Author: Momo Chan

My brand-new projector screen was being targeted daily by the kid from the apartment upstairs, using a laser pointer. When I went up to talk to his dad about it, he just shrugged. “He’s just a kid playing. How much can that raggedy old cloth of yours be worth?” The next day, the kid used an infrared pen to burn several holes right through my screen. I didn’t call the police. Instead, I quietly replaced the expensive screen with a mirror, adjusted the angle precisely, and aimed it right back at their window. Now, his son can play with laser reflections in his own home. All day, every day. 1 At six in the evening, I drew the living room curtains, ready to start my workday. I’m a film colorist who works from home, and my living room doubles as my studio. To achieve the most accurate color reproduction possible, I had spent three thousand dollars on a top-of-the-line, professional-grade screen imported from Germany. For me, this screen was my livelihood. I turned on the projector and my computer, preparing to fine-tune a new batch of film footage. Suddenly, a glaring red dot appeared out of nowhere, right in the center of the image. It danced around the lead actress’s face like an annoying mosquito, completely wrecking the color balance I had so carefully calibrated. My blood pressure shot up instantly. I walked to the window and peeked through a crack in the curtains. In the window of apartment 602, directly above mine, a small head was bobbing furtively. In his hand was a laser pointer. I knew the kid. It was the upstairs neighbors’ son, Leo, a nine-year-old with a reputation as the neighborhood’s number one terror. A surge of anger flared in my chest. I shut down my equipment, swallowed my rage, and marched upstairs to knock on 602’s door. Leo’s father, Mark, answered. He was a man in his forties with a prominent beer belly and the stale smell of alcohol clinging to him. I tried to keep my tone civil. “Hey, Mark. I’m your downstairs neighbor.” “Could you please ask your son to stop shining that laser pointer at my window?” I continued. “I have a very expensive, professional screen set up, and it’s interfering with my work. It could also damage the equipment.” Mark looked me up and down, his face a mask of undisguised contempt. He yelled into the apartment, “Leo, stop playing with that thing!” Then he turned back to me with a dismissive smirk. “He’s just a kid, having a bit of fun. What’s the big deal?” He clapped me on the shoulder, his greasy sense of superiority washing over me. “Besides, it’s just a piece of cloth, right? How much could it possibly be worth? If it gets damaged, I’ll just pay you for it.” In that moment, I felt my fists clench. Looking at his face, a canvas of indifference and condescension, I knew that saying anything more would be a waste of breath. I took a deep breath, turned, and walked back downstairs. Back in my apartment, I stared at the faint red afterglow on my screen. It didn’t feel like a spot of light. It felt like a stinging slap across my face. 2 My visit did nothing to stop the harassment. In fact, it made it worse. From the next day on, the red dot would appear like clockwork the moment I drew my curtains to work. It was no longer a random flicker; it had become a targeted provocation. It would settle precisely on the face of the character I was trying to color-correct, or trace circles around the names in the rolling credits. It was as if Leo had discovered a new, more engaging video game. My work efficiency plummeted. I had to redo several projects because the constant distraction caused me to misjudge the colors. I tried messaging Mark, but he either ignored me or replied with a curt “got it” and nothing more. Finally, at my wits’ end, I decided to take the issue to the building’s residents’ group chat. In the 500-member “Harmony Homes Community” chat, I typed out a message, trying my best to remain polite and restrained. “@Mark_602, hi Mark, just wanted to bring this up again. Your son has been continuously shining a laser pointer into my apartment, and it’s seriously affecting my work and daily life. I would appreciate it if you could address this and supervise your child. Thank you.” Silence descended on the group chat for a few seconds. Then, a familiar profile picture popped up. It was Mark’s wife, Karen. She didn’t type. She sent a 60-second voice message, her voice shrill and dripping with manufactured victimhood. “Hey, downstairs! Are you for real? A grown man picking on a little boy?” “My son was just curious! He pointed a little light at your window! What’s the big deal?” “First you come knocking on our door, and now you’re trying to shame us in the group chat? Are you trying to bully a poor widow and her orphan child?” I blinked. Mark was a burly, six-foot man. How had he suddenly become a widow’s orphan? But her performance wasn’t over. “You keep your curtains drawn so tight all day. Who knows what kind of shady business you’re up to in there? Our Leo is just an innocent child! Don’t you dare project your filthy adult world onto him!” “And anyway, he just shined a light at it! Is that raggedy old cloth of yours made of gold or something? Why are you so petty!” The words “raggedy old cloth” were like needles in my ears. Her tirade of lies and accusations successfully stirred the pot. A few of her “sisters” from her morning workout group immediately jumped to her defense. “Exactly, Karen, sweetie. Don’t listen to him. People are so narrow-minded these days.” “A grown man, arguing with a child. So pathetic.” “Come on, young man, no need to be so aggressive. Being good neighbors is the most important thing.” I stared at the screen, my hands trembling with rage. A simple attempt to protect my property had somehow turned into a public shaming session. For the first time, I understood what it felt like to be completely and utterly defenseless against a torrent of lies. I didn’t reply. I turned off my phone and sat in the darkness, listening to the heavy thud of my own heart. I realized then that reasoning with this family was a lost cause. 3 I decided to retreat. For now. If reasoning wouldn’t work, I’d resort to the simplest solution: a physical barrier. I spent over a hundred dollars on the thickest, double-layered blackout curtains I could find online, advertised to block 99.9% of all light. The curtains were installed quickly. I drew both the new and old layers, and my living room was plunged into absolute darkness. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Finally, I thought, some peace and quiet. The first two days were blissfully silent. The annoying red dot was gone. A sliver of hope even flickered within me. Maybe they had gotten bored and given up. But I was too naive. I had underestimated a brat’s capacity for destruction, and his parents’ willingness to enable it. On the third afternoon, I was in the kitchen making dinner when a strange, acrid smell drifted in from the living room. It was a peculiar scent, like burning plastic mixed with a chemical tang. My stomach dropped. I rushed into the living room and threw open the heavy curtains. The sight before me made my blood run cold. My pristine, perfectly smooth German screen was now marred by five or six black holes, each the size of a pea. The edges were scorched yellow, and thin wisps of smoke were still curling up from them. My three-thousand-dollar screen was ruined. I ran to the window and looked up. The curtains in 602 were drawn. I couldn’t see anything. But I knew. I knew it was them. A regular laser pointer couldn’t have done this. This had to be an industrial-grade laser, something much more powerful. Maybe even one of those illegal, high-powered “laser cannons” you could find online. I immediately checked the feed from the micro-camera I had installed in the corner of the living room for security purposes. It was aimed directly at my screen and the window. I rewound the footage. It didn’t take long to find the evidence. In the video, a beam of light, almost invisible to the naked eye but infinitely more powerful than before, shot down from the upstairs window. It remained fixed on the screen. A few seconds later, the spot began to smoke, then turned black, and finally, burned through. The entire process lasted for nearly a minute. This was a deliberate, malicious act of destruction. I watched the devastating beam of light in the video, then looked at the ugly scars on my screen. My body began to tremble with an uncontrollable rage. A volcano of fury erupted in my chest, incinerating the last shred of my reason. I didn’t storm upstairs to confront them. I didn’t call the police. Because I knew, with people like this, the police would just mediate. They’d be forced to pay for the damages, and that would be it. But I wanted more than just money. I wanted them to pay a real, unforgettable price for their actions. I calmly turned off the camera and removed the memory card. Then, I opened my web browser and typed, slowly and deliberately, into the search bar. “Large, high-reflectivity, optical mirror.” The game was about to change. 4 I didn’t confront the family again. I didn’t say another word in the group chat. I went about my life as if nothing had happened. My uncharacteristic silence seemed to unnerve Karen. She even tried to prod me in the group chat. “Haven’t heard from downstairs in a few days. Hope he’s not cooking up some nasty scheme.” I ignored her. All my energy was focused on my plan for revenge. First, I carefully took down the burned screen. I rolled it up, wrapped it in protective film, and stored it away. It was my most crucial piece of evidence. Next, I meticulously measured the screen’s dimensions: 2.2 meters long, 1.25 meters wide. Now, I needed to find the perfect “weapon” to replace it. My initial idea was simple: buy a regular mirror and hang it up. But I quickly dismissed that. A standard mirror wouldn’t have a high enough reflectivity, and it could shatter, which was a safety risk. I needed a weapon of mass reflection, something that could bounce back the laser’s energy with almost no loss. Just when I was about to give up, I thought of someone. Mr. Peterson, who lived on the 17th floor. He was a retired high school physics teacher who had taught optics his entire life. He was a tech geek who loved to tinker with gadgets. I’d run into him in the elevator a few times. Seeing that I was a young guy who also wore glasses, he’d struck up a conversation about anti-blue-light lenses. He’d left a strong impression on me. With a “what have I got to lose” attitude, I brought a box of tea and knocked on his door. Mr. Peterson’s apartment was like a mini science museum. A telescope stood in the living room, and the bookshelves were crammed with technical manuals. I told him everything, from the initial laser harassment to the destruction of my screen. When I finished, he slammed his fist on his thigh. “Unbelievable! That family has been a menace to this building for years!” he fumed. “This isn’t just a prank anymore. This is intentional destruction of property! It’s a crime!” When I laid out my “mirror revenge” plan, Mr. Peterson’s eyes lit up. He pushed his glasses up his nose, a scholar’s excitement spreading across his face. “My boy, that is a brilliant idea!” he exclaimed. “It’s a perfect application of ‘an eye for an eye.’ A physics-based version, no less!” He immediately pulled me over to his desk, spread out a large sheet of paper, and began to sketch. “See, a regular mirror won’t do. We need a ‘first surface mirror,’ also known as an ‘optical mirror.’ The reflective coating is on the front of the glass, so it doesn’t create a double image. Its reflectivity can be over 95%!” “And the angle,” he continued, “you’re on the fifth floor, they’re on the sixth. The height difference is about 2.8 meters. You’ll need to get a precise horizontal measurement.” “According to the law of reflection, the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection. We can calculate the exact tilt of the mirror to ensure the laser beam is returned along its original path, right back to their window!” The more Mr. Peterson talked, the more excited he became. It was as if this wasn’t an act of revenge, but a rigorous scientific experiment. Under his expert guidance, my plan became clearer, more refined. What I needed was a custom-made, large-format, high-reflectivity, precisely angled instrument of perfect revenge.

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The day of my wedding, Finnick crashed it by blowing up the hotel. He dug me out of the rubble with his bare hands. Seeing the amnesia in my eyes, he hid his wild joy and told me, with a tremor in his voice, that he was the love of my life. For five years, Finnick loved me like his own soul. And then, he got bored. He slipped off his wedding ring with practiced ease, his hand gently resting on his young assistant’s pregnant belly. “Give me this child,” he murmured, “and I’ll give you my life.” “But, as always, not a word of this to Gwen.” What he didn’t know was that his “little girl” secretly recorded the whole thing. She sent it to me with a triumphant message: Time for the old hag to step aside. What he knew even less was that my memory had returned. And before him, my one true love was a man named Adrian. Handsome, brilliant, and terrifyingly vengeful. He never let a slight go unpunished. And in that, we were exactly alike. Finnick was finished. … Finnick was exceptionally good at hiding his little bird. Unfortunately for him, the little bird had ambitions as big as her nerve. Her name was Lily, and she showed up on my doorstep, pregnant belly and all, ready for a fight. “Gwen, honey,” she said, her voice sickly sweet, “I’m having twins. The doctor said they’re both boys.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Their daddy feels so bad for me, having to go through this. He massages my feet every single night, stays until I fall asleep before he goes home to his boring wife. He says he just can’t wait to meet his sons!” I met her gaze with a smile, a chill creeping into my eyes. “Did your ‘daddy’ ever tell you what kind of person I am?” If Finnick was so eager to meet his children, who was I to stand in his way? Thirty minutes later, an express courier was dispatched to Finnick’s corporate headquarters. I sipped my afternoon tea and watched the live feed from his office security camera. When the package arrived, his severe, handsome face softened into a tender smile. But the moment he opened it, his expression turned to stone. Inside was a termination of pregnancy report. And a photograph of what was left of his children with Lily. An hour later, he was home. Lily was lying on a portable medical bed we’d set up, and the second she saw him, she burst into wracking sobs. “Finnick, darling! She murdered our babies! The babies you were so excited to meet! Kill her! You have to kill that bitch for me!” A flicker of pain crossed Finnick’s eyes. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. His voice was low and hard, barely containing a torrent of rage. “Gwen, she’s just a kid who graduated a few months ago. Did you have to be so cruel?” In five years of marriage, it was the first time he had ever raised his voice to me. And it was for another woman. I tossed my phone at him. The screen was filled with intimate videos of him and Lily, interspersed with her messages, insulting me and demanding I step aside. “Your ‘kid’ sent those to me to gloat. As your wife, I found them upsetting. Am I not allowed to retaliate?” Finnick froze. He shot a cold glare at Lily. Then, his expression softened as he turned back to me. He knelt, taking my hands in his. “Gwen, you’ve misunderstood,” he said, his voice gentle again. “I only did this because I couldn’t bear the thought of you going through the pain of childbirth. The plan was always to have her carry them, and then we would raise them together.” He looked me in the eyes. “I swear on my life, you are the only person I have ever truly loved.” I believed him. When we’d first discussed having children, he’d signed himself up for a labor pain simulator. It was the first time I’d ever seen Finnick cry. He’d held me tight, his body shaking. “Gwen, how can it hurt that much? Let’s not have kids, okay? I can’t let you go through that.” And so, because he couldn’t bear to see me suffer… he let another woman carry his twins for me? I glanced over at Lily with a mocking smile. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, red with fury. I laughed softly. “Finnick, you really are the cruelest of all. One sentence, and you stab both of us in the back. So, what now?” I leaned closer. “The last time someone made me this angry, you ruined their family, destroyed their business, and ran them out of the city without a second thought.” His gaze slid over to Lily, cold and detached. But the slight tremor in his hand gave him away. After a long moment, he spoke. “Gwen. I will apologize on her behalf. What will it take for you to forgive me and let me take her away from here?” A wave of pure rage washed over me. All his pretty words, all his cold looks, and in the end, he was still protecting her. Without a word, I swept my arm across a nearby table, sending a collection of expensive porcelain crashing to the floor. Finnick didn’t hesitate. He kicked off his shoes and, without breaking stride, walked across the razor-sharp shards. He lifted Lily into his arms and carried her out, his bare feet leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the white porcelain. The sight of it, the stark red on white, made my breath catch. Finnick, for all his madness, was the ultimate pragmatist. In all the years I’d known him, he’d only ever been hurt for me, only ever lost to me. My eyes grew cold. Finnick didn’t know my memory was back. What he knew even less was that I might have actually been falling for him. There were moments I’d considered just playing the amnesiac forever, spending the rest of my life with him. But now… A rotten man and the woman who stole him. I would make them both pay. After that day, Finnick showered me with gifts, a new one arriving every morning. But he spent every night at Lily’s. Tonight’s excuse was a “last-minute business dinner.” He’d be home in a few hours. The moment he hung up, a message from Lily arrived. LOL. I bet the old hag is regretting her choices now. So what if you killed my babies? He feels even worse for me now. He cooks me gourmet meals every single day. The attached video showed a tall man in an apron, busy in a sleek, modern kitchen. Finnick had never known how to cook. For me, he had taken lessons from master chefs. And now, every dish he was making for Lily was one of my favorites. I stared at the food, so familiar I could almost smell it. A wave of nausea rolled through me. Damn you, Finnick. You’ve ruined all my favorite foods. Lily’s voice message was dripping with malicious glee. He also said he’s going to give me another baby tonight. As for you… You’re finished, old woman. The message ended just as something slammed into the side of my car. I looked up. A dozen bald, heavily tattooed men were surrounding my vehicle, brandishing baseball bats. “You the one who’s been messing with my little sister, Lily?” one of them growled. I raised an eyebrow and calmly dialed Finnick. As usual, he picked up on the first ring. “Finnick,” I said, my voice even. “Lily sent her biker gang brothers after me. They have me surrounded.” His voice on the other end was weary. “Gwen, can you please not do this? She’s just a college grad, she doesn’t know any…” I cut him off with a smile. “I’m not going to fight back. Come or don’t. Your choice.” I hung up. The night air was cool. I watched the traffic light cycle from red to green, counting. It had only changed three times before he appeared. He must have hit traffic and abandoned his car, running the rest of the way. He was panting, his chest heaving, his dress shirt clinging to the muscles beneath. I watched him for a moment, then smiled. I had lied. The men who had tried to corner me were now lying in a heap on the pavement around my car, groaning. Finnick stared at me, his jaw tight with frustration. His gaze fell to a scratch on my leg, and his anger melted into pained concern. He knelt, his touch impossibly gentle as he cleaned the wound and applied a bandage. “You just love torturing me, don’t you?” he muttered, the words a mix of adoration and defeat. It was the only way he ever let his frustration show. For a second, my heart stirred. I felt a rare urge to explain. “It wasn’t me. Lily really did send them.” He didn’t even hesitate. “I asked her, Gwen. She swore on her life it wasn’t her. She’s a simple girl. Not like…” He stopped, but I heard the unspoken words. Not like you. Cruel and calculating. My face hardened. I picked up my phone and dialed my lawyer in front of him. “I need you to draw up divorce papers. I’m on my way to pick them up now.” I shoved him out of the passenger seat and threw the car into reverse. He moved with lightning speed, planting himself directly in front of the car. The wind whipped through his hair. His eyes were wild, defiant. He gritted his teeth, his voice a low growl. “Gwen. You want a divorce? You’ll have to run me over first.” The bright headlights illuminated the madness in his face. I held his gaze and stomped on the accelerator. The screech of tires filled the night. I stopped just inches from his body. He hadn’t flinched. His eyes were blazing, a feverish, desperate fire. This time, it was my turn to grit my teeth. “That lunatic.” I wrenched the wheel, turning the car around, and sped away like a coward fleeing a battle. A few days later, another message from Lily. To my surprise, her tone was pleading. Gwen, I’m so, so sorry. I know I was wrong. I know I made you angry. Please, just give me a chance to make it right. She sent an address, an invitation to a private estate for a walk, so she could apologize in person. I went. A massive rose garden stretched out before me, a sprawling, private manor. Lily stood waiting, dressed in a white sundress against a backdrop of blood-red roses. She looked like the lady of the manor as she unlocked the main gate. My body went rigid as my eyes caught the giant, framed photograph displayed among the flowers. In it, Lily and Finnick were intertwined, kissing passionately in a bed of roses. It was beautiful, intimate. The photo was dated five years ago. Before I lost my memory. Lily’s smug laugh echoed beside me. “Oh, Gwen, honey. I’ve known about you for a long time. I even gave Finnick tips on how to win you over.” It turned out, Lily had known Finnick long before I did. He was her sponsor, a benefactor who had pulled her out of poverty. He’d brought her to the city, and with nowhere else to go, she had lived in his home. The long corridors of the manor were lined with photos, each one a snapshot of her life with him. This entire estate, he had built it for her. My hands felt numb as she walked me through their history, one picture at a time. Her eyes flickered to my wedding ring. “Every single gift Finnick ever gave you? I helped him pick it out,” she said with a triumphant smile. “Even this ring. He only bought it because I told him I liked the design.” I knew she was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth. Finnick had presented me with dozens of designs and let me choose my own. But it didn’t matter. The wave of nausea was back. Expressionless, I pulled the ring from my finger and tossed it into the rose bushes. Seeing this, Lily’s smile widened. “Finnick was so obsessed with you. It made me so jealous,” she sighed dramatically. “But it’s okay. People get bored, right? I just played the part of the good, understanding girl. I told him I didn’t want anything from him, just a little bit of the love you didn’t want, whenever he thought of me.” “And you know what?” she giggled, remembering. “He slept with me. Willingly.” She looked me dead in the eye. “You were the prize. But once he won you, you became an annoyance. He’s tired of you.” “So, do yourself a favor and get lost. Finnick will be mine, sooner or later.” I stared at her for a long moment, then a slow smile spread across my face. “You’re that much of a bitch? Good. That makes this a lot easier.” Lily frowned, confused. I arched an eyebrow. “Now I don’t have to feel guilty.” Before she could process what I meant, I kicked over a rack of vintage wine bottles, shattering them across the floor. Then I pulled out a lighter. The small, flickering flame reflected in her terrified eyes. The next second, the entire manor was engulfed in fire. Finnick arrived quickly. He saw me and Lily, framed by the inferno, and his face was a mask of horror. Lily shrieked, “Finnick, save me! The fire’s getting closer! I just lost our babies for you!” I watched him with detached curiosity, mouthing two words at him through the flames. Her or me? The fire roared, casting his tortured expression in a hellish light. He drenched himself with a nearby hose and ran toward Lily. As he did, I heard his desperate shout. “Gwen! I know you can get out on your own! Lily can’t!” He swept her into his arms. Over his shoulder, Lily shot me a look of pure triumph. I just smiled back at her. And I didn’t move. The flames surged higher. Finnick glanced back and saw me standing perfectly still. He hesitated for half a second, his face a war of indecision. Then, cursing, he set Lily down and charged back into the fire for me, throwing his wet jacket over my head and dragging me out. I felt a pang of disappointment. What a shame. If he’d left me there, I could have had my divorce. As for the other half of that feeling, I refused to examine it. After he got me to safety, he turned to go back for Lily. But in the moments we’d been outside, a massive, ornate trellis had collapsed in the hallway, pinning her by the leg. When Finnick carried her out, she was screaming in agony. I knew he was furious. As he passed me, he deliberately slammed his shoulder into mine. His voice was ice. “Take my wife,” he ordered his men. “Bring her to the hospital.”

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My CEO wife threw a welcome-home party for her one true love. While I was gone, he tried to take my drunk wife to a hotel room. But I cut him off first. That night, through a mix of sweet-talking and sheer persistence, I ended up sleeping with the wife who’d been saving herself for him. The next morning, she was furious, shoving divorce papers in my face. “Cole, just pretend last night never happened.” “If you don’t sign these, I’ll make you regret it.” I glanced at the settlement: a cool fifty million dollars. I signed my name so fast the pen smoked. Are you kidding me? I’m just a guy who got transmigrated into this novel. Let someone else play the part of the tragic, pining husband. I got the girl, I got the money. Time to disappear. 1 I’ve been transmigrated. And I’ve landed on the exact day my CEO wife, Stella, is throwing a lavish welcome-home party for the man she actually loves. I checked the time. This was bad. If I was a minute later, they’d be in a hotel room, and I’m not the kind of guy who gets cheated on. I grabbed my jacket and rushed out, bringing a couple of my bodyguards just in case. Following the script of the novel, I drove straight to the hotel. As soon as I walked into the lobby, I saw her. Stella was passed out on one of the plush sofas, completely oblivious. Just then, the male lead—the one and only Leo—walked over from the front desk, a key card in his hand. “Stella, you’re drunk. Let’s get you up to a room to rest…” He reached down to pick her up. My face was a thundercloud as I shoved him back. “Who the hell are you, trying to take my wife to a hotel room?” The sudden push sent Leo stumbling. He steadied himself, a flash of shock in his eyes that quickly turned to anger. “You must be Cole,” he sneered. “If I hadn’t gone abroad, do you really think Stella would have married you? You’re just my replacement.” A smug, condescending smirk spread across his face. “Oh, and by the way, Stella told me everything. Three years of marriage, and she’s kept herself pure for me. It must be pathetic, being her husband.” I didn’t have time for his trash talk. I gestured for my bodyguards to get Stella into the car. “What do you think you’re doing? Put her down!” Leo shouted, lunging forward to stop them. I stepped in his way, my eyes like ice. “Leo, I’ll say this one last time: Stella is my wife. If you keep this up, I have no problem plastering your face all over the internet. The world can see the ‘brilliant young talent’ fresh from overseas is just a homewrecker in a hurry.” I leaned in closer. “Think about it. Can you really handle the wrath of both the Sullivan and the Croft families?” My words hit him like a slap. Leo was just an illegitimate son of the Croft family. Stella’s grandfather, the Sullivan family patriarch, had never approved of him, which was why he’d been shipped abroad in the first place. If he forced this and I made it public, the old man’s fury would be apocalyptic. It was a fire Leo couldn’t afford to play with. He saw the cold resolve in my eyes and knew I wasn’t bluffing. He stood frozen, his face a mask of impotent rage, and could only watch as my men carried Stella away. As I left, I shot him a final, triumphant smirk. It nearly made his head explode. In the back of the car, with Stella’s soft form nestled against me and the faint, sweet scent of her perfume in the air, my heart began to race. She really was stunning. Her body was soft and pliant, her skin like porcelain, her curves impossibly perfect. More breathtaking than any celebrity. And that bastard Leo almost had her. 2 Back home, after a quick shower, I slid into bed next to Stella. In the original novel, the two of them always slept in separate rooms. Leaving a wife with a body like this to sleep alone? The original Cole was an absolute fool. I silently cursed his name a hundred times. With zero guilt, I wrapped my arm around her slender waist. The moment my hand started to wander, her small, soft hand clamped down on mine. A blush crept up her cheeks. “Don’t,” she murmured, her voice husky with sleep. “I’m not… divorced yet…” Her eyes fluttered open. When she saw it was me, the haze of sleep vanished, replaced by a glacial cold. “What are you doing here?” I froze my hand but didn’t remove it, my tone lazy. “I’m your husband. Who else would it be? Were you hoping for someone else?” That shut her up. A second later, she started struggling, trying to push me away. But she was weak from the alcohol, her efforts futile. All she could do was glare at me. “Cole, let go of me! Who said you could sleep in my bed? Get out!” I chuckled and pulled her closer. “We’re married. Isn’t sharing a bed what couples do?” “You’re shameless!” she seethed, her chest heaving. She looked like she wanted to bite me. I sighed dramatically in her ear, my voice laced with sorrow. “Stella, you’re the one who wants the divorce, right? For three years, I’ve served you without a single complaint.” “I made you breakfast every morning.” “Last year, when you were sick in the hospital for a week, I stayed by your side for seven days and seven nights, barely sleeping a wink.” “Every time you came home drunk from a business dinner, who was it that made you soup to sober you up?” “You said you wanted to stay faithful to your first love, and have I ever touched a single hair on your head in three years?” As I spoke, I worked up a tear in my eye. “All these years, I’ve taken care of you, given you everything. Even if there was no love, there was effort. All I’m asking for is one night, just holding you. Is that too much?” Her tense body gradually softened. A rare flicker of guilt crossed her face. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’ll make sure you’re well compensated financially.” I pretended to make a great, painful decision. “Just promise me this one night,” I said through gritted teeth. “Let me just hold you. And tomorrow… tomorrow I’ll sign the divorce papers.” She stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. She had brought up divorce dozens of times, and I had always refused, adamant. She never pushed too hard, afraid her grandfather would find out. Now, here I was, offering it up myself. She couldn’t believe it was real. “You’ll really sign?” 3 My eyes filled with a deep, heartbreaking reluctance. My voice was heavy with unspoken sadness. “Stella, everyone says I’m your doormat. They all know that you mean more to me than my own life. And it’s because I love you that I’m choosing to let you go. I want you to be happy…” Her heart melted. Images of the past three years flashed through her mind—countless moments of me taking care of her, quietly, steadfastly. The guilt intensified. But she still looked at me, a hint of suspicion in her eyes. “Just holding me? That’s it?” With a shattered expression, I nodded fiercely and raised my right hand. “I swear.” She watched me, her big, beautiful eyes searching my face. All she saw was sincerity. “You’d better behave, Cole.” After a few more minutes of my soft, pleading words, she finally let her guard down completely. Heh. Once a woman’s heart softens, it’s game over. The night was deep, the room was quiet. Two bodies, pressed close together. As the minutes ticked by, I could feel the heat rising from her skin, her breathing growing shallow and quick. She’d already had a lot to drink, and the proximity was doing the rest. One thing led to another. And what should and shouldn’t happen… happened. It was a wild night that didn’t end until the sun began to rise. I was woken up by a phone ringing. Not mine. Stella’s. She must have been exhausted. It was her first time, after all, and she was sleeping like the dead. I glanced at the caller ID. Leo. My annoyance spiked. I just turned her phone off. I was getting out of the shower when the doorbell rang, its timing impeccable. I opened the door, a towel wrapped around my waist, and found Leo standing on the doorstep, his face dark as a storm cloud. I couldn’t help but smile. “Mr. Croft. To what do I owe the pleasure this early in the morning?” 4 His eyes immediately locked onto the fresh scratch marks covering my chest and shoulders. “You slept together,” he hissed through clenched teeth. Heh. We’re a legally married couple. Is that a problem? But I played dumb. “No, of course not. You’re imagining things. Stella has been saving herself for you. She would never… you’ve misunderstood.” The money wasn’t in my account yet. I couldn’t admit anything. If I pissed Stella off now, she might back out of the settlement, and I’d be left with nothing. Leo’s eyes bored into me, his face turning a sickly shade of green. “Misunderstood? Do you think I’m blind, Cole? What about those scratches?” I feigned a frown. “My cat,” I said, my voice laced with impatience. “Is that a problem? And by what right are you questioning me, Mr. Croft? In case you’ve forgotten, until these papers are finalized, I am Stella’s husband.” His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to control his rage. “Move. I want to see Stella.” I blocked the doorway, a playful smirk on my face. “She had a lot to drink last night. She’s still sleeping. If you try to force your way in here, and the old man finds out… I imagine he’ll be paying your family a visit to have a little chat about manners.” Just as I expected, the mention of Stella’s grandfather deflated him instantly. He shot me one last venomous glare, knowing he was beaten. “You just wait,” he spat, before turning and storming off. When I got back to the bedroom, Stella was already awake. Her eyes were burning with fury. My heart skipped a beat. I immediately switched into character, my face a mask of pitiful longing. “Stella, you’re awake? Stella, I can’t live without you. Can we not get a divorce? Please? What would I do without you?” She was livid. Last night, I had promised to just hold her, and instead, I had… well. And now I was backing out of the deal? Did I think she was a pushover? 5 But then her eyes met my pleading, mournful gaze, and her resolve wavered. Her voice, when she spoke, was softer than I expected. “Cole, I kept my end of the bargain. Don’t try to pull anything.” She slapped a document on the bedside table. A divorce agreement. “If you don’t sign this, I will make your life a living hell.” My eyes went wide as I scanned the asset division clause. Fifty. Million. Dollars. Before I was transmigrated, I was just a corporate drone, crushed by the daily grind. The original Cole’s family had a business, sure, but it was nothing compared to the Sullivan empire. Besides, he had an older brother. He was never the heir. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have spent three years of his marriage as a house husband. This wasn’t a divorce agreement. It was a winning lottery ticket. Seeing me hesitate, Stella’s face darkened. She thought I was going to renege on the deal. “Cole, do not test my patience…” Before she could finish, I had scrawled my signature and handed it back. “When does the money hit my account?” Stella was clearly taken aback, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re really agreeing to this?” Heh. What’s that supposed to mean? I signed it. Is she going to back out now? But this was the critical moment. I couldn’t look too eager. I grabbed her soft hand, my face the picture of heartbreak. “Stella, you know I can’t live without you. But… I respect your choice.” She snatched her hand back, a visible wave of relief washing over her. She turned and made a call to her assistant. A few moments later, my phone pinged with a bank notification. I stared at the long line of zeros and almost burst out laughing. Overcome with joy, I pulled her in and kissed her on the cheek. The memory of last night must have resurfaced, because her face flushed with anger and she shoved me away. “Get out!” she screamed. “I don’t want to see you ever again!” Faced with her murderous glare, I didn’t need to be told twice. I beat a hasty retreat. After I left, Stella sat on the sofa in a daze. The events of the past twenty-four hours were still a blur. Suddenly, she realized that something about me had changed. The old Cole would never have been so bold, so shameless. He would never have done… any of that. She had thought signing the papers would make her happy, ecstatic even. But now, all she felt was a strange, hollow emptiness in her chest, as if she had lost something vital.

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Bad news: I’m the switched-at-birth fake heiress. Even worse news: I’ve spent my entire life being a spoiled, arrogant brat with zero skills, and now I have nothing to show for it. And I’m pretty sure this is all my ridiculously overprotective, sister-doting brother’s fault. So I stormed over to his penthouse in the middle of the night and clung to his leg for dear life. “Waaah! It’s all your fault you spoiled me rotten! If you don’t take care of me, I’ll… I’ll hang myself from your front door!” A vein throbbed on my brother’s temple. “…Just get up, Debra.” 1 I was a mess, sprawled on the polished marble floor, my fingers desperately clutching the leg of Liam Howard’s tailored trousers. I proceeded to wipe my snot and tears all over the expensive fabric. Liam’s patience finally snapped. “Debra Howard!” I looked up at him, my eyes shimmering with tears. Just like that, the anger drained from his face. He took a deep breath, his voice softening. “Of course, I’ll take care of you. But you have to tell me what happened first, okay?” It all started the day before. With graduation just around the corner, I had zero interest in getting an internship. My brilliant plan was to go home and surprise my parents by announcing my intention to mooch off them for the foreseeable future. Instead, the surprise was on me. I overheard the secret that would turn my world upside down. Turns out, years ago, my dad had to go overseas for a business trip that was supposed to last several months. He couldn’t bear to leave my mom, who was suffering from terrible morning sickness, so he took her with him. A month before her due date, she took a nasty fall and was rushed to a nearby hospital. The baby—me—was born safely, but then a massive earthquake struck. In the ensuing chaos, two newborns in incubators were accidentally switched. Now, my parents were in the study, discussing how to contact their biological daughter and make things right. When they mentioned my name, their voices heavy with exhaustion, I couldn’t bring myself to listen anymore. My head felt like it was filled with buzzing bees for the rest of the day. For a spoiled, clueless girl who had never worked a day in her life, my world had just ended. My sky had fallen. Growing up, my parents tried everything to find a hobby for me. They hired tutors for piano, ballet, painting, even martial arts. I managed to drive every single one of them away. It wasn’t complicated: I was a bratty chatterbox. I refused to learn and insisted on pulling my tutors into endless, pointless conversations. Whenever my mom scolded me, I’d immediately hide behind Liam, my lower lip trembling. “Liam, I don’t like any of this!” He was a total sucker for it. He’d shield me instantly. “If she doesn’t want to learn, don’t force her.” My mom would sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Keep spoiling her, Liam. She’ll grow up knowing nothing. Are you going to provide for her then?” His expression, even as a boy, was firm. “Yeah. I will.” And he spent the first part of his life living up to that promise. After I was born, the family business boomed. My parents were constantly flying around the world. At just six years old, Liam took it upon himself to raise me. You could say I was his project. But his excessive doting turned me into a little terror. Didn’t want to go to class? That’s fine, as long as I was having fun. Bullied other kids with my family’s influence? No problem, he’d clean up the mess. Refused to learn any skills? Who cares? Our family had more than enough money. That was the value system I’d lived by for twenty-one years. I was all set to be a happy, pampered freeloader for the rest of my life. And now they were telling me I was the fake heiress. I couldn’t accept it. I just couldn’t. 2 The thought of my miserable future life brought on a fresh wave of genuine, heartfelt sobs. “Liam, this is mostly your fault.” He looked at me, utterly bewildered. I spoke with the conviction of a prosecutor. “You know what they say, ‘spare the rod, spoil the child.’ I read this story once, about a mother who let her son get away with everything, from stealing candy as a kid to robbing banks as an adult. He ended up on death row, and for his last wish, he asked to see his mom. Do you know what he did? He bit her ear clean off!” Liam squeezed his eyes shut and took another long, slow breath, his voice tight. “What, exactly, are you planning to steal?” I panicked. “Ugh, why are you so dense? It’s a metaphor! I’m making a point!” He actually looked surprised. “A metaphor? Look at you, learning new words.” That only made me cry harder. “This isn’t a joke! I’m really not your sister!” Liam froze. Then, he reached down and effortlessly lifted me from the floor. “I know. But I raised you. Blood or not, I’ll always take care of you.” “Really?” “Yes.” “I don’t believe you.” “…” What if the real heiress decided I’d stolen her life of luxury for twenty-one years and convinced my parents to kick me out? Besides, everyone knew me as a spoiled brat. If we ever got into a fight, they’d all take her side and condemn me. My brother adored me, sure, but I wasn’t his real sister. Over time… Oh god, the more I thought about it, the more terrifying it became. It’s not like I asked to be switched at birth! Seeing my lip tremble again, Liam sighed and knelt in front of me, his voice soft and coaxing, just like all the times before. “Then what do you want me to do? I’ll agree to anything, okay?” My head snapped up. “How about you send me to study abroad!” Liam’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t say anything. “No, wait, that’s a terrible idea. I made too many enemies in high school, and they’re all overseas now. If they find out I’ve gone from princess to pauper, they’ll make my life a living hell. I’ll probably end up dead in a ditch somewhere…” I chewed on my finger, immediately dismissing my own suggestion. “Okay, what if you record a video promising to give me a monthly allowance… no, that’s no good either. If we have a falling out, you’ll just cut me off and sue me for blackmail. I’ll end up in jail, and when I get out, I’ll be a mess, and then one of my old enemies will find me and push me off a building—” The vein on Liam’s forehead was practically pulsing. He clamped a hand over my mouth. “Enough. I should have burned all of your trashy novels years ago.” “Mmph! It’s your fault for spoiling me! I’m terrified and you’re still yelling at me!” The thread of composure I’d been holding onto finally snapped. I grabbed the edge of the sofa, sobbing and stomping my feet. “Liam, what am I going to do?” He must have never seen me cry this hard before because he just stared, momentarily stunned. After a long moment, he pulled me into his arms. “What are you so afraid of? I’m never going to leave you.” I don’t know how long I cried, soaking a large patch of his custom-made black silk shirt before I finally drifted off to sleep. In a hazy daze, I felt someone carry me to a soft bed, gently wipe my face with a warm cloth, and then quietly close the door, leaving me in the darkness. 3 I slept like the dead. When I woke up, the sun was already setting, casting long, orange shadows across the room. I rubbed my swollen eyes and opened the door to find Liam standing silently on the balcony. He was perfectly still, staring at the distant skyline, a nearly burnt-out cigarette pinched between his fingers. My heart dropped. The last time he smoked was when he had just taken over the Howard Group. The foundation was shaky, and the old board members fought him on every decision. The stress got to him, and he started smoking. When I found out, I threw a fit—fake coughing, shortness of breath, chest pains—a full-blown drama queen performance until he agreed to quit. He never could say no to me. So why was he smoking now? Was it… because of me? “Liam,” I called out softly from behind him. His fingers twitched, and he reflexively stubbed out the cigarette. His hair was a little messy, falling over his forehead and hiding the gaze he deliberately kept averted. That’s when I noticed it. A faint, angry red bloom across his right cheek, like he’d been slapped. Hard. The words died in my throat. He forced a weak smile, his voice raspy. “You’re awake? I’ll go make you some pasta to fill you up.” He walked past me towards the kitchen, his steps hurried as if he were fleeing a natural disaster. My phone buzzed gently. I glanced down and saw a message from my dad, sent and then quickly retracted. The picture was becoming painfully clear. Welp, it looked like Debra Howard was about to be permanently evicted from her home. I clamped my hand over my mouth and ran back into the room, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. Before the axe fell for good, I quickly checked the balance on my accounts. Luckily, I still had a little over a million dollars. First things first, I transferred a hundred thousand dollars to each of the two girls I’d been sponsoring for years, to cover their tuition and living expenses. Almost immediately, two question marks popped up in our little group chat. I gave them the short version of the story, gently explaining that my own future was uncertain and I couldn’t continue supporting them regularly anymore. Right now, I was paranoid and fragile, seeing shadows in every corner. I felt like anyone could be waiting to kick me while I was down. I didn’t want to expose my weakness, so I was about to dissolve the group chat when a video call request came through from them. Mia: “Is that all? Big deal. I’ll support you from now on.” Lily: “Debra, I’ll support you too!” My composure shattered in an instant, and fresh tears streamed down my face. I was touched, but I had to refuse. “Sniffle… Never mind, guys. The money you two make wouldn’t even be enough to buy me a handbag.” Mia and Lily: “…” Mia was in my year; Lily was a year younger. Back in prep school, they were scholarship students at our elite academy. That kind of poor-but-resilient-heroine trope was prime bait for the idle, rich scumbags. And I, the resident tyrannical heiress, loved nothing more than putting those scumbags in their place. So, we had a deal: I protected and funded them, and they tutored me. It was a fair trade that had lasted until now. I wasn’t sure if you could call us friends, but they loved sharing their lives with me, and I found it surprisingly fun. After they saw I’d declined their very generous offer of patronage, they spent the whole night planning out my future. In the end, we all agreed on the perfect solution. Get certified as a pastry chef and open a dessert shop! Ever since I was a teenager, whenever I got into trouble, I’d bake a box of cookies for Liam as an apology. Even the coldest heart would melt at the sight of such a peace offering. After thinking it over, I realized that baking was probably the only talent and interest I actually had. Time to get to work. I started researching online, so absorbed that I didn’t even notice the missed calls from Ethan. 4 A few days later, Liam seemed to have finally processed the fact that I wasn’t his biological sister. Seeing that my mood had stabilized, he cautiously brought up the topic. It seemed a major life crisis really could make a person grow up overnight. I even found myself reflecting on my own behavior. Liam had always been so good to me, and I’d used his love to emotionally blackmail him. It was completely out of line. The old me, the one who held everyone else to impossible standards while letting myself off the hook, would never have thought that way. But I wasn’t a pampered heiress anymore. A girl’s got to know when to adapt. I sighed inwardly and forced a smile. “It’s a good thing Mom and Dad found their real daughter. What’s her name? Where does she go to school?” Liam looked at me, his gaze deep and unreadable. “Her name is Isla. She’s currently studying abroad… at the same university as Ethan Vance. It seems they’re… quite close.” He paused on the last sentence, his eyes dropping to avoid mine. I froze. Isla. I’d heard that name before. The first time was during a phone call with Ethan. I heard a girl’s voice in the background and immediately, jealously demanded to know who she was. He was silent for a moment before answering coolly, “Isla. She’s a classmate in my project group.” The second time, Mia got accepted into an exchange program at the same university as Ethan. Knowing about my massive crush, she volunteered to do some recon for me. She found out that he and this Isla girl had indeed partnered on several major projects. And the third time… was Liam telling me she was the real Howard heiress. Trashy romance novels were too tame. My life was way more dramatic. If I flipped off the sky right now, would it strike me with lightning? What cosmic force had I pissed off to deserve this? Seeing me looking completely lost, Liam sighed softly. “Ethan has always been cold and aloof. I never wanted you to pursue him because I was afraid you’d get hurt. If you—” I shook my head vigorously, my gaze determined. “Don’t worry, Liam. I’m done chasing him.” The Vances and the Howards were old family friends. Ethan and I had grown up together. He was brilliant, devastatingly handsome, and had this untouchable, icy aura that perfectly fit my image of the unattainable male lead. So I used our childhood connection to stake my claim, making sure not a single other girl got near him for years. He once said he liked girls who were his equal, so I gritted my teeth and studied for hundreds of sleepless nights to get into a top university in the same city as him. Although Ethan was cold to everyone, he always tacitly allowed my not-so-subtle advances. I took that as a sign that he wasn’t rejecting me, which only encouraged me to try harder. Our families had even floated the idea of us getting engaged after graduation. But now, by some twist of fate, he’d met the real heiress, Isla. This must be what he meant by his “equal.” What could I do? Fate itself had tied them together. I couldn’t even imagine how ugly my downfall would be if I refused to see the writing on the wall and kept clinging to him. Hearing my answer, Liam’s eyes flickered, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Really?” I nodded glumly. “For real. Being in different countries for so long… the feelings have faded. I don’t think I even liked him that much anymore.” Ugh, such a clumsy lie. He’d see right through it. He could always tell when I was just pretending to be tough. I braced myself for his comforting words, but when I looked up, I was stunned. “Hey, what are you smiling about?” Liam’s smile hadn’t quite vanished. He quickly raised a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Good. It’s good to see you’ve come to your senses.” My senses? Where were my senses supposed to be? I had a feeling he was mocking me. I eyed him suspiciously for a long moment. He suddenly stood up, back to his usual prim and proper self. “I’m heading to work.” 5 Mia quickly sent me a detailed guide on how to open a shop, a step-by-step tutorial that was incredibly thorough and organized. Lily, who happened to be attending university in the city, volunteered to be my runner, helping me scout the perfect location for my new store. My only job was to focus on getting certified. I scheduled a visit to a well-known baking academy to learn more. As luck would have it, the city’s Department of Labor was hosting a culinary competition soon. If I entered, I could directly test for the advanced pastry chef certification. I immediately signed up for the most expensive one-on-one course. When I got home and was looking over my new class schedule, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find a stunning blonde woman. Her bright smile faltered for a second when she saw me, and she greeted me with a hint of awkwardness. “Hi, is this Liam Howard’s apartment? Are you his sister?” She spoke with a crisp British accent. I remembered my mom showing Liam a stack of photos of eligible young women, trying to force him into blind dates. This woman was among them—the only foreigner, which made her memorable. Her name was Anne, the daughter of a major international client. Apparently, she had fallen for Liam at first sight during a business meeting. Foreigners tended to be bold and direct, and it seemed my brother was having trouble with her advances. Obviously, I was on my brother’s side. I had to help him out. I smiled sweetly and replied in equally fluent English, “No. I’m his girlfriend.” Anne’s expression soured. “As far as I know, he doesn’t have a girlfriend.” I casually twirled a lock of my wavy hair, putting on a haughty air. “My apologies. He chased me for a very long time before I finally said yes. You can ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.” “It’s true. She’s my girlfriend,” a deep, steady voice said from behind me. Liam had appeared, walking past a shocked Anne to stand beside me, his expression perfectly calm as he backed up my story. See? We were so in sync. Best fake-siblings ever. Anne’s suspicious gaze still darted between us. So, I took it a step further, looping my arm through Liam’s and cooing in a syrupy voice, “Honey, you must be so tired. How about I make us a steak dinner tonight?” Liam’s body instantly tensed, turning into a stone statue. I gave his arm a discreet, sharp pinch. Thankfully, he recovered quickly, turning to Anne with a natural expression to ask what she needed. Anne just shot us a cold look, muttered, “My mistake,” and clicked away on her high heels. I let out a breath and looked up at Liam, expecting praise. “Wasn’t I great?” He didn’t answer. He just tilted his head slightly, and his voice came out a little rough. “Go put on some more clothes. The AC is blasting in here; you’ll catch a cold.” I glanced down. I was wearing a silk slip dress, the neckline dipping low enough to show a hint of cleavage. Right. We were adults now. Living with my brother was getting a bit… complicated. I needed to find my own place. 6 A few days later, I found an apartment I loved. That evening, the housekeeper came over to cook, but Liam was still working late. On a whim, I decided to cook him a meal myself. So when he finally got home, he was greeted by a table full of blackened, unidentifiable objects and me, beaming with enthusiasm. Liam: “…” I picked up a piece of what was once braised short rib and placed it on his plate. “Brother, you must be starving. I made all your favorites.” “And here are the sweet and sour… things.” “And pan-seared scallops! For your daily dose of protein.” I chattered nonstop throughout the meal, my mouth never stopping for a second. Of course, I knew the food looked and tasted like garbage. But you can’t waste food. The more I talked, the less I had to eat. Liam struggled to swallow a bite of my cooking. The next second, his plate was full again. He looked up, about to say something, but when he saw my almost pleading smile, he froze. A complex mix of emotions flashed through his eyes—shock, guilt, and a deep, aching pity. I don’t know what he was imagining, but he gently pushed my chopsticks away. “Debra,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “you never have to worry about the future. I promised I’d take care of you for the rest of your life, and I will never go back on my word.” He took my hand. “The hands that wear diamonds and pearls aren’t meant for this kind of work, do you understand?” I was genuinely touched. So, naturally, I put another piece of charred mystery meat on his plate. “Liam, I just wanted to repay you for all these years.” “…Repay me?” The words sounded strained, as if he were grinding his teeth. I didn’t get it. “Besides, I won’t have the chance to do this anymore. I’m moving out.” After I briefly explained why, he became incredibly quiet. He even started actively eating, moving with the programmed precision of a robot. Before long, every plate was empty. I stared at him, my hand hovering over my phone, debating whether to call a shaman or a doctor first. Liam suddenly looked up, his tone flat and businesslike, as if he were in a negotiation. “I’ve given it some thought, and I believe it’s better for you to continue living here. My reasons are as follows: first, your baking academy is closer to my place. Second, Anne may not believe you’re my girlfriend, and we might need you to play the part again if she shows up.” I muttered under my breath, “First he says he’ll take care of me forever, now he’s giving me conditions. Men. All talk.” Liam pressed his fingers to his temples. “…Third, the private pastry chef from that bakery you love? I can hire her to give you private lessons.” My face instantly changed. “Really, Liam? I knew you were the best! I’ll love you forever!” The tips of his ears turned pink under the warm light. He avoided my adoring gaze, his voice a low murmur. “So, are you still moving out?” I shook my head so hard it felt like it would fly off, laying on the praise thick. “Nope! Never! You know I was only thinking of moving because I was afraid I was bothering you. Did you really think I’d want to leave the most amazing, handsome, kindest brother in the entire universe? I would rather live here as a cockroach than leave you—” A faint smile touched Liam’s lips. He stood up, gathered the plates, and walked to the kitchen in one fluid motion. “Alright, that’s enough. Go to your room. I’m doing the dishes.” “Okay, Liam!” 7 I don’t think I’d ever been this busy in my entire life. Baking classes during the day, checking on the dessert shop’s renovation in the afternoon, and more lessons with the private chef at night. Oh, and I still had my thesis to finish. I’d gotten used to collapsing on the sofa from exhaustion, only to be carried to my bed by Liam later. So when Ethan’s call woke me up, I groggily checked the time. Eight in the morning. Seeing his name on the screen felt like a relic from another lifetime. It had been over a month since we’d last spoken. I hesitated for a second before answering. “Debra?” It was the middle of the night in the UK, and his voice was hoarse. I mumbled a soft, “Yeah? What’s up?” Ethan was quiet for a moment. “…Are you upset?” “No. Why are you calling all of a sudden?” It was always me who called him, and he was always too busy to talk for long. He was acting weird today. Oh god. Did he find out I’m the fake heiress? Is he calling to officially cut ties? My hand tightened around my phone. Better to strike first than be humiliated. Ethan: “You said you wanted to come to the UK for your graduation trip. I’m not too busy right now, so when are you coming?” I think I did say that. But now I was busy trying to build a life for myself. I couldn’t explain all that to a guy like him. I gave a vague excuse. “I’m getting ready to open a dessert shop, so things are pretty crazy right now. Sorry.” He must have found the idea of a freeloader like me opening a business completely unbelievable because he took a few seconds to process it. “Why a dessert shop, all of a sudden?” That question veered dangerously close to my whole life story, and while he’d find out eventually, I wasn’t ready to tell him now. I was shocked to realize that, in my subconscious, I trusted Mia and Lily more than I trusted Ethan. So what had I been doing chasing him all these years? Was I just bored? “Debra, time to get up for your class.” Liam’s knock on the door came at the perfect moment. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Ethan, I have to go. Talk to you later.” I hung up without waiting for a reply. Knowing his personality, he probably wouldn’t call me again. I should have been sad. But I was so busy I barely had time to breathe, let alone mourn the end of a one-sided crush. In fact, it felt like a massive weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt… lighter. But contrary to my expectations, the less I reached out, the more frequently he started calling. At dinner, I’d answer his call, and before I could get two words out, Liam would remind me my food was getting cold. In my room, as soon as I picked up, Liam would walk in with a platter of cut fruit. On the sofa, just as his ringtone started, a muffled grunt would come from the bathroom. I’d rush over to find he’d nicked himself with his razor. “…Liam, can’t you be more careful?” His freshly dried hair fell softly over his forehead, making him look surprisingly innocent. “Sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.” I pushed him onto the sofa and went to get the first-aid kit. The phone kept ringing incessantly. Liam caught my wrist. “Aren’t you going to get that?” I frowned, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “He’s not as important as you are.” For a second, we both just stared at each other. The air grew thick, syrupy. My breathing hitched. We held each other’s gaze, a flicker of an unidentifiable panic passing between us. The skin where his palm wrapped around my wrist began to burn. I felt trapped. I yanked my hand away, the sudden movement startling even me. Run. The word screamed in my head. Meeting his deep, searching eyes, my throat went dry. “I’ll… I’ll go get the antiseptic.” I had to hurry. At this rate, the tiny cut would heal on its own. After patching him up, I went back to my room and saw a message from Ethan. [Is it because of you and Isla? Is that why you’re pushing me away?] He knew. Which meant my parents had contacted Isla. The axe had finally fallen. But I no longer felt the panic from before. Only a strange calm. Taking a deep breath, I typed out a reply: [No. It’s because I don’t like you anymore.]

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In the first week of the semester, I started having recurring dreams about two men, both of whom claimed to be my boyfriend. I’d wake up sore all over. I went to see a psychiatrist. “It’s just stress. Don’t worry,” he said with a gentle smile, prescribing me some medication. “Take this, and you’ll fall asleep early.” But after I started taking it, I found the dreams only got longer. In the dream, the other man clasped my hands, a low chuckle in his voice. “I told you to use a smaller dose. It lasts too long. She can’t handle it.” 1 “Look at you… so beautiful…” The large hand resting on my collarbone was elegant and long-fingered. But I couldn’t see his face. “Eva, wake up!” A voice yanked me from my sleep. My roommate, Jade, was sitting on the edge of my bed, her face etched with worry. She touched my forehead, which was slick with sweat. “Eva, are you running a fever? Your face is so red. Should we go to the clinic?” I was lying in my small dorm bed, drenched in sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs. My whole body ached. “I’m… fine,” I croaked, my voice hoarse. The clock on the wall ticked rhythmically. I flexed my wrist, a phantom pain from the dream lingering with unsettling reality. Right before Jade woke me, those two men had been discussing how to tie my hands and suspend me in front of a full-length mirror… 2 This was the fourth time this week. Ever since moving into this dorm room, the dreams had become a nightly occurrence. Two men, their faces always obscured. One seemed older, with a calm, warm demeanor. His fingers were long, an expensive watch circling his wrist. His voice was so smooth it could make your legs go weak. A wolf in gentleman’s clothing. The other was younger. Though he always spoke with a smile, he was the aggressive one, showing me no mercy. They both said they were my boyfriend. And they seemed determined to wear me out. Every morning, I woke up feeling sore and battered, sometimes having to grip the bedpost just to steady myself as I stood up. “Eva, we’re going to be late for anatomy lab. You coming?” Jade, clutching her textbook, broke through my thoughts. I’m a medical student, a staunch atheist. I dismissed the strange dreams as nothing more than academic stress. But I couldn’t tell Jade. She was so delicate; she’d hide in a corner during a horror movie. This wasn’t something I could share. 3 Friday afternoon. The anatomy lab was packed. Jade had already saved us seats in the front row. “Eva, where are you going?” she called out from the crowd. Lost in thought about the dreams, I’d walked right past her. The flow of students was thick. As I tried to back up, carrying my books, someone tripped me from behind. I felt myself falling, books and all. Suddenly, a strong, firm hand was on the small of my back, searingly hot. A gentle push was all it took to stop my fall. “Careful. Wouldn’t want you to get soaked.” The low, lazy chuckle sent a shiver down my spine, weakening my knees. It was the same voice that had teased me countless times in my dreams. This had to be a nightmare. Jade was mouthing something at the person behind me—Senior. I slowly turned my head. It was Adrian, a PhD student a few years ahead of us, currently serving as the TA for our anatomy class. He stood behind me, his head tilted slightly, his handsome features framed by a sweep of dark lashes. Beneath them, his dark eyes danced with amusement. “Need a hand?” A nervous sweat broke out on my skin. I scrambled back. “No… no, thank you, Adrian.” His gaze lingered on my face for a second before he smiled. “Take your seat, class is about to start.” I’d never spoken to him before. He was one of the most popular guys on campus, constantly surrounded by admirers, but he’d never been known to have a girlfriend. Rumor had it his tastes were… unconventional. Sunlight filtered through the large windows, slicing into golden shafts around Adrian as he stood at the front of the lab. Dressed in a white coat, he looked almost godlike. He had already pulled on a pair of white latex gloves and picked up a scalpel. The material fit his skin like a second layer as his fingers moved deftly through flesh and tissue. Jade squeezed my hand, her voice a shy whisper. “Eva, did you know? Adrian’s dissection skills are famous.” She spoke a little too loudly. Adrian seemed to hear her and glanced over, a faint smile on his lips. His light-colored eyes met mine, but there was no warmth in them—only a calculating, analytical gaze that sent an inexplicable chill up my spine. I instinctively shrank closer to Jade. At the front, Adrian’s fingers moved with fluid, efficient grace. His cool voice echoed through the lecture hall as he began to explain the day’s lesson. I couldn’t help but be pulled back into the dream—where he used that same skillful touch, that same effortless control, to play with you until you broke down and begged… I was losing my mind. I needed to see a doctor. The moment class ended, I ignored Jade’s calls, packed my books, and fled. 4 The university health center was just south of the main campus, not a long walk. Friday afternoons were always the busiest. I checked in with the psychiatry department and waited for my name to be called. The consultation room was quiet. The warm glow of the setting sun streamed through the window. The only sound was the mechanical click of a computer mouse. My eyes were drawn to a pale, elegant hand resting on it. A watch on the wrist caught the light, glinting brightly. Backlit as he was, I could only make out the blurred profile of his face and the sharp silhouette of his broad shoulders and narrow waist. This was Dr. Smith Croft, the university’s renowned psychology professor. He was young, but he had both a brilliant academic mind and a captivating appearance. He radiated an aura of cool, scholarly restraint. “What seems to be the trouble?” he asked softly. My heart skipped a beat. The voice, smooth enough to melt your resolve, flowed into my ears on the quiet afternoon air. My mind flashed to the dream, to the hand that had pinned me against the mirror, to the voice that had laughed and told me to watch… I really was going crazy. Everyone was starting to look like the men from my dreams. “Miss? Are you listening?” Dr. Croft’s gentle gaze peered over the top of his glasses, pulling me back to reality. I licked my dry lips and noticed he wasn’t writing notes. He was leaning back, arms crossed, waiting patiently for me to speak. “I’m sorry, yes. I’m listening,” I said, sitting up straight like a chastised child. It felt like even looking at him for too long was some kind of sacrilege. “Don’t be nervous. Just tell me what’s wrong.” His voice was a rich, soothing balm that instantly calmed my frayed nerves. I nodded, stammering, “I’ve been having… nightmares. For a week now…” As I said it, I felt a hot blush creep up my neck. Dr. Croft’s expression grew serious. “Nightmares? Can you give me any details?” I was at a loss for words. “Well… not exactly nightmares… more like… being teased…” A flicker of surprise crossed Dr. Croft’s cool eyes. He tapped a pen against his desk in a steady, rhythmic beat. He seemed intrigued, leaning forward slightly. “I see… And what do you think is causing this?” I wrung my hands together. “Maybe… just too much stress. It’s affecting my sleep.” “Are you tired when you wake up?” His voice was so gentle, it was easy to follow his line of questioning. “Yes, Doctor. I… I’m exhausted.” He gave a knowing smile and scribbled something on a notepad. “It’s just stress. Don’t worry. I’ll prescribe you something. Take it as directed. It will help you fall asleep early.” A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you, Doctor.” I hoped the medication would finally put an end to these mortifying nights. 5 That evening, I sat at my desk and took out the sleeping pills. Jade watched me, her expression hesitant. “Did you… did you go see Dr. Croft today?” “How did you know?” “No reason.” Her eyes seemed to dim. She handed me a glass of sweet-tasting water. “By the way, Eva, I think Adrian is a really great guy. Don’t you?” Great? Maybe. I took the pill with the water Jade gave me. The effects were almost immediate. A heavy drowsiness washed over me, pulling me into a fog. I thought I would finally get a peaceful night’s sleep. But— The dream returned. The same two men. A cool voice spoke first. “…She’s not feeling well today. Take it easy on her.” The scene was bright, blinding. My mind conjured an image of Adrian, but I had no strength to call out his name. Then, the low chuckle of the older man, soothing and close to my ear. “Hush, it’s just a routine check-up. We won’t hurt you.” I mumbled a response, struggling against the invisible bonds of sleep, but I couldn’t wake up. The air was thick with a strange mixture of scents. Pine, citrus, and antiseptic. Their two scents, blended together. Oh god, I thought. Even in my dreams, they’re making me study for exams. “So cute,” the other man whispered, then leaned down and kissed me. Panic surged. I fought back with all my might. Suddenly, a sharp pain on my lip, and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I let out a muffled groan, nearly choking. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like a fish out of water, my mouth opening and closing uselessly. A hand cradled the back of my head, and a palm patted my cheek. “Eva, breathe. You’re going to suffocate yourself—” Adrian’s voice was laced with a weary amusement. “I told you to use a smaller dose. It lasts too long. She can’t handle it.” … Thud. A loud crash shattered the dream. I woke up to find myself sitting on the floor of my dorm room. I’d knocked over the basin of water I kept by my bed. Jade’s sleepy voice drifted down from her bunk. “It’s Saturday, Eva. What are you doing up so early…?” “Sorry…” I mumbled, feeling utterly drained, as if I’d just run a marathon. It hit me then. I’d dreamed again. The symptoms hadn’t just failed to improve; they’d gotten worse. The dream had been longer. I gripped the bed frame, my entire body shaking. A profound weakness, originating from the very core of my being, made it a struggle to even stand. After a few minutes, I managed to pull myself up and get a glass of water. The moment the cool liquid touched my lips, a sharp, stinging pain made me wince. It hurts… I stumbled into the bathroom. In the mirror, a girl in a simple cotton slip nightgown stared back, her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed. And on her lower lip was a tiny, broken wound. A bite mark? It was real? My hands trembled as I lifted my wrist. There, on the tender skin of my inner wrist, were faint, pinkish marks… My reflection’s eyes widened in disbelief, the color draining from her face. Was any of this… really just a dream? 6 I was trapped in a spiral of self-doubt. Was I losing my mind, or was something else going on? “Eva, what are you thinking about?” Jade’s voice broke my concentration. “We have that elective today. The professor takes attendance.” I envied her so much. She got to sleep soundly every night. Ten minutes later, I dragged my exhausted body into the lecture hall. My back and legs ached like an old woman’s. As expected, we were late. “The students who are late, please take a seat in the front.” I had just sat down when the voice from the front of the room reached me. I looked up… it was Adrian. He was leaning against the lectern, a placid smile on his face. But the classroom was dead silent. He had, after all, failed half the class in this elective last semester. Steeling myself, I walked with Jade to the front row. Adrian didn’t call me out directly, but when he got to my name during roll call, he paused. “Eva. Why were you late today?” My voice was barely a whisper. “I… overslept.” “Oh? And what were you doing last night?” I choked. “Exercising.” Adrian suddenly grinned. “As I understand it, for exercise to be effective, you have to be consistent. Perhaps you… need more practice.” My face burned. “Okay…” He didn’t bother me for the rest of the class. Jade rested her chin on her hand and whispered, “Adrian is so disciplined and has such a bright future. If I were you, I’d be ecstatic.” Something about that felt wrong. “Why would I be ecstatic?” As far as anyone knew, Adrian and I were complete strangers. Why was she talking as if he liked me? She faltered, fiddling with her pen. “Oh, you’re missing the point…” 7 After class, I packed my books, eager to get back and catch up on sleep. “Eva, come here. I have something for you,” Adrian called from behind me. His voice was cool and businesslike. I hesitated for a moment before walking back. He pulled a black bag out from under the lectern. “For you.” “What is it?” “A heat patch,” he said, gathering his notes. “For muscle strains from… exercise. This will help it heal faster.” “…” He glanced at me. “Jade told me. She’s studying under my advisor now, so she’s my ‘little sister’ in the lab.” “Oh… I see.” I felt a pang of shame for my wild assumptions. No wonder Jade had been acting so strange. She must have misinterpreted Adrian’s odd behavior as interest in me and was trying to set us up. 8 I bought Jade some snacks on the way back to the dorm that day. She was sitting at her computer, busy with something. I crept up behind her, planning to surprise her. But when I saw what was on her screen, the smile froze on my face. She was researching… knots. All kinds of intricate knots, the kind designed to bind someone completely. Hearing me, Jade turned, saw me, and slammed her laptop shut as if she’d been caught. “Eva! You’re back!” She looked flustered, her eyes darting away from mine. My mind was a chaotic mess. I mechanically tossed the snacks into her lap. “Bought these for you.” Jade casually pushed the snacks aside and took my hand. “Thank you…” She was always polite, but this time, her touch made my skin crawl. “What… what were you looking at?” She blinked. “Oh, just practicing knots. The surgery professor just taught us some. I wanted to get some extra practice.” “Really?” I struggled to keep my voice even. The knots on her screen were nothing like the surgical knots we had been taught. Jade linked her arm through mine, changing the subject. “I’m starving. Come eat with me, Eva.” I watched her back with a complex expression, a terrifying thought taking root in my mind. Maybe my dreams were just my imagination. But the physical marks… Jade was the one leaving them. The thought was so horrifying I couldn’t stand the idea of sharing a room with her any longer. That evening, I submitted a request to my advisor to change dorms. She said the earliest she could get me an answer was next Wednesday, which meant I had to spend two or three more nights in that room with Jade. Before bed, she handed me her usual glass of honey water. I poured it down the sink while she was in the bathroom. The night deepened. I lay in the dark, tense and on high alert. Eventually, sheer exhaustion won, and I fell asleep. When I opened my eyes again, it was morning. Jade was already dressed, her dark hair falling smoothly down her back. She spoke in her usual gentle tone. “Eva, I’m going to the cafeteria. Do you want me to bring you anything?” It was the first good night’s sleep I’d had in what felt like forever. “No, thanks.” I lay there, staring at the ceiling, and quietly breathed a sigh of relief. I had found the problem. Jade had been drugging me. As long as I was careful, I would be fine. For the next few nights, I avoided her honey water and slept soundly. Jade seemed to notice. She would look at me with apologetic eyes and kept buying me snacks as a form of “penance.” Some things were better left unsaid. My only option was to wait for my advisor’s notice. 9 The day before I was scheduled to move, I went to the clinic for a follow-up. I wanted to thank Dr. Croft and ask for advice on managing mild anxiety. At the entrance, I ran into Mark, the head of the student union. He’d been pursuing me for a while, and despite my repeated rejections, he was persistent. “Eva, fancy seeing you here! Are you sick?” he asked with a wide grin. It was a little awkward. “Yeah, I have an appointment with the psych department.” He looked surprised. “Stressed from studying? Don’t worry, I’ll go with you.” Before I could protest, he was already dragging me upstairs. The psych department was less crowded today. After a quick word with the nurse at the desk, he pushed open the door to Dr. Croft’s office. “Dr. Croft, I have a friend here to see you—” His words died in his throat. Inside the bright office, Dr. Croft was sitting leisurely in his chair, legs crossed. Adrian was leaning against the window, hands in his pockets. They both turned at the sound. Backlit by the window, I couldn’t see their expressions, but a prickling sensation crawled up my spine, as if I were being watched by predators. Mark scratched his head. “Sorry, the nurse said you didn’t have a patient, so I just—” “What are you to Eva?” Adrian cut him off, his tone flat. Mark grinned good-naturedly. “I’m pursuing her.” The room fell silent. Dr. Croft laced his fingers together and let out a soft, almost mocking laugh. Adrian took his hands out of his pockets and stood up straight. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy. My face flushed. “Don’t… don’t say things like that…” Mark gave me a little push into the room. “Well, I’ve got to run. See you later!” Bang. The door closed, leaving the three of us alone. I had no idea they knew each other. “I’m sorry, I’ll… I’ll just go—” Adrian started walking towards me. I stumbled back a few steps as he closed the distance, blocking the light. His dark eyes held a shallow smile as he reached past me. I heard a soft click. The door was locked. The next thing I heard was his cold laugh. “Smith, so this was your brilliant idea? Give her a few days off, and she finds herself a new man.” My mind went blank. The blood drained from my face. Smith stood up, positioning himself between me and Adrian. He took off his watch, his voice as smooth as ever. “As an apology, then. You can go first.” 10 As dusk settled, the hospital’s noise began to fade. Adrian’s hand clamped around the back of my neck, and he mercilessly crushed his lips against mine. The scent of citrus flooded my senses. The last rays of sun reflected in my panicked eyes, but they didn’t seem to notice. Smith wrapped his arms around me from behind, his fingers gently tracing the nape of my neck. “What are you afraid of? It’s not your first time, is it?” My thoughts were a tangled mess. How had my life come to this? Smith lightly squeezed my reddened ear. “I was going to give you a break, but you’re just too eye-catching.” “What does it matter to you if someone likes me?” Adrian rubbed my swollen lips with his thumb and chuckled. “See? She doesn’t even know what she did wrong.” He took my limp body from Smith, one arm supporting my waist. “Where’s the break room?” Smith crossed his arms. “Small door on the right.” “What are you going to do?” “Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to enjoy the main course.” Smith stayed outside. I was dragged into a dim lounge. The air smelled faintly of pine. Dr. Croft’s staff ID was on the nightstand; this was his private space. Adrian tossed me onto the bed. I scrambled forward, but he grabbed my ankle and dragged me back. “Where do you think you’re going?” Sweat beaded on my forehead. “No… I… I’m not feeling well—” “Stop pretending,” he laughed softly. “I did your physical exam, remember? I know everything about you.” In my panic, I kicked out, my foot connecting with a sensitive area. He grunted, his grip tightening. “Eva, even if you broke me, I wouldn’t let you go.” He trapped me, his lips gently brushing my forehead. The power disparity was too great; my struggles were nothing to him. So it wasn’t a dream. Jade was his accomplice. As his familiar touch sent shivers of despair through me, I heard a nurse’s voice from outside the door. My head snapped up. “Help—mmph—” Adrian’s hand shot out, pulling me into the shadows. “You little brat. Who do you think is going to save you?” “Excuse me, Dr. Croft? Is someone in there?” “Yes. A new kitten I just got.” “Oh, we love kittens! Can we see?” Smith’s polite refusal came through the door. “I’m sorry, she’s too small. Not ready for visitors. I’m afraid she’ll get sick.” I had struggled so much I was drenched in sweat. I lay there like a dead fish, all hope gone. The world was ending. Suddenly, the glass door was pushed open. A sliver of light cut across the closed blinds. Smith stood in the doorway, his tone mild. “Not today, I’m afraid. We’ll have to find another place.” Adrian hissed. “Smith, are you serious?” He pushed himself up and saw Smith leaning against the doorframe, shamelessly looking me over. Adrian grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around me, then used a tissue to wipe the sweat from my face. Smith chuckled. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before. What are you hiding?” I cleared my throat, swallowing the raspiness. “Can… can I go now?” They both looked at me with mocking smiles, as if I’d asked the stupidest question in the world. A few minutes later, I was sandwiched between them, walking past the nurses’ station, my face burning. “Oh, Doctor, does this young lady need some help?” The hand hidden under Adrian’s coat tightened its grip, and my whole body went rigid. I shook my head violently. “No… I don’t. Thank you.” Adrian laughed. “That was a close one. You wouldn’t want to cause a scene, would you, Eva?”

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Foul sounds seeped from the girls’ bathroom, but I walked away. Inside was Quinn, my childhood friend, drugged and feebly resisting the principal’s son. In my past life, I intervened—a “heroic” act that doomed my family. Quinn shredded my uniform, scratched my neck, and a viral video branded me a “trash ruled by his dick.” The real culprit walked free. Quinn then pretended to love me, and I fell for it. Our decade-long marriage was hell; she drugged me, driving me to schizophrenia. On my deathbed, I learned the truth. She framed my father for tax evasion, landing him in prison. My mother died from the shock. Quinn appeared with her lover, sneering, “If not for you, we’d have been together sooner.” I died with regret. Then I reopened my eyes—back to that day in the hallway. 1 The campus was quiet after school, so still I could hear the buzz of the cicadas. I let out a long breath, fighting to suppress the suffocating fear of my family’s destruction. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nathan holding out a bottle of water to Quinn. Quinn. The girl I’d known my whole life. That water was spiked—laced with a drug that would make her lose all control. In my last life, I exposed him right then and there. Quinn didn’t believe me. She thought I was just jealous that Nathan was more popular than I was, that I was trying to start trouble. This time, I chose to be a cold observer. Quinn took the water, her eyes flicking towards me. “What’s with that look? Are you going to police me for drinking a bottle of water?” “It’s none of my business.” I looked away. Seeing his chance, Nathan chimed in with a smirk. “Kael, you’re a little overprotective of Quinn, don’t you think? Anyone would think she’s your girlfriend.” A few other students were still in the classroom. They shot me strange looks. Quinn’s face fell, her eyes filled with scorn. “Who’d be his girlfriend? I’d never go for a boring nerd who only knows how to study!” A tidal wave of hatred churned in my chest. I snapped my head up, meeting her gaze. “As if I’d ever be interested in you, Quinn.” She froze, speechless, but her eyes were already welling with tears. Nathan seized the opportunity to mock me. “Still trying to act tough? Everyone here knows you’re obsessed with her.” “I just said a few words to Quinn, and your face soured like that. Pathetic. You look like a clown.” His words ignited Quinn’s fury. She always felt it was embarrassing to be associated with a bookworm like me. She shot me a venomous glare and, as if to spite me, chugged the entire bottle of water. I tightened my grip on my pen, a dark glint in my eyes, the corner of my mouth twitching into a smile. Last time, because of my interference, she only had a sip. But even that was enough to make her lose her mind, desperate for release. Now, she’d finished the whole bottle… A flicker of anticipation sparked within me. I even glanced at Nathan with something that could almost be described as approval. It takes a monster to deal with a monster. I noticed the triumphant gleam in Nathan’s eyes. He put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Quinn, you don’t look so good. Let me take you home.” She agreed with a bashful blush. About ten minutes later, Leo, the class president, burst into the classroom, his face flushed. I was the only one left. He was frantic, muttering, “The bathroom… the bathroom…” but couldn’t get the words out. I played dumb. “Something wrong in the bathroom? It’s not Quinn, is it?” Leo grabbed my arm, his hand shaking. “Yes, it’s Quinn! And… and Nathan!” “Those two?” My eyes were wide with innocent confusion, as if I knew nothing. There was a time I considered Leo my best friend. He was my desk-mate for all three years of high school; we never ran out of things to talk about. But after everything went down in my last life, he was the first one to climb over my broken body. He told everyone I was the one with the twisted mind, that my unrequited love for Quinn drove me to drug her, hoping to force the situation. He even went live on social media right after I gave my statement to the police. During the stream, he fabricated a mountain of lies out of thin air: [“I’m heartbroken by this news. I sat next to him for three years, and I knew he had a crush on Quinn, but I never thought he would…”] [“Kael is a total creep, he follows girls home at night.”] [“I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen. He even hits on young widows whose husbands just died…”] That livestream caused a massive uproar. I was publicly crucified. The school used it as an excuse to kick me out. Years later, at a class reunion, Leo was a successful man, holding a high-ranking position. Drunk, he boasted: [“It’s a good thing you screwed up back then. Otherwise, how would that full scholarship to Yale have ever gone to me?”] The memory made my gaze on Leo turn ice-cold. Last time, I went. Leo told me to go in and stop them while he got help. But what he really did was hide, record everything, and call the police, watching with glee as I fell into his trap. Seeing my lack of urgency, Leo grew desperate. “It’s Quinn… Nathan dragged her into the bathroom! She was fighting back… he’s forcing her.” “Are you so sure? Everyone knows they have a thing for each other. Maybe it’s just a couple having some fun,” I said with a half-smile. It was no secret that Quinn and Nathan were close, just one step away from making it official. My words made Leo grab my wrist tighter. “No! We’re still in high school! They can’t do that! Come on, we have to check on them, we have to stop them!” The calculation in his eyes was barely concealed. He was dying for me to rush in there and seal my own doom, so he could snatch that scholarship. I nodded and followed him downstairs. On the way, I took out my phone and quietly sent a pre-written text. The recipients were a few local influencers who happened to be livestreaming nearby. 2 This time, I was going to blow this thing wide open. Nathan was the principal’s only, precious son. I still remembered the look of disgust on the principal’s face when he expelled me in my last life. I’ve always been a helpful person. I wanted our dear principal to witness his son’s “prowess” firsthand. The closer we got to the bathroom, the clearer the lewd sounds from within became. It was utterly filthy. “Do you like it, Quinn?” Nathan’s panting voice drifted out. “I like it.” Quinn’s voice was devoid of reason, driven purely by instinctual desire. Leo’s eyes darted around. He lowered his voice. “Kael, it sounds like she’s not in her right mind. You go in and stall them. I’ll get help.” I smirked. The exact same words as last time. I feigned reluctance. “I don’t know… it’s the girls’ bathroom. If I just barge in, what if it’s a misunderstanding…?” “Are you kidding me?!” Leo glared, his eyes practically bugging out. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me, feigning exasperation. “Can you stop being such a coward? Any later and it’ll be too late! Are you just going to stand by and watch her get ruined by him?” The bathroom door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see the scene unfolding inside. Quinn’s clothes were torn and disheveled, pulled down to her waist. She was clinging to Nathan like a boneless heap of mud. Nathan’s eyes were filled with lust as he slammed her against the wall. He still had the gall to ask, “Are you sure you want this? Don’t regret it, Quinn.” “Give it to me, give it to me now…” Quinn sounded like the world’s most shameless prostitute, begging for it. Nathan pretended to be helpless, but his eyes were gleaming with triumph. … I answered meekly, “Alright, then. You go get a teacher, quickly. I’ll try to keep things under control.” As I was about to push the door open, I turned back to remind him, “You have to hurry!” Leo nodded vigorously and took off running. After he left, I dropped my hand from the door. I knew he hadn’t gone far. Sure enough, five minutes later, Leo’s sneaky figure reappeared. He had circled back. I watched from the shadows as he took out his phone and slipped it through the crack in the door… The two inside grew bolder, completely lost to the world. Having done his part, Leo left, satisfied. Before long, he returned, leading a large crowd towards the building. The noises from inside hadn’t subsided. Leo covered his mouth, feigning shock and helplessness as he stopped the principal. “Principal, I… I really… I don’t know how this could have happened. But as class president, I couldn’t just ignore it.” The principal was practically fuming. He didn’t know his own son was the male lead in this drama; Leo had been deliberately vague. I knew that, in Leo’s perfect world, both Nathan and I would be ruined. We were his main competitors. Normally, the principal would have sent security in to drag them out. But today, of all days, officials from the district were on campus for an inspection, and they hadn’t left yet. So a group of administrators ended up coming along to “catch them in the act.” The scene was, to put it mildly, spectacular. The principal’s chest heaved with rage. His promotion was likely going up in smoke. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got, wanting to storm in and tear the degenerates inside to pieces. Just as he was about to move, Leo feebly tried to stop him. “Don’t go, inside… it’s… that person is…” “I don’t care who it is! No one is walking away from this today!” the principal roared. Leo gave up, a look of disappointment on his face. “It’s Kael. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen.” The principal knew me, of course. I was first in my class every single exam, the school’s best hope for Yale. His eyes went wide, spittle flying from his mouth. “That bast—” He swallowed the word. With the district officials present, he had to maintain some decorum. The noises from inside continued, getting even more intense. Leo covered his face and pretended to cry. “Kael, how could you? I know you have a sex addiction, but you can’t just…” His words made the faces in the crowd turn even darker. The officials exchanged glances and sighed. Just then, I emerged from the back of the crowd, a confused look on my face. “Me? What did I do?” 3 “Kael! What are you doing here?!” Leo looked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, every hair on his body standing on end. The principal looked me up and down, his expression thoughtful. “It’s not you? Then who is in there?” “I don’t know. I didn’t see.” I shrugged, my face a mask of innocence. Of course, I wasn’t going to reveal the truth just yet. At that moment, the influencers who had received my text slipped through a gap in the school fence. “Well, well, I thought it was a prank, but it looks like some real action is going down in broad daylight.” “You folks must be the teachers, right? Why don’t you give our viewers a little show?” “Hey, you there, teacher, tell us: what’s going on with your students? Is the tap water in this school spiked with Viagra or something?” I hid in the crowd, trying to stifle a laugh. The water was spiked. The principal’s face was as black as soot. He turned away in disgust. Leo stared daggers at me. He rushed over, grabbed my arm, and hissed, “Why didn’t you go in?” “Huh? I was scared. It’s too X-rated in there. I’m a good student, you know.” My words made Leo so angry he raised his fist to punch me. But the influencer’s camera swung our way at that exact moment. Leo reluctantly lowered his hand, his eyes filled with venom. The streamer cheerfully panned his camera around. The chat was flying. [Bro, this is wild.] [You can tell from the sounds alone how shameless they are.] [Streamer, rush in there! We’re all ready for it.] The streamer looked tempted but then said apologetically, “I can’t do that, guys. My channel would get banned instantly.” The district officials looked extremely uncomfortable. One of them cleared his throat. “Lin, we can’t all just stand here. You should go in and assess the situation.” The principal, Mr. Lin, nodded through gritted teeth. His face was a grim shade of purple as he rolled up his sleeves, ready to charge. As he took a step, I rushed forward to block him. “Principal, don’t go! The student inside… has a special identity. If this gets any bigger, it will be embarrassing for everyone.” My words were loaded. The influencers perked up. “Ooh, what’s this? Is it one of the school administrators’ kids? Talk about abusing power.” This made the officials even angrier. One or two of them had already turned and left in a huff. My prodding had put the principal in an impossible position. He shoved me aside angrily. “Get out of my way! I don’t care who it is today, I’m dealing with it!” Leo took the opportunity to sidle up. “Kael, just let him go. Are you saying you knew what was happening all along?” He was trying to drag me down with them. I didn’t rush to defend myself. “Leo, I just think it’s a shame. We’re all classmates. If this gets out, their lives will be ruined…” The tone in the livestream chat began to shift. [This kid seems pretty decent.] [Hey, stop blocking! Students like that aren’t worth protecting.] [Doesn’t that class president guy sound a little sketchy?] The district officials exchanged glances and sighed. It wouldn’t look good for a group of them to barge in on camera. If the students inside did something drastic because of the publicity, no one wanted to take responsibility for that. So we all stood there, in a tense stalemate. The sounds from the bathroom continued intermittently. The influencers were stopped from getting any closer. This “adulterous drama” went on for nearly two hours. Finally, the bathroom door creaked open from the inside. The first person to walk out was a burly man in a construction worker’s uniform. He froze when he saw the crowd. Then he spat on the ground. “What are you looking at? Never seen a man take a piss before?” The principal and the other officials visibly relaxed. As long as it wasn’t a student, the situation was salvageable. But in the next second, someone gasped. “Holy crap, the scene inside is insane!”

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My life was a fairytale woven from silk and silver spoons. As a child, I was my father and brother’s cherished doll; as a woman, I became Rich Blackwood’s treasured possession. I was a beautiful ornament drifting through my twenties without a care, surrounded by couture and curated perfection. Nothing more was expected of me. I never questioned this life—until my estranged mother returned from Europe with my sister, Aurora. Aurora was everything I wasn’t: brilliant, poised, a force of nature. She dove into the family business, planning its future with Rich in conversations full of ambition I couldn’t grasp. One evening, drawn by a painful curiosity, I crept into the corporate headquarters and overheard them. A woman’s sharp voice asked, “Still here, Mr. Blackwood? Won’t the little lady at home get jealous?” Rich’s reply was cold and dismissive: “Jealous? What could she do? Without me, Katie is nothing—a pretty canary in the gilded cage I built. A broken, useless thing.” My world shattered. Then I saw my brother, Ethan, standing beside him, his expression cold and detached. “Katie has always been spoiled,” he said without warmth. “A little hardship will do her good.” 1 The morning sun filtered through my silk curtains, but it was Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, who gently woke me. I drifted into the master bathroom where a steaming bath already awaited, the water infused with lavender oils. Even my toothbrush was prepared, a perfect ribbon of mint paste squeezed onto the bristles. “Call if you need anything, Miss Katie,” Mrs. Gable’s voice came softly from outside the door. After my bath, I sat at my vanity, applying a light, dewy makeup. Mrs. Gable then escorted me to the breakfast solarium. Rich was already there, impeccably dressed, his eyes fixed on a tablet. He didn’t even look up as I sat down. “I won’t be back tonight,” he announced to the air. “Things are busy at the office.” I bit my lip, a familiar knot of resentment tightening in my chest. “Busy at the office, or busy with Aurora? You’re with her constantly these days.” His fingers stilled on the screen. Rich finally lifted his gaze, his gray eyes cold and sharp. “She is your sister, Katie. And a brilliant business partner. Aurora is not someone whose name you get to drag through the mud with petty gossip.” The rebuke stung like a slap. Tears pricked my eyes. “Am I wrong? She’s been back for two months, and you’ve spent more time with her than with me. Have you been home on time even once in those two months?” A flash of pure annoyance crossed his face. He dabbed his lips with a linen napkin, the gesture precise and final. “This is childish.” He rose, slipped on his tailored coat, and left without another word. My appetite vanished. I fled back to my room and let the tears come, a storm of frustration that ruined my carefully applied makeup. “Am I not beautiful anymore, Mrs. Gable?” I asked her later, my voice thick with misery. “Why does he treat me like this?” She hesitated, her kind eyes filled with a pity I hated. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, Miss Katie.” And she was right. How could I not be? Beauty was my life’s work. Skincare regimens, cosmetic artists, personal stylists, photographers—every waking moment was dedicated to crafting an image of flawless perfection. I was exquisite, a living work of art. Rich used to love this part of me. He used to adore his perfect doll. But since Aurora arrived, everything had changed. Aurora was my half-sister. When my parents’ bitter divorce tore our family apart years ago, my mother chose her. She took Aurora to Europe, and I was left with my father. I had screamed and cried, but my father and my brother, Ethan, smothered my grief with affection. They built a world for me where no shadow could touch me, a gilded cage I never knew I was in. I never had to lift a finger for anything. Private cars whisked me from one high-end boutique to another, my passport stamped with luxury destinations before I was twenty. Then came the arranged marriage. I was introduced to Rich Blackwood, and after a year of meticulously orchestrated courtship, we wed. Our marriage had been a merger, a contract sealing the Sterling and Blackwood empires. Rich continued where my father and brother left off. He sheltered me, pampered me, and never burdened me with the details of his world. All he asked was for me to be his beautiful, cheerful wife, waiting for him at home. I’d fill the silence of our massive house with my chatter about a new dress I’d bought, a disastrous makeup attempt, or which photo filter made me look best. He would listen, or at least pretend to, his patience a form of condescension I was too naive to recognize. Everyone envied me. At twenty-eight, I was still a princess, insulated from reality. First by my family, then by my husband. The truth was, I was useless. I had no skills, no ambitions. Without a team of staff, I couldn’t even manage a day on my own. I never thought this was a problem. Not until Aurora came back. When my mother and Aurora walked through the arrivals gate at the airport, they were a vision of power. My mother, elegant in a camel trench coat, was a force of nature, already taking calls, her voice crisp with authority. Aurora stood by her side, a younger, sharper reflection—poised, vibrant, exuding a confidence that was utterly foreign to me. They were a power duo, straight out of a business magazine. My father, there to greet them, was as stunned as I was. My mother’s eyes landed on me, and a small frown creased her brow. For the first time in my life, I looked down at my frilly princess dress and felt a hot wave of shame. I felt childish and flimsy. That was the moment the panic set in. A deep, primal sense of crisis. From that day on, everything shifted. Aurora’s brilliance captivated everyone. My father, Ethan, and even Rich looked at her with an admiration they never showed me. Suddenly, my carefully constructed world of beauty and leisure seemed shallow and pathetic. I, the pampered daughter, was a footnote in my own family’s story. Jealousy, sharp and ugly, took root in my heart. And it bloomed into a raging inferno the moment I realized Rich was just as captivated by her as everyone else. 2 After Rich left, a gray mood settled over me for the rest of the day. By evening, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to see him. I had to know. The driver dropped me at the gleaming Blackwood Corp tower. I rode the private elevator up, my heels clicking ominously on the marble floor. The main offices were dark and silent, but a sliver of light escaped from under Rich’s office door. I slipped out of my shoes and crept closer, my heart pounding. Through the narrow gap where the door was slightly ajar, I could see them. Rich and Aurora, sitting across from each other, smiling, their rapport easy and intimate. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. Then I heard Aurora’s voice, smooth as silk. “Still here, Mr. Blackwood? Won’t the little lady at home get jealous?” Rich’s brow furrowed slightly. “Don’t worry about her.” Aurora laughed, a light, musical sound. “I heard from Mrs. Gable that Katie’s been quite upset lately. Maybe you should head home.” Rich let out a short, cold huff of air. His voice was a low, dismissive drawl laced with a scorn that cut me to the bone. “Jealous? What could she possibly do? Without me, Katie is nothing. Just a pretty canary in a gilded cage I built for her. A broken, useless thing.” My blood ran cold. Rich… did he really see me that way? Just as a surge of furious tears burned my eyes, another voice chimed in, calm and familiar. “Katie’s always been spoiled. A little hardship will do her good.” My head snapped up. Through the crack in the door, I saw him. My brother. Ethan. Standing right there, his expression placid, as if discussing the weather. “She’s not a child anymore,” he continued. “If she throws a tantrum over something this small, who could stand it? It’s time her rough edges were smoothed out.” My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp, my body trembling so violently I thought I would collapse. My movement must have made a sound, because Rich’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing on the door. “Who’s there?” Panic seized me. I scrambled backward, grabbing my shoes and running. Pride, the only thing I had left, wouldn’t let me stay. I couldn’t bear the thought of Aurora seeing me like this, her eyes filled with the same pity I saw in everyone else’s. I fled, tears streaming down my face. In the back of the car, I sobbed uncontrollably. Rich despised me. And Ethan, my protector, my beloved brother, had betrayed me. He’d thrown me to the wolves. They didn’t love me anymore. It was nearly midnight when Rich finally came home. I was waiting for him in the dark, sitting ramrod straight on the living room sofa. He entered silently, shrugging off his coat and hanging it with detached precision. My eyes were swollen and red. Before I could even speak, he broke the silence. “You came to the office today.” It wasn’t a question. His voice was cold. I gritted my teeth. “Yes. I did.” He sighed, a sound of profound weariness, rubbing his temples. “That was you at the door, wasn’t it?” “What if it was, Rich?” My voice shook with rage. “If I hadn’t gone, I never would have known what you really think of me! If you despise me so much, why did you marry me? You never loved me, did you?” The tears started again, hot trails of humiliation and anger. He looked at me with open frustration. “Katie, I’m exhausted. I don’t have the energy for this drama. Things are incredibly stressful right now, and I can’t deal with these petty games. Can you please just stop?” The air left my lungs. “Petty games…” I whispered, incredulous. “This is a ‘petty game’ to you? The fact that my husband thinks I’m worthless is a petty game? Do you even care about me at all?” He just stared at me as if I were a hysterical child. “I’m going to bed. If you’re still in a mood, go shopping tomorrow. Book a spa day. I’ll have my assistant arrange it.” He turned to leave. “Rich,” I called out, my voice dangerously quiet. “I want a divorce. Is that also a petty game?” He froze, his back rigid. Slowly, he turned around. A cold, humorless smile touched his lips. “Divorce me? Are you sure about that?” He took a step closer. “Was anything I said untrue? You’ve lived off my money, off your father’s money, your entire life. Tell me, Katie, without me, what are you? What could you possibly do?” I stood there, speechless and shattered. He softened his voice then, but his eyes were devoid of warmth. It was the tone one uses to soothe a frightened pet. “Katie. Be a good girl. Once this project is over, I’ll take you on a trip. Anywhere you want to go.” He disappeared into the bedroom. I remained on the sofa, sitting in the darkness all night long, as the last remnants of my love for him turned to ash. 3 The next day, I drove to my father’s house. When I walked into his study, my mother was there, deep in conversation with him. Dad looked up, surprised. “Katie, honey. What brings you here?” I glanced at my mother, suddenly unsure of how to begin. Sensing my hesitation, she stood up gracefully. “You two talk. I’ll go rest for a bit.” My father watched her leave, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. As soon as the door closed, the words tumbled out of me. “I want to divorce Rich.” His expression shifted from surprise to weary disbelief. I told him everything, my voice breaking as I recounted the previous night, the tears I’d tried so hard to suppress finally falling. My father had always been helpless against my tears. When I finished, his jaw was tight with anger. “I know, honey, I know. I’ll have a serious talk with Rich. He went way too far this time.” I shook my head fiercely. “No. I don’t want you to talk to him. I want a divorce. He despises me, Dad.” He fell silent. Under my pleading gaze, he finally sighed, the fight draining out of him. “Katie, don’t be dramatic. It’s a small argument. It’s not worth ending a marriage over. Rich is under a lot of pressure with this new project. A scene like this will only distract him.” A chill went through me. “You think I’m being dramatic, too?” “Katie,” he said, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. “You’re a grown woman now, not a little girl. You may not be able to help run a company like your sister, but you can be a supportive partner to your husband. This kind of behavior will only push him away.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. Why was no one on my side? “Ever since Aurora came back, all of you have changed! In your eyes, she’s the perfect daughter, and I’m just the stupid, useless one. You look down on me just like he does, don’t you?” His eyes were filled with a weary helplessness. “Don’t be difficult, Katie. Of course I don’t look down on you. But this is reality. You’re an adult now. You can’t expect everyone to cater to your moods like when you were a child.” “But you promised!” I cried out. “You and Ethan promised you would protect me forever, that you’d never let me be unhappy!” He had no answer for that. He just changed the subject. “I’ll have Rich over for dinner tonight. I’ll make sure he apologizes. We’ll put this whole thing behind us.” I stood up, trembling. “Whether you approve or not, I’m getting this divorce. I don’t need your permission.” As I stormed out, I saw my mother coming down the stairs. I heard my father’s voice, heavy with disappointment, drift from the study. “You were right. I ruined her. She’s spoiled, selfish, thinks only of herself…” The floor fell out from beneath me. They were the ones who had made me this way. They were the ones who told me my only job was to be happy. And now, they despised me for it. If they felt that way, why did they ever make those promises? I went back to the house and started packing, but after a lifetime of being waited on, I didn’t even know where most of my things were. Mrs. Gable watched me with a pained expression. “Miss Katie, Mr. Blackwood gave orders that you are not to leave. And that we are not to assist you.” Gritting my teeth, I wrestled my clothes into a suitcase. Just as I was about to drag it out the door, Ethan’s car pulled into the driveway. His face darkened the moment he saw the luggage. He strode over, snatched the suitcase from my hand, and threw it to the ground. The clasps burst open, spilling my dresses across the pristine floor. “Katie, have you lost your mind? Stop this ridiculous tantrum!” My eyes burned, but I held his gaze. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. You’re the ones who are wrong! I am divorcing Rich.” A mocking sneer twisted his lips. “You’re twenty-eight, Katie, not eighteen. Do you really think these histrionics are helping? We spoiled you so badly you can’t even see how pathetic you look. This behavior is just… repulsive.” His words hit me like a physical blow. I dropped to my knees and began stuffing my clothes back into the broken suitcase, my voice a stubborn whisper. “Fine. Then you can all hate me. I don’t need any of you.” I managed to close the lid. Ethan laughed coldly. “And where will you go? Dad won’t welcome you home, and he certainly won’t be giving you any more money. Let’s see how long your little rebellion lasts when you’re cut off.” I froze. He was right. I had no money of my own. I didn’t even know how to rent an apartment. The world outside my gilded cage was a terrifying mystery. Just then, Rich arrived. He saw me on the floor, clutching my suitcase. He strode over and pulled me to my feet, his grip like iron. His voice was cold as he addressed the staff. “Take my wife back to her room. Watch her. Don’t let her cause any more trouble.” “Yes, sir.” I was being dragged away, a prisoner in my own home. My mind reeled. “Ethan…” I pleaded, looking back at my brother. He just stared at me, his face a mask of indifference. “It’s time you grew up, Katie. If you were half as sensible as Aurora, my life would be so much easier.” Tears streamed down my face. “Ethan, please! Don’t let them lock me up! Please!” My cries echoed in the hall as the bedroom door clicked shut behind me. For three days, they kept me there. No one came. My father and brother had handed me over to another man, letting him do as he pleased, condoning this… imprisonment. It was in that silent room that I finally understood. If I wanted to be free, I had to rely on myself. On the third day, when Rich finally opened the door, the tears were gone. I looked at him, my voice steady and clear. “Rich, I want to start a business.”

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The day my wife Ginnifer—the legendary undercover cop—vowed to quit, she promised a new start at a country safe house. I believed our seven years of fear were finally over. But the remote ranch was an ambush. Vengeance struck brutally: my parents beaten to death, my five-year-old daughter struck with a shovel as she cried for her mother. We were thrown into a pit and buried alive. In the suffocating dark, with my dying phone, I called her. She was at a gala, celebrated as a hero beside the cartel kingpin’s son—the man she’d turned. “You used us as bait,” I choked out. Her voice was cold. “So what if I did? Alex’s father was a monster. Protecting him is my duty.” A champagne flute clinked. “You knew the risks. Now lie low—I have a celebration to return to.” 1 The line went dead. The last of the air was crushed from my lungs, and the darkness consumed me. I don’t know how long I was gone. When consciousness returned, I was a weightless, transparent specter, a ghost adrift on the currents of memory. I floated back to the home Ginnifer and I had shared. I saw her pulling up to the house, helping Alex out of the passenger side of her car. His arm was wrapped in a crisp white bandage. “Ginnifer,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum of feigned pain. “It hurts so much. Do you think it’ll heal properly? How will I be able to help you with your files… or go on missions with you?” Ginnifer squeezed his hand, her voice softer and more tender than I had ever heard it. “Don’t worry. It’s just a scratch. You just focus on resting. I’ll have Leo take care of you when he gets back. He’s good at that sort of thing.” I hovered in the entryway, watching as she knelt and slipped my house slippers onto Alex’s feet. A hollow ache emanated from where my heart used to be. This was our home. The home we’d built over seven years of a fractured, dangerous marriage. And now, she’d brought the son of my family’s murderer into it, intending for me to serve him like a butler. In the living room, she settled Alex on the sofa and went straight to my study. She pulled a debit card from my desk drawer and pressed it into his hand. “Leo’s been messing around with some online shop. Made a little money,” she said dismissively. “It’s not much, but take it. Buy yourself something nice.” Alex made a show of refusing. “I can’t, Ginnifer. This is Leo’s money.” Ginnifer’s brow furrowed with impatience. “What’s his is mine. Hell, he’s mine. What’s the big deal?” She forced the card into his hand, then picked up her phone, muttering in frustration. “I’ve called him a thousand times. Is he dead, or did he run off with someone?” She sighed dramatically. “I swear, what’s the point of having a husband? The second my gala is over, I have to come home and play nurse, and there isn’t even a hot meal waiting for me.” Alex let out a low, magnetic chuckle. “Don’t be mad at him, Ginnifer. He’s probably just sulking. You know, because you chose to protect me instead of going to his little ranch getaway.” The anger in Ginnifer’s face melted away. She sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re too kind, Alex. He’s not sulking. He’s being a child. When he gets back, I’m making him shut down that stupid online store and stay home to take care of you full-time.” She dialed my number again. The call went straight to voicemail. Her expression darkened. “So he’s hiding from me. Fine. Two can play at that game.” She found the number for my daughter’s preschool director and barked into the phone the second it was answered. “Put Daisy on the phone. Now.” The teacher’s polite, confused voice came through the speaker. “Mrs. Reed? I think you might be mistaken. Daisy hasn’t been to school in over two weeks. We couldn’t get in touch with Mr. Sterling, so we just assumed you’d all gone on vacation.” Ginnifer froze. “Two weeks?” “Yes. We haven’t seen her since the fifteenth of last month.” Ginnifer hung up, her face pale. The fifteenth. The day before she told me about the ranch. Alex wrapped his arms around her, his tone deceptively casual. “See, Ginnifer? Don’t worry. Leo’s just hiding her to get back at you. He knows how much you adore Daisy. He’s using your own daughter to make you beg.” The flicker of fear in Ginnifer’s eyes was instantly consumed by rage. “That useless bastard. He wouldn’t dare.” She found my best friend Mark’s number and lit into him the moment he picked up. “You tell Leo he has one hour to get his ass back here! If he doesn’t, I’ll find Daisy a new father so fast he’ll never see his daughter again for the rest of his life!” I trembled with a fury so immense it felt like it could tear my ghostly form apart. She was using our daughter to threaten me. Our Daisy. Her own flesh and blood. Daisy, who had cried for her mommy with her last breath. Daisy, who was so proud that her mother was a police officer, only to be left to die in a cold, dark pit. This monster wasn’t fit to be a mother. She wasn’t fit to be human. Mark’s voice exploded through the phone. “Are you out of your goddamn mind, Ginnifer?! Leo, Daisy, and his parents have been missing for over two weeks! We’ve been searching everywhere! How could you say something like that?!” Ginnifer just scoffed. “Don’t play these stupid games with me. If he’s not here in one hour, he can expect divorce papers.” She slammed the phone down, then turned to Alex, her voice instantly sweetening. “Come on. I’ll take you out for a real meal. I cancelled the after-party. Your health is more important.” Alex grinned, pulling her closer. “I knew you cared about me most, Ginnifer.” Watching them leave together, an unbearable tightness seized my chest. It wasn’t that she was too busy with work to come home. It was that I was never the one worth coming home for. No need for divorce papers, Ginnifer. You’ve been free for two weeks already. 2 Ginnifer and Alex settled into a private booth at an upscale steakhouse. As they sat down, her phone buzzed. Her eyes lit up, thinking it was me. The light died just as quickly when she saw the caller ID. She answered with an annoyed sigh. It was a rookie from her precinct, his voice frantic. “Captain Reed! We’ve got a scene out at the old dumping grounds west of the city. Four unidentified bodies in a shallow grave. One adult male, two older adults, one child. ME estimates time of death at least two weeks ago…” Ginnifer’s hand, holding a steak knife, paused mid-air. Her expression grew serious. “What are the details?” “They were buried, Captain. Decomposition is advanced, making visual ID impossible. The ME’s preliminary report says the victims were subjected to extreme violence before death. Multiple comminuted fractures on all three adults. The child… God, Captain, the kid can’t be more than five. The skull was crushed by a heavy, blunt object. It’s… it’s sevage.” A sharp, unpleasant pang shot through Ginnifer’s chest. A five-year-old child… a crushed skull… Her fingers tightened on the silverware. Alex immediately covered her hand with his, his face a mask of concern. “Ginnifer? What is it? A case?” She looked into his worried eyes, and her features softened instantly. She spoke into the phone, her voice now a low, professional command. “I understand. Have the forensics team sweep the site thoroughly. Report any findings to me immediately.” She ended the call. In the dim, intimate lighting of the booth, Alex devoured his steak, his eyes never leaving Ginnifer. “You were so serious just now, Ginnifer. So powerful. I feel so safe when I’m with you.” His flattery soothed her, but a sliver of unease remained. A family of four, slaughtered, a child tortured… Even for a seasoned homicide detective like her, the brutality was shocking. Worse, there was a chilling familiarity to the MO. It was the signature of vengeful cartel enforcers. Suddenly, Alex let out a pained groan. “Ah… Ginnifer, I feel dizzy…” Her thoughts snapped back to him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” “I think… maybe it’s the blood loss from my arm. The room is spinning…” He slumped against her, his voice weak and pleading. Ginnifer immediately helped him up, grabbing her coat. The mass grave, the slaughtered family—all of it vanished from her mind. Nothing was more important than the man in her arms, the man who had “risked everything for her.” Her phone buzzed again. A call from the precinct. Without a second thought, she silenced it. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” she asked softly. Alex shook his head, leaning into her more heavily. “No. Just… take me home. Stay with me.” … Meanwhile, the lights of the city morgue burned bright. Harris, a young forensic intern, fought back a wave of nausea as he examined the body of the adult male. The bones in the victim’s hands were almost completely shattered, but on his ring finger, a simple wedding band remained. It glinted under the harsh examination lamp. Acting on instinct, Harris carefully worked the ring off with a pair of tweezers to get a closer look. Under the light, a tiny inscription on the inner band became visible: A.R. & L.S. Ginnifer Reed & Leo Sterling. The intern’s heart hammered against his ribs. He knew Captain Reed’s husband was named Leo. It couldn’t be. But professional duty compelled him. He dialed Ginnifer’s number immediately. The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. But the voice that answered was not Ginnifer’s. It was a man’s, lazy and tinged with post-coital satisfaction. “Yeah? Who’s this?” Harris, new to the department, didn’t recognize Alex’s voice. “Hello? Is this Mr. Sterling? I need to speak with Captain Reed. I have an extremely urgent lead that I must report to her personally.” “Oh, she’s a little… occupied right now,” Alex chuckled, glancing at the silhouette of a woman showering in the bathroom. “She’s got her hands full. Whatever it is, just follow standard procedure. Don’t bother her with every little thing.” “But this is critical!” Harris insisted. “It might be personally related to the captain—” “I don’t care if it’s about the goddamn mayor,” Alex cut him off smoothly. “Your captain’s orders were clear. Don’t disturb her tonight, even if the sky is falling. Got it?” Before Harris could reply, Alex hung up. He then casually deleted the call from Ginnifer’s log and placed the phone back on the nightstand, a faint smirk playing on his lips. 3 Under Alex’s constant, cloying persuasion, Ginnifer actually took an extended leave of absence. This was once unthinkable. The department couldn’t function without her, she’d always said. Every second counted in the war on drugs; lives were on the line. In seven years, she had never missed a single minute of work for a family matter—not for my emergency surgery, not for our daughter’s late-night trips to the ER. But for Alex, she was willing to break all her own rules. I floated in the air, watching her clumsily tie on an apron I’d bought her, trying to follow a recipe to make soup for him. Every time her work phone rang, her voice was laced with irritation. “Didn’t I say my deputy is handling everything? Are you deaf? I’m on leave! Don’t call me unless the world is ending!” The irony was a physical pain. How I had yearned for her to be present like this, just for one day. I remembered Daisy’s second birthday. She had a raging fever, crying for her mommy. I called Ginnifer over and over, from midnight until dawn. When she finally answered, her voice was a whip crack of fury. “Leo, can you for once try to be an adult? I am in the middle of an operation! Your constant calls could get me killed! If the child is sick, take her to a hospital! You knew I was busy when you married me! If you can’t handle one simple thing, what good are you?” Back then, I had believed her. I was consumed with guilt. Now, I saw only the pathetic, gullible fool I had been. After dinner, Alex lounged on the sofa, letting Ginnifer feed him pieces of fruit. He spoke as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Ginnifer, Leo still hasn’t come back… You don’t think… he ran off with another woman, do you?” Ginnifer’s face went rigid. “He wouldn’t dare! Who else would want a useless, spineless man like him?” Then, as if struck by a thought, she found my parents’ landline and dialed. It rang and rang, unanswered. She tried my father’s cell. Unanswered. “What the hell?” Ginnifer stood up, pacing the living room, a storm brewing in her eyes. That ominous feeling crept over her again. Alex came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Don’t worry, Ginnifer. Maybe his parents are mad at you too. Just ignoring your calls to make a point. Why don’t you just drive over there and ask them in person?” It seemed logical. She grabbed her car keys and stormed out. I followed her, watching her speed through the city toward my parents’ house. It was a place she rarely visited. My parents, knowing the sacrifices I made for our secret marriage, always treated her with overwhelming warmth. They would cook all her favorite dishes, fussing over her, terrified she might feel unwelcome. “Leo,” my mom used to say, “Ginnifer’s work is important. You have to be understanding. We’re here to help.” But now, the old apartment they had lived in for thirty years was dark and silent. The door was locked. Ginnifer pounded on the cold metal. “Mom! Dad! Open up! Leo! I know you’re in there! Open the damn door!” Her shouts echoed in the empty hallway, laced with a tremor she herself didn’t recognize. The next-door neighbor, Mrs. Gable, poked her head out. “Oh, Ginnifer, dear. Stop knocking. No one’s been home at the Sterlings’ for over two weeks! I thought I smelled something strange a few days ago, but no one answered. Figured they went on a long trip.” Ginnifer stumbled back, staring at the closed door, her eyes wide with a dawning horror. Over two weeks. There it was again. The bodies in the shallow grave. Her daughter’s school. And now, her in-laws. All the timelines were converging into a single, terrifying point. That chilling sense of familiarity seized her again. For the first time, she felt it—the terrifying realization that something had spun completely, irrevocably out of her control. 4 Ginnifer returned home, her face ashen. The moment Alex saw her, a flash of vindictive satisfaction crossed his face before he masked it with concern. He rushed to her, his voice a soothing balm. “Ginnifer, don’t work yourself up. I bet this is all just part of Leo’s plan to make you worry, to make you regret how you’ve treated him. He knows you have a soft heart.” “What do you know?!” she snapped, shoving him away. She collapsed onto the sofa, burying her face in her hands. “He’s hidden the baby and his parents. He won’t answer his phone. What the hell does he want from me?” An idea formed in Alex’s mind. He picked up his phone and showed her a photo. “Ginnifer, don’t be angry, but… I think I saw Leo a few days ago. He was with some woman at the mall… they looked very close. I didn’t want to upset you, so I didn’t say anything. I even took a picture.” It was a blurry, grainy photo, taken from a distance. You couldn’t even make out the faces, just the vague outlines of a man and a woman. But for Ginnifer, it was the final confirmation she needed. “That bastard! Leo! You son of a bitch!” she screamed, her body shaking with rage. “So that’s it! You’ve been crawling into some other woman’s bed!” She hurled her phone against the wall, where it shattered. “What is he trying to do?! Run away with our child, his parents, and his whore?! Does he think this will force my hand?!” “In his dreams! He can stay gone forever for all I care!” I almost laughed. Seven years of marriage, and this was the extent of her trust in me. A single sentence from a manipulative snake and one blurry photo were all it took to sentence me to death in her mind. Alex’s voice was a seductive poison. “Ginnifer, I might have an idea. If we can’t find him privately, why don’t we make it public?” She looked at him, her eyes wild. “The power of the media is immense,” he said, his expression earnest. “You’re a national hero. A hero who has just been betrayed and abandoned by her husband. If we file for divorce and leak the story, the whole city will be looking for him, condemning him. He can’t hide a child and two elderly people forever. The second he shows his face, you’ll have him.” Ginnifer was silent, her chest heaving. The suggestion was a perfect match for her own bruised ego. She could not stand being played, being made a fool of by a man she considered beneath her. She would show him who was in control. The last trace of doubt in her eyes vanished, replaced by cold resolve. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” A week later, the city courthouse was swarmed with reporters. A legion of cameras was aimed at the entrance, a forest of lenses and microphones. It was the city’s first-ever live-streamed divorce trial of a public hero. Millions were watching online. The live chat was a river of vitriol directed at me. [THAT KIND OF TRASH HUSBAND SHOULD BE DRAWN AND QUARTERED!] [My heart breaks for our hero, Ginnifer. Stuck with such a thankless, cheating bastard.] [I heard he cleaned out their bank accounts and ran off with their kid and his mistress! Scum of the earth!] I floated above the courtroom, the vicious words feeling like phantom knives in my soul. Ginnifer sat at the plaintiff’s table. She had deliberately worn her dress uniform, the one from her award ceremony, her chest glittering with medals. She looked stoic, brave, and deeply wounded—the perfect image of a betrayed hero. The defendant’s chair was empty. My friend Mark sat beside it as my legal representative, his eyes red with fury. Alex sat in the front row of the gallery, labeled an “important witness,” a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. The judge’s gavel struck. The trial began. “Ms. Ginnifer Reed, you accuse your husband, Leo Sterling, of infidelity, malicious transfer of assets, and the concealment of family members. Are these charges correct?” Ginnifer took a deep breath and stood. Her voice, amplified by the microphone, filled the courtroom and flowed out across the internet. It was heavy with pain and a perfectly calibrated quiver of emotion. “Your Honor, Leo and I have been married for seven years. For most of that time, the nature of my work forced me to be away, to live a life of secrets. I know I was not the wife or mother I should have been. I had hoped that once my final mission was over, I could finally make it all up to him, to our family.” She paused, her eyes reddening. “But I never imagined… I never imagined he had already found someone else. He didn’t just take our life savings. He took his own elderly parents… and our five-year-old daughter.” Her voice broke. “I can’t find them. Your Honor, I am going out of my mind with worry.” She pressed a hand to her chest, tears streaming down her face. “I am not here today to condemn him. I am here to beg him—to beg all of you—to help me find him! If he would just come back, if he would just bring our daughter and his parents home, I would forgive everything! Because I love him… I can’t live without him…” The performance was masterful. The courtroom erupted in murmurs of sympathy. The live chat exploded with support for the heartbroken hero. Ginnifer, satisfied, sat back down, a predator waiting for her trap to spring. But in the next second, the large doors at the back of the courtroom burst open. Everyone turned. Several uniformed officers marched in, led by Ginnifer’s direct superior, Chief Miller of the City Police Department. His face was a granite mask. He ignored Ginnifer completely, walking straight to the judge’s bench. “Your Honor, regarding the disappearance of the defendant, Mr. Leo Sterling, the police have just obtained a piece of critical video evidence. I request permission to play it for the court.”

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The first time my mother looked at me, her eyes were filled with sorrow. She wouldn’t hold me, wouldn’t feed me. She just let me wail until my throat was raw. I was born with all my memories, so I knew that in my last life, she had loved me more than life itself. But when I was three, I died in a fall from our balcony. The tragedy shattered her mind, and she lived out the rest of her days in a fog of pain. Reborn, my mother had chosen a different path. A quick, sharp pain now was better than a long, drawn-out agony later. She was going to let “fate” take me, just as it had before, before I could become the flesh and blood she couldn’t bear to lose again. But she didn’t know the truth. My fall wasn’t an accident. I was pushed by our nanny. And in this life, that same nanny was about to walk through our door. 1 I was born in the dead of winter. The delivery room was heated, but I was cold. A chill that seeped into my very bones. It came from my mother, Rachel. The look she gave me was a mask of grief and despair. A nurse cleaned me, swaddled me up like a tiny burrito, and presented me to her, beaming. “Congratulations, she’s a beautiful little princess! Here, hold your daughter.” My mother flinched as if she’d been burned, snatching her hand back and turning her head away. “I don’t have the strength,” she whispered, her voice weary and hoarse. The nurse’s smile faltered for a second before she quickly recovered. “Of course, you must be exhausted after everything.” She turned her attention to the man waiting anxiously at the door—my father, Jacob. He rushed in, a goofy grin plastered on his face. He took me from the nurse’s arms with a clumsy reverence, as if he were holding the most precious thing in the world. “Rachel, you did it! You were amazing,” he breathed. “Look at her, she’s the spitting image of you! Especially her eyes.” He held me up for my mother to see, his face glowing with pure joy, waiting for her to share it. But Rachel only gave me a fleeting glance before shutting her eyes. A single tear escaped and traced a path down her temple, so fast you could have missed it. The smile vanished from my father’s face, replaced by a look of helpless confusion. He looked from me to my mother, his voice dropping to a concerned whisper. “Rachel, what is it? Are you in pain?” “Just tired. I need to sleep,” she replied, her voice utterly flat. Dad didn’t press her, but I felt his arms tighten around me. Cradled in his embrace, I looked at the woman on the bed. I knew she wasn’t just tired. Her heart was already dead. In my last life, her love for me was a force of nature. She’d given up a flourishing career to be a full-time mom, to be there for every moment. She told the best bedtime stories, made my baby food into tiny works of art, and would celebrate my smallest milestones as if I’d conquered the world. Her love was an all-consuming fire, a promise to give me everything. Then came that sunny afternoon when I was three. I fell from our apartment balcony and died on impact. That day marked the beginning of my mother’s tragedy. She stopped eating, stopped sleeping. She’d spend entire nights clutching my old clothes, her sobs echoing in the silent apartment. Her world had crumbled into dust. My father and grandmother took her to countless doctors, tried endless medications, but nothing could piece her back together. She withered away, consumed by a grief that finally stole her life. And now, she had returned to the day of my birth, dragging all those memories with her. She was terrified. She was terrified of feeling that soul-crushing grief again, of pouring all her love into me only to watch me walk toward my “destined” end. But Mom, you don’t understand. My death wasn’t an accident. I was pushed. Pushed by the nanny who had seemed so simple and trustworthy. 2 “Waaaaah!” I let out my first cry, pouring every ounce of my strength into it. It was a long, loud wail, thick with desperation and a sense of betrayal. Dad immediately went into a panic, patting my back awkwardly. “Rachel, she must be hungry. Is it time to feed her?” My mother’s body tensed, but she still didn’t turn around. “I don’t have any milk,” she said. “How can that be? The doctor said…” Dad started, but he was cut off by an older, eager voice. “Jacob, let me hold my sweet granddaughter!” Grandma was here. She wore a dark blue quilted jacket, her hair neatly pinned up, her face radiating pure joy. She took me from my father’s arms, cooing “my precious girl,” and “little darling.” Grandma’s embrace was warm and soft, smelling of sunshine and soap. It was a small comfort, and my tiny, tense body relaxed a little. “Oh, listen to you cry! My poor baby must be starving,” she said, her voice full of sympathy. She looked at my mother. “Rachel, dear, you should feed her. That first milk is liquid gold.” My mother slowly turned over. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow as she looked at me, as if I were a complete stranger. “Mom, I told you, I don’t have any.” “Nonsense! What mother doesn’t have milk?” Grandma’s brow furrowed, her tone sharpening. “Or is it that you don’t want to? Let me tell you, Rachel, this child is your own flesh and blood. You can’t just—” “Mom!” Dad cut in, placing a gentle hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “Rachel just gave birth. She’s exhausted. Let’s not pressure her. I’ll go mix up some formula.” He hurried out with a bottle and a can of formula. The room fell silent, the only sound my soft, hiccuping sobs. Grandma sighed, her voice softening as she looked at my mother. “Rachel, I know this is hard. But the baby is innocent. Look at her, she’s so tiny, so helpless.” My mother’s lips parted as if to speak, but she said nothing. She just turned her head back toward the wall. I knew she had milk. She just refused to create that bond with me. Nursing is the most intimate connection between a mother and child. Once it’s forged, it’s nearly impossible to break. She was afraid of a love she couldn’t sever. Soon, Dad returned with a warm bottle. The formula trickled down my throat, and I slowly stopped crying, my hunger overriding everything else. Full and exhausted, I drifted into a hazy sleep. For the rest of our time in the hospital, my mother barely touched me. Feeding, changing, and soothing me were all handled by Dad and Grandma. She would only watch me from a distance, her eyes shadowed with that same sad detachment. Sometimes I’d wake to find her sitting by my bassinet, staring at me with a turbulent, unreadable expression. But the moment our eyes met, or if I made the slightest sound, she would recoil like a startled animal, looking away as if the sight of me physically pained her. Things didn’t get any better when we went home. We lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment. To make sure my mother could rest, Dad set up my crib in Grandma’s room. At night, my cries were always answered by Grandma, never my mother. The door to the master bedroom remained firmly shut. I knew that behind that door, my mother was lying awake, just like me. Her attempt to find peace was just another form of self-torture. A few days later, Grandma’s old back injury flared up, a slipped disc from the strain of caring for me. She was in so much pain she couldn’t get out of bed. As if on cue, Dad was called away on an urgent, week-long business trip. Suddenly, our home was in crisis. Before he left, Dad looked at Mom, his face etched with worry. “Rachel, it’s all on you for a few days. The baby…” “Hire a nanny,” she said, cutting him off before he could finish. Her voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of urgency I couldn’t miss. Dad was taken aback for a second, then nodded. “Okay, that’s a good idea. It’ll be easier on you and Mom. I’ll call an agency right now.” My heart sank like a stone. She was coming. 3 The next afternoon, a woman in her forties appeared at our door. She wore a plain gray coat and had an anxious, eager-to-please smile on her face. “Hello, the agency sent me. My name is Brenda.” It was her. In my last life, this woman, Brenda, had been our nanny for three years. She was efficient and quiet, with a harmless, salt-of-the-earth look. Dad and Grandma sang her praises, and Mom trusted her like family. No one could have ever guessed what a venomous heart beat beneath that unassuming exterior. A tremor of fear shot through my body, and I let out a terrified wail. From her bed, Grandma heard me and called out, “Rachel, is that the nanny? Let her in, the baby’s probably hungry.” My mother stepped aside to let Brenda in, never once looking her in the eye. She gestured vaguely toward Grandma’s room. “The baby and my mother-in-law both need care. She’ll give you the details.” With that, she turned to go back to her room. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Brenda called out, her smile fixed in place. “I’m here for the interview. Don’t you want to see my ID and health certificate? Or ask me any questions?” “If my mother-in-law is happy, that’s all that matters,” Mom said, and shut her bedroom door. Brenda’s smile twitched. A flicker of something dark—annoyance? malice?—crossed her eyes before it was replaced again by her folksy demeanor. She walked into Grandma’s room and expertly took me from her arms, patting my back and humming a tuneless lullaby. “There, there, little one. Auntie Brenda’s got you. No more crying now.” Her voice was gentle, but the moment I was in her arms, I was hit by that familiar, nauseating smell of cheap soap. The terror of my final moments from my past life seized me, and I screamed even louder, thrashing my arms and legs, trying to escape the devil’s embrace. “Oh dear, she’s a bit shy with strangers,” Grandma said apologetically. Brenda just chuckled. “Don’t you worry, ma’am. All babies are like this. We’ll be best friends in a few days. I’ve cared for babies much fussier than this little one.” Her easy confidence soothed Grandma’s concerns. She mixed my formula, tested the temperature on her wrist, and placed the nipple in my mouth. I fought back, pushing it away with my tongue and turning my head, my cries my only form of protest. “Well now,” Brenda said, her voice taking on a strange, theatrical tone of concern. “The little thing won’t even eat. Do you think… do you think she might have some kind of developmental issue?” 4 Brenda’s words were like a shard of poisoned ice, stabbing straight into my infant heart. Fear and despair washed over me, and I started screaming again, a raw, gut-wrenching sound of pure agony this time. But the harder I cried, the wider her smile became. She held me, rocking me gently, murmuring empty words of comfort while her eyes remained as cold and hard as a snake’s. “Go on, cry it out,” she whispered, for my ears only. “You’ll tire yourself out soon enough.” She placed me in my crib and left me there, turning to start dinner in the kitchen. My cries woke Grandma in the next room. “Brenda?” she called out weakly. “What’s wrong with the baby?” Brenda’s head popped out of the kitchen, her voice pitched with just the right amount of helplessness. “I’ve tried everything, ma’am! But her mother won’t hold her, and she just won’t stop crying.” Grandma sighed and fell silent. I cried until my throat was hoarse, until my whole body was trembling and my hands and feet were ice-cold. This couldn’t go on. My tears wouldn’t earn me any sympathy; they only delighted my enemy. I had to find another way. After dinner, Brenda came to feed me again. I was exhausted and starving after my afternoon of hysterics. This time, I didn’t fight. I drank the milk quietly. Brenda seemed surprised but didn’t think much of it, assuming I had simply worn myself out. When I finished, she lifted me to her shoulder to burp me. And that’s when I saw my chance. With my face pressed against her shoulder, I summoned every ounce of strength I had, opened my toothless mouth, and clamped down on the soft flesh of her shoulder. I had no teeth, but I used all my might, grinding my gums into her skin with the same desperate force I used to nurse. “Ah!” Brenda shrieked in pain, her immediate instinct to throw me off her. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. It would hurt, but it was a risk I had to take. I had to create evidence that she was a danger to me. But just as I felt myself falling, a pair of strong, trembling hands caught me, securing me in a steady grip. My eyes flew open. I was staring up into the frantic, worried face of my father. He was back. He had come home early. “Jacob? What are you doing home?” Grandma called out in surprise. My father’s expression was grim. He held me tightly, his gaze fixed like a laser on the terrified nanny. “The project wrapped up early. I walk in the door and I see you about to drop my daughter! Brenda, what the hell are you doing?!” Brenda’s face went white as a sheet. She clutched her shoulder, stammering. “Mr. Miller, no, it’s a misunderstanding! It was the baby… she bit me, out of nowhere! It hurt so much, my hand just slipped… I didn’t mean to!” She was already tearing up, putting on a masterful performance of a wrongly accused victim. “She bit you?” Dad frowned, looking down at me. I immediately played my part, opening my mouth to give him a gummy, innocent, and completely harmless smile. What kind of damage could a newborn possibly do? Dad was clearly thinking the same thing, and his suspicion of Brenda deepened. “Let me see the wound.” Brenda’s face grew even paler. “It’s nothing, Mr. Miller, really. Just a little red mark, it’s fine…” she stammered, covering her shoulder. Her reluctance only made my father more determined. He took a step forward, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Move your hand.” Terrified, Brenda flinched and dropped her hand. Dad pulled back the collar of her shirt. There on her shoulder was a clear, angry red mark, already starting to purple at the edges. It looked… exactly like a bite mark. A vicious one. How was that possible? I didn’t have any teeth. My heart sank. I knew instantly what had happened. In my past life, Brenda had a strange habit of drinking a specific herbal tea, claiming it was for her “health.” I remembered knocking her cup over once, and she had completely panicked. That tea. It had to be the cause. It must have made her skin hypersensitive, so fragile that the slightest pressure would leave a terrible bruise. She had been planning this all along. 5 Dad’s brow was furrowed in a deep line, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to confusion. He looked down at me, a helpless infant. How could I have possibly caused an injury like that? Seeing his hesitation, Brenda burst into a flood of tears, sobbing as if her heart would break. “Mr. Miller, I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. This baby… I don’t know what it is, but she’s been hostile to me from the moment I arrived. Nothing I do can soothe her; she just cries and fusses. Just now, after her bottle, I was burping her and she just… she lunged at me, like she was trying to hurt me. It was such a shock, I almost lost my grip.” She punctuated her story with sobs, sneaking glances at my father’s face. “Her grandmother can vouch for me! I’ve been working so hard these past few days. I would never, ever do anything to harm a child!” From her bed, Grandma chimed in. “She’s right, Jacob. Brenda has been wonderful. It’s the baby who’s been unusually difficult. Maybe… maybe she and Brenda just don’t get along.” My father stood there, holding me, trapped in silence. On one side was the seemingly honest, deeply wronged nanny. On the other was his own daughter, who was indeed acting strangely. He couldn’t make sense of it. Just then, the master bedroom door opened again. My mother emerged, drawn out by the argument. Her gaze swept over the scene—Brenda’s tear-streaked face, me in my father’s arms, his own conflicted expression. “What’s going on?” she asked. Dad quickly explained what had happened. Rachel listened without a flicker of emotion on her face. When he was done, she gave Brenda a cool, appraising look. Brenda immediately saw her as a potential ally. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry. Maybe… maybe it’s best if you just let me go. I’m so afraid I might accidentally hurt the baby if I stay.” There it was again: her signature move, feigning retreat to gain ground. Everyone looked at my mother. As the lady of the house and my mother, her word was final. I watched her, my tiny heart pounding in my chest. Who would she believe? In our last life, she had trusted Brenda implicitly. In this one, she treated me with nothing but cold indifference. The answer seemed painfully obvious. My mother was silent for a long moment. Just as I braced myself for her to agree with Grandma and ask Brenda to stay, she said something that stunned everyone. “Since it’s not working out, she can leave.” Her voice was quiet, but it was laced with steel. The room fell silent. Brenda’s tears froze on her cheeks. She stared at my mother, utterly baffled. “Ma’am, you…”

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My mother was the mistress of a man who’d married into the Sterling dynasty. Which, of course, made me the mistress’s child. But she didn’t know the man was married until after I was born. The second his wife found out, the coward cut my mother off completely. After years of scraping by on scraps, my mother stormed the gates of the Sterling estate, brandishing a paternity test and causing a scene. To protect their precious reputation, the Sterlings took me in, passing me off as an adopted daughter. Then, when I was fifteen, the patriarch of the Pierce family came to visit. Grandpa Pierce took one look at me and decided I would be his granddaughter-in-law. And so, at twenty, I married Kael Pierce, a man with severe autism. I found myself on the same dead-end road as my mother. Only my situation was worse. I didn’t have my mother-in-law’s power or status; I had no way to fight back against my husband’s new infatuation. All I could do was watch him fawn over another woman, right in front of me. But recently, I’ve decided to break free from it all. I’m sorry, Grandpa Pierce. Cora Sterling is done being your pawn. 1 The day I was sent to the Sterling estate was the day I lost my mother forever. She was crying, but she was smiling. “Cora, my sweet girl,” she’d said, “you’ll never have to go hungry again.” She was so naive. My father saw me as a stain on his reputation. Mrs. Sterling despised me. The staff, ever the opportunists, followed their lead, treating me with cold indifference. As for my half-sisters, they invented new ways to torment me daily. But my mother would never know. Our meeting at the Sterling gates was the last time I ever saw her. She had late-stage cancer and couldn’t afford the treatment. After handing me over to my father, she threw herself from a bridge. I grew up in the Sterling house as the “adopted” daughter, walking on eggshells every moment of every day. When I was fifteen, I met a boy on the estate grounds. A rose thorn had sliced his arm open, and blood was trickling down his skin, but he seemed completely oblivious, lost in the music playing through his headphones. I hesitated for a moment, then ran to get an antiseptic wipe and a Band-Aid for his wound. Later, I learned his name was Kael Pierce. He was visiting the Sterlings with his grandfather. For reasons I’ll never understand, Grandpa Pierce took a liking to me. He wanted me to be his grandson’s wife. The Pierces were old money, a dynasty in their own right, so my father eagerly agreed. When my sisters heard the news, they cornered me, their laughter sharp as glass. “You really think you’ve hit the jackpot? If he were such a great catch, do you think they’d ever let him go to you?” “That Kael Pierce has been autistic since he was a kid. He has violent mood swings. He’s not even normal.” But because of the engagement, Mrs. Sterling finally started treating me with a sliver of decency. Life at the Sterling estate became bearable. At least the daily torment stopped. I often thought about that quiet, slender boy in the garden. He had no idea that, in his own silent way, he had saved me. I was truly grateful to him. I started reading everything I could about his condition, trying to learn how I would one day be a good wife to him. And then, when I turned twenty, our families arranged the wedding, and I married Kael Pierce. 2 I had no idea how much Kael loathed the idea of marrying me. From the moment I moved in, he never gave me anything but icy glares. He couldn’t stand my touch, let alone share a bed with me. On our wedding night, he exploded in our bridal suite. “Get away.” “Don’t be in my room.” “Get out. Just get out!” I stood there, humiliated, my head bowed as a wave of shame washed over me. Later that night, Grandpa Pierce found me. He explained that Kael had always been withdrawn, that he struggled with human contact. His long-time nanny had just passed away, and his condition had worsened. He asked me to be patient, to give Kael time. I nodded and agreed. From that day on, I took over his care, juggling my college classes with my new duties at home. I made sure he took his medication on time, drove him to his doctor’s appointments, planned his meals, and laid out his clothes. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Kael began to respond. He wasn’t a block of wood, after all. He stopped telling me to “get out.” He’d find me asleep on the couch and awkwardly drape a blanket over me. Once, when I had terrible cramps, he even made me a warm mug of tea. But he never, ever shared a bed with me. The Pierce family line was thin; Kael was the only male heir of his generation. Grandpa Pierce was desperate for a great-grandchild and pressured me constantly. But what could I do? He didn’t want me. Finally, after five years of this, Grandpa Pierce lost his patience. Without my knowledge, he drugged Kael’s drink. Then he led him to my bedroom, locked the door, and trapped us inside. I will never forget that night. The pain. It was a tearing, brutal pain. Drugged and disoriented, Kael moved on pure instinct, his eyes glazed over. He had no idea what he was doing, his movements clumsy and violent. I felt like I was being ripped apart, hot tears streaming down my face. Just before dawn, I finally blacked out from the pain. The next day, around noon, I woke to the sound of shattering glass. 3 Kael was in a blind rage. He’d smashed my phone, shattered the TV on the wall, and overturned tables and chairs. The room was a disaster zone. When he saw I was awake, he stalked over to me, holding a shard of a mirror. It reflected my own image back at me—I was still naked, my body covered in angry red marks and deep purple bruises. He pointed the mirror at me, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust. “You’re so dirty. You’re disgusting.” “I hate you.” “I never want to see you again.” My body ached so badly that I could barely walk straight. But Kael had vanished in the middle of his episode. I had no choice but to go find him. I didn’t stop to eat. I searched from noon until after midnight, checking every place he usually went. My legs were trembling uncontrollably, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Finally, defeated, I collapsed against our front door to catch my breath. At one in the morning, Kael finally returned. He wasn’t alone. A girl stood beside him. A sweet dimple appeared in her cheek when she smiled. “I’ve never met anyone who gets me like you do,” she said, looking up at him. “Meeting you was the best part of the concert.” That’s when I realized he’d gone to a concert by himself. His phone had died, and he couldn’t remember the way home. The girl had brought him back. Kael walked slowly, stretching the short distance from the gate to the door. They talked about music, about composers and performers I’d never heard of. Music had always been Kael’s passion. He’d studied under world-renowned masters and had composed several famous pieces in his own studio. I stood by the door, listening in silence. They talked for a full thirty minutes, and Kael never once noticed I was there. Finally, our butler couldn’t take it anymore. “Young Master,” he said gently, “it’s very late. You should go to bed. The missus has been waiting up for you.” The girl’s eyes followed the sound of his voice and landed on me. She looked surprised. “Is this your wife?” she asked Kael. A flicker of shame crossed Kael’s face. He hesitated, then gave a stiff nod. Then he quickly added, “It was arranged. I don’t like her. I hate her.” In that moment, I froze. A profound, inexplicable humiliation washed over me, and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. The girl’s name was Sylvia. She tugged on Kael’s sleeve, her eyes curving into crescents. “Well, it is getting late. I’ll see you next time.” From that day on, my relationship with Kael plunged back into the abyss. He refused to speak a single word to me. For his birthday, I gave him a new pair of high-end studio headphones. I’d heard the sound quality was phenomenal, and they were constantly sold out. I had to preorder them six months in advance. But Kael just took a lighter and, right in front of me, melted them into a mangled, plastic wreck. “I don’t like you,” he spat. “And I don’t like your gifts. This is trash. I don’t want it.” He spent his birthday with Sylvia. They’d stayed in touch ever since they met. A few weeks ago, Sylvia had even started an internship at his studio. When he came home that night, he was wearing a simple silver ring on his finger. A birthday gift from her. I stared at the melted remains of the headphones scattered on the floor, an endless exhaustion settling deep in my bones. The next day, Grandpa Pierce called me to his study. He asked me to find a file and give it to his assistant, who was waiting at the door. But Kael had forbidden me from ever entering his study. I hesitated. Grandpa Pierce insisted. The file was urgent. Reluctantly, I went in, found the document, and made sure to leave everything exactly as I had found it. But Kael found out anyway. His phone was connected to the security camera in the study. He rushed home from his studio, his brow dark with a familiar, stormy rage. “You can’t go in there! You’re not allowed!” His anger was a palpable force, a hurricane contained within the room. Because I had stepped inside to grab a single file, he had the entire study professionally deep-cleaned from top to bottom. I stared at him, bewildered, and finally voiced the question that had been eating at me. “Why can’t I go in?” Lately, Kael often invited Sylvia over. They would spend entire days in the study, discussing music. Why was she allowed, but not me? “And why have it cleaned? I’m not dirty.” His face grew colder. “She’s different from you. She understands music. She’s a kindred spirit. You don’t. Your presence… it taints the space.” After all these years, I was used to his blunt, clipped way of speaking. I understood him perfectly. Normally, when he got like this, my first instinct was to soothe him. But that day, even knowing he was on the verge of an outburst, I couldn’t bring myself to placate him. I closed my eyes. “Kael, that’s a really cruel thing to say.” Just then, my blood sugar plummeted, and I stumbled backward a step. But I was standing right in the doorway. The door was open. My foot landed just inside the study. Kael saw it as a direct challenge. His eyes were cold fire, the veins on his forehead pulsing. He unleashed a torrent of hateful words, which all boiled down to three sentences: “Get away from me!” “This is my house, not yours! Get the hell out!” “Don’t ever show your face in my home again!” I’d heard those words before. My half-sisters used to say them to me when I first moved into the Sterling house. Back then, I’d just hide under my covers and cry, dreaming of a day I’d have a home of my own, a place no one could ever kick me out of. After getting married, I mistakenly believed this villa was my home. It wasn’t a shelter from the storm, but at least it was a place I belonged. But today, he screamed at me, reminding me that the house was in his name, bought with his family’s money. This was not my home. He wanted me gone. A wave of helplessness threatened to drown me. I lowered my head and did the math. It had been ten years since I first met Kael at fifteen. His engagement gave me five years of peace. In return, I gave him five years of my life, caring for him. Five years for five years. My debt to the Pierce family was paid. I was so tired of this life. I wanted a divorce. 4 Once the idea of divorce took root, it was like a seed that had finally broken through the soil, growing wild and unstoppable. A week later, I went to see Grandpa Pierce. I met him at the old family mansion and told him I wanted a divorce. He sat on the plush sofa, tapping his index finger on the polished wood of the coffee table. “Why?” I told him Kael was in love with someone else. A woman who could soothe his temper, who made him want to be gentle and kind. A woman he wrote songs for, bought gifts for, and stubbornly tried to please. With Sylvia around, Kael’s moods were more stable. By any measure, she was a better fit for him than I was. Grandpa Pierce listened without a word. After a long silence, he cleared his throat and looked at me seriously. “Cora, do you know why I chose you to be Kael’s wife all those years ago?” “Because I gave him a Band-Aid?” I guessed. He shook his head. “No. I had you investigated. I knew you had a good heart, and I knew about your… difficult situation at the Sterling house. You needed this marriage. With the Pierce name behind you, your life would become easier.” “And because of that,” he continued, “I knew you would cling to Kael like a lifeline. You would be grateful to him, patient with him, and you would tolerate his every whim.” “When I heard you’d chosen to major in psychology in college, I knew I hadn’t misjudged you. You did exactly as I expected.” He sighed. “A boy from a family like ours, if he weren’t ill, would be the most sought-after bachelor in the country. But he is ill.” “He’s my only grandson. Of course, I had to plan for his future, to find him a wife who would be absolutely loyal, who would take care of him for the rest of his life.” “This Sylvia you speak of… I don’t know her. I can’t entrust Kael to a stranger.” He looked me straight in the eye, laying his cards on the table. “Cora, you grew up around the Sterlings. You know what wealthy men are like. One woman on the side is nothing; ten is hardly surprising. Kael, by comparison, is fundamentally innocent. He doesn’t fool around like other men. In that regard, you’re quite lucky.” “Besides,” he added, “as long as I’m alive, no woman will ever threaten your position as Mrs. Pierce. What more could you possibly want?” I understood his logic, but I couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of my days trapped in that house, tending to a broken man, a life I could see stretched out before me, empty and unchanging. “Kael kicked me out,” I told him, my voice firm. “My presence only agitates him now. His episodes are getting more and more frequent.” At this, Grandpa Pierce’s expression finally grew somber. He began to seriously reconsider our situation. After a long pause, he relented slightly. “Cora, let me think about this divorce. You can go home for now. And remember, Kael is still your husband. We’ll need his consent on this matter as well.” I nodded and stood to leave. Kael would never disagree. He’d probably jump at the chance to sign the divorce papers. A light spring rain had started to fall, and a cold wind whipped through the air. As I was leaving the mansion, I saw him. He was standing by the half-open gate, dressed in a crisp white shirt, holding an umbrella. Rainwater pooled at the tip, dripping onto the ground. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, or how much he’d heard. The moment he saw me, his lips pressed into a thin line, and the color drained from his face. “You’re… divorcing me?” 5 When I confirmed it, Kael fell silent, his mind clearly racing. After a moment, he asked, “If we get divorced, will you still take care of me?” I was taken aback, then let out a hollow laugh. “Kael, that’s what divorce means. We become strangers. I won’t be your wife anymore, and I won’t have any obligation to take care of you.” “I see.” The rain intensified, slanting sideways and soaking one of his shoulders. He looked me straight in the eye and shook his head. “No divorce.” I honestly hadn’t expected him to refuse. “Why?” “If we divorce, there’s no one to take care of me.” “You have Sylvia, don’t you? She can look after you.” But Kael just shook his head again, stubborn. “No. She’s busy. She has her music. She can’t be stuck at home all the time.” He looked at me pointedly. “You’re not busy. You can take care of me.” I stared down at a puddle forming at my feet, a chilling cold spreading through my chest. In his mind, Sylvia had ambitions, and he couldn’t bear to confine her. But me? The boring, uninspired woman he was saddled with? I was born to orbit around him. “Kael, if you need a caretaker, you can hire one. Mrs. Gable took good care of you before I came along, didn’t she?” I tried to reason with him. But he was resolute. It had to be me. As we spoke, his hands clenched into tight fists, his nails digging so deep into his palms that they drew blood. It was the first sign of an episode. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I turned and walked toward the house. He followed me, repeating the same two words over and over. “No divorce. No divorce.” When I didn’t respond, he started digging his nails deeper into his skin, his hands slick with blood. The Pierce family was wealthy beyond measure; hiring a caretaker was nothing. I couldn’t understand his obsession. When I asked him why, he mumbled a single word. “Habit.” “Habits can be changed,” I told him. “You weren’t used to me at first either, were you? Everything takes time. You’ll get used to someone new.” But when he got stubborn, he was worse than a mule. Seeing my refusal, he started shouting. “No! I said no! You have to listen to me!” I knew there was no point in arguing when he was like this, so I simply fell silent. He took my silence as agreement, and the tense lines of his brow finally softened. The moment he saw Sylvia waiting by the front door, his eyes lit up, and the issue of divorce was completely forgotten. He and Sylvia disappeared into the study. Before closing the door, Kael made a point of locking it, as if to keep intruders out. Soon, the sound of a piano drifted from the room, mingling with the bright, clear sound of a girl’s laughter. It sounded so full of life. It was ten o’clock at night when Sylvia finally emerged. A torrential downpour was raging outside. Kael glanced at the storm and called out to her. “It’s raining. You’ll get sick.” “Stay here tonight.” Sylvia blinked, then smiled at him. “Silly, I don’t have any pajamas. How can I stay?” Kael pointed at me. “She has some.” “Well, we’ll have to ask your wife if she’s okay with me staying the night, and if she’s willing to lend me her clothes,” Sylvia said, her gaze shifting to me with a playful smile. But before I could answer, Kael spoke for me. “She’s willing.” A dimple appeared in Sylvia’s cheek as she feigned a pout. “How can you answer for someone else like that?” Kael gestured around the villa. “This is my house, not hers.” Then he pointed toward the master closet. “Her clothes were bought with my family’s money.” “I have the final say.” And so, Sylvia turned to me with a saccharine smile. “Well then, Mrs. Pierce, looks like I’m staying the night. I hope I won’t be interrupting anything between you two?” At her words, Kael reacted more strongly than I did, waving his hands in frantic denial. “We don’t do that. That kind of thing is disgusting.” I listened quietly, my eyes fixed on my phone, not looking up. Kael was right. This wasn’t my home. It was time for me to move out. 6 Finding a suitable apartment wasn’t easy. Living with the Sterlings, I never had an allowance. If I needed something, I had to ask the butler, who would grant any “reasonable” request. At the Pierce estate, Grandpa Pierce gave me fifty thousand dollars a month. It sounded like a lot, but it had to cover Kael’s medical bills, therapy sessions, specialized diet, and the salaries and expenses for the entire household staff. After meticulous budgeting, I usually had a few thousand left over each month. My savings were modest. After a couple of days of searching, I found a reasonably priced apartment. I was packing my clothes when Kael came home. Since I’d brought up divorce, he had softened his attitude toward me slightly. Very occasionally, he would even initiate a conversation. Like now. “Are you throwing those out?” he asked, nodding at the pile of clothes. I shook my head. “No.” He pointed at the stack. “You should. They’re ugly. You have no artistic sense, no idea how to dress. All these clothes are awful.” I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. “Then what’s considered beautiful?” He thought for a moment. “The way Sylvia dresses. That’s beautiful. You should learn from her. I have money. I can buy you new things.” My eyes fell on a white dress at the top of the pile. My heart gave a little pang. Kael himself had picked it out for me a year ago when we were out shopping. I still remembered his reaction when I stepped out of the fitting room. He had stuttered, repeating the same word over and over. “Beautiful.” The dress hadn’t changed, but he had. Or had his perception of me changed? I lowered my gaze and continued packing. “No, thank you. I like my own style.” A flicker of anger flared in his eyes. “Suit yourself,” he snapped, turning and storming out of the room. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang that made my ears ring. He didn’t leave his room for the rest of the night. So he never knew that I left the villa. When I first arrived at the Pierce estate, I had a single 24-inch suitcase and a blue backpack. When I left, I had the exact same things. Kael was right. This wasn’t my home, so very little of what was inside it was actually mine. I stayed in the apartment for just one night before leaving for Clearwater. When I was little, my mother always told me that things would get better. Once she saved up enough money, she promised, she would take me traveling. After she was gone, I told myself the same thing. Once I saved up enough money, I would go traveling on my own. But life never works out the way you plan. I had only escaped one cage to be locked in another. Kael couldn’t be left alone, so I could never go far. I had tried taking him with me once. But he had spent his entire life in this city and couldn’t handle the change in environment. Stripped of his security, he became agitated and anxious on the train. He couldn’t even eat. I had no choice but to get off at the next stop and take him home. The crushing disappointment I felt stepping off that train was as intense as the excitement I’d felt planning the trip. It turned out that even with enough money, travel wasn’t guaranteed. Not when you were tied down. Not when you had no time. But now, finally, I was standing at the foot of the Cascade Peaks. The wind wrinkled the surface of Greywater Lake and sculpted the clouds above. I put on my headphones and cycled down a narrow path, the world unfolding around me. Fields of wheat, open plains, the shattered reflection of the sun on the water, and the mountains cradling the drifting clouds. In that moment, the rigid, suffocating rhythm of my life shattered against the sound of the waves. Life became fluid, spontaneous. I became useless and vibrantly alive. I found a community of kindred spirits, people weary of the daily grind, who had set up small stalls selling their crafts. We sat on the ground under a canopy of stars, sharing our stories. A medical student who had quit her job on the verge of a breakdown told me that here, for the first time, her life wasn’t chopped into tiny, fragmented pieces of vacation time. A man recovering from an illness said that while the future was unknown, at least in this present moment, he felt himself growing again. We came together for a brief, beautiful time, touching the softest, most hidden corners of each other’s hearts. Then, like the eighteen streams of the Cascades, we each flowed onward, following our own winding paths. Later, I went to Sunrise Point by myself to watch the dawn. The ripples on the lake broke the sunlight into a thousand dancing silver coins. I didn’t cry when I was struggling to survive at the Sterling estate. I didn’t cry when Kael hurled insults at me and kicked me out of his house. But in that moment, watching the sunrise, I covered my face and my shoulders shook with silent, uncontrollable sobs. I had never felt freedom so acutely. There were no alarms, no endless to-do lists in my planner. I answered the call of the distant mountains and could spend an entire day just daydreaming. After two weeks, I finally put my SIM card back in my phone. I had sent Grandpa Pierce a short text when I left, but that was it. Now, my phone flooded with notifications for missed calls. My father, Grandpa Pierce, and even Kael. I sat on the bus heading back and dialed Grandpa Pierce’s number. “Cora,” he said, his voice thick with a weariness that went bone-deep. “You need to come home.” “It’s Kael… he’s not well.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384487”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel