they’d be immediately shut down: “Dude, you need to check her post history. This girl is a case study in terminal desperation.” “She works three jobs to support this guy, even after catching him sexting his ‘childhood friend.’ She’s a lost cause.” Soon, the thread was a waterfall of people pitying me, disgusted by my lack of self-respect. I couldn’t have cared less. A new message had just popped up in my DMs from a potential sponsor. “Hi Mae, we love your content! Would you be interested in promoting our new couples’ app?” “Compensation is negotiable.” I snuggled deeper into Marcel’s arms, a genuine smile gracing my lips as I typed back a reply. He nudged my chin. “What are you smiling about?” I squeezed his hand, my voice full of manufactured excitement. “I just got an offer for a one-day gig tomorrow! Another fifty bucks!” I declared proudly. “Once I save up enough, I’m taking my baby out for a proper dinner!” Marcel was hiding his real life from me, and I was hiding my real job from him. Seemed fair. I’d known from the start what a nasty piece of work Marcel was. I knew this whole relationship was a game to him. But damn, that face of his was a work of art. Among the guys in my orbit back then, he was on another level. My name is Mae. The matron at the orphanage gave it to me. I was left on their doorstep in the dead of winter, right when the single, stubborn plum tree in their courtyard decided to bloom against all odds. So yes, I was genuinely poor. No trust fund, no magic wand. I grew up in the system, bounced around rural foster homes, with no family connections and no knack for academics. When I first tried to make it as a content creator, I got zero traction. So when a guy like Marcel wandered into my life, even knowing his motives, I was more than willing to play his game. After all, any video with his face in it got an insane amount of views. But I’ve been poor for too long. It makes you greedy. So, not a single penny of the money I earned online ever made its way to Marcel. If he knew, he’d find a way to make my life a living hell. He fed on my misery, like a handsome parasite. Whenever I shared good news, he’d cut me down. “That dress is hideous on you. Makes your waist look thick. Return it.” “God, can’t you just relax? It’s only a few hundred dollars! So what if I bought some new clothes? Not my problem if we can’t afford groceries now!” “You’re the one who promised to love me forever! That was the deal when we got together!” “What, are you thinking of backing out now? You want to leave me?!” Every time, without fail, he’d use my initial promises against me. And every time he saw me miserable, he’d soften, pulling me close and whispering sweet apologies. It was a sick cycle. Given the stakes, there was no way I could let him know I was secretly making bank. So, I rented a small, clean studio apartment not far from our shared dump. My “long, grueling workdays” were spent there, writing ad scripts in peace. When I got tired, I’d hop on the treadmill I’d bought, pushing myself until I was a sweaty, exhausted mess—the perfect picture of a girl run ragged. Then I’d drag myself back to our grimy little apartment. Marcel ate it up. He’d greet me at the door each night, a smug little smile playing on his lips as he took in my disheveled state. “You’re back? Tough day? How much did you make?” And I’d force a weary smile, dutifully reporting my meager earnings. These moments of fake domestic bliss were always short-lived. Inevitably, a call would come and he’d have to leave. “It’s my business partner,” he’d explain hurriedly, “we’re trying to get a startup off the ground.” I would nod obediently and watch him go. Of course, I knew exactly who was calling: his precious Amy. She loved the idea of me being played for a fool, but she couldn’t stand Marcel showing me any affection. So, she made it a habit to summon him away almost every night. Once, I followed them. I got photos and a video of them in his car. In the clip, they were tangled together, a dangerous, electric heat between them. Amy’s eyes were glistening as she bit his lip, a playful punishment. “When are you going to dump that charity case, Marcel? I hate having to sneak around like this! It’s humiliating!” He showered her with kisses and soothing words. “Soon, baby, soon. Just a little longer. Aren’t you having fun watching the show? When the time comes, I’ll make her get on her knees and beg me not to leave. She’s so obsessed with me, she’ll do anything we want. You can play with your new little toy however you like.” I clipped a piece of that audio and posted it online. It caused an uproar. Using it as an excuse, I picked a massive fight with Marcel. He wasn’t done playing his game yet, so he wasn’t ready to let me go. He recorded a video, tears in his eyes, promising me he would never, ever do it again. I immediately posted his tearful apology video with the caption: “Thank you all for your concern. He knows he was wrong. I believe everyone deserves a second chance. Please wish us luck.” As expected, I was torn to shreds online. But the hate-views sent my engagement through the roof. After that stunt, my online persona was set in stone. I was infamous. People made entire YouTube videos dissecting my toxic relationship. A whole community even popped up, calling themselves experts in “Mae-ology,” dedicated to analyzing my every love-sick move. But I knew this couldn’t last. The pathetic, devoted girlfriend shtick has a shelf life, even with Marcel’s pretty face as bait. Change is the only constant. I learned that lesson early. I just didn’t expect Marcel to be the one to force my hand. It was midnight, and he still wasn’t home. A strange anxiety fluttered in my chest. A storm was brewing; I could feel it in my bones. Thirty minutes later, my phone rang. It was him. “Marcel, where are you? Are you okay?” I asked, my voice trembling on cue. “Mae, get over here,” he slurred. “I’m drunk. Come pick me up on your moped.” He texted me an address. The background noise was a chaotic mix of laughter and loud music—some upscale VIP lounge. I looked out the window at the rain, which was now coming down in sheets. “Marcel, I only have the moped… and it’s pouring out. It’s not safe…” I hesitated. “Let me just call you an Uber…” “Tsk,” he clicked his tongue, annoyance lacing his drunken voice. “You think it’s safe for me to go home alone? If you don’t care about me that much, then maybe we should just break up.” “Wait! Don’t say that!” I cried out, my voice laced with desperation. I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay. I’ll come. I’m on my way.” He didn’t hang up. Through the phone, I could hear his friends roaring with laughter. “Told you, man. Marcel’s got that girl trained like a puppy.” “Girlfriend? Nah, she’s a doormat. A placeholder at best.” “Yeah, everyone knows Marcel’s real girl is Amy.” “Still, I can’t wait to see the look on her pathetic face when she gets here. It’s gonna be epic.” A wave of joyous laughter followed. I quietly ended the call and ordered myself a luxury black car service. If you’re going into battle, you might as well arrive in style. My hands were shaking the entire ride over. Not from fear. From pure, unadulterated excitement. Marcel, my lucky star. He gave me the content I needed to launch my channel, and now he was handing me the perfect opportunity to reinvent myself. For that, I could play the part of the heartbroken girlfriend for five more minutes. When I arrived at the lounge, my first stop was the restroom. I ran my hands under the faucet and plastered my bangs to my forehead, then splashed water over my t-shirt to complete the “drenched in the rain” look. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the heavy door to the private room. It was a huge, opulent space, filled with a crowd of glittering, beautiful people. Marcel was in a dark corner, with Amy draped over him like a silk scarf. The moment I stepped inside, every eye snapped to me. Some were hungry for the drama, others just scanned my body, their gazes lingering on my soaked, semi-transparent shirt. Marcel saw it too and let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Well, look what the rain dragged in, Mae. You look pathetic.” I froze, staring at them for a beat. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, I let out a guttural scream and lunged, trying to tear them apart. “Why… why is it always HER?” I shrieked, my voice raw. “Marcel! You promised! You promised me you wouldn’t do this again! WHY?!” My mind raced. “Is it about money? Do you need money?” I started frantically pulling crumpled bills from my worn-out canvas tote bag, shoving them into his chest. “I… I made a lot today, you can have it all! Just… just come home with me, please…” He didn’t even flinch. He just watched me with a detached amusement, like I was a fascinating, rabid animal. The people around us were loving the show, phones already out, recording everything. “ANSWER ME!” I screamed, grabbing the collar of his expensive shirt. Amy let out a delicate cry. “Marcel! She’s hurting me! Do something!” His brow furrowed in annoyance. With a casual shove, he sent me sprawling to the floor. “Stop making a scene,” he sneered. “Fine, you want the truth? Here it is. I’m Marcel Croft. My family practically owns New York. I don’t need your pathetic pocket change. Dating you was just a game, something to kill the boredom.” He crouched down, a cruel smirk on his face. “But I will admit, watching you run yourself into the ground for me was… satisfying. You really are a good little dog.” He patted my head, the gesture dripping with condescension, before Amy’s soft coo pulled him back to her. He planted a long, deliberate kiss on her cheek, his eyes locked on me the entire time, daring me to react. Their glamorous love story was the perfect, brutal contrast to my pathetic, rain-soaked failure. I sat on the cold floor, head bowed, my shoulders shaking with what everyone assumed were sobs. The trust-fund brats waited, breathless. This was the moment they’d been anticipating: the part where the poor girl finds out he’s a prince and clings to his leg, begging him not to leave her. Okay, showtime. In one swift movement, I wiped away the fake tears. From a hidden pocket in my grimy tote bag, I pulled out my brand-new smartphone. The screen was glowing. It was my livestream. And the viewer count was pushing one hundred thousand.

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My fiancé’s childhood sweetheart sabotaged my wedding three times. First, she flew back from overseas, intercepted our wedding car, and dragged Liam away before he could reach me. She claimed his mother was unwell and needed him urgently. The second time, she drunkenly knelt in front of our motorcade, blocking the road so Liam couldn’t pick me up. She sobbed that it was all her fault and begged me to hit her. The third time, she secretly rerouted the entire procession to a remote cemetery. We arrived surrounded by tombstones. Each time, Liam defended her: his mother’s health, her sacrifices, her pain. But he didn’t know—after this final failure, his wedding would become his funeral. It wasn’t until the polished town car turned onto a gravel path flanked by tilting headstones that I realized Ava had played me again. She had taken advantage of the fact that I was a stranger in his sleepy hometown, quietly altering the GPS coordinates. She’d sent us to this godforsaken boneyard. Outside, the hired drivers got out to smoke, their eyes darting towards me, filled with a cruel, mocking pity. “That’s three strikes. Pretty clear the groom doesn’t want to marry her.” “Tell me about it. I heard this is the bride’s first time in his hometown. He’s never even brought her to meet the family!” “Seriously, who gets married in a cemetery?” I sat in the back, my knuckles white, crushing the delicate stems of my bridal bouquet. The pristine white lace of my dress, once a symbol of hope, now felt like a costume for a fool. Just last night, Liam had sworn to me, promised that this time, his precious Ava wouldn’t interfere. And now, here I was, the punchline to a joke I never wanted to be a part of. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Liam, a reply to the one I’d sent thirty minutes ago. “Sorry. Ava said it was just a joke. Don’t get worked up over nothing. I’m on my way to get you now, okay?” This was the man who used to reply to my texts in seconds. Ever since Ava came back, his responses had grown slower, shorter, colder. In the passenger seat, Liam’s mother, who had been listening to the voice note, turned a terrifying shade of purple. She clutched her chest, her voice a low growl. “Clara… Liam… does he always treat you like this?” “This is… this is unforgivable.” Her health had been fragile for years; she’d been in a private care facility overseas and had missed the first two failed weddings. But she was finally well enough to be discharged, and she’d insisted on coming with me today to surprise Liam. Her face a mask of cold fury, she dialed his number. He rejected the call. She tried again. Rejected. Finally, on the third try, he picked up, his voice exploding through the speaker before she could even say a word. “Clara, I already said I’m coming! What more do you want?” he snarled. “She lost me forever, and you’re the one who gets to marry me! Can’t you be a little more gracious? Don’t you forget, she’s the one who’s been looking after my mother all this time!” And then, a different voice cut through the line, a soft, whimpering cry. It was Ava. “Liam, I can’t bear it… I really can’t live without you…” Her whimper suddenly sharpened, rising into a high, theatrical moan. A sound that anyone with a pulse knew the meaning of. The line went dead. Liam’s mother was hyperventilating, her words choked with rage. “That bastard! That absolute bastard!” The world went silent. A sharp pain bloomed in my palm. I looked down. My nails had dug so deep into my skin that blood was welling up, warm and sticky. It was the only thing that felt real. Liam and I had never— “Give this one to Wendy, too. Look at you, you’re still standing and yelling. You’re not that fragile.” “Do you really think you’re some kind of national treasure? Can’t handle a little hardship?” His arrogant, dismissive tone was more suffocating than the thin mountain air. My custom-blended oxygen, my emergency medication—all of it had become offerings for him to appease his little protégée. The other assistants on the shoot busied themselves with the camera equipment, pretending not to see the confrontation. I felt like a patient whose life support had just been unplugged, gasping for air on the edge of life and death. “Acute altitude sickness can cause pulmonary and cerebral edemas… It can kill you!” I hissed, the words scraping my throat. “Pulmonary edema? Who are you trying to scare?” Kieran rolled his eyes. Wendy played her part beautifully, shrinking behind him. “Sloan, I know you don’t like me… but Kieran said you’re experienced. I’m sure a little situation like this is nothing for you.” She even had the audacity to flash a peace sign at the GoPro clipped to her collar. The sight of her smug face sent a wave of dizziness through me. “Enough!” I lunged for my oxygen tank. Kieran shoved me back, hard. I stumbled, nearly falling into the snow. “What do you think you’re doing?! If something happens to Wendy, can you take responsibility for that?!” Wendy immediately clutched her chest, her voice turning faint. “Kieran, I… I don’t feel so good again… Maybe I shouldn’t have come… Does Sloan think I’m stealing her spotlight…?” “It’s not your fault. She’s just being selfish!” Kieran wrapped an arm around her, comforting her in a low voice. “She’s just spoiled. Thinks the whole world revolves around her.” The wind and snow seemed to pick up, blurring my vision. I watched them huddled together for warmth, a perfect couple against the stark white landscape, completely ignoring me, his supposed fiancée. A lethal cocktail of rage and the creeping, black-edged feeling of suffocation churned within me. With a surge of adrenaline, I smashed the helium canister I was holding against a nearby shard of ice. “Kieran!” I screamed, my voice raw. “We’re done! The engagement is OFF!” Kieran froze, his expression twisting from surprise to fury. He took a step toward me, his voice sharp. “Sloan! What the hell is wrong with you? You’re calling off our engagement over something this petty? Do you even hear yourself?!” “Petty?” The word was a pained gasp forced from my lungs. “Swapping out my life-saving oxygen… is petty?” Wendy immediately stepped forward, her voice trembling. “Kieran, don’t be angry… It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t be so weak…” “Sloan must just be saying that because she hates me…” she whispered, but her eyes held a flicker of triumphant glee. Marco, one of the local guides, couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Mr. Thompson,” he said, his brow furrowed with concern, “Ms. Vance really doesn’t look well. Altitude sickness is no joke. Maybe we should…” “You don’t understand, Marco!” Kieran cut him off without a hint of politeness. “She’s just out of shape and loves to play the victim! Every shoot is the same damn drama. Remember the Gobi Desert? The entire crew had to wait for her because she got a little heatstroke. Now she’s pulling the same crap here!” His words were like icicles stabbing into me. In the Gobi, I had pushed myself to capture the perfect light at dusk and nearly died from heatstroke. In his eyes, it was just me being dramatic. “Yeah,” another assistant, one of Kieran’s close friends, muttered under his breath. “Sloan, Kieran is just thinking about the big picture. Wendy’s new to this kind of high-stakes project. It’s only right to look after her. You’re the veteran. You can tough it out.” I stared at him, my vision blurring with involuntary tears. “Tough it out? How… how am I supposed to…” My lungs felt like they were filling with concrete. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. A violent throbbing started in my temples, a precursor to the deadly edemas I knew were coming. Seeing my state, Wendy’s face crumpled as if she were the one in agony. “Sloan, please don’t be like this,” she cried. “I hate seeing you two fight because of me… Here, why don’t you just take the oxygen back? I’ll… I’ll be fine…” She made a show of reaching for her mask. Kieran grabbed her hand, his voice a mixture of anger and tenderness. “Wendy, don’t be ridiculous! She’s just trying to guilt-trip you! Anyone can play the victim.” He whipped his head back to me, his eyes filled with cold disgust. “Sloan, I was so wrong about you. I can’t believe how selfish and petty you are, bullying a newcomer like this. Does everyone have to worship at your feet for you to be happy?” “Do you remember that time you got trapped in an avalanche? Who was it that moved heaven and earth to get a rescue team to you? And now, because you’re feeling a little uncomfortable, you’re willing to ruin this entire project for everyone?” He was talking about the time I risked my life to get a shot for his father’s company. Now, he was using it as a weapon against me. A blinding headache made it impossible to form a coherent response. All I could do was gasp, my mouth opening and closing like a fish on land. Wendy, hiding behind Kieran, allowed a tiny, cruel smirk to flash across her face before her expression shifted back to one of deep concern. “Kieran, her face… it looks awful. You don’t think she’s actually…” “It’s an act! All of it!” he declared. “She’s a brilliant actress! This is just another way to manipulate me, to control me. Well, I’m not falling for it.” He took out his own thermos, twisted it open, and held it to Wendy’s lips. “Here, Wendy. Have some hot water. Ignore her. She just needs to cool off.” The steam from the thermos rose in a soft cloud, a stark contrast to the glacial cold that was seeping into my bones. Despair, as unyielding as the ancient ice beneath my feet, began to freeze me from the inside out. My body slid down the side of the ice wall. My consciousness began to fray. The image of Kieran shielding Wendy, the whispered conversations of the crew—they all blurred into distorted, ghostly shapes. The bottle of high-altitude medication that could save my life was sitting right by Wendy’s feet. It was only a few yards away, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. Just then, Wendy silently crouched in front of me. She pulled down her mask. Her cheeks were rosy, her breathing even. She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper only I could hear. “How does it feel to suffocate, Sloan, you great photographer?” A cruel smile stretched her lips. “Kieran’s been sick of you for ages. He says you’re rigid, boring… like an old woman. Once you have your little ‘accident,’ your fame, your work, and your fiancé… I’ll be happy to take them off your hands.” She patted my cheek, her touch like ice. “Don’t worry. Your memorial service for ‘dying in the line of duty’ will be spectacular.” Wendy’s words were the final snowflake that triggered the avalanche in my mind. I wanted to slap her, but the advanced altitude sickness had stolen all my strength. All I could do was lie there, feeling the warmth bleed out of my body. Just as my vision was about to be swallowed by darkness, Wendy decided she wasn’t done. Her eyes glinted, and she reached out, grabbing the front of my parka. “Sloan, are you too hot? Your face is so red. Let me help you cool down.” RRRRIP! The high-quality, windproof fabric tore open with a sickening sound. My neck and chest were instantly exposed to the sub-zero air. The cold was a physical thing, a thousand tiny knives sinking into my skin. “You…!” I stared at her, trying to scream, but only a choked gurgle came out. My body began to tremble violently from hypothermia. Wendy scrambled back, her face instantly transforming into a mask of panic. “Kieran! Sloan… she’s tearing her own clothes off! I tried to stop her!” Kieran spun around. He saw my exposed skin, Wendy’s frantic expression, and his face hardened into a scowl. “Sloan!” he stormed over, his voice laced with exasperation and fury. “How long are you going to keep this up?! Are you trying to kill yourself just to make a point?!” He didn’t even give me a chance to explain. He didn’t care about the truth. “It wasn’t… me… it was her…” I managed to stammer through chattering teeth. “Enough!” Kieran shouted. “It’s always someone else’s fault! You can’t control your emotions, and now you’re resorting to self-harm to threaten us? Do you think this is fun? Do you think this makes you look sympathetic? It doesn’t! It just makes you look pathetic!” His words hailed down on me, merciless and cold. He looked at my crumpled form in the snow, his eyes holding not a shred of warmth, only pure, undiluted disgust. “Fine, Sloan. You want to act?” He sneered, pulling his own storm mask tighter. “Then stay here and put on your show. We’re resting for ten more minutes, then we’re moving to the next location. If you can’t keep up, you can stay here and perform your tragedy for the mountains.” He turned his back on me without a second thought.

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I was reborn, sent back to my teenage years alongside the girl I was destined to care for—Mia Malina, my childhood friend with autism. This time, however, Mia pulled her hand from mine. She fumbled through buying a bouquet of flowers and gave them to Alex Wang, the boy she considered her sunshine. All because Alex loved to tease her with crude, flirty jokes. After enough of his provocations, something in her snapped open. She decided she was cured. In my past life, I had spent over a decade painstakingly caring for her, teaching her how to express the simplest likes and dislikes. But in the end, the most casual and cruel words she ever learned were reserved for me. “You… are annoying. Not as charming as him.” From my window, I watched them below. The boy, confident and bold, pulled the girl into an embrace. The girl, shy and flustered, tried to pull away. Fine. So be it. I had no desire to spend another lifetime tethered to a patient. 1 “Hey, are you really autistic?” Alex Wang leaned in, poking Mia Malina’s arm with a playful finger. “Because you were pretty talkative in bed yesterday. What happened to the autism then?” Mia’s ears turned a bright, burning red. Her usually blank face flickered with surprise. “I… I wasn’t…” The classroom fell silent for a beat before erupting into whispers. “Oh my god, did you hear that? Mia Malina actually spoke! That’s the second time today, right?” “Hilarious. Guess the unorthodox methods work faster. Unlike some people…” The speaker shot a pointed look in my direction before trailing off. I kept my face impassive, my eyes fixed on the book in front of me, pretending I hadn’t heard them talking about me. It was true. This was the second time Mia had spoken voluntarily today. The first was when our teacher, planning a seating change, suggested I move next to Mia. For the first time ever, she voiced her own opinion. “I don’t want to.” The words were so smooth, so natural, that even the teacher froze at the front of the room. After a quick call with Mia’s mother, she’d nodded, relieved. “Alright, no changes then.” “And Alex,” the teacher added, “try to behave yourself. Don’t bully Mia.” As the murmurs continued, I stood up. Before I could even move, Mia spoke again, her voice sharp with a familiar disgust. “I told you, I’m not taking the medication anymore.” Her eyes were cold. “For every pill you try to give me, I’ll just throw it away.” For a moment, I was lost in a dizzying overlap of past and present. Her tone, her glare—they were identical to the last life. The whispers of my classmates wormed their way into my ears. “God, isn’t this awkward? Mia must hate his guts. Who wants to be chased down with pills after school every day?” “And have you noticed? She talks a lot more around Alex. She seems pretty normal, actually.” “The brooding, silent girl and the cheerful sunshine boy? I ship it!” And the “cheerful sunshine boy” they were fawning over was now gently pinching Mia’s pale cheek. “Really? Am I that special to you?” he cooed. “Blushing again? So cute.” Mia’s eyelashes fluttered. She quickly averted her gaze, and for a split second, her eyes met mine. The warmth and emotion vanished, replaced by an icy wall. A thought struck me. Could she have been reborn, too? Is that why she refused the seating change? Heh. Even better. 2 After the final bell, Mia slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked out of the classroom ahead of me. Carl, the chauffeur waiting at the school gate, did a double-take. “Aren’t you waiting for Mr. Vance?” he asked, surprised. Mia pressed her lips together, saying nothing. Carl was used to her silence. He shot a resentful look at me as I caught up. “Leo,” he said, his voice low and chiding, “why weren’t you keeping up with her? If something happened to Miss Malina, how would I explain it to her mother?” See? He called me ‘Mr. Vance,’ but he’d never seen me as anything more than a glorified babysitter. It was the price of my family’s fall from grace. “Carl, let’s go.” Mia spoke again, her voice clear. Carl was so stunned he forgot the rest of his lecture. “Miss Malina, you… you spoke to me?” he stammered, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He was so caught up in the moment that he didn’t even notice a stranger approaching. “Whoa, Mia, is this your car?” Alex whistled, circling the black sedan. “This thing must have cost a fortune.” Carl’s brow furrowed. He was about to step in when Mia herself opened the car door. She tugged nervously at the hem of her uniform. “If you like it, you can have it.” Alex’s eyes went wide. “Hahahaha! Do you even know what you’re saying? You’d really just give it to me?” Mia nodded earnestly and even got out of the car, gesturing for him to get in. A muscle in Carl’s jaw twitched. Anyone who knew Mia knew how fiercely she guarded her personal space. It had taken me six months just to be allowed to ride in the same car with her. But Alex was different. Alex was an exception. A first. He ruffled her hair as if she were a well-behaved puppy. “Wow, you’re so naive. Aren’t you afraid someone will take advantage of you? Okay, okay, I’m just kidding. See you tomorrow, my cute little deskmate.” He walked away, humming a cheerful tune. Mia seemed to catch his infectious joy, a small smile playing on her lips. She watched him until he was completely out of sight before turning and slamming the car door shut right in my face. Carl, having completely forgotten I existed, looked like he couldn’t wait to race home and tell Mia’s mother the miraculous news. The car sped off, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. I glanced at my phone. My ride-share was five minutes away. Good thing I hadn’t counted on them. 3 That night, the Malina mansion next door was filled with laughter. My house was deathly quiet. “What happened? Why didn’t you come home with her?” my father roared. “Can’t you even do a simple thing like wait on someone? I swear, I’ve wasted years raising you!” My mother timidly offered him a cup of tea. “Don’t yell at the boy. Calm down.” He slapped the cup from her hand. It shattered on the floor. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The villa, already sparsely furnished, felt even emptier. My mother sighed, her voice soft. “Leo, did you and Mia have a fight? You know how she is. Just be patient with her. Our family is counting on the Malinas…” Back when my father hadn’t gambled away our family fortune, we were their equals. We never had to grovel for their favor. I paused in my cleanup of the broken porcelain. “Mom, I’m a senior this year. I’ll be in college soon. I can work and support myself. Why do we have to pin all our hopes on the Malinas, and on… him?” “Your father will change!” she insisted, her voice losing its conviction. “The Malinas gave him a loan. He can turn things around.” But Mom, don’t you know? Even if I appease Mia exactly as you wish, he’ll never stop gambling. He won’t stop until he’s mortgaged this very house, the last symbol of our family’s pride, and then thrown himself from the roof. We would still end up completely dependent on the Malinas’ charity. I clenched my fist, a shard of ceramic digging into my palm. The sharp pain pulled me back from the memory. My mother cried out, rushing to disinfect the cut. Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from Mia. [You’re disgusting. So annoying.] [Stay away from me from now on.] People with autism often lack a filter. They can be brutally honest, oblivious to the feelings of others. In my past life, it took me over a decade to teach Mia to express her dislikes kindly, instead of through screaming, throwing things, or spitting venom. She was a slow learner, but she had made progress. I remembered the time her mother brought her a glass of warm milk to help her sleep. Instead of her usual tantrum of smashing the glass, she had simply said, “I don’t want it.” Her mother had wept with joy. I had smiled, too, hiding the angry, permanent scar on my forearm where she’d once thrown a cup of scalding tea at me. I looked down at my phone and typed a single word. [Okay.] 4 The next morning, my father dragged me to the Malinas’ front gate, his face plastered with a sycophantic grin. “Is Leo ready? He hasn’t left yet, has he?” The Malinas’ butler gave him a cool, dismissive glance. “Miss Malina has already left for school. Mrs. Malina has given instructions that Leo will be going on his own from now on.” The butler offered a thin, apologetic smile. “You know how our Mia is. We can’t risk any emotional triggers.” My father’s face froze. He shot me a look of pure fury. I ignored him, dodging the slap he aimed at my head and walking calmly towards school. When I entered the classroom, Mia and Alex were already there, huddled close together, sharing breakfast. “Mia, I’ve lost my appetite,” Alex said with a theatrical sigh. “The only thing I want to eat is you.” Mia, who had been eating with quiet delicacy, flushed crimson. “Don’t… don’t say things like that,” she stammered. A friend of Alex’s laughed loudly. “Damn, Alex, you’ve got guts. Forget autism, you could probably make a mute person talk with lines like that.” Alex raised an eyebrow, triumphant. He grabbed my arm as I passed. “Leo, back me up here. Mia isn’t really autistic, is she? She’s just shy. It can’t be that she only talks this much around me.” I pulled my arm away. Before I could speak, Mia cut in, her eyes fixed on Alex. “You’re different.” Then, her gaze shifted to me, cold and flat. “He’s like my mother. Nagging and annoying. Not cute like you.” The other students’ faces were a mixture of amusement and pity. They were enjoying the show. A wave of profound exhaustion washed over me—not for myself now, but for the boy I used to be. Before I was assigned to be Mia’s shadow, I was the envied son of a wealthy family. But to fulfill my duty, I had debased myself, catered to her every whim, accommodated her every mood. You could train a dog to be grateful in less time. If it weren’t for that car crash on the way to the courthouse in our past life, I would have been legally bound to her forever. And still, she was like this. She had learned to interact with people, even smile at strangers. But with me, she was always sharp, always cruel, never once considering my feelings. Was it really Alex, her “sunshine,” who had brought her out of her shell? No. It was the result of more than a decade of my tireless effort. But of course, everyone gave the credit to him. I looked Mia straight in the eye and smiled. “Sorry, but I don’t have a daughter your age.” 5 In my past life, my entire future had been mapped out by Mia’s mother. Mia was going to a conservatory for music, so I had to study the niche field of music therapy. Using the music Mia loved to heal her—it was the perfect plan in Mrs. Malina’s eyes. It didn’t matter that I had no talent for music. It didn’t matter that the degree was useless for finding a job. All that mattered was that it was useful to Mia. In return, the Malinas would provide my father with capital and business connections. Back then, Mia was prone to sensory overload. A loud noise or an unexpected touch could trigger a complete meltdown. She would flip desks, claw at her own hands until they bled. And I would have to be the one to drop everything and calmly talk her down, all under the complicated stares of our classmates. Right. Where was her sunshine boy back then? Oh, he was in the crowd, whispering with everyone else. Mia was living in denial, but I hadn’t forgotten. On her eighteenth birthday, the Malinas threw a lavish party. It wasn’t just a celebration of her coming of age; it was a public declaration that Mia was miraculously “cured.” At the party, Alex was the guest of honor. He wore a custom-tailored suit, a diamond glittering in his ear. Under the bright chandeliers, he stood with his arm around Mia, greeting guests with a dazzling smile. They looked like a fairytale couple. I had no appetite. As the party wound down, I slipped out into the garden for some air. I stumbled upon them there, Alex laughing with Mia. He was holding a bouquet of sunflowers. “Why sunflowers?” he asked, a playful pout on his lips. “Everyone else gives roses…” Mia’s reply was utterly serious. “You are warm. Like a sunflower. Seeing you makes me happy.” “And what about Leo? He grew up with you. What is he like?” From my hiding place in the shadows, I saw the expression on Mia’s face. Her brow furrowed with a familiar look of impatience and disgust. “He’s like this,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the ground. At the clover patch. Not the lucky four-leaf kind. Just a common weed. The warm night air was filled with the frantic chirping of cicadas. It sounded just like my own racing heart, which suddenly fell silent, drenched in ice water. I watched as Alex smiled, stood on his toes, and planted a soft kiss on Mia’s cheek. Her ears turned pink. She shyly looked away—and saw me. The whole thing felt so pointless. I turned to leave. “Leo!” Mia’s voice stopped me. She ran over, her face still flushed. “My mom talked to me. She still wants me to go to the same university as you.” “She worries too much,” I said, my voice flat. “Alex is clearly a better fit for you.” Mia frowned. “But I told my mother I only want you.” I looked up, surprised. She turned her head away. “My episodes… they’re ugly.” So that was it. Of course. She saved her best self for Alex, and left the uncontrolled, violent, ugly parts for me to clean up. I was the full-time nanny, the one who had to force her to take her medication, manage her moods, and put her first in everything. The charming sunshine boy could never be bothered with that. From a distance, Alex called her name sweetly. “Come on, Mia, I’ll take you somewhere fun.” But she didn’t move. She was waiting for my promise. She knew my value; she just took it for granted. I smoothed my expression into a bright smile. “Of course. I’ll always be with you.” Satisfied, she beamed and ran back to Alex. The smile vanished from my eyes. Mia Malina, after the college entrance exams, you and your sunflower can go your separate ways. And I will finally leave you, content to be the resilient clover. I just wonder… when your next episode hits, will your sunshine boy still be so warm? I couldn’t wait to find out.

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The day I was diagnosed with cancer, my boyfriend asked for a breakup. Again. I smiled and told him to wait a little longer. He flew into a rage, smashing everything in the room. “Why couldn’t it have been you?” he screamed. Three months ago, his first love died in a car crash. He blamed me, said my jealousy stopped him from driving her home. I lowered my eyes, my voice a soft echo of itself. “Just wait a little longer.” Just wait. Soon enough, it will be. 1 Leo was drunk again, that deep, sloppy kind of drunk that saturated the air with the stale stench of whiskey and smoke. I wrestled him into bed, cleaned up the mess, and only then, in the suffocating quiet, did I let myself look at the diagnosis report again. His slurred whispers drifted from the bedroom, his ex-girlfriend’s name a ghost on his lips. A laugh, brittle and humorless, escaped me. I could recite every word on that paper, but the brutal truth of it still felt like a language I couldn’t comprehend. The living room light flickered on, jolting me from my trance. I crumpled the report into a tight ball and shoved it deep into my pocket. It didn’t matter. Leo wasn’t even looking at me. He scrubbed at his temples and walked straight to the mantelpiece. To her picture. He lit a candle, his movements reverent, his head bowed in worship. After Cassie died, Leo had insisted on displaying her portrait—a large, smiling photo from their college days—in the middle of our living room. “I want you to look at her every day,” he’d said, his voice cold. “And repent.” Repent for what? The night of the accident, at a college reunion, Cassie had gotten wasted. She’d thrown her arms around my boyfriend, sobbing about how she’d never gotten over him. She ignored me, the actual girlfriend, with a blatant, drunken disregard that made everyone else uncomfortable. I finally snapped. I pulled her off Leo and shoved her away. When he insisted on taking her home, I’d sneered, “Look around, Leo. There’s a dozen people here. Why does it have to be you?” The standoff ended when one of Cassie’s admirers offered her a ride. It was supposed to de-escalate things. Instead, they crashed. Neither of them survived. And Leo laid all the blame, all the guilt, all the crushing weight of it, right at my feet. It was absurd. Did he wish he’d been in that car, too? 2 After his silent vigil, Leo turned to me, his shadow falling over me as he stood there, looking down his nose. “Your turn,” he commanded. I let out a soft, tired laugh. “How long are you going to keep playing this game?” His brow furrowed, a storm gathering in his eyes. He kicked the small table in front of me, sending it crashing against the wall. “You don’t want to? Then let’s break up. But you wouldn’t dare, would you? Not when I’m your precious cash cow.” That was his favorite threat. His new addiction. We’d been together for four years. Our online persona as the perfect influencer couple had netted us over six hundred thousand followers. They all said we were meant to be. They said the way Leo looked at me was proof of true love. He used to say it, too. “The way I look at Elena will never change, not even when we’re old. Actually, at eighty, my eyes will probably be so bad I won’t be able to see my little old lady clearly anymore.” But people change. Especially as the years pass, as the initial fire cools into embers. It’s then that other thoughts, other possibilities, start to creep in. I never realized how much he still thought about his ex until that reunion. The ghost of a first love, the one that got away—it’s a powerful thing. His ghost had never forgotten him, and suddenly, he remembered all the reasons he’d loved her. And me? I was just the familiar face, the one who’d grown older alongside him. Less exciting. Maybe, after I’m gone, he’ll talk about me with this much tortured passion to his next girlfriend. At first, I played along with his bizarre mourning ritual out of pity. He was being eaten alive by guilt and regret, and I thought if he could displace that onto me, maybe he could breathe again. I just never expected him to get so lost in the role. 3 “Just wait a little longer,” I said with a smile, getting up to head for the shower. He took my dismissal as a final insult. The rage was instantaneous. He started breaking things. Not random objects, but our things. The furniture we’d picked out together, the little trinkets we’d bought on trips, each one a vessel for a shared memory, a private joke. He raged, a storm of flailing limbs and guttural roars, his voice tearing through the chaos, “Why couldn’t it have been you?” Looking at the wreckage, a strange, unnerving calm settled over me. My smile felt genuine. “Just you wait.” Really. Just a little longer. Liver cancer. They gave me three to six months. Leo didn’t understand the meaning behind my words. He lunged, grabbing my shoulders, shaking me so hard my teeth rattled. “If you don’t want to break up, then you’ll pay your respects to her. Do it!” In the end, I did. Because his screaming was giving me a headache. And when a child throws a tantrum, you learn it’s easier to just give in. 4 That night, sleep was a stranger. I gave up trying and sat up, watching Leo’s back. He always slept facing away from me now, a chasm of cold sheets between us. I had to prop myself up on an elbow, leaning precariously over the gap just to see his face. He slept fitfully, his brow furrowed into a tight knot. The boyish face I loved was etched with a premature weariness. His lashes, long enough to be a sin, cast spidery shadows on his cheeks. His perfect nose was a sharp line in the dim light, and a fine, dark stubble was already shadowing his jaw. I drank in the sight of him, my mind drifting back to the day we met. He was eighteen, a freshman overflowing with boundless energy, sweat glistening on his skin as he dominated the university basketball court, a chorus of adoring girls screaming his name. I was twenty-three, back on campus for an alumni event, and I’d wandered over to the courts, drawn by the noise and the sea of fresh faces. When he sank the winning three-pointer, I screamed with the rest of them, a jolt of pure, youthful excitement shooting through me. He spotted me in the crowd, his eyes locking with mine, a proud, cocky grin spreading across his face. I gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. He tucked the basketball under his arm and jogged right over. “Hey,” he said, slightly breathless. “Are you one of the professors?” Under the bright afternoon sun, his skin was almost translucent, his amber eyes clear as a stream. He was so close I could smell the clean, boyish scent of his sweat and the grass. “Professors don’t get called ‘hey,’” I teased, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. I held it, watching a faint blush creep up his neck and tint the tips of his ears, before I let him go. Back then, our intentions were perfectly clear. I wanted to flirt with him. He was interested in me. Neither of us expected it to detonate into real love, a chaotic, beautiful four-year journey. Because I was the older one, I naturally indulged his moods, his immaturity. In return, he gave me the fierce, untainted romance that only a young man can offer. But lately, his tantrums had gone too far. And he’d forgotten to give anything back. 5 I didn’t sleep at all. When I finally drifted off, it was already dark again when I woke. Moonlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, painting a ghostly stripe across the floor. Habit took over. I grabbed my phone, checking the backend of our social media accounts. The team had posted the scheduled content, and the affiliate sales numbers were stable. I’d started this influencer agency with Leo. I put up the money, and I ran the business. All he had to do was show up, look handsome, and follow the script. I often thought he was born in the right era. A man who could genuinely make a living off his face. A very, very good living. But early success, easy money—it’s rarely a good thing. It had warped me, and now I saw it had warped him, too. I called his name a few times. Silence. I got up to go to the bathroom and flinched as Cassie’s smiling face caught me by surprise again. I grabbed a few tissues and draped them over the photo before continuing on. A harsh voice cut through the silence from behind me. “What are you doing?” I froze, then turned. I hadn’t even noticed Leo on the balcony, a cigarette glowing in the dark. The cherry-red tip flared as he inhaled, smoke momentarily obscuring his face. He was clearly furious about my disrespect to Cassie’s portrait. “Thought she might be cold,” I mumbled, stepping into the bathroom. He stormed to the doorway, his eyes bloodshot. “She’s dead. Why do you still have to humiliate her?” A real laugh escaped me this time. “Humiliate her? Oh, sweetheart. If I wanted to really humiliate her, I would have stood up at her funeral and told everyone she was pregnant with your child.” I’d spent the whole night thinking. It was time to lay the cards on the table. In my condition, there was no point in playing dumb anymore. I’d found out two days ago. Leo had been blackout drunk, spilling his guts, and had no memory of it the next morning. No memory of me slapping him twice, stripping him naked, and leaving him on the balcony to freeze for half the night. That’s when it all clicked. The depth of his guilt, the desperate need to make me the villain so he could keep living. My original plan had been to methodically untangle our business finances, minimize my losses, and then break up with him. But a cancer diagnosis tends to change one’s plans. Time for a new game. I might be a sugar mama, but I wasn’t a pushover.

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The year Wil lost his memory, I told him a lie. I told him I was his girlfriend. Later, against all odds, I got pregnant. He was ecstatic. He got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. But just as I thought my secret, lifelong crush was finally about to have a happy ending, his memory came rushing back. He accused me of being a manipulative liar, swore he would never acknowledge the child, and had me dragged to a clinic to terminate the pregnancy. I died on that table, taking our child with me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that same hospital room. 1 Wil was still lying on the hospital bed, his eyes shut tight. The air in the room was thick with a suffocating tension. I remembered the doctor’s words: if he didn’t wake up today, he would likely remain in a vegetative state. Wil’s mother, Catherine, was weeping softly while my own mom tried to comfort her. “There’s still time,” my mom murmured. “He’ll wake up. I know he will.” The specific details of Wil’s awakening were a blur in my memory, but my mom was right. He was going to wake up. My mother turned and saw me standing there, lost in a daze. She waved me over. “Nora, honey, come talk to Wil for a bit. Let Catherine have a rest.” At the sound of my name, Catherine looked over, her eyes red and swollen. These two women had doted on me my entire life. Even later, after Wil’s memory returned and he turned on me, they had both stood firmly by my side. But this time… I wanted to refuse, but I couldn’t. Not now. Just as I reached the bedside, Wil’s eyelids fluttered. He opened his eyes, and we stared at each other. I never thought I would see him look at me with such calm neutrality again. In my last life, after his memory returned, his gaze was always filled with a chilling malice. We never again shared a proper meal, or even a single civil conversation. He called me a scheming bitch and swore the baby in my belly wasn’t his. I knew I was in the wrong, so I accepted his anger. But why did he have to go back on his word? Why did he have to destroy my child? Our child. A storm of emotion raged inside me, making it impossible to stay calm. I looked away, taking an involuntary step back. Catherine rushed forward, her voice choked with relief. Soon after, Wil’s father and my own dad arrived. Wil was awake. It was a miracle. But he had amnesia. After her tears subsided, Catherine began to reintroduce him to his life. “Wil, this is your Uncle David and Aunt Helen. Our families have been friends for generations.” “And this,” she said, her gaze falling on me, “is Nora, David’s daughter… and she’s your—” My name snapped me back to reality. The words burst out of me before I could stop them. “His sister!” 2 It was a reflex. I hadn’t forgotten. In the last life, Catherine had sealed my fate with a single sentence. At this exact moment, she had introduced me to the memory-wiped Wil as his girlfriend. The truth was, Wil already had a girlfriend. Seraphina Vance. But in Catherine’s eyes, Seraphina was largely to blame for the accident. A few days before the crash, she had demanded they get engaged. Wil refused. In a fit of anger, Seraphina broke up with him and booked a flight out of the country. The accident happened while Wil was racing to the airport to stop her. Catherine had never liked Seraphina, and this incident only solidified her prejudice. She had told me to use Wil’s amnesia as an opportunity for us to build a real relationship. Sometimes I wondered—if both our parents could see how much I loved Wil, could he really have been oblivious? No. He knew. He just dismissed it as a childhood crush, the affection of a little sister for her older brother. In my past life, Catherine’s suggestion had made my heart pound with a dangerous hope. And what made me fall completely was how easily Wil accepted it. For the rest of his recovery, he wanted only me by his side. Our relationship began with a lie and ended when the truth returned. He was convinced I was a pathological liar, that even our child was part of some elaborate scheme. No matter how I tried to explain that night was an accident, he refused to believe me. I had no credibility left in his eyes. You were cruel to me, Wil. But you were just as cruel to your own child. I pressed a hand to my flat stomach, a phantom ache twisting inside me like a knife. That baby… it never even had a chance to grow. It was my fault. So how could I possibly let myself make the same mistake all over again? Catherine, after a moment of surprise, quickly went along with my new story. “That’s right! You two grew up together, you’re closer than real siblings!” The adults launched into nostalgic stories from our childhood, their laughter filling the room. Only Wil was silent, his deep, dark eyes fixed on me. 3 The doctors rushed in to run a full examination. I used the commotion as an excuse to slip away. As I walked out of the hospital’s main entrance, the whole world felt like a dream. I couldn’t tell which was the dream: this second chance, or the twisted love and hate I’d shared with Wil. My head was about to explode when my phone rang. I stared at the caller ID for a long time before answering. Ethan Cole’s voice was urgent. “Nora? Where are you?” “I… Ethan? Why… why are you calling me right now?” Ethan was my desk-mate in high school. He’d also once pretended to be my boyfriend. After I found out about Seraphina, I’d stubbornly told Wil that I was seeing someone too. Wil had frozen for a second, then laughed, ruffling my hair with a little too much force. “Look at you, little girl. All grown up.” His tone was so condescending, as if he were decades older, not just a few years. A couple of days later, he’d insisted on meeting my new boyfriend for dinner. I couldn’t think of anyone else, so I begged Ethan to help. At dinner, Ethan was perfect—attentive, charming, everything a good boyfriend should be. Wil had even remarked, with a self-deprecating smirk, “He’s better at taking care of you than I am.” But after dinner, he’d pulled me aside. “I can see that he likes you,” he’d said, his eyes serious. “But I can’t see that you like him.” His words had left a sour, bitter taste in my mouth. Because he was right. I didn’t like Ethan that way. Not long after, Ethan confessed his feelings for me. I turned him down, but he insisted we stay friends. It wasn’t until after Wil’s memory returned, after he had cast me aside, that Ethan confessed his love for me again. By then, I was pregnant, exhausted, and utterly broken. I had no space in my life for anything else. And then… I died. “Don’t ask so many questions,” Ethan’s voice crackled through the phone, pulling me from my thoughts. “I need to see you. Right now. Tell me where you are.” My brain sputtered. At this point in time, Ethan should have just been rejected by me. He was supposed to be on a business trip out of state. 4 After I hung up, an incredible thought took root in my mind. If I could be reborn, why couldn’t Ethan? After all, only the Ethan from the future called me ‘Nora’ with that kind of warmth. Before, it was always just ‘Hayes’. My suspicion was confirmed moments later. A car screeched to a halt, and Ethan jumped out, running towards me. He pulled me into a fierce, desperate hug. The chaotic mix of joy and terror on his face was something only I could understand. “Sorry, I’m just… I had this horrible dream,” he stammered, his voice muffled in my hair. “You were… there was so much blood…” Trapped in his arms, I slowly lowered my eyes. We were both back. But I didn’t want to relive any of it. “It was just a dream,” I said, forcing a light, easy laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic.” He held me at arm’s length, studying my face for a long moment before his own features relaxed into a smile. The light in his eyes was steady and determined, a stark contrast to the dejected look he’d worn after I rejected him in our first life. “You’re right,” he said. “But that dream made me realize something. I need to be with you, to make sure you’re safe.” He took a deep breath. “Nora, I’m not going to rush you. So please, don’t rush to reject me again, okay?” The heat in his gaze was searing. I instinctively tried to pull away, unsure of what to say. Just then, a familiar, cool voice sliced through the air from behind us. “Not okay.” …It was Wil. Leaning on his assistant, he walked towards us, his eyes locked on me. His expression was a complex tapestry of emotions I couldn’t unravel: unfamiliarity, dependence, a strange tenderness, and… was that hurt? What did he have to be hurt about? “Wil, you—” Ethan started, his shock quickly turning to wariness. But Wil ignored him completely. What he said next left me speechless. “I may have lost my memory for now, but that doesn’t mean it won’t come back.” His gaze softened, and his voice dropped to an almost pleading tone. “I didn’t believe what my mother told me at first. But seeing you with him just now… I believe her.” He took a shaky breath. “Nora, I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry I forgot how much I love you. But until I remember, please… don’t consider anyone else, okay?” 5 I had no idea what kind of madness had possessed Wil. As he and Ethan squared off in a tense standoff, I turned and fled. Two days later, my mom showed up at my apartment. “After you left that day,” she explained, “Catherine told Wil that you’re the girl he’s in love with, that he was in the middle of chasing you when the accident happened. She told him you’re just mad at him because his amnesia is a convenient excuse.” She sighed. “You’ve been ignoring him for two days. That’s long enough. Come with me to the hospital.” …If I weren’t the subject of the lie, I would have applauded Catherine’s storytelling skills. No wonder Wil had acted so bizarrely. But why was he so easily fooled by a different lie this time around? Two days had been enough for me to process this new reality. I didn’t believe Wil ever intended for me to die. It was my own fault for chasing a love that wasn’t meant for me. He simply didn’t love me. I couldn’t change our families’ intertwined history, and I couldn’t change other people. I could only change myself. I tried to use work at my art studio as an excuse. My mom gave me a puzzled look. “When Wil first had his accident, you were worried sick. Now you can’t even be bothered to visit him? Did you two have a fight?” I almost didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Mom, the man doesn’t remember anything. What could we possibly fight about? I’m just really busy, and besides, he’s fine now, isn’t he?” Some truths were destined to be mine alone. My mom knew me better than anyone, but she would never guess that I had been reborn. But while my mom was easy to put off, Ethan was not. Luckily, I had no intention of keeping him in the dark. In our first life, by the time Ethan returned from his business trip, Wil and I were already a couple. He’d been furious, trying to shake some sense into me, telling me to stop deluding myself. But the amnesiac Wil had eyes only for me, and I was already drowning in the fantasy. With our parents’ full support, I was willing to gamble. I just happened to lose. 6 I wasn’t surprised when Ethan showed up at my studio. After a few days of watching this new, unfamiliar timeline unfold, even the densest person would have figured it out. “Nora, you’re… you are, aren’t you?” I met his complicated gaze, poured him a cup of tea, and gave a slight nod. He shot to his feet, his face a mask of shock. His lips trembled as if he had a thousand things to say, but in the end, all he asked was, “Do you… still love him?” Wil? I lowered my eyes, a bitter smile on my lips. “I love my own life.” You only understand what’s most important after you’ve lost it. I couldn’t even save myself, let alone my child. At the thought of the baby, the question I’d been holding back finally escaped. “Did I really… die on that table?” I whispered. “Did Wil… did he ever show up? My parents…” If they knew Wil was the one who sent me to that clinic, the one responsible for my death, the pain would destroy them. Maybe I never should have tried to fight for him after his memory came back. I was too selfish. I squeezed my eyes shut, missing the flash of pale horror on Ethan’s face. “I… I don’t know the details,” he said, his voice strained. “I had this awful feeling that day. By the time I found you, it was already too late. Then, I just… closed my eyes, and I was back.” He stared at me, his tone urgent. “Nora, this time, please, stay away from him! If you do, there won’t be a baby. You’ll just be you. He’s going to get his memory back eventually, his girlfriend will return, and then—” “I know,” I interrupted softly. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. But the memories came flooding back anyway. That day, Wil already looked furious, but I was still lost in fantasies of our wedding. I’d excitedly presented him with a stack of bridal magazines. He swiped them from my hands, sending them scattering across the floor. He told me I made him sick. The next day, he flew across the ocean and brought Seraphina back. I covered my face with my hands, willing the images away. Long after Ethan left, I remained seated, the pot of tea growing cold. And then, Wil arrived.

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Growing up in the sticks, there was one person I envied more than anyone: the daughter of the richest man in the state. It all started when an orange, fallen from one of our town’s trees, happened to soil her impossibly expensive heels. With a single phone call, she had men come and tear down every single orange grove in our town. The very trees that were our lifeblood. But then, one day, the tycoon himself showed up at my door. It turned out I was his real daughter. I packed my bags that night, grabbed my little golden mutt, Buddy, and said my heartfelt goodbyes to all the folks in town. With tears in their eyes, they all waved me off. “Willow, you go live that good life now. Don’t you ever come back to this hardship.” I just shook my head. No way. The Sterling estate wasn’t even as big as one of the hills back home. There was barely enough room for me and Buddy to get a good run in. I was just going to collect what they owed us. And if they wouldn’t give it to me… well, they were about to see me lose my mind. 1 On the drive to his mansion, Richard Sterling, my billionaire father, laid down three rules for me: First, I was not to reveal my true identity to anyone. Second, I was not to drive away Sophia, the girl who had been raised in my place. Third, I was not to compete with Sophia for his affection. So, when I stepped into the grand living room and saw Sophia crying a river of pearlescent tears, I immediately turned, Buddy at my heels, and headed for the garden. “Oh, Sophia, don’t cry. You will always be my only daughter.” Right. That was Eleanor Sterling, my birth mother. “That’s right. You’re my only sister. That girl from the sticks doesn’t even deserve to call me her brother.” I raised an eyebrow. That must be my brilliant older brother, Julian. I couldn’t be bothered to listen to the rest of their little drama. I just took Buddy for a couple of laps around the garden. He panted, his tongue lolling out in what looked like sheer disdain. I had to agree. The Sterling family’s garden was smaller than a single hill back home. No wonder Buddy was unimpressed. Figuring Sophia’s performance had to be wrapping up, I led Buddy back into the living room and plopped myself down on a lone armchair. Buddy settled obediently at my feet. The moment I sat down, Richard Sterling—the same man who had been all smiles and kindness in the car—shot me a look as cold as ice. “Have you already forgotten everything I just told you?” My dear brother Julian glared at me as if I were something filthy that had crawled in from the street. I held up my hand and pointed a finger toward Sophia. “One, I haven’t told a soul who I am. Two, I haven’t tried to kick her out. And three, I haven’t tried to steal her spotlight.” Richard choked, the words catching in his throat. “Sister… do you not like me?” Sophia asked, her face a mask of wounded innocence, her eyes instantly welling up. Eleanor immediately rushed to her side, patting her hand comfortingly before turning her venom on me. Her voice was sharp, dripping with acid. “Willow, now that you’re back in the Sterling household, you need to learn our ways. Don’t bring your crude, country manners in here.” She sniffed disdainfully. “And that dog of yours is filthy. How could you bring it into the living room? I’ll have someone get rid of it tomorrow.” I slowly stroked Buddy’s head, then finally met her gaze. “When he came to get me, he promised I could bring Buddy.” I leaned on the word “he,” my eyes shifting to the silent Richard Sterling. “As for the rules, I’ve followed the three he gave me. And my rule is that people should keep their promises.” Richard’s face flushed with a hint of embarrassment. He cleared his throat. Julian, who had been silent until now, let out a cold snort. “Dad was just trying to be nice. But a family’s image is important.” He looked me up and down. “You need to adapt to high society, not drag the whole village in here with you.” He paused, the contempt in his eyes deepening. “After all, your name is Sterling now.” “My name is Willow,” I corrected him calmly. “As in the tree.” My words hung in the air, freezing the entire room. Sophia’s tears finally spilled over. “Julian, don’t say that to her. It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, sister wouldn’t have suffered so much out there.” Her voice trembled. “Sister, you have every right to blame me. You can hit me, you can scream at me, whatever it takes for you to feel better. It doesn’t matter if you kick me out of this house, I just…” I watched this perfectly orchestrated performance. One played the villain, one the victim, one the mediator, and one the judge, all working in flawless harmony. They were trying to put me in my place, to make me understand my lowly status, to make me grateful for their charity and guilty about Sophia. Too bad they had it all wrong from the very beginning. I wasn’t here for a family reunion. I was here to collect a debt. I reached into my worn canvas tote bag and pulled out a thick stack of papers, neatly bound with a staple, and placed it right in the center of the coffee table. “Now then,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “Let’s talk about the compensation.” For a moment, everyone just stared, utterly speechless. 2 Julian let out a sharp bark of laughter, as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. He snatched the papers off the table. He only got two pages in before the smirk on his face curdled into a mask of rage. “Assessment of damage to orange groves… based on a five-year average yield per acre… projecting total production loss over the next ten years… including labor costs, land maintenance, brand value depreciation… for a total of one hundred thirty-two million, seven hundred and forty thousand dollars?” His voice trembled as he read the final number. He slammed the stack down on the table, sending pages scattering across the floor. “Are you insane? This is extortion!” Eleanor grabbed a few of the scattered sheets, her eyes widening in disbelief before she erupted in a shriek. “You ungrateful brat! We take you into our home, offer you the best of everything, and instead of being thankful, you try to squeeze money out of us? Over a hundred million? Why don’t you just rob a bank!” I ignored their hysterics, my gaze fixed on Sophia. Her performance was, as always, right on cue. Tears streamed down her face like broken pearls. She staggered to her feet, her body swaying as if she might faint, her voice choked with endless grief and self-blame. “Sister… I know it’s all my fault. I was thoughtless, I ruined the town’s groves…” Her voice was a pathetic whisper. “But I didn’t mean to…” “Blame me, please, just blame me. You can hit me, you can yell at me, anything… why would you use money to hurt Mom and Dad’s feelings? We’re a family…” She took a step toward me, making as if she was about to drop to her knees. “I’ll apologize, I’ll beg for your forgiveness, please, just don’t do this…” Julian and Eleanor lunged forward to catch her. The three of them clung to each other, a united front glaring at me as if I were the wicked villain tearing their happy family apart. “Willow! Look what you’ve done to Sophia!” Richard Sterling finally roared, slamming his fist on the table. He pointed a trembling finger at my face, his own contorted with disappointment and rage. “This family owes you nothing! Taking you in was a kindness, not an obligation! If you’re going to keep making trouble, then you can get the hell out!” I waited until their storm of outrage had passed. Then, I began to speak. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the tension, clear and sharp. “First, this isn’t extortion. It’s restitution.” “What Sophia destroyed was the livelihood of over a hundred families for the next decade. That data,” I said, nodding toward the scattered papers, “was compiled from the logbooks my grandfather kept for decades. Every harvest from every single tree is accounted for.” I paused, letting my gaze sweep over each of their faces. “Second, as I’ve already told you, my name is Willow. I didn’t come back to find a family, and I certainly didn’t come back to be anyone’s ‘sister’.” I rose to my feet, looking down on this ridiculous, self-pitying quartet. I spoke each word with deliberate, chilling calm. “I’m here to collect a debt. And debts must be paid.” “As for your family’s affection?” I let a small, cold smile touch my lips. “It’s worthless. And I’m not interested.” 3 In the end, Richard Sterling took my hundred-and-thirty-two-million-dollar compensation claim. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no. Instead, he studied me for a long time with a new, complex expression in his eyes before making a decision: he was sending me to school. The same school as Sophia: the prestigious Blackwood Preparatory Academy. Eleanor was thrilled with the idea. The look she gave me was filled with malicious glee. “Good. Maybe you’ll finally learn some manners. Stop acting so uncultured and embarrassing the Sterling name.” Julian added with a sneer, “Sophia’s friends are all from the best families. It will be a real eye-opener for you. Maybe you’ll stop being so obsessed with your pathetic orange money and see the bigger picture.” I knew exactly what they were doing. They were throwing me into an environment where pedigree and wealth were everything, a world where I didn’t belong. They wanted me to feel small, to see the vast, unbridgeable chasm between myself and Sophia. They hoped I would be so intimidated that I’d give up my “extortion” attempt and become their obedient little puppet. It was a decent plan. Too bad it wouldn’t work on me. On my first day at Blackwood Prep, I became an instant celebrity. Not because I was the long-lost Sterling heir, but because I showed up in a pair of faded canvas sneakers, carrying a worn tote bag, with a wagging, golden-haired mutt trailing behind me. Buddy, of course, couldn’t come inside. I had him wait by the security booth at the main gate. The guard was a nice guy; he even gave him a bowl of water. Sophia’s friends were buzzing around like flies, led by a girl named Tiffany. They would “accidentally” spill milk on my homework. They would loudly mock my “thrift-store” clothes behind my back. They even started stuffing trash into my desk. Through it all, Sophia maintained her facade of sweet innocence, occasionally offering a fake, half-hearted defense. “Tiffany, please don’t be so mean to my sister. She’s just not used to things here.” This, of course, only made Tiffany and her friends worse, claiming they were just “standing up” for poor, victimized Sophia. I couldn’t be bothered to engage. Arguing with a pack of spoiled, overgrown toddlers was a waste of time. I wasn’t here to make friends or fit in. I was just waiting for my payment of one hundred thirty-two million, seven hundred and forty thousand dollars to clear. Soon, the school announced a mandatory placement exam for all students. This became the new source of amusement for Tiffany’s crew. They spread rumors that the “illiterate girl from the sticks” probably didn’t even know how to fill in a bubble sheet. They crowed that I was destined to rank dead last, bringing shame to Sophia’s class. On the day of the exam, I finished all the sections with half an hour to spare. I then put my head down on the desk and slept until the final bell rang. This only solidified my image as a hopeless case in their eyes. Even Sophia shot me a look tinged with what looked like pity. The day the results were posted, the bulletin board was mobbed. The crowd was three deep, a chaotic buzz of voices. I had no interest in joining the spectacle and was about to take a detour when a sudden, collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a dead, stunned silence. Then, as one, every head turned. Every pair of eyes locked onto me like a row of searchlights. Confused, I felt someone grab my arm and pull me toward the front. The crowd parted for me like the Red Sea. I looked up at the red paper posted at the very top of the board, reserved for the top scores. At the number one spot, two words were printed in stark black ink: Willow Reed. 4 Beneath my name was a string of figures: English Lit 145, Calculus 150, Chemistry 148, Physics 305. Total: 748. It was a commanding, almost terrifying score. The student in second place, the perennial top student of the year, had a total of 695. As for Sophia, I scanned down the list and found her name in seventh place, with a score of 681. The hallway was utterly silent. Tiffany’s mouth hung open, her expression one of someone who had just seen a ghost. Further down the hall, Sophia stood frozen, her face ashen, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. That night, the atmosphere at the Sterling dinner table was heavier than ever before. Richard, Eleanor, and Julian all held copies of my report card, staring at them as if trying to decipher some ancient, impossible text. For the first time, they didn’t dare treat me like some simple girl from the country they could easily manipulate. After the exam results, a tense quiet fell over the Sterling household. At dinner, Eleanor no longer made her usual sarcastic remarks, and Julian stopped trying to belittle me with his theories on high-society etiquette. They ate in silence, watching me with a new, probing curiosity, their gazes tinged with suspicion and even a hint of alarm. This quiet was more unsettling than their previous hostility. I knew it was just the calm before the storm. Having failed in their first attempt to break me, they would simply find a new, more insidious way. Especially Sophia. The way she looked at me had changed completely. Gone was the cat-and-mouse amusement and condescending pity. In its place was a cold, simmering hatred, a toxic brew of jealousy and malice. She still tried to play the part of the gentle, harmless victim whenever I was around, but her acting had grown sloppy. Sometimes, the raw hatred would leak out from behind her eyes, sharp and cold as a poisoned needle. She didn’t have to wait long for what she thought was her next opportunity. 5 The school was holding its annual Chemistry Competition. The winners not only got a significant boost for their college applications but also a prestigious line item on their resumes, coveted by Ivy League schools. As a consistent top student, Sophia was determined to win. The competition required teams of two. To everyone’s surprise, Sophia publicly invited me to be her partner. She stood before my desk, her smile as warm and gentle as ever. “Sister, let’s team up. Your theoretical knowledge is incredible, and I’m better with the practical experiments. Together, we’ll definitely take first place.” I put down my pen and looked up at her. Then, I nodded calmly. “Okay.” I knew it was a trap. But I also knew you can’t spend your whole life watching for thieves. Better to let them make their move. I had come to the Sterling house to collect a debt, after all. A flicker of triumph flashed in Sophia’s eyes, so fast it was almost invisible. From that day on, a little gadget I’d ordered online came in handy—a miniature recording device, perfectly disguised as an ordinary fountain pen. During the preparation phase, everything seemed normal. The afternoon before the competition, we were in the lab running our final data simulations. Halfway through, Sophia suddenly complained of feeling unwell and said she needed to go to the nurse’s office. She asked Tiffany to stay behind and “help” me. I nodded and went back to the reagents I was measuring. After Sophia left, Tiffany sidled up to me. “Hey, Willow, doesn’t the calibration on that beaker look a little off? Let me check it for you.” As she leaned over, pretending to inspect the equipment and drawing my attention, I heard the faintest sound behind me—the whisper of a zipper, and then the tiny, distinct click of a memory card being ejected from the data logger. I didn’t turn around. By the time I looked back, Tiffany was standing where she had been before, though her face was a little pale. And the card slot on the data logger I had left on the lab bench was empty. “Where’s my data card?” I asked. 6 Tiffany’s eyes darted around nervously. “I… I don’t know. Wasn’t it just there a second ago?” Right on cue, Sophia returned, her face a mask of concern. “What’s wrong?” I looked at her. She met my gaze, her eyes wide with pure, unblemished innocence. “My experiment data card is missing.” “What? How could that be?” Sophia exclaimed, feigning shock. Then, as if a thought had just struck her, she whirled on Tiffany. “Tiffany, was it you? Were you jealous that sister and I were working together, so you hid it?” Tiffany, stunned by the accusation, burst into tears. “Sophia, how could you say that! I didn’t do it! I was with her the whole time, I didn’t touch anything!” Soon, the supervising teacher arrived, drawn by the commotion. Sophia explained the situation through her tears, every word seemingly defending me, yet subtly implying that, as someone from the country, I probably didn’t understand the importance of the competition and might have carelessly lost the card myself. I remained silent through the entire spectacle, watching their pathetic little show. The outcome was predictable. With the key data missing, our team was disqualified. Sophia, for her “graciousness under pressure” and “willingness to protect her sister,” earned the sympathy of everyone involved. And I became the “idiot sister,” the clumsy liability who couldn’t even keep track of her own work and had dragged down the brilliant Sophia. That night, I went back to my room and locked the door. I took the “fountain pen” from my pocket and pressed the playback button. After a brief crackle of static, the hushed voices of two girls filled the room. Tiffany: “Sophia, are we really doing this? What if we get caught?” Sophia: “What is there to be afraid of? She’s a country bumpkin. No one will believe her. I’m going to teach her that Blackwood Prep is no place for people like her. First place was supposed to be mine! Just do what I said, get her data card, and leave the rest to me.” Tiffany: “So… what happens to the card after I take it?” Sophia: “I’ll hide it for now. When the teacher shows up, I’ll suggest she lost it herself and then tried to blame you. By the end of it, everyone will think she’s not just stupid, but a liar too. I’m going to ruin her reputation.” … I turned off the recording and carefully put the pen away. I didn’t expose them on the spot. I knew that a minor chemistry competition was nowhere near a fitting price for what Sophia had done. I was here for a full reckoning, with interest. And this recording was excellent collateral, to be cashed in when it would yield the highest possible return. 7 The fallout from the chemistry competition at the Sterling mansion was both smaller and larger than I had anticipated. Smaller, because in their eyes, it was perfectly normal for the “wild girl from the country” to screw something important up. Eleanor’s gaze reverted to one of pure contempt, now mixed with a smug “I told you so” satisfaction. Julian simply treated me as if I were invisible, not even bothering to waste a glance on me. Larger, because the incident cemented Sophia’s image as the “perfect victim.” Not only did she not blame me, but she went out of her way to make excuses for me, her magnanimity earning even more praise from Richard Sterling. This situation actually worked in my favor. A hunter has the easiest time when the prey feels completely safe. A new opportunity presented itself soon enough. At dinner one evening, Richard, who usually ate in silence, made a rare announcement. The Sterling Group was preparing a bid for a massive, government-backed environmental project. It was a cornerstone of the company’s ten-year strategic plan, and its importance could not be overstated. After laying out the context, his gaze swept over both me and Sophia before finally settling on her, his eyes filled with undisguised pride and expectation. “To be fair, and to give you young people a chance,” he began, clearing his throat in a pompous tone, “I’ve decided to let both Sophia and Willow prepare a proposal for this project.” “Whichever proposal is more creative and feasible will earn its creator a leading role on the project team.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Eleanor laughed, her tone dripping with condescension. “Is there even a competition? Our Sophia has been learning the business at her father’s side since she was a little girl. How could some people possibly compare?” Julian put down his fork and frowned at his father. “Dad, this project is too important to be treated like a game. Don’t let unprofessional people waste everyone’s time.” They were a perfect tag team, writing me off completely. Sophia, ever the humble one, quickly waved her hands. “Mom, Julian, don’t say that. Sister’s grades are so good, her theoretical knowledge is definitely stronger than mine. I’m grateful Dad is giving us this chance, and I’ll work my hardest. I hope sister will bring her best effort too, so we can have a fair competition.” Her words were flawless, showcasing her own generosity while simultaneously painting me as someone who was only good on paper. I ignored their family drama and simply said one word to Richard: “Okay.” To them, my calm acceptance must have looked like the height of foolish arrogance. For the next few days, I locked myself in my room. I didn’t research complex business cases or study financial models. I just took out a blank sheet of paper. My mind filled with images of the ruined orange groves back home, of the old village chief’s calloused hands, of the decades of harvest notes he had kept. My proposal was fundamentally different from anything Sophia could conceive. She was thinking about how to please her father, how to package a slick and impressive-looking business plan. I was thinking about how to bring a piece of land back to life. I combined the old chief’s wisdom with modern ecological farming principles I’d studied, creating a blueprint for an “agricultural eco-cycle system” based on my hometown’s environment. The system wouldn’t just solve the project’s environmental requirements; it would create far more economic value than anticipated and revitalize an entire region. It was a love letter to the orange groves, and it was the most important debt I planned to collect. Knowing the value of what I was creating, I was extremely careful. My computer was protected with a complex password, and the file itself was encrypted. But I had still underestimated Sophia’s greed and shamelessness.

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Two days before the wedding, my best friend told me to test my fiancé. She didn’t believe a notorious playboy like Asher Blackwood, the heir to a fortune, could ever truly change his ways. Her instincts were usually spot on, so that night, I created a fake social media account and, playing the part of a sweet, flirty girl, I slid into his DMs. Asher absolutely shredded me. He shut me down so hard I was left somewhere between laughing and crying at my own foolishness. But then, just as I was about to log off, his tone shifted. A new message appeared. [Alright, I’m done playing this little game with you.] [I don’t mess around with other women. Just you two.] [Clem, next time you want to sext me, just use your real account.] Clem. That’s my best friend’s nickname. 1 After my brain processed those three short messages, the blood in my veins turned to ice. I squeezed my eyes shut, pinching myself hard, trying to wake up. But the frantic, hammering beat of my own heart confirmed it: this was no nightmare. Asher was cheating on me with Cici. But… how? I thought they couldn’t stand each other. Cici always said Asher was nothing but a rich brat who wasn’t good enough for me. And Asher always called Cici a pest, complaining that she’d tell me to dump him every time we had a fight. The shrill ring of a video call jolted me back to the present. It was him. Numbly, I declined the call. A text immediately followed. [Why aren’t you answering?] [Don’t tell me you’re crying.] [Come to The Crest. I’ll make you feel better.] [Don’t worry. Even after I’m married, I’ll still be good to you.] [Anything Lila has, you’ll have too.] [Including me.] 2 I stared at the phone screen, a roaring in my ears that felt like my soul being ripped from my body. Fat, hot tears began to fall, splattering onto the screen. Through the blur, my mind flashed back to the first time I brought Cici to this villa, to all the little details that had seemed so innocent then. Without me saying a word, she knew exactly where my bedroom was, where the walk-in closet was. When I’d playfully snatched her phone, I saw it was already connected to the Wi-Fi. She’d laughed it off, saying she’d guessed my password by chance. Asher’s Oriental Shorthair cat, a creature that was usually aloof even with me, had been inexplicably warm toward her. She’d said it was probably because she smelled like me. But that cat barely let me near it, no matter how many toys or treats I offered. Yet for Cici, a total stranger, it had rolled onto its back, exposing its belly in a sign of complete trust. And then there were all the things in Cici’s apartment—the clothes, the bags, the lipsticks, the makeup—all identical to mine. Some of it, Asher had given her through me, a “bribe” he said, to get on his “toughest critic’s” good side. The rest, Cici had claimed, were gifts from admirers. When I’d excitedly tried to get the gossip out of her, she’d been evasive. I thought she was just being shy. Turns out, she was hiding a guilty conscience. I even remembered the times we’d all gone shopping together, the way the two of them would bicker and snipe at each other, playfully competing for my attention. A few times, their mock-anger had broken, and they’d burst into laughter. And I, like an idiot, had been so happy that they were finally starting to get along. All this time, they’d been using me. Using our friendship as a cover for their affair, playing me for a complete and utter fool. 3 I cried until my eyes were swollen and my head throbbed. Then, I grabbed my car keys and floored it all the way to The Crest. It was another one of Asher’s properties, the place where he’d put up his groomsmen for the wedding. They were having a bachelor party tonight. Asher was there. And so, I saw with a fresh wave of sickness, was Cici. Through the wrought iron fence, I saw them by the pool. Asher looked drunk, his sharp, handsome face flushed from the alcohol. His eyes were hazy as he draped an arm around Cici’s neck, whispering something in her ear. Cici pouted, then gave him a playful, bratty shove, sending him tumbling into the pool. The groomsmen around them hooted and cheered. Asher’s head broke the surface. He slicked his wet hair back, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He grabbed Cici’s ankle and pulled her in with him. As she shrieked, he caught her, lifted her up, and pinned her against the wall of the pool in a bruising, possessive kiss. The crowd erupted. Someone popped a bottle of champagne. Someone else set off a party popper. And then, I heard my own name, dropped like a joke. “Whoa, Ash, you’re marrying Lila in two days. Making out with her best friend might be a bad look, man.” “Haha, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her! Asher could sleep with Clem right here, right now, and Lila would never have a clue.” “There’s the Asher we know and love! I was starting to worry. All that time you spent chasing Lila, acting like you couldn’t live without her… was that all just an act? I really thought you’d gone soft, pulling that whole ‘reformed playboy’ crap from the movies!” Asher finally broke the kiss. His voice was a low, magnetic rasp, laced with his signature lazy arrogance. “I do love Lila. She’s the only woman I’ll ever marry. I’ll spoil her, I’ll cherish her, I’ll grow old with her. But… giving up all other women for her, at my age…” Asher laughed, then planted a loud, wet kiss on Cici’s neck as she gasped for air, clinging to his shoulders. “I just can’t do it.” He lifted Cici out of the pool and set her down on a lounge chair. Someone rushed over with a towel, but Asher took it and draped it over Cici instead. “Ash, you heading back to Lila’s tonight?” one of the guys asked. Cici looked up at him, her eyes glistening. Asher knelt, pinching her cheek affectionately. “Lila loves Clem more than anyone. I’m a distant second. And right now, Clem is upset. So obviously, I have to stay and comfort her.” He waved a hand at someone behind him. “Ethan, send your sister-in-law a text. Tell her I’m wasted and sleeping here tonight. I’ll pick her up for the rehearsal tomorrow.” Just as a fresh wave of tears blinded me, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Ethan: [Hey Lila, Asher’s had way too much to drink. He’s crashing here tonight. Get some sleep, he’ll come get you for the rehearsal tomorrow morning.] 4 I stood there for a long time, my mind a chaotic whirl of memories. My parents died when I was young, and I was sent to live with my uncle. My cousin bullied me constantly, and my aunt always turned a blind eye. The fights I was too scared to pick, Cici picked for me. The complaints I was too afraid to make, Cici made for me. In school, I was the academic one. I split every scholarship I ever won with her. She was an only child, and not much of a student. The last year of high school, I practically dragged her through it, breaking down every concept, feeding her the knowledge, promising her a future. We both got into the same university. In our second year, I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me. The second Cici heard, she stormed over to their hotel, beat the crap out of him, and tore into the other girl. After graduation, we shared a tiny studio apartment, lost and unsure about the future. We’d huddle under one blanket at night, making pacts that whoever got rich first would take care of the other. “If you make it big, you’re taking me with you.” “First we share a bed, then we share a mansion.” We had been inseparable since we were kids. I thought of her as my family. Maybe blood family wouldn’t love me unconditionally, but I believed, with all my heart, that she would. And now, faced with her betrayal, I didn’t even have the strength to confront her. The same person who once fought my battles for me was now the other woman. My complete, unwavering trust had been met with the most brutal betrayal imaginable. As I walked away from The Crest, the moon hung high and cold in the sky, chilling me to the bone. My thoughts drifted to Asher. At twenty-five, I had become the lead designer at the top wedding planning firm in the city. I met him while setting up the decor for Ethan’s wedding. I’d pulled an all-nighter, and my blood sugar crashed. I fainted and fell into a decorative fountain. Asher was the one who pulled me out. The image of him, holding me in his arms, water dripping from his brow as he looked down at me with those intense eyes, was seared into my memory. My heart had skipped a beat. I found out about his powerful family, his reputation as a womanizer, and I tried to keep my distance. But Asher cleaned up his act. For a whole year, he pursued me. His pursuit was respectful, patient, and deeply romantic. That New Year’s Eve, I went back to my hometown to visit my parents’ graves. My phone died. For three hours, I was unreachable. Terrified that I’d collapsed from low blood sugar somewhere in the countryside, he drove hundreds of miles to find me. I found him standing on a dirt path between fields, shivering in a thin jacket, his neck craned, tears streaming down his face as he screamed my name into the empty air. In that moment, I thought: Mom, Dad, this is him. He’s the one. For three years, his love never seemed to fade. He would get down on one knee in a crowded mall to help me try on shoes. He would find herbal remedies for my cramps and brew them himself, watching the pot for hours. Before introducing me to his parents, he prepped them for weeks to ensure I wouldn’t face a single doubt or ounce of disrespect. He took me into his world of galas and high society, proudly introducing me to everyone. “This is my fiancée, Lila Reed, the lead designer at ArtGrn. You can call her Ms. Reed.” “She’s brilliant. She’s won countless design awards. That royal wedding last year? That was her. She’s booked solid for years.” “Actually, her bookings start the year after next, because next year is for our wedding. It’s going to be massive. You’ll all get an invitation!” His love was so passionate, so perfect. Which made this one flaw so monstrous, so fatal. I checked into a hotel and cried my heart out. I told myself over and over, So you were betrayed. So you were cheated on. The wedding hasn’t happened. The license isn’t signed. There’s still time. I could just run away. Get as far away from this place, from these demons, as possible. But… I wasn’t the one who did something wrong. Why should I be the one to retreat in shame? I was going to get my revenge. The problem wasn’t my sincerity or my kindness. It was my blind trust. I had done nothing wrong. I was a good person. 5 The next day, for the rehearsal, I returned to the villa early. When Asher came to pick me up, I had already composed myself. But he still noticed my swollen eyes. “Were you crying last night?” he asked, his voice soft. He leaned down and gently kissed my eyelid. Bile rose in my throat. “I was just missing my parents,” I lied. He smiled and knelt to help me with my shoes. “They’re in a better place now, smiling down on us.” I stared at the crown of his head, a question burning on my tongue. If you couldn’t be faithful, why did you ask me to marry you? Don’t you know I can’t tolerate betrayal? When you were with Cici behind my back, did it never once occur to you how much it would destroy me if I ever found out? In the end, I clamped my jaw shut and swallowed the words. Asher had been boasting to the world that he was going to give me the grandest wedding imaginable. I was going to personally turn that grand wedding into a grotesque comedy. And Asher would be the clown, standing alone in the spotlight. The rehearsal finished in the afternoon. As we were leaving, I told Asher and Cici to wait for me in the car. I needed to speak with my assistant. As the designer of this multi-million-dollar event, she was also the lead coordinator. After our conversation, she looked troubled, opening her mouth to speak but then thinking better of it. I pretended not to notice. I knew my requests were outrageous. A last-minute change of this magnitude would throw everything into chaos. But I’d handled hundreds of weddings. I’d dealt with brides far more demanding and difficult than this. Now that it was my turn to be the bride, why couldn’t I be a little selfish?

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The last box was in. I’d just finished helping my sister, Hannah, move into her dorm when I collapsed onto her bed, scrolling through my phone. A trending post on the campus forum caught my eye: [Help! I’m falling for my roommate’s boyfriend.] The original poster was vowing to make a move on him. Wow, kids these days are bold, I thought with a smirk. Just as I was thinking that, I looked up. And there she was. Hannah’s beautiful roommate, Ava. She knelt, her voice a soft melody. “Thank you so much for all your hard work today.” “You look exhausted. I have some muscle relief patches. Should I get a couple for you?” 1 [Help! I’m falling for my roommate’s boyfriend.] [It’s move-in day. My roommate showed up with her boyfriend, and it turns out he’s the guy I had a massive crush on in high school. I was heartbroken when I heard he’d gone to study abroad. Now he’s my roommate’s boyfriend? She’s not as pretty or as thin as me. How did she land someone so handsome and kind? I just feel like she doesn’t deserve him at all.] I raised an eyebrow. Was this for real? I kept scrolling. The comments were flooding in—some flaming her, others fanning the flames. [“Not as pretty or as thin as me.” Classic. OP, your confidence is blinding.] [OP replied: Aesthetics are subjective. I just think I’d look better standing next to him.] I couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. Where did this girl get her nerve? Probably just another case of unwarranted self-confidence. [If you like him, go for it. All’s fair in love and war.] [OP replied: Mmm… I don’t want to ruin their relationship, but I really, truly believe I could treat him better.] My lips twitched. The sheer audacity was almost impressive. A masterclass in passive-aggressive maneuvering. [Go for it. Win him over, kick your roommate to the curb. You’d be a way better girlfriend, right?] [OP replied: You’re right. I’m going to talk to him right now. But just to be clear, he was my high school crush, not yours. You might want to watch your tone.] This poster was something else. I was completely hooked, utterly fascinated by the unfolding drama. The comment section was a goldmine of absurdity. As I was laughing, I looked up and froze. Someone was standing by the bed. It was my sister’s gorgeous roommate. Ava, I think her name was. I cleared my throat and sat up, smoothing my voice. “Hey, what’s up?” A small smile played on her lips, her beautiful eyes crinkling at the corners as she crouched down to my level. “Thank you so much for all your hard work today,” she said softly. “You look exhausted. I have some muscle relief patches. Should I get a couple for you?” Her voice was so sweet, so different from the way Hannah usually shrieked my name like a banshee. This girl was a breath of fresh air. I found myself acting a bit more reserved. “Oh, no, it’s fine. But thank you.” Ava’s expression faltered for a second, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. Then she smiled again, though it seemed a little forced. “Your hands are all red and scraped up. If you don’t treat them, they’ll hurt more tomorrow.” She placed the patches on the nightstand. “Well, I’ll leave them here. Just use them if you need to.” With that, she walked back to her own desk. I watched her go, a strange sense of melancholy hanging around her. Nah, I’m probably just imagining things, I thought, shaking my head. Time to get back to the post. I flopped back onto the bed and saw the OP had updated. [Update: I just went over and talked to him. He seemed a little cold and didn’t accept my offer of help. I guess he doesn’t remember me…] So, the first attempt was a failure. [Don’t give up, OP! To be the other woman, you gotta have thick skin. I support you!] [OP replied: You’re right, thank you. I shouldn’t let one little setback get me down. I’ll keep trying!] 2 When it was time for dinner, I offered to take Hannah and her roommates out. I was determined to be the best big brother ever and help her get along with her new friends. I picked a nice restaurant near campus and told them to order whatever they wanted. Hannah, never one for subtlety, proceeded to order half the menu. While we waited for the food, I pulled up the post again. Another update. My interest piqued, I started reading. [I’m so mad for him. My roommate is basically using his money for everything. I just don’t get what’s so great about her. If he wanted a gold digger, I’m way more qualified.] The comments exploded again. [Honey, if she can get him to pay for everything, that’s her skill.] [OP replied: I don’t think I’m any worse than she is. Anything she can do, I can do better.] A small laugh escaped me. Now this was the kind of drama I lived for. Let the games begin. [Am I the only one worried about the roommate?? What if they’re actually in love? This is a savage move, OP…] [OP replied: You sympathize with her weakness. I sympathize with his exhaustion. We are not on the same level. You clearly don’t understand true love, but I don’t have time to explain it to you.] [Disclaimer: This post is for sharing and discussion only. Anyone who tries to sabotage my future relationship with him is not welcome. I will delete your comment on sight.] Sure enough, a few seconds later, that critical comment vanished. I was so absorbed I was shaking with suppressed laughter, my throat suddenly parched. I reached for my glass of water, but my hand slipped, knocking it over. Water spilled across the table, rushing toward the edge. Just before it could drench my pants, a hand shot out, quickly sopping up the mess with a stack of napkins. I let out a breath of relief and turned to thank my savior. It was Ava again. “Thanks,” I said with a smile. The more I saw of this girl, the more I liked her. She nodded, her voice as smooth and pleasant as ever. “No problem. Watch your pants.” 3 The food arrived, and I put my phone away. I ate a few bites and then stopped, wanting to make sure the girls had enough. Hannah, however, was stuffing her face while simultaneously piling my plate with all the things I hated. “This is so good, you have to try it! Eat up!” “…” I bit back a retort, deciding to give her a pass. Getting into a brawl with my sister on her first day with new roommates probably wasn’t the best look. The girls were hitting it off, chatting away. I couldn’t really jump in, so I went back to my phone. And what do you know, the OP had updated again. [Major progress! He accidentally spilled his water during dinner, and it almost got on his pants. Luckily, I was quick enough to clean it all up with a napkin. He even smiled at me when he saw it was me!] I raised an eyebrow. What a coincidence. [He’s treating all of us to dinner… and my roommate is just burying her head in her food, not paying any attention to him at all. He does so much for her. I feel so bad for him.] The rest were just comments from other users. The OP hadn’t posted anything else. I sighed, a little disappointed. As I was about to close the app, my thumb slipped and I accidentally opened the OP’s profile page. Hmm? The background photo looked familiar. It was a picture of the tree-lined path in front of my old high school. So we were alumni. Interesting. I was about to look for more clues when a sharp pain shot through my wrist. Probably from hauling all those boxes this afternoon. I suddenly remembered the muscle patches Ava had given me, which I’d shoved into my pocket. I fished them out and stuck one on. Just then, my phone screen lit up. [New update on a post you’re following: ‘[HOT] Help! I’m falling for my roommate’s boyfriend.’] I tapped it open. [I’m so happy! He put on the muscle patch I gave him! So amazing… His girlfriend is the worst, making him do all that heavy lifting. If I had a boyfriend as amazing as him, I’d never let him lift a finger.] 4 I froze. This was too much of a coincidence. Holding my breath, I kept my eyes glued to the screen, but I snuck a glance at Ava across the table. She didn’t have a privacy screen on her phone. I could just make out what looked like a forum page. Could it be…? My suspicion growing, I glanced at her a few more times, then casually typed out a comment. At the same instant, Ava’s phone screen lit up. She looked down, a slight frown on her face, and then her fingers started flying across the screen. When she stopped, I refreshed the post. Sure enough, there was a new reply. [I don’t believe you. You’re just jealous of your roommate.] [OP replied: You can’t talk about the ocean with a frog in a well. You’ve probably never experienced real love, so you can only interpret it as jealousy. It’s okay, I don’t blame you.] A slow grin spread across my face. The spilled water, the muscle patch, the same high school, the synchronized timing. There was no doubt about it. The original poster was Ava. 5 So, Ava thought I was my sister’s boyfriend. Now that was hilarious. I put down my phone and propped my chin on my hand, studying her. She must have sensed my gaze because she looked up, her eyes meeting mine. A flash of panic crossed her face, and she instinctively flipped her phone screen-down on the table. A dead giveaway. I immediately looked away, pretending I hadn’t noticed anything, my fingers drumming a light rhythm on the table. A smile I couldn’t suppress tugged at my lips. If she really wanted to steal me away… Well, that could be interesting. 6 I went back to scrolling through the post. [OP, if your credentials are as good as you say, just go for it! Shower him with attention, find every little opening. There’s no way he won’t fall for you.] [OP replied: Mmm, I think so too. But the problem is, I don’t have his number yet…] His number? That was easy. Using the excuse that it would be easier to get in touch with Hannah in the future, I had them all scan a QR code to create a group chat. A few moments later, a friend request from Ava popped up. I didn’t accept it right away. I waited until after dinner, after I was back in my own apartment. Then, I leisurely accepted her request. A message from her came through almost instantly. [Hi, it’s Ava.] [Hey.] I typed back. I thought for a moment, then decided to add a little fuel to the fire. [It was fun tonight. And thanks in advance for looking after Hannah in the dorm~] No immediate reply this time. The “Ava is typing…” indicator at the top of the screen blinked on and off, on and off. I crossed my legs, relaxed, and poured myself a glass of red wine. A full minute passed before her reply came. [I will. It’s what I should do.] Her tone was perfectly sweet and obedient. Not a single thing to fault. Such a master of the sweet-girl act. I checked her post. Another update. [I got his number! So happy! But he seems to really love his girlfriend… he was even asking me to take care of her. Do I even have a chance?] The comments were a mix of people telling her to give up and others cheering her on. I was getting into it when my phone buzzed with an incoming voice call. It was Ava. That bold? A smirk played on my lips as I answered. “Hello?” I pressed the phone to my ear, waiting for her to speak first. All I heard was her slightly ragged breathing against a faint whisper of wind, as if she were on a balcony or outside. After a moment of silence, her voice came through, softer than it was in person, laced with a delicate, almost imperceptible caution. “Stuart?” “I’m so sorry… I-I think I hit the call button by accident.” “You’re not asleep, are you? I didn’t wake you, did I?” An idea, a wicked little idea, sparked in my mind. “No,” I said coolly. “But if that’s all… I’m going to hang up.” “Wait!” 7 I arched an eyebrow. “Is there something else?” “I heard… I heard you go to Stanford. I was hoping to apply there, and I was wondering… if you could give me some advice?” I smiled to myself and agreed. Then I dangled the bait. “Sure. Just hit me up whenever.” “What about tomorrow afternoon? Would that work?” Her voice on the other end was tight with a nervous energy. I paused for effect before answering. “Tomorrow at two. I’ll text you the address.” “Thank you, thank you so much!” Ava’s voice was practically bubbling with excitement. Her joy was so infectious I felt my own lips curve into a smile. “So… should I bring Hannah along?” she asked, her voice dropping a little, testing the waters. “Do you want to bring her?” I countered. “Well, I…” I cut her off before she could finish. “She doesn’t know much about this stuff anyway. It’ll just be the two of us.” “Ah. Oh.” She sounded taken aback, managing only a stunned little reply. “Okay. If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.” “…Okay. Goodnight, Stuart.” I hummed in response and ended the call. A moment later, I got the notification. A new update on the post. [So excited!! I have a private meeting with him tomorrow! PRIVATE! Without my annoying roommate. He’s such a good person—smart, handsome, and kind. I really don’t know what he sees in her…] The comments poured in. [How good can he be? It’s probably just love goggles.] [OP replied: He is amazing. He’s brilliant, handsome, and incredibly smart. If you met him, you’d be stunned too. He was the light of my gloomy high school years. But thank you for implying we’re lovers.] [Seize the opportunity! Use your feminine charms!] [OP replied: Isn’t that a bit much? But… I’ll consider it. Thanks for the tip.] 8 I had the admissions materials ready and was waiting for Ava to arrive. The doorbell rang at two o’clock sharp, not a second early or late. I opened the door and smiled at her. “Come on in.” “Sorry to bother you,” Ava murmured as she slipped past me. A faint, fruity-floral scent wafted into the air. Taking a closer look, I realized she’d made an effort. She was wearing light makeup, and her hair had been carefully curled. I chuckled inwardly and pulled a pair of slippers from the shoe cabinet. “These are Hannah’s. Hope you don’t mind.” Ava’s expression froze for a split second before she recovered, her face resuming its sweet, well-behaved look. “Not at all. Thank you.” Once inside, she sat primly on the sofa and asked a few very proper questions about the application process, which I answered one by one. “Wow, you know so much,” she said, her gaze fixed on me, the admiration in her eyes so blatant it was almost searing. I felt a flicker of heat and looked away. “Any other questions?” She turned her laptop screen toward me, then stood up, walked around the coffee table, and sat on the sofa right next to me. “I don’t quite get this part. Could you take a look?” Her tone was sincere, as if she were genuinely confused. But her body leaned in slightly, her warm breath ghosting against my neck. So that was her game. I explained the section to her, subtly closing the distance between us even more. “Got it now?” I asked, deliberately turning my head. My lips almost brushed her cheek. Ava froze, her gaze dropping from my eyes down to my lips. I saw a flash of delight in her eyes. I smirked, then stood up. “Want some water? Or something else to drink?” She snapped back to reality, the tips of her ears turning a bright red. “Water… water is fine. Thank you.” 9 The sky darkened outside. The afternoon had slipped away without us noticing. “Have I taken up too much of your time?” Ava asked, looking apologetic. I glanced at her. Her words said one thing, but her body language screamed that she had no intention of leaving. I suddenly remembered what she’d said on the phone last night. “How did you know I went to Stanford?” I had assumed she’d heard it from Hannah. “You probably don’t remember me,” Ava said with a small, pretty smile, “but I was your junior in high school.” She admitted it that easily? I gave her a surprised look. “I was a freshman when you were a senior,” she continued, pausing for a moment. “I was the one they sent to give you flowers after your speech.” I frowned, trying to recall. The memory was vague. “When was this?” “At the graduation ceremony, for the valedictorian speech.” I wracked my brain and a faint image surfaced. “And at your English speech competition your senior year,” she added, looking at me. “I was in the front row.” Her voice was soft. “You were shining so brightly back then… like a star, totally out of reach.” I was momentarily stunned, caught in her gaze. Her bright, clear eyes seemed to hold a galaxy of starlight. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, at a loss for words. The calm, still lake of my heart suddenly felt a ripple spreading across its surface. 10 That night, the post was updated again. [I went to his apartment today! And I told him I was his junior from high school. He didn’t seem to remember, but that’s okay. We’re one step closer. Defeating my roommate is just a matter of time!] I laughed out loud. Ava really was a master of deception. In front of me, she was the sweet, innocent girl. Behind my back, she was the conniving home-wrecker. After that day, Ava messaged me almost every day. Sometimes it was to ask a question. Other times, it was just to check in. [The forecast says it might rain today. Don’t forget to bring an umbrella when you go out!] [I noticed you were drinking a matcha latte the other day. I know a really great matcha place. We should go try it sometime!] [Hannah just asked me to play video games with her. Too bad I’m not very good at them, I guess all my brainpower went into studying…] Tsk. Now she was the sweet girl who subtly put others down. That afternoon, Hannah sent a message in the group chat asking if I wanted to come to their badminton match the next day. I was about to type “no” when Ava’s message popped up. [It’s our school against the one next door. Hannah and I are both playing. You should come watch!] I deleted my message and typed a new one. [Okay.] 11 The sun was blinding. I arrived at the gym carrying a bag full of drinks and snacks Hannah had demanded I bring. The place was already packed. I overheard a couple of guys talking nearby. “I wonder when Ava’s playing. Can’t wait to see her!” “Dude, she looks amazing in normal clothes. I can’t even imagine how good she’ll look in a jersey…” “Hey, does she have a boyfriend?” Another guy shrugged. “Heard a guy from the athletics department asked her out—he’s even kind of an influencer—but she turned him down. Said she already likes someone.” … After a short wait, Hannah and Ava finally came over. Ava rushed ahead and took the heavy bag from my hands. I heard one of the guys next to me gasp. She frowned at Hannah. “Why didn’t you help him carry some of this?” Hannah just looked bewildered. “What’s the big deal?” I held back a sigh. “Where am I sitting?” Hannah pointed me to a seat with a perfect view of the court. When I got there, I found a paper bag waiting for me. Inside was an iced matcha latte. My phone buzzed. A text from Ava. [That’s from the shop I told you about. Hope you like it.] I smiled and popped the straw in. The rich, earthy flavor of matcha blended perfectly with the creamy milk. The match started soon after I sat down. To be honest, I couldn’t care less about badminton. My eyes were glued to Ava. On the court, she was a whirlwind of youthful energy, her movements swift and fluid. She leaped into the air, her right arm swinging down in a powerful smash. The crowd erupted in cheers. Ava broke into a wide, triumphant grin, her eyes flicking almost imperceptibly in my direction. During the halftime break, I grabbed a bottle of water and a towel from the bag and headed toward the players’ rest area.

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The doctors said I’d never really grow up — that my mind would stay like a child’s. But I knew my husband Joshua was the best person in the whole world. He’d ruffle my hair, call me his “silly girl,” and help me glue my crooked art projects. Then he said he had to be a doctor far, far away — in a war zone. He promised to video call on my birthday. I waited and waited. Then a man in uniform gave me Joshua’s wet phone. “There was fighting… He’s a star now.” After he became a star, everyone called me a hero’s wife. Every day I drew him a picture and “mailed” it with his favorite soda to the stars. Until one day I saw him. He was in the bakery across the street, feeding the biggest strawberry from my cake to my best friend. He didn’t see me watching through the glass. He didn’t know that in a simple world, the rules are simple too: A bad kid who steals strawberries… must be locked away. 1 I was standing in front of the community mail lockers, clutching the drawing I’d made for Joshua. It was a picture of a big, sparkling star, holding a bottle of his favorite orange soda. The mailman, Mr. Henderson, didn’t smile at me today. He just looked at me and sighed. “Tricia,” he said gently, “Dr. Cross was a hero. You need to take care of yourself, you hear?” I nodded and pushed the drawing and the soda into locker #27. Click. The little metal door shut. This was my special place for talking to my star. I came here every single day. Joshua said he went somewhere far, far away, to become a star in the sky and watch over me. I believed him. On my way home, I passed by the bakery. The most beautiful strawberry tarts were lined up in the window, the red berries gleaming like tiny, perfect hearts. Joshua used to buy these for me all the time. He’d always save the biggest, reddest one, spear it with a fork, and lift it to my lips. My silly girl deserves the sweetest things, he’d say. I decided to buy one, to mail to my star tomorrow. And then, a familiar shape reflected in the glass. I saw him. Joshua. He was back. He hadn’t become a star at all. He was sitting right there, at a table by the window. And across from him was my best friend, Vivian. Joshua was smiling. His smile was just as handsome as I remembered. He took the little silver fork and carefully lifted the biggest, reddest strawberry from the cake. I froze, watching through the glass. Time seemed to stop. He moved the fork slowly, gently… and fed the strawberry right into Vivian’s mouth. Vivian’s eyes crinkled into happy little crescents, just like the moon. I knew that gesture. That strawberry was supposed to be mine. The bottle of orange soda slipped from my fingers. Pop. It rolled a few times on the pavement and came to rest by my feet. Fizz bubbled out across the concrete, like the tears I couldn’t cry. But I wasn’t crying. My world had gone completely silent. Me, on the outside of the glass. Them, on the inside. A new world, and an old one. The only thing I could see was that stolen strawberry. It was so red. Red like blood. A thought started to grow in my mind, very, very slowly. Joshua wasn’t a star. He was a thief. He stole my strawberry. I turned away from the bakery. The little bell on the door didn’t jingle for me. I walked slowly, my feet stepping on my own long shadow. The sun was setting. The streetlights flickered on, stretching my shadow until it was long and thin. I looked down at it. It looked back at me. Neither of us said a word. The walk home felt so much longer today. I passed the house of the man in the uniform who told me Joshua was a star. The lights were on inside. I could hear laughter. Liars. You’re all liars. I got home and opened the door. The apartment was dark and quiet. I didn’t turn on the lights. I like the dark. The dark is simple. You can’t see lies in the dark. A photo of Joshua and me hung on the wall. He was holding me, smiling like the sun. I walked over to it and reached out, tracing the outline of his face. It was cold. I guess he’d always been cold. I went to my room. My bed was covered in stuffed animals. Joshua said they would keep me company while he was away. I picked up the biggest one, a floppy-eared rabbit with black, glassy eyes. I whispered to the rabbit, “Joshua is a thief.” The rabbit said nothing. “He stole my strawberry.” The rabbit still said nothing. “He and Vivian… they’re bad kids.” I set the rabbit aside and opened my sketchbook. The last page was the star I drew today. I stared at it for a long, long time. Then, I took a red crayon and drew a cross over it. A big, angry, red X. The old rules weren’t fun anymore. Stars could fall from the sky. Heroes could be thieves. This game needed a new way to play. I flipped to a fresh page. With a black marker, I wrote the first new rule. 1. A bad kid who steals something has to give it back. I looked at the words, but it didn’t feel like enough. I thought for a moment, then added a second line beneath it. 1. If they don’t, they have to be locked away. I closed the book and tucked it under my pillow. My world needed new rules. And I was going to be the one to make them. 2 The next morning, I woke up early. Sunlight streamed through the window, but it carried no warmth. I pulled my rulebook out from under my pillow and read the two lines again. 1. A bad kid who steals something has to give it back. 2. If they don’t, they have to be locked away. I nodded to myself. That was right. I got out of bed and poured myself a glass of water. I used to drink only soda, because Joshua said sweet things were for kids like me. I didn’t feel like having anything sweet today. The water tasted like nothing, which was perfect. Sitting at my little table, I started to draw. Not a star this time, but a cake with one perfect strawberry missing. Across from it stood a little girl, crying. And opposite her, a man and a woman smiled, with tell-tale red stains on their lips. When I was finished, I tore the page out, folded it neatly, and put it in my pocket. The phone rang. It was Vivian. I stared at her name on the screen for a long time. She used to call me every day to see if I was okay. She said she would take care of me for Joshua. I answered. “Tricia, where were you yesterday? I called and you didn’t pick up,” her voice was as smooth and warm as ever. I didn’t say anything. “Tricia? What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” “The strawberry,” I said. The line went quiet for a second. “What strawberry? Oh, Chlo, do you want some strawberry tart? I can bring some over later, okay?” “It was red,” I stated. She laughed a little. “Of course, it was red, silly. Strawberries are always red.” Her gentle laugh scraped against my ears. “You ate it,” I said, each word a separate, hard little stone. The silence on the other end of the line stretched on, much longer this time. “Tricia… did you see something?” Her voice had changed. It was sharp now, anxious. I didn’t answer. I just hung up and blocked her number. I don’t need to talk to bad kids. I grabbed my little teddy bear backpack and put the drawing inside it. There was one more thing I needed. I opened Joshua’s closet. It was filled with his clothes, all smelling of him—a clean, sunny smell of soap. Now it just smelled like lies. From the inner pocket of his suit jacket, I found a business card. It was for the hospital where he worked, with the director’s name and number on it. I put that in my backpack, too. I was ready. The game had begun. I went to Joshua’s hospital. Everyone here knew me. They called me “Mrs. Cross.” Their eyes were always full of pity and respect. A kind nurse knelt down to my level. “Tricia, what are you doing here? Are you feeling alright?” I shook my head and pulled the drawing from my backpack. “I need to see the director.” The nurse looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. “Of course. I’ll take you.” The director’s office was huge, with a big wooden desk. The walls were covered in photos, and one of them was of Joshua. He was in his white coat, smiling handsomely. Underneath it, a plaque read: Our Hero. The director, a kind-faced man with white hair, sat me down and gave me a glass of warm milk. “So, Tricia, what can I do for you?” I handed him my drawing. He unfolded it. The smile on his face slowly faded as he studied the man, the woman, and the cake with its missing strawberry. “Tricia, this is…” “A thief,” I said. “He stole my strawberry.” The director looked at me, his eyes filled with a complicated expression. He seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. He placed the drawing on his desk. “Tricia, Joshua was a good doctor, he…” “He’s not a star.” I cut him off, pulling the business card from my backpack and placing it next to the drawing. “He’s a bad kid.” The director stared at the card, then back at me, and let out a long, heavy sigh. He picked up his desk phone and dialed a number. “Yes, Bill, it’s me… Regarding Dr. Cross’s death benefits and the commendation… I think we need to put a hold on that and have a discussion… Yes, his wife was just here.” I listened silently. I didn’t know what “death benefits” or “commendation” meant. I just knew I had made the right first move. A picture of a bad kid needs to hang where everyone can see it. That’s the only way they’ll all know what he really is. 3 The sun was blindingly bright when I left the hospital. I didn’t go home. I went to the park, the one where Joshua and I used to go all the time. Pigeons strutted across the pavement, cooing for breadcrumbs. Joshua once told me that pigeons carry messages to people who are far away. I sat on our favorite bench and pulled a small piece of bread from my pocket, crumbling it onto the ground. A fat pigeon waddled over and began to peck at the crumbs. I whispered to it, “Tell Joshua they’re taking his picture down.” The pigeon cooed twice, then took flight, soaring into the sky. It would deliver the message. I was sure of it. I started going to the same park every day, sitting on the same bench. I stopped visiting the mail locker. That was a place for sending letters to stars, and Joshua wasn’t a star. He didn’t deserve my letters. I bought a new notebook, a hardcover one with a very serious-looking cat on the cover. I liked him. I named the notebook my “Bad Kid Record Book.” On the first page, I glued a promotional flyer from the hospital that I’d taken. It had Joshua’s picture on it. I used a red pen to draw a big question mark over the word “Hero.” Then, I started to draw. I drew the scene in the bakery. Joshua’s smile, Vivian’s mouth, and the missing strawberry. I drew it in great detail, right down to the wood grain on the table. Every day I came to the park, and every day I added something to my book. Sometimes pictures, sometimes words. Today, Vivian called again. I didn’t answer. Today, I saw her waiting by my front door. I used the back entrance. Today, Mrs. Gable from next door asked why the hospital took Joshua’s picture down. I told her it was because he steals things. Mrs. Gable gave me a very strange look. She didn’t believe me. That was okay. I would make them all believe me. There was an old man who also came to the park every day. He always sat on the bench across from me, reading his newspaper. Sometimes, he would watch me. I didn’t mind. In my world, there was only my rulebook and my mission. One afternoon, I was sketching a picture of Joshua and Vivian holding hands. I’d seen them the day before, hiding behind an aisle at the supermarket. They thought I didn’t know. Silly them. The old man walked over. “Young lady,” he asked, “what is it you’re drawing so intently every day?” I looked up at him. His eyes were kind, not full of pity like everyone else’s. I handed him my book. He turned the pages one by one, very, very slowly. His expression shifted from curiosity to seriousness. He pointed to my drawing of the bakery. “When did this happen?” “On my birthday,” I said. He then pointed to the picture of them holding hands. “And this?” “The day before yesterday. At the grocery store.” He closed the book and handed it back to me. “What’s your name?” “Tricia.” “My name is Peterson,” he said. “I’m a retired police officer.” A police officer. Police officers catch bad people. My eyes lit up. I looked at Mr. Peterson and asked, my voice full of hope, “Officer, are you going to help me lock up the thief?” He blinked, then a small smile touched his lips. “I’ll do my best.” 4 Mr. Peterson was true to his word. From that day on, he didn’t just read his newspaper. He brought a small notepad and would ask me questions. “Tricia, do you remember exactly when Joshua ‘became a star’?” I tilted my head, thinking. “When the balloons in the shop windows started to droop.” “And who gave you his phone that day?” “A man in a uniform. He said his name was Davis.” Mr. Peterson jotted it all down. He asked me about Vivian, too. “When did she start being ‘extra nice’ to you?” I thought hard. “Right after Joshua left.” “What kind of things would she do for you?” “She’d help me pay the bills, buy my groceries… She even took my bank card and said she’d help me manage my money.” Mr. Peterson’s brow furrowed. “Your bank card? Which one?” “The one Joshua gave me. He said it had lots and lots of money in it.” His pen flew across the page. “Tricia, you’re doing great,” he said. “These are very important clues.” I didn’t know what clues were. I just knew that I was playing a game of “Find the Bad Kids” with Mr. Peterson, and we were on the same team. Besides talking to him, I started a new task. I began to go through all of Joshua’s things. His closet, his desk, every box he’d left behind. I used to be afraid to touch them, scared I’d disturb the lingering scent of him. I wasn’t scared anymore. The smell of lies needed to be aired out. Tucked away in the lining of an old suitcase, I found something. It was a movie ticket stub, dated from last winter. On that day, Joshua had told me he was attending a very important medical conference and would be back in three days. I remembered it perfectly, because it was snowing heavily and I missed him so much. But next to the ticket stub was a small receipt. A receipt for two hot chocolates. I stared at that receipt, and a memory sparked. That same night, Vivian had posted a photo to her social media. It was a picture of a hand holding a cup of hot chocolate, with the caption: Snowy nights are better with a friend. I had even ‘liked’ the post at the time. I scrolled back through Vivian’s feed, back, back, back for what felt like forever. And there it was. The picture. I laid my phone, the movie ticket, and the receipt for two hot chocolates side by side on the table. Evidence. Mr. Peterson said that’s what this was called. Evidence. I carefully placed all of it inside my Bad Kid Record Book. The thief’s trail was getting clearer. 5 Joshua was getting nervous. He didn’t contact me directly. He sent Mr. Davis, the “man in the uniform,” to my door. He was waiting for me one afternoon, looking tired and unshaven. He wasn’t stern like before; his smile was weak and pleading. “Tricia, how have you been?” I just stared at him. He pulled a thick envelope from his pocket. “Joshua asked me to give this to you. He said it must be hard for you, living alone. This should help.” I looked at the envelope. It was fat with cash. Joshua used to tell me money could buy all the strawberry tarts in the world. But my strawberry wasn’t for sale. It was stolen. I didn’t take it. Mr. Davis’s smile faltered. He pushed the envelope into my hands. “Take it, Tricia. You deserve it.” The envelope felt dirty in my hands. “Joshua is a thief,” I said. Mr. Davis’s face stiffened. “Tricia, don’t say things like that. Joshua… he had his reasons.” “He stole my strawberry,” I repeated. “What does a strawberry have to do with anything!” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. “Tricia, just be a good girl, take the money, and stop spreading these stories. It’s better for you, and for Joshua.” I looked right at him and asked, “Did you eat my strawberry, too?” He froze, his mouth hanging open, speechless. I pushed the envelope back into his chest. “I don’t want a thief’s money.” I closed the door, shutting him out. I heard him sigh heavily, and then his footsteps faded down the stairs. The next day, I went to a big toy store. I used my own money to buy the most expensive, most beautiful dollhouse they had. It was three stories tall, with a balcony and a garden—everything I ever dreamed a house could be. I brought it home and set it up right in the middle of my living room. Then I found two of my old dolls, a boy and a girl. With a black marker, I drew a little thief’s mask on the boy doll’s face. On the girl doll’s lips, I dabbed a tiny speck of red, like strawberry juice. I placed them together in the master bedroom on the top floor. Every day, I would talk to the dollhouse. “Hello, thief. Are you happy today?” “Where did you hide the things you stole?” Vivian saw it all when she came to find me. She barged in and froze, her eyes fixed on the dollhouse and the two figures inside. Her face went pale. “Tricia… what is this? What are you doing?” I picked up the girl doll and held it out to her. “Look,” I said. “You ate the strawberry. Now your mouth is all dirty.” 6 I stopped going to the park. Mr. Peterson said the bad kids knew we were onto them now, and it was safer for me to stay home. He came to visit me every day instead, checking my locks and reminding me not to open the door for strangers. He became my new best friend. I told him all about my dollhouse. He listened intently. “Tricia,” he said, “you’re much smarter than they think.” I don’t know about smart. I just know my game has to be played by my rules. Vivian came by every day. She wouldn’t knock, she would just stand outside my door for a long time. Sometimes she’d slip things through the mail slot—a piece of cake, a new dress. I collected everything she left and threw it all in the dumpster outside. Gifts from bad kids are poison. Joshua didn’t show up again, but he was watching me in other ways. I noticed a black car was always parked down the street. There was someone inside. I drew the curtains and pretended not to see. I knew they were scared. Scared of my dollhouse, scared of my record book, scared of my new rules. I started a new project. I gathered all the gifts Joshua and Vivian had ever given me. A necklace from him with a tiny star pendant. A sweater from her with a cute bunny on it. A music box he’d made himself that played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” I arranged them, one by one, around the dollhouse, like offerings at an altar. Mr. Peterson saw the display on his next visit. He was silent for a long time. Then he stroked my hair and said, “Tricia, if you’re sad, it’s okay to cry.” I shook my head. “I’m not sad.” It was the truth. My heart felt perfectly calm, like the sea just before a hurricane. I picked up the star necklace. Using a pair of small pliers, I snipped the little star pendant off the chain and dropped it in the trash. Then, I took the bunny sweater and a pair of scissors and carefully cut out every single bunny. Last was the music box. I opened it, and the delicate melody began to play. Twinkle, twinkle, little star… I found a small hammer. Just as the music reached its highest note, I lifted the hammer high and brought it down with all my strength. SMASH. The music stopped. The world went quiet. I looked at Mr. Peterson. “See? Broken things need to be fixed.” Or destroyed.

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The corporate retreat was a hike up Mount Sterling, and my new sneakers had rubbed my ankles raw before we even reached the halfway point. Limping and falling behind, I texted Liam: “Can you slow down? My feet are bleeding.” He replied instantly: “Hang in there. We’re almost at the top.” I watched his tall, straight back ahead and put my phone away. He never gave me special treatment in public. Our company had a strict no-dating policy. After five years together, no one knew. But when I finally reached the summit, I saw Liam kneeling in front of the new intern. She wore brand-new leather loafers, and he was gently holding her ankle while applying a bandage. “Who wears these for hiking? Does it hurt?” She wiggled her foot, blushing. “I don’t think I can walk. Mr. Song, could you… carry me down?” Amid the teasing from our colleagues, Liam—the man who kept a two-foot gap from me in the hallway—let her climb onto his back. The mountain wind howled, and my ankle burned like fire. That’s when I realized his “professional distance” was a rule only for me. On the first workday after the retreat, I left my resignation letter on my desk, next to the box of bandages he’d once left in my drawer. Then I bought a one-way ticket home. 1 The station announcer called for boarding. I stood in the waiting hall, taking one last, long look at the city I had called home for five years. Because Liam was still here. The thought of leaving had first taken root at the end of last year. During the year-end financial review, the company paid out bonuses based on project performance. There was a major project I had led from start to finish. But in the final stages, I had let the new intern, Tina, assist with some of the wrap-up tasks. When the final assessments came in, ninety percent of the bonus for that project was allocated to her. It was my work, the result of over two months of my life. Mr. Quinn, my department head, looked uncomfortable. “Anna, this was Mr. Song’s decision…” I was the one who had made an exception to bring Tina onto the project in the first place. I wanted to help a younger colleague, give her a chance to shine. I never imagined that my two months of hard work would end up making someone else look good. “Mr. Song emphasized the importance of rewarding promising new talent like Tina,” Mr. Quinn said, his voice trailing off helplessly. Tina. The intern. And Mr. Song—Liam Song—was my boyfriend of five years. 2 A bitter wind whipped across the platform. I stood at my designated boarding spot, systematically deleting the photos of us from my phone. Liam had always insisted that an office romance was a fireable offense, so our five-year relationship had remained a secret. I had to beg him just to keep these few photos, and I was forbidden from ever sharing them on social media. He was so careful about maintaining his distance that everyone in the office thought he hated me. Even when he arbitrarily reassigned my project bonus, our colleagues just saw it as business as usual. Deleting the photos brought back the memory of that day. Swallowing my rage, I had called him from the hallway. As expected, he declined the call. For five years, he almost never answered my calls during work hours. A text immediately followed: Busy. But this wasn’t personal. I marched straight to his top-floor office. Through the glass partition, I saw him leaning over Tina’s desk, explaining a proposal. As she leaned in closer, the fringe of her scarf brushed against his neck. He was brilliant, no doubt about it. He’d been put in charge of the Kingston branch at such a young age and had earned the admiration of the New York headquarters in just a few years. There was a time when I had longed for his guidance, too. But he had always brushed me off impatiently. “Figure out the basics yourself, Anna. I’m busy.” When I made a mistake and faced disciplinary action, he never intervened. “You’ll only learn if you feel the consequences.” Yet here he was, patiently explaining the fundamentals to Tina, who didn’t even know how to create a pivot table. On his desk sat the lunch I prepared for him every single day. To avoid suspicion, I always had one of the cafeteria staff deliver it for me. “Mr. Song, I skipped breakfast and I’m starving,” Tina whined, pointing at my lunchbox. “Can I have your lunch? I’ll treat you to a nice dinner later.” “Go ahead,” he said, not even looking up from his emails. Tina happily opened the container and started praising the beef brisket. Suddenly, arguing with Liam about the bonus seemed utterly pointless. As I turned to leave, the entire building plunged into darkness. A massive storm had knocked out the power, and the company sent out an emergency notice for everyone to work from home. Groping my way down the dark staircase, I saw two figures walking side-by-side in the rain. Liam was holding an umbrella, carefully shielding Tina as he guided her to his car. I arrived home looking like a drowned rat. A few minutes later, Liam called. “Anna,” he said, “I figured you had an umbrella. You made it home okay?” In the background, I could hear Tina asking if he wanted extra ginger in his ginger tea. “I made the tomato beef brisket today,” I said, my grip tightening on the phone. “How was it?” “Hm? Oh, it was fine,” he answered distractedly. After we hung up, I saw Tina’s new social media post: a picture of two mugs clinking together in a warmly lit room. The caption read: It feels so good to be someone’s favorite. 3 The train glided into the station. I dragged my suitcase aboard, vaguely hearing someone shout my name from behind. Maybe it was for me, maybe not. I didn’t want to turn around. This journey home from Southbridge had its first stop in Crestwood. And my story with Liam had begun in Crestwood. It was my first time managing a bid proposal on my own. The subway had shut down, and the line for a taxi was over four hundred people long. I was about to miss the deadline. In desperation, I called Mr. Quinn, who cursed me out before giving me Liam’s number and telling me to ask him for help. When I called, my voice trembling, Liam listened and then sighed softly. “Don’t worry. Stay put, I’m coming.” He sped through the storm, calming my panic while gently reminding me to always plan for delays. We submitted the proposal with seconds to spare. I was drenched in a cold sweat. He leaned against his car and handed me a steaming cup of coffee. That night, I made a post on my private story, visible only to him: Met a soft-hearted god in the middle of a storm. He quietly ‘liked’ it. Now, I found myself ‘liking’ Tina’s post. A minute later, it vanished. Liam called almost immediately, his tone probing. “I’m on my way home.” I kept my voice even, just telling him to drive safe. He seemed to relax. “You take care, too. Don’t catch a cold.” “Liam,” I said suddenly, “this year, for the holidays… can we tell my parents about us?” He had always refused, saying the time wasn’t right. “Let’s not,” he said, his voice low. “They’re already pushing you to get married. Let’s not add fuel to the fire.” “Okay,” I said with a small, hollow laugh, and hung up. The fever hit me hard after being soaked in the rain. For the first time ever, I took a taxi to work. As I stared out the window, Liam’s car sped past me. My apartment was actually very close to his. But the direct route, Maple Creek Drive, had always been a traffic nightmare, a guaranteed thirty-minute jam. So I never expected him to give me a ride, and he was happy to maintain the professional distance. It wasn’t until today that I realized the road had been repaired for over six months. The drive now took ten minutes. For half a year, he had driven past my front door every single day and never once offered me a ride. And today, he was coming from the direction of Tina’s apartment complex. It wasn’t on his way at all. It was a special trip. At the office, I stuck a cooling patch to my forehead and buried myself in preparing handover documents. A familiar figure appeared at my desk. Liam frowned. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you say anything?” I didn’t look up. “What’s the point? It’s not like you’d take care of me like a normal boyfriend.” Noticing colleagues arriving, I lowered my voice. “You should go. You hate being seen with me, remember?” He was silent for a moment before turning and walking away. 4 The second stop was Ashville. My connection with Liam had a chapter in Ashville, too. I had just been made a permanent employee. I went with Mr. Quinn and Liam to Ashville to finalize a contract. The night before the signing, after we’d reviewed the final proposal, we went out for a late dinner. Suddenly, a group of masked men rushed out of the darkness. Their target was clearly Liam, and they were vicious. Mr. Quinn started shouting and fumbling for his phone to call the police. If something happened to Liam, tomorrow’s contract was dead. Without thinking, I grabbed a loose brick from the pavement and charged. We both ended up taking a beating. When I saw a knife swinging toward Liam’s head, I threw myself in front of him, taking the blow on my arm. He pulled me down with him as we fell, and the last thing I heard before passing out was the wail of sirens. When I woke up, he was the only one in the hospital room. “Was it worth it?” he asked, staring at me. “Ready to die for me?” “I couldn’t just… watch them hurt you,” I whispered. “You helped me before. This time, I helped you.” I looked down and realized he was holding my hand. The gesture felt strangely familiar. I froze. “Mr. Song…” “Call me by my name,” he said softly. On the day I was discharged, the company was supposed to send a car, but he came to pick me up himself. He took me to the lake in Crestwood, his gaze as gentle as the rippling water. “I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said. “The girl who took a knife for me… if she’s willing to walk toward me, I’ll cherish her forever.” The setting sun stained the lake red. I reached out and hugged him. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. Back then, he looked at my wounds with such heartache. Now, he just frowned at my fever patch. After I finished the handover documents, a colleague nudged me to check the work group chat. In the new project channel, Mr. Quinn had added Liam. He had posted only one message: The project is entering its final phase. Full responsibility will be transferred to Tina. My colleagues shot discreet glances at me, waiting for a reaction. Everyone knew Liam disliked me, but this was a deliberate humiliation. I simply typed, “Received.” It was for the best. It made the handover even easier. I transferred all the materials to Tina, then submitted a request for sick leave. It was approved instantly. I left my resignation letter on the desk, too. 5 The third stop: Haven Springs. Haven Springs was the last place Liam and I had traveled to together. His promotion was about to be announced, and I was thrilled for him. We went to a famous hot springs resort there. The owner said that if a couple posted a photo together on social media and got 30 ‘likes’, he’d give them VIP tickets for the Ferris wheel next door. No waiting in line, straight to the top. Legend had it that if a couple kissed at the very top of the Ferris wheel, they would be happy forever and never part. I wanted to post to a private group of friends, but Liam refused. “The company forbids office romance, Anna. You know that.” “I know, but I can set the post so colleagues won’t see it.” “Have you ever heard of the six degrees of separation theory? It’s too risky.” In the end, we bought regular tickets to the amusement park. But the line for the Ferris wheel was too long, and we never got on. Seeing my disappointment, he comforted me. “Anna, it’s because I love you that I want to protect you, to protect us.” “Will you help me guard our love?” he asked. I naively agreed. And so began five years of carrying the secret alone. Compared to the countless heartaches of those five years, that fever was nothing. After submitting my resignation, I went home, packed my bags, and waited for my late-night train. Suddenly, the door opened. It was Liam. He slipped on the house slippers and walked in. “Why is so much stuff missing?” he asked, a bag of soup and porridge in his hand as he surveyed the room. “Just doing some New Year’s cleaning,” I said, clearing my throat. He set the bag on the coffee table, and as he unpacked it, he froze. “Where are our photos?” I used to have our Polaroid pictures scattered everywhere—on the coffee table, the dining table, the bookshelf. I closed my eyes. “Some colleagues came over the other day. I put them away.” He helped me sit up and handed me chopsticks. I looked at the table full of food but had no appetite. “Not hungry?” He sat beside me, reaching to put an arm around me. “Want some hot water then?” I shifted away, and just then, his phone rang. It was Tina, her voice frantic. “Mr. Song, I can’t find the signed acceptance form for the Tech Park project! What do I do?!” He stood up. “Hold on, I’m on my way.” He looked back at me, his expression all business again. “Is this how you handle a handover?” He didn’t even wait for my explanation before grabbing his coat and rushing out the door. Just like the countless times he had left me for work. Only this time, it made me feel even more ridiculous. The folder and cabinet number for the acceptance form were clearly listed on the last page of the handover document. Tina had made the presentation for that project; she knew exactly where it was. Sure enough, a little while later, a text from Liam came through. Found it. Your notes were very clear. It was followed by a money transfer for the exact amount of my missing bonus. I declined it. He sent back a frustrated emoji. Get some rest. I have a meeting. Every Friday at this time, he had a video conference with the New York headquarters. He wouldn’t look at his phone for three or four hours. I sent him one last message. Let’s break up. I blocked his number and then called my landlord to terminate the lease. 6 The fourth stop was Silver Creek, my transfer station. Two more stops and I’d be home. But the train was delayed, by at least an hour. I wasn’t in a hurry. I found a little café to kill time. The company had a branch here, too. Liam and I used to come for meetings, always in separate cars with a team of people. No one ever suspected a thing. I had slowly started to make a name for myself under Mr. Quinn. Because Liam was so demanding, everyone advised me to learn how to suck up to him. So I did. I bought him a Yuanyang tea latte and handed it to him with a serious expression. “Is this the Yuanyang?” he asked, taking it. “Yes,” I smiled. “Doesn’t Mr. Song only drink coffee?” Mr. Quinn chuckled. “Changing tastes just for Silver Creek?” Liam didn’t say anything. He just traced the word “Yuanyang” on the cup with his finger and nodded at me. “Thanks.” I practically floated back to my seat, hiding my smile as I sipped my own. It was our secret, a hidden current of affection beneath a sea of professionalism. That’s probably why I froze when I saw him accept a Yuanyang tea latte from Tina’s hands. I had just sat down with my order when my phone exploded with notifications from Mr. Quinn. You’re quitting?! Is it because of the bonus? You’re a senior employee, you need to be more magnanimous… Mr. Song saw your letter. He ripped it up! He was furious! Annoyed, I blocked him, too. Then, my landlord called. “Honey, your boyfriend came by the apartment about three or four hours ago. My daughter-in-law was there, that’s how I knew. I just thought I should tell you.” Liam must have seen my message after his meeting and found out I was quitting. “He renewed the lease for you,” she continued. “Said you’d be back.” “My daughter-in-law said he tore the place apart looking for something, then grabbed his car keys and stormed out. Looked like he was on the warpath. Honey, it’s the holidays, you two shouldn’t be fighting.” I had to laugh. Fight? I didn’t have the energy for that anymore. My phone showed a notification: 99+ calls from blocked numbers. I didn’t check who it was. I drank my tea, watched a movie, and when I figured it was about time, I stood up to head back to the platform. Just then, the barista called out to a new customer. “Sir, what can I get for you?” “A Yuanyang tea latte.” The familiar voice cut through the café’s chatter. I looked up. Liam was standing there, his face ashen, shoulders dusted with snow. He practically spat the words out. 7 “What’s the matter, Mr. Song? Not too sweet for you?” I shrugged and grabbed my suitcase to leave. He snatched the suitcase with one hand and my arm with the other, dragging me out of the café. Unfortunately, the holiday travel rush meant the waiting hall was a sea of people. There was nowhere private for him to unleash his fury. He pulled me toward an exit. “Let’s talk outside!” It was an exit-only door. I dug my heels in. “We can talk right here!” He settled for a less crowded corner, slamming my suitcase down. A vein pulsed in his forehead. “Anna Yuan, what is the meaning of this?!” “I’m going home for the holidays!” I glanced at the “Delayed” sign on the departures screen. “I went straight from your apartment to the station,” he said, his eyes bloodshot. “I called your name. Didn’t you hear me?” Still using that same boss-like tone. “Nope,” I said, shaking my head. If the train hadn’t been delayed, he might have actually caught me. Fate was a funny thing. “I floored it the whole way here.” The snow on his shoulders had melted into a dark, damp patch. “If this train hadn’t been late, you were just going to disappear, weren’t you?!” Well, yeah. What else? I sighed. “I’m going home, Liam. I’m not dying.” “You’re angry because I misunderstood about the handover, right?” He grabbed my hand. Every single one of our fights, he always boiled it down to the one, single incident that set it off. He knew perfectly well it was just the tip of the iceberg, the last straw. I pulled my hand away. “Mr. Song, I’ve already resigned. I’ll call you that one last time out of respect for our professional relationship. Please show some decency.” “Resigned? Decency?” He let out a cold laugh. “I didn’t approve your resignation, and I didn’t agree to break up.” “Seems like both of those are things I can decide on my own,” I said, reaching for my suitcase. “Do you want to see me in arbitration? Do you want to fail your next background check?” he threatened from behind me. “Do what you want.” I shook my head, unfazed. “I’m not coming back to Kingston anyway.” He blocked my path again, his eyes filled with rage. “Are you serious?!” I held up my hands. “Perfectly serious. You like Tina. I’m setting you free. Shouldn’t you thank me?” He grabbed my arm again, pulling me closer. “I don’t like her!” A flicker of something else crossed his face. “Anna, are you jealous? Is this all because of the bonus? Is that why you’re so angry?” I struggled against his grip and gestured toward a nearby patrol officer. “If you don’t let go, I’m going to scream!” Instead, he pulled me into a fierce hug. “I’m holding my own girlfriend! What law am I breaking?” He held me tight, just like he used to, his shoulder cradling my chin. “It was my fault. I should have stood up for you.” I tried to push him away but was hopelessly outmatched. Just as I opened my mouth to shout, the boarding announcement crackled over the speakers. “Passengers for train G946, boarding has now begun…” The crowd, which had given up hope, surged with renewed energy, pushing and shoving toward the gate. Someone carrying a huge gift box bumped into Liam, loosening his grip for a second. I seized the opportunity, slipping away and melting into the crowd heading for the gate. He tried to follow, but I ducked into the most chaotic line. People immediately started yelling at him for cutting. I breathed a sigh of relief as I finally reached the ticket scanner. I reached into my pocket. My ID and phone were gone. I turned around. Liam was standing at a distance, outside the line, a small, triumphant smile on his face. I took a deep breath and marched back to him. “What are you, eight years old?! Give them back!” He strode toward the main exit. “Come and get them.” Okay, maybe seven. I ran after him. He headed straight for the parking garage, his long legs covering the ground quickly. I had to jog to keep up. “Give them back!” I was frantic, hearing the final boarding call in the distance. “You changed your lock screen. And your passcode.” He stood by his car, looking at my phone. My old lock screen had been a picture of our silhouettes at an amusement park. It looked generic enough that he had “graciously” allowed me to use it. Now, it was a picture of my family’s dog. The passcode was no longer his birthday, but the dog’s. “Get in.” He opened the passenger door. “I’ll drive you home.” I held out my hand, my patience worn to a thread. “Liam, are you seriously going to steal my property?!” He pushed me into the passenger seat, leaning over me with one hand on the seatback while the other pulled the seatbelt across and clicked it into place. He looked down at my furious face. “Go ahead. Call the police. Sue me. We can spend the entire holiday season tangled up in this.”

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