Author: Momo Chan

I got put on blast online by a new intern who claimed the company was forcing employees to sacrifice their time off for mandatory team-building. No one wants to drag themselves to some island to hang out with coworkers. But what the internet didn’t know was that our company’s team-building tradition included: An annual takeover of a five-star resort, all expenses paid, plus-ones welcome, with an additional three days of paid vacation and a per-person budget of $30,000. Social media was roasting me as a heartless boss, so I decided to give them exactly what they wanted and sent out an announcement: “In response to employee feedback and out of respect for personal time, this year’s travel-based team-building is canceled and replaced with a $500 personal travel stipend.” The announcement dropped like a bomb. Long-time employees mobbed my office, begging me to bring back the Caribbean sun and sand. I finalized this year’s team-building plan with Lisa, our Administrative Director. “Xavier, this is the one? A six-star island in the Maldives.” Lisa’s voice brimmed with excitement. I nodded with satisfaction. Years ago, in a cramped startup office barely 500 square feet, I’d made a promise to my team: “Someday, I’m taking all of you to the most beautiful places in the world for our victory celebration!” I’d carried that promise for years. I told Lisa: “Budget is $30,000 per person. Don’t you dare cut corners. Also, give every participant three extra days of paid vacation. It has to be paid!” Lisa closed her tablet with a smile. “Once this plan hits the company group chat, the whole place is going to explode.” Sure enough, after the announcement hit our 400-person company chat, it was instantly flooded with celebration emojis. Marcus from Tech posted a family photo: “Perfect! I promised my daughter we’d go see sea turtles last year. Now I can finally make it happen!” The newlyweds in Marketing were already discussing whether to turn it into their honeymoon. The entire company basked in holiday-like joy. I watched the endless stream of thank-you messages scrolling across my phone screen, feeling deeply satisfied. Then some discordant notes jarred their way in. From the new intern, Dylan Sanders. He posted a link to some influencer’s video ranting about pointless team-building, then added casually: “Wait, seriously? Companies still do mandatory travel in this day and age? I’d rather just stay home.” The lively chat froze instantly. David, a department head, immediately jumped in to smooth things over: “Dylan just got here and doesn’t understand yet. Our company’s team-building is a premium benefit. You’d be crazy to skip it.” Another colleague chimed in: “Exactly. Some people would kill for this opportunity.” Dylan immediately replied with an eye-roll emoji: “Pass. Not interested. Don’t want to waste my life pretending to bond with coworkers I barely know.” “If the boss really has this kind of money, why not just convert the team-building budget to cash? That’d be way more practical.” His words killed the conversation dead. Several employees who’d been celebrating enthusiastically just moments ago quietly deleted their messages. I even noticed a few anonymous profiles had briefly liked Dylan’s comment, then hastily unliked it within seconds. That afternoon, someone knocked on my office door. Dylan. He wore ripped jeans and carried a drink, showing absolutely no nervousness about facing the CEO. His silver-gray hair caught the light in a way that felt almost aggressive. “Xavier, got a minute?” He jutted his chin forward and plopped himself onto the couch across from me without waiting for an answer, even crossing his legs. “I think this whole company team-building thing is totally outdated. Young people nowadays believe in keeping work and life separate. You spend all this money forcing us together where we have to fake-smile at each other. It’s exhausting.” He looked at me matter-of-factly, fingers absently playing with the headphones hanging around his neck. “It’s emotional labor, you know? Why not just give us the cash directly? Win-win for everyone.” I watched his expression—like he was here to teach me about management—and found it both absurd and almost funny. “The company’s team-building is an honor trip for outstanding employees. It’s collective recognition, not some benefit you can haggle over like you’re at a flea market.” Dylan pursed his lips. “Fine, whatever. Pretend I said nothing.” He stood up and left, muttering under his breath, “So condescending. What a drag.” Near the end of the workday, I saw veteran employee Ryan bringing several younger employees over to Dylan’s workstation. Ryan was all smiles: “Dylan, we totally support your idea! You said what we were all thinking! Don’t worry, we’ve got your back if anything happens!” Dylan raised an eyebrow smugly and lowered his voice: “Don’t worry, Ryan. Watch me work.” Then I saw Dylan pull out his phone and snap a photo of his computer screen. He turned the camera on himself, his face instantly switching to an expression of utter misery, complete with a gray filter. His lips moved silently, mouthing “Help me!” My heart sank.

When I got home from work, a video notification suddenly popped up. The title was written in inflammatory fonts: “Making minimum wage and being forced by my boss to attend a $30,000-per-person team-building trip—would you want this ‘blessing’?” The thumbnail showed Dylan’s face, written all over with forced compliance. My heart dropped. I clicked on the video. It opened with promotional footage of the six-star Maldives hotel, except it was edited into depressing black-and-white with sad music. Text appeared: “The boss’s promise looks pretty good, right?” The scene cut to Dylan’s workstation, zooming in on an ordinary spreadsheet. More text followed: “Too bad I’m just a working person who wants to go home after work.” Then came a close-up of him looking tearful, with text reading: “Being told I have to sacrifice my precious personal weekends to participate in mandatory social performance—thanks but no thanks.” He’d cleverly twisted “additional paid vacation” into “sacrificing weekends.” Finally, he addressed the camera directly: “I don’t want your Maldives. I just want to sleep in on weekends. Whoever wants this ‘blessing’ can have it.” The comment section predictably exploded. “This is how young people should be! Drop the company name and we’ll blast them for you!” “I hate bosses like this—so self-congratulatory! Get it through your head: my job is just to work. I have no obligation to attend team-building.” “You said it! Who wants team-building when you’re socially anxious? Give me back my rest time!” I was shaking with anger. Three days of paid vacation became “sacrificing precious weekends.” A $30,000 premium reward trip became “kidnapping.” The next morning, the office atmosphere felt wrong. Several employees gathered around Dylan, saying “you’re so bold” with their mouths while their faces showed the excitement of watching drama unfold. Veteran employee Ryan went even further, directly bringing Dylan into my office. Ryan opened with fake concern the moment he entered. “Xavier, don’t be angry. Dylan’s approach was extreme, sure, but he really did voice what a lot of young people are thinking. Why don’t you just go with popular opinion?” Dylan stood beside him with his arms crossed, looking completely fearless. He waved his phone: “Xavier, see that? This is what people want. It’s the trend of the times.” I said flatly: “The company’s traditions and policies won’t change because of anyone’s unreasonable tantrum.” Dylan snorted. “Tradition? Traditions exist to be broken. If you don’t figure out how to satisfy everyone, I can’t guarantee this won’t hit national trending topics tomorrow.” As soon as he finished speaking, my assistant rushed in, face pale. “Xavier, we have a problem. Dylan’s video has gone viral!” I refreshed my phone. Sure enough. What chilled me even more were several anonymous comments under the video, with locations showing they were from inside our office building. “Tell me about it. They call it a luxury trip, but last year’s hotel was smaller than my bathroom.” “Benefits? Yeah right. They say $30,000 budget, but that dump was worth maybe $300 if we’re lucky.” These lies made my head spin. They wanted the company’s luxury benefits while also pushing the risk onto the intern, fantasizing that if things got big enough, they could convert the trip into cash. This refined, greedy self-interest pierced through years of my goodwill. Looking at these two smug people in front of me, I suddenly felt it was all pointless. I loosened my top collar button, my Adam’s apple moving as if suppressing some emotion. Dylan remained oblivious, still tilting his head scrolling through his phone, his heel tapping the floor as he spun slightly in the chair—the posture of a victor.

Overnight, my company went from being everyone’s dream workplace to being universally condemned online as a “sweatshop.” The company name and my photo were all dug up. Abusive messages and harassing calls flooded my phone, making it vibrate violently on my desk. “Cold-blooded exploiter, hope your company goes bankrupt tomorrow!” “Trash company exploiting workers—already reported to the Labor Department!” The PR manager, sporting heavy dark circles under his eyes, handed me an emergency PR plan. His voice was hoarse: “Xavier, we need to make a statement now! Draft an official response immediately and get all the facts out there!” I rubbed my aching temples and looked at him. “If we make a statement now, in the eyes of the internet, we won’t be calmly explaining—we’ll be defensively justifying and showing off our wealth. It’ll only trigger more outrage.” The manager froze, mouth open, unable to speak. When emotional floods drown out reason, no amount of facts can make a ripple. I was wrong. I thought that treating people sincerely would always find believers. But as I refreshed that trending video, a new anonymous comment, boosted by countless likes, rose to the top position. The familiar tone made me almost certain this also came from inside the company. “Stop defending them. I’m an internal employee of this company. The so-called paid vacation actually has to be exchanged for our own precious annual leave! If you don’t agree, your supervisor will find fault with your work. We’re all afraid to speak up!” I stared at that comment, my head buzzing. Not with anger—with a bone-deep exhaustion and disgust. I could even imagine who typed those words. Maybe it was that veteran employee who’d thanked me just last week. This comment, like a boulder, completely crushed the last shred of hope in my heart. It used more vicious lies to poison even the company’s only gesture of goodwill into conspiracy. Below it, countless self-proclaimed “internal employees” piled on. My mind flashed back to when the company first turned a profit and everyone celebrated at a simple gathering. Back then, everyone’s smiles were genuine. I asked myself—in terms of benefits and compensation, I’d never shortchanged anyone who fought alongside me. But in the end, this is what I got—betrayal from everyone. They comfortably enjoyed my generosity while unhesitatingly stabbing me in the back for the vague promise of “cash benefits.” Turned out the team culture I’d worked so hard to build was just a joke of self-congratulation. The PR manager was still anxiously urging me: “Xavier, if we don’t speak up, our partners and investors are going to be overwhelmed with calls!” I wearily waved my hand and pushed the plan aside. “No need.” My voice was frighteningly calm. “Prepare a new announcement instead.” I stood up and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window. Below, several media interview vans had already parked. I laughed at myself. I didn’t lose to Dylan Sanders. I lost to my own ridiculous trust. From today forward, I, Xavier, would only be a businessman. Businessmen only discuss interests, not feelings. I picked up my phone and dialed my assistant’s extension. “Notify all staff. Tomorrow morning at 9 AM sharp, everyone reports to the main conference room to discuss the final optimization plan for this year’s team-building.” On the other end, my assistant’s voice hesitated: “Xavier, are we… giving in to them?” “No.” I looked at the media lying in wait outside, speaking each word deliberately: “It’s time to make them personally pay for their own greed.”

The next morning, the company’s main conference room was packed. The air buzzed with barely suppressed excitement and anticipation. This didn’t feel like a crisis management meeting—it felt like a loot distribution ceremony. Dylan and Ryan sat in the front row, surrounded by a cluster of young colleagues. Ryan was talking animatedly, spittle flying: “I told you, Xavier backs down when pushed! As long as we unite and make enough noise, he’ll definitely cave!” Dylan looked even more pleased, even secretly starting a live stream on his phone. The stream title was especially provocative: “Guys, witness young people reforming the workplace! Watch us take back our benefits from the boss!” At exactly 9 AM, I walked into the conference room on time. Every eye instantly locked onto me—gloating, spectating, anticipating. I walked to the front and bowed deeply. “I’m sorry.” The room erupted in chaos, then burst into enthusiastic applause. Dylan’s live stream instantly filled with comments: “The boss apologized!” “Way to go, young people!” I straightened up and surveyed the smug faces below. “Because of my personal stubbornness and outdated thinking, I ignored everyone’s emphasis on personal time and caused tremendous trouble for all of you. I sincerely apologize here.” The applause grew even more enthusiastic. Ryan even stood up to lead a cheer: “Good on you for admitting your mistake!” Dylan smugly pointed his live stream camera at me like I was his trophy. I waited for the applause to gradually fade, then shifted tone. “To completely return freedom and choice to everyone, after careful consideration all night, I’ve decided to make a revolutionary adjustment to this year’s team-building plan.” Everyone held their breath, eyes filled with greedy anticipation. I looked at them and announced my decision word by word. “First, effective immediately, the company will completely cancel the collective travel team-building tradition that has continued since our founding.” The conference room instantly erupted in cheers. I ignored their reaction and continued with the second decision. “Second, to compensate everyone and support your independent travel, the company will instead distribute a $500 personal travel stipend to each current employee.” “This expresses our highest respect for freedom!” As my words fell, the room went dead silent. Dylan’s live-streaming phone clattered to the floor, screen shattering. From a $30,000-per-person luxury Maldives trip to a $500 stipend—a cliff-drop change. The massive gap completely crashed their brains. I added expressionlessly: “This is the precious freedom you fought so hard for, even at the cost of damaging the company’s reputation. Now, you’re free.” I connected my phone to the projector. On screen appeared the real-time stock price chart of our parent company—a cliff-diving green line, shocking to behold. Beside it were pop-ups from major financial news outlets. “Affected by mandatory team-building controversy, company culture questioned, stock price plummets 15% at opening!” Everyone’s expressions rapidly shifted from shock and disbelief to undisguised panic and despair. Their rice bowls were about to be smashed by their own hands. Dylan was the first to jump up, voice shrill and piercing. “Wasn’t the team-building budget $30,000? Why did the travel stipend become $500? That’s so unfair!” I looked at him coldly. “You used public opinion to threaten the company’s survival, causing the stock price to crash and the company to face financial strain. This is the consequence of your foolish actions.” My gaze swept across every panicked face below. “Half a day and tens of millions in market value evaporated. The Board of Directors demands that I eliminate the virus that triggered this crisis within 24 hours. Otherwise, to cut costs and stabilize stock prices, the company will immediately implement a 30% layoff plan.” I paused, watching their ashen faces. “Now, tell me—who is that virus?”

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The day my son was taken by human traffickers, I ran after them like a madwoman. I never expected the kidnapper to strike the back of my head so hard that my mental capacity regressed to that of a toddler. From then on, I—once an outstanding university professor—became a crazy woman everyone pointed and whispered about. I wandered off many times, but my husband always searched the world over to find me and hold me tight. My son knelt before me in remorse: “Mom became this way because of me.” “Don’t be scared, Mom. I’ll protect you.” My husband turned down social engagements to teach me how to read, day and night: “You’re the soul of this family! With you here, this house feels like a home.” My in-laws spent their life savings trying to cure my brain, even kneeling before relatives to beg for money. I thought I would slowly return to normal. But when I finally managed to write my name in shaky, crooked letters, I accidentally overheard their cries: “She’s not even human anymore… It would have been better if she’d just died back then.” That evening at dusk, I swallowed an entire bottle of pills alone. The pills were bitter. I touched the family photo and didn’t cry.

I wanted to make my son his favorite pan-seared steak. In my memories, Lucas loved the steaks I made. I took the rock-hard frozen meat from the refrigerator and, imitating what my husband Derek always did, held it under the running faucet. The ice-cold water splashed onto my face, and I giggled. Cooking. Making food for Lucas. The olive oil bottle was too high up. I stood on my tiptoes to reach it. Crash! The brown glass bottle shattered on the floor, breaking into countless pieces. Olive oil mixed with blood flowed from my palm. It hurt. But I couldn’t cry. Lucas didn’t like it when I cried. I carefully used my other hand to pick up the glass shards from the floor, wanting to hide them. The blood kept flowing, dripping onto the white kitchen tiles like blooming flowers. The meat still hadn’t gone into the pan. I grabbed the half-thawed meat, mixed with the blood and soy sauce from my hand, and stuffed it into the cold pan. I forgot to turn on the stove. I only knew I had to put the meat in. “Emma!” My husband Derek’s voice was filled with panic. He was home early today. He rushed over, snatched the raw meat from my hands, and when he saw my blood-covered hands, his eyes instantly turned red. “What were you messing with now! What happened to your hand!” His voice was loud, and I shrunk back in fear. But he didn’t yell at me again. Instead, he pulled me to the sink and carefully rinsed my wound with warm water. His movements were gentle. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t put the olive oil in a safe place.” He bandaged my hand while softly coaxing me. Finally, he placed a Band-Aid with a little red flower printed on it in my palm. “Our Emma is such a good girl. Here’s a little flower as your reward.” I looked at the little red flower in my palm and smiled foolishly. The pain seemed to really fly away. Just then, the door opened. My son Lucas walked in with a beautiful girl. It was Megan, Lucas’s girlfriend. She saw me—saw the blood and oil stains on my apron, and my hand raised to show him the Band-Aid with the little flower. She instinctively stepped back half a step. Lucas’s face darkened instantly. He strode over, picked up the raw meat I hadn’t put in the pan from the trash can, and threw it back in hard. “Who told you to come into the kitchen! Can’t you just stay put!” His voice was a hundred times louder than Derek’s had been, making my ears ring. I was terrified and hid behind Derek, clutching the corner of his shirt tightly. I didn’t understand. I wanted to cook for Lucas. Why was that wrong? At the dinner table, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. Derek had made many dishes, but I didn’t dare eat a single bite. I saw that Megan’s plate was empty. I wanted to serve her food, like I used to. I clumsily grabbed a rib with my hand and reached toward her bowl. Smack! Lucas slapped the back of my hand, and the rib fell onto the table. “You’re so filthy!” he growled, his face flushed red.

“Lucas! Is that how you talk to your mother!” Derek slammed his hand on the table and stood up. “Dad! Look at what she’s become! In front of Megan—how am I supposed to face anyone!” Megan’s face went pale too: “Mr. Thompson, Lucas, I’m full. I should go.” That night, I couldn’t sleep. I heard Lucas’s hushed voice coming from the balcony. “Megan, I’m sorry, my mom didn’t mean to…” “Please don’t be mad. I promise it won’t happen again…” His tone was humble, like dust on the ground. I buried my head in my blanket, and tears flowed silently. The next day, Lucas’s eyes were swollen. He blocked my doorway, warning me with an expression of seriousness I had never seen before. “Mom, Megan’s parents are coming over today to discuss our engagement.” “You are not to leave this room all day.” “Did you hear me?” I looked at him and nodded, half understanding. He seemed unsure, so he found a lock and locked my door from the outside. “Be a good girl.” I hugged my worn stuffed doll with threads coming loose at the armpit, curled up in the corner of my bedroom, and said to myself. Soon, laughter and cheerful voices came from the living room. I heard words like “wedding” and “ring.” I didn’t understand them, but I knew these things would make my Lucas happy. As long as Lucas was happy, I was happy. The sun slowly moved across the sky, and my stomach started growling. I needed to use the bathroom. I ran to the door and pounded on it. “Bathroom… need bathroom…” The laughter and conversation in the living room were too loud, drowning out my voice. No one heard me. My lower belly grew more and more swollen, more and more painful. I pressed my legs together and paced anxiously around the room, like a trapped ant. “Open door… please… bathroom…” My voice took on a crying tone. But the people outside seemed to be making a toast. The voices got even louder. I couldn’t hold it anymore. A warm liquid flowed down my thighs, soaking my pants and pooling at my feet. The smell of urine instantly filled the entire room. I stared at the puddle on the floor, frozen. Then I burst into tears, sitting on the ground and wailing like a real three-year-old child. My crying finally alarmed the people outside. The laughter in the living room stopped abruptly. The sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door was yanked open. Lucas, Derek, two middle-aged strangers, and a pale-faced Megan all stood at the doorway. They saw the room reeking of urine, and me—sitting on the ground, soaked through, utterly pathetic. Megan’s mother’s expression changed on the spot. She pointed at me and shrieked at Lucas: “This is what you call ‘getting better’? This is a bottomless pit!” “Let me tell you, I do not approve of this marriage! I will never let my daughter jump into this kind of hellhole!” Lucas’s face turned red, then white. He tried to explain: “Mrs. Carter, my mom will get better. The doctor said…” “The doctor said? You believe whatever the doctor says?” Megan’s father sneered. “With a burden like this, your whole life is ruined! Don’t even think about dragging our Megan down with you!” Megan was crying. She held onto her parents’ hands, apologizing over and over. Before leaving, she looked back at Lucas. In her eyes was despair and finality. The door slammed shut. Dead silence in the living room. Lucas collapsed onto the sofa as if all his strength had been drained. He buried his head in his hands, his fingernails digging deep into his scalp, his shoulders shaking violently. I timidly walked out of the room and stood in front of him. I pulled a piece of candy from my pocket—candy I had hidden for a long time, too precious to eat myself. I wanted to make him happy. “Lucas… candy… sweet…”

Lucas jerked his head up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me. He swung his arm violently. “Get away from me!” He shoved me to the ground. The back of my head hit the corner of the coffee table. It hurt so much. The candy flew out of my hand, rolled into the corner, and landed in the puddle of my urine. Dirty. My candy was dirty. When Derek came home, this was what he saw. A silent son, and me, trembling behind the sofa. He quietly cleaned up the mess on the floor, wiped away those shameful traces. Then he sat down next to Lucas, his voice exhausted. “Lucas, you can’t treat your mother like this.” “She… she can’t control herself.” Those words were like lighting a fuse. Lucas shot to his feet, roaring with bloodshot eyes. “Can’t control herself? How much longer do I have to put up with this!” “Do you have any idea what my life has been like? Since I was little, everyone laughed at me for being the crazy woman’s son!” “I applied for jobs, made it to the final round of interviews, and they cut me just because they found out about my mom!” “Now even the only woman I love is leaving me! All because of her! Because of her!” He pointed at me, his finger trembling with rage. Slap! A loud slap. Derek’s hand was shaking. His lips were shaking too. “Get out!” “You ungrateful bastard! That’s the mother who saved your life!” Lucas clutched his face, staring at his father in disbelief. He let out a cold laugh, turned, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The tremendous bang made me scream. I desperately crawled under the table, my mouth only able to repeat: “No fighting… no fighting…” That night, I didn’t sleep. I hugged my stuffed doll and sat in the darkness of the living room, waiting for Lucas to come home. Late at night, the door opened. Lucas stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. He swayed to the sofa and collapsed onto it. I hurried over, wanting to cover him with a blanket like Derek would. He suddenly started to retch. Without thinking, I instinctively held out my hands. Warm, sour-smelling vomit landed right in my palms. I was afraid of dirtying the carpet. Lucas would be angry. The sticky sensation made me uncomfortable, but I held it in and used my other sleeve to wipe his mouth. Maybe my movements woke him. Lucas opened his bleary eyes and saw me, saw my filthy hands. The alcohol and all his grievances rushed to his head. He suddenly broke down, crying like a child. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard. “Mom! You weren’t like this before! You weren’t!” “You were a university professor! You were the most elegant, most brilliant woman! How did you become like this!” He shook me until I was dizzy, but I couldn’t understand his pain. I only knew my baby was crying. I smiled foolishly and clumsily tried to wipe his tears with my somewhat cleaner sleeve. “Baby… don’t cry…” My voice, my smiling face, completely shattered his last bit of sanity. Lucas’s eyes went hollow. He shoved me away. He mumbled to himself: “Megan doesn’t want me anymore… It’s all because of you… It’s all your fault…” He stared into my eyes, each word like a knife stabbing into my heart. “If I’d known saving me would turn you into this, it would’ve been better to just let you die.” “If you were dead, I’d be free.” “Dad would be free too.” “Everyone would be free.” I froze. My brain was like mush, but I understood. Even though my mind was that of a three-year-old, I understood the words “dead” and “free.” So if I died, my baby would be free. So if I died, my baby wouldn’t cry anymore.

The next day, Lucas went to work early. He had sobered up and probably didn’t remember what he’d said last night. Derek also left early in the morning. I heard him on the phone—something about borrowing money from a distant relative. I was alone in the house. It was very quiet. My baby liked quiet. I wiped every corner of the house, using my sleeves, using the hem of my clothes. It wasn’t very clean—there were streaks of water everywhere—but I did my best. Then I opened the big wardrobe that smelled of mothballs. I found the cream-colored professional suit I hadn’t worn in a very, very long time. Derek said this was my favorite outfit when I was a teacher. It took great effort to squeeze into the slightly tight clothes. The buttons were crooked, and the skirt had twisted to the side. I sat at the vanity, imitating what I remembered Megan doing. I picked up the lipstick, twisted it open, and faced myself in the mirror. I wanted to draw pretty lips, but my hands wouldn’t obey. I smeared red all around my mouth, looking like a little demon who had just eaten a dead child. The person in the mirror looked so ridiculous, so ugly. I found a piece of paper in the drawer—the paper I usually practiced writing on. I picked up a pen and, using all my strength, wrote three words stroke by stroke. “Lucas. Good.” After writing, I drew a crooked smiley face next to it. I carefully folded the paper and placed it under my pillow. After finishing all this, I brought over a chair, stepped onto it, and opened the door of the highest cabinet. Derek hid his sleeping pills here. He said he couldn’t sleep at night and needed pills. I took out the small white bottle. I remembered the pills were bitter. I was afraid of bitter things. But Lucas’s words from last night kept echoing in my ears. “If you were dead, I’d be free.” I wanted to be a good, obedient mommy. I couldn’t make my baby unhappy. I twisted off the cap and poured the entire bottle of colorful little pills into my mouth. There was no water. I just swallowed them dry. The pills scraped down my throat, burning like fire, dry and painful. I lay on the living room sofa—Lucas’s favorite spot. I held the family photo tightly against my chest. In the picture, I was smiling so gently. Lucas was still so small, perched on Derek’s shoulders. How wonderful I was back then. The pills took effect quickly. My stomach hurt so much, like countless needles stabbing me. My head was so dizzy. The ceiling was spinning. I wanted to vomit, wanted to scream. But I held it in. I clamped my hand tightly over my mouth. My baby liked quiet. I couldn’t disturb my baby. I obediently closed my eyes and adjusted my position to look like I was sleeping. The evening sunset streamed through the window, warm on my face. I didn’t feel so much pain anymore. Lucas, Mommy listened. Mommy is going to die now. You’ll be free. I floated up. My body became so light, so light, like a cloud. I saw myself lying on the sofa, wearing that ridiculous professional suit, with messy lipstick smeared on my face, holding the family photo. I looked so ugly. I saw Lucas come home from work. He was carrying a beautiful cake box, printed with the logo of Megan’s favorite bakery. He wanted to win back his girl. “Mom, I’m home.” He called out like usual, changing his shoes as he came in. No one answered from the living room. He frowned, seeming a little impatient, probably thinking I was hiding in some corner playing hide-and-seek with him again. He walked to the sofa and saw me. He paused for a moment, then snorted with laughter. “Mom, what cosplay are you doing today? Get up, you’re scaring me.” He reached out to push my shoulder, his tone carrying a hint of helpless affection. “Stop messing around. I bought cake…” His words stopped halfway. Because my body was already stiff and cold.

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When the ambulance rushed me to the hospital, the TV was flooded with coverage praising my parents’ selfless virtue. In front of the cameras, they proudly wrapped their arms around Kevin and turned to the reporters with beaming faces: “This three-million-dollar mansion and fifty-thousand-dollar car are the least we could do.” “Kevin’s parents sacrificed their lives to save us back then, and now we treat him like our own son!” But here I was, in end-stage kidney failure, calling to beg for money for emergency treatment, and my parents brushed me off with a measly two hundred dollars. Two hundred dollars. So that’s what their biological son’s life was worth to them. But if I didn’t pay for the kidney transplant today, I would die. Looking at the check and luxury car they’d prepared for Kevin, I suddenly felt a strange sense of peace. Since they already had another “real” son, I might as well stop calling them my parents. “Where’s the family for Lucas Miller? Patient in bed 23, Lucas Miller—his bills are past due!” A nurse pushed open the door. “The patient is at high risk for acute liver failure. His clotting function is already compromised. If fees aren’t paid, we’ll have to stop all treatment and medication!” I lay in the hospital bed, my blood feeling like it was on fire, boiling hot, yet my heart was cold as if plunged into an ice cellar. My phone was right beside me. With trembling hands covered in needle marks, I dialed my mother’s number. The phone rang for a long time, and she finally picked up just a second before it went to voicemail. The background was filled with the clinking of glasses, laughter, and celebratory music. “Hello? Lucas?” My mother’s voice was shrill with excitement. “Didn’t I tell you? Today is Kevin’s engagement party. If you want to sulk and skip it, fine, but why are you calling when I’m at my busiest?” “Mom…” I gasped for breath, my throat thick with the metallic taste of blood. “I’m in the hospital… liver failure… The doctors say I need to pay immediately for treatment, or I’ll die…” There was a pause on the other end. Then the background noise quieted, as if she had covered the phone and walked to a corner. “Lucas Miller, this kind of joke isn’t funny at all.” Her tone turned ice-cold. “You were perfectly fine just two days ago, and the moment Kevin gets engaged, you suddenly have liver failure?” “Are you jealous that we bought Kevin a house? Is that why you’re pretending to be sick at this crucial moment just to make trouble for us?” “Mom, it’s real. I’ve been vomiting blood… The hospital has issued multiple critical condition notices…” “I have no money in my account. Can you transfer me a hundred thousand to save my life? Just a hundred thousand…” “A hundred thousand?!” My mother’s voice shot up an octave. “Lucas Miller, are you deliberately trying to ruin things for us? All our liquid assets were withdrawn yesterday and converted to cash to display on the table for Kevin’s future in-laws! Where would we get extra money for your nonsense?” “Then give me back MY money!” I roared with the last of my strength. “Two years ago, you said you were keeping that five hundred thousand for my wedding fund! That was everything I saved in five years of working! That’s MY money! Give me back that five hundred thousand—even just a hundred thousand would be enough!” Silence on the other end. Then my father, Richard Miller, grabbed the phone and started shouting: “What do you mean YOUR money, MY money? Once money comes into this household, it’s the family’s money! We already used that five hundred thousand for Kevin’s Mercedes down payment! Lucas Miller, how can you be so selfish? Kevin’s had such a tragic life—his parents both died. If we don’t put on a good show, how will his future in-laws respect him? Can’t you think about your parents for once? If people start gossiping about this, where will we put our faces?” My heart grew colder by the second. When my parents took my money, they smiled and said they were saving it for their son’s future. Turns out they meant their other son. “Enough! Stop the act!” My father lowered his voice. “I know you’ve always been jealous of Kevin. But Lucas, you need to be the bigger person! You’re our biological son. You have an intact family. Why do you have to fight with an orphan over such petty things?” Click. The call ended. I stared at the ceiling, the harsh white lights stinging my eyes. In the corner of the room, the TV happened to be playing the local noon news. “Today, renowned philanthropists Richard and Patricia Miller hosted a grand engagement party for their adopted son Kevin, presenting him with a three-million-dollar fully-paid condo in the city center and a luxury car worth hundreds of thousands. This fulfills their promise to their late comrade, and their noble act of loyalty has touched everyone present…” On screen, my parents wore expensive custom-tailored outfits, each holding one of Kevin’s hands, grinning from ear to ear. A reporter extended the microphone toward my father. He faced the camera, his face glowing with pride, and made a humble gesture with his hands: “In life, what matters most is having a clear conscience.” A clear conscience? The enormous irony crashed down on me like a sledgehammer. A surge of blood rushed up my throat. With a violent “splat,” crimson sprayed out, soaking the white sheets red. The heart monitor screamed. My consciousness spiraled away as the world spun around me. “Not good! Massive hemorrhage!” “Quick! Transfer to ICU! Prepare artificial liver support! Where’s the family? If they don’t pay now, we’ll lose him!” Just before darkness swallowed me completely, I saw a figure at the end of the corridor—my fiancée, Emma, charging toward me like a madwoman. Her hair was disheveled, her face deathly pale. She held up a bank card, sobbing hysterically: “I paid! Doctor, I paid! I took out a payday loan! Please, save him!”

I was transferred out of the ICU three days later. Emma had been keeping vigil by my bed, her eyes swollen like walnuts. When she saw me wake up, the apple in her hand rolled to the floor, and tears instantly streamed down her face. “The money… where did it come from?” I asked weakly. I knew that after my parents took my five hundred thousand, we’d been saving up again for a down payment. There was no way we had anything in our accounts. Emma lowered her head, biting her lip hard. “I took out some payday loans. Enough for the surgery.” My heart felt like it had been struck by a hammer. “You silly girl…” “I’m not silly. Your parents are the ones who are insane.” Emma’s face was filled with rage. She pulled out her phone and showed me a screenshot. “A few days ago, I called your mom crying, begging for help, saying you were sick and needed money. Your mom said you were just being jealous, trying to ruin things for Kevin.” She took a deep breath. “Then she transferred me two hundred dollars.” Two hundred dollars. To put on a show for their adopted son, they had taken my five hundred thousand in savings and spent three million on a house. But their biological son’s life? In their eyes, it was worth exactly two hundred dollars. I closed my eyes, a sharp pain twisting in my chest. These past ten years, ever since the first banner of commendation arrived at our home, ever since the neighbors started giving thumbs up and praising “the noble Millers”—everything had changed. All that praise became like a drug to them. To prove their selflessness, their love for me gradually shifted away. It was as if showing me any affection would somehow shortchange Kevin. I spent several more days in the hospital. My parents never called. Not once. Once I was well enough, I had Emma help me check out. Since my parents had no room for me as their son, there was no point in holding on anymore. I had once turned down a six-hundred-thousand-dollar job offer in New York just to stay local and take care of them. Now, I owed them nothing. The moment I got home, the door swung open. My mother walked in carrying a few boxes, my father following behind with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression stern. And Kevin—wearing an expensive designer suit, a Rolex on his wrist—stepped inside and immediately wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Bro, how many days has it been since you showered? It reeks in here.” For once, my mother didn’t respond to him. She noticed my pale complexion and quickly set down the boxes, reaching up to touch my face. “Lucas, why do you look so terrible? When you said you were in the ICU the other day… was that actually true?” My father paused, and his gaze softened slightly. This late flicker of concern pricked at me like a needle. Maybe, just maybe, they still cared about me after all— Before I could say a word, Kevin stepped forward. “Oh, bro, you’ve already packed your bags? Planning a trip or something?” “Are you still mad at me? I mean, you seemed perfectly fine before, but the moment Mom and Dad buy me a house, you end up in the ICU. And now you’re packing to leave. Mom, Dad, don’t blame him—it’s only natural he’d feel some resentment. This is my fault as the big brother. I didn’t take care of his feelings.” Whatever guilt my parents had just started to feel? Kevin’s little speech wiped it clean. “So you’re saying I faked being sick?” Kevin kept fanning the flames. “I didn’t say that. If you weren’t really sick, you obviously wouldn’t have asked Mom and Dad for money. But hey, if you’re really that strapped for cash, how about I sell the Mercedes and give you the money? Your health comes first. Don’t hurt yourself just to make a point, okay?” I let out a cold laugh. He was slick, I had to admit—a few carefully chosen words to make himself look magnanimous while implying I was faking everything. I was about to fire back when my mother jumped in, already worked up. “That car is a gift for him! Lucas, you’ve always been such a good boy—why would you be upset? You missed Kevin’s engagement party. The least you can do is take him and his fiancée out for a nice dinner. Show some sense.” “I’m not going.” My voice was ice. My father pointed a finger at my face, all traces of earlier concern gone—replaced by pure fury at being defied. “Lucas Miller! Look at your brother! Look how much he cares about you! And you? Just to spite us, you fake a hospital stay? Do you have any idea how important that engagement party was? Are you not happy until you’ve completely humiliated me?” I watched them play their little good-cop-bad-cop routine while Kevin stood off to the side, barely hiding his smirk. In that moment, my heart finally died. I slammed the hospital report onto the coffee table. “Whether I faked it or not—see for yourselves.” “From today on, your son’s name is Kevin. Enjoy worshipping him.” “As for me, Lucas Miller—from this moment forward, I’m cutting all ties with you!”

Dead silence. Emma carefully steadied me, worried I might pass out from the stress. Then my father raised his hand and slapped me across the face. SMACK! “You ungrateful wretch! You’d sever ties with us over a little money? We raised you for nothing!” My father shook with rage. I worked my jaw, testing the numb spot where he’d hit me. My mouth filled with the taste of blood, but I smiled. “Dad, isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Without a petty, calculating biological son like me around, it’ll really showcase just how selfless and noble you are toward your adopted son.” “You—” My father’s lips trembled. He couldn’t get another word out. Right on cue, Kevin, who had been silent until now, dropped to his knees with a dramatic thud. He clutched my father’s leg, crying with such conviction it would’ve won an Oscar. “Dad! Don’t hit him! This is all my fault! I’ll sell the car right now, return the house—I’ll do anything if it’ll make Lucas feel better!” His performance instantly melted my mother’s heart. She pulled Kevin up, tenderly brushing the dust from his knees, then turned to glare at me. “Lucas Miller! Kevin is on his knees begging you—what more do you want? Yes, we’ve been good to Kevin, but that’s because we owe a debt! If Kevin’s father hadn’t taken that bullet for your dad back then, you wouldn’t even exist! Your entire life was given to you by Kevin’s family! Now we’re just letting your brother live a little better, and you can’t stand it?” “Haven’t I paid enough of that debt with my own blood and flesh?” I looked at them, my eyes hollow. “My savings. My health. If Emma hadn’t come to save me, would you have taken my life too?” “What nonsense are you spouting!” My mother’s fury instantly turned on Emma. She looked her up and down with contempt. “I knew it was you stirring up trouble behind the scenes! Some girl from out of town, seeing how naive Lucas is, trying to manipulate him into handing over the family’s assets. Well, let me tell you—as long as we’re alive, that’s never happening!” Emma’s face went ghost-white, her whole body trembling with rage. I pulled her behind me, my heart sinking into ice water, freezing over inch by inch. This was my mother. She could give my life-saving money to an outsider, yet viciously suspect the woman who had taken out loans to save my life. Kevin was still putting on his sympathetic act nearby. “Mom, don’t say that about my sister-in-law. She was just trying to help Lucas. Hey bro, how about this—you spent so much on medical bills, and I don’t make much right now, but I can give you a thousand bucks a month for living expenses. How’s that sound? Don’t think it’s too little—it’s just my way of showing I care.” A thousand bucks. Charity, was it? That casual, condescending offer, dripping with pity and utter humiliation, was the final straw. I had Emma hand me the document I’d been too soft-hearted to pull out before—the severance agreement. I slapped it on the table. I looked calmly at the three of them and spoke, word by word: “Sign it. From now on, any debt of birth and upbringing is wiped clean.” “As for my life—Emma gave it to me. It has nothing to do with any of you anymore.” “Fine, fine, fine! You’ve grown some backbone!” My father pointed at me, then turned and had Kevin pull a stack of documents from his briefcase. He pointed to the papers on the table. “This is the deed transfer for the last property under your mother’s and my names—this old apartment. We’ve decided to sign it over to Kevin right now.” “As for you—” He tossed another document at me. “This is a Declaration of Inheritance Waiver. Sign it to prove you’re not after the family money, and we’ll agree to cut ties with you!” So that’s what this was. That’s why they came in the first place. Not out of concern—but to make me give up everything to my face. “I’ll sign.” I signed my name without hesitation, and watched as they signed the severance agreement. When it was done, I gestured toward the door. “You two can see yourselves out.” I pushed them out and shut the door. Beyond my parents’ curses, I could hear Kevin’s fake attempt at consolation: “Dad, Mom, don’t be upset. Lucas is just confused right now. Give it a couple days and he’ll come crawling back to beg for forgiveness…” I didn’t say another word. I just laughed coldly to myself. Emma and I packed our bags and left. Just as I boarded the train to New York, my phone buzzed with a file from the private investigator I’d hired. That was the commission I’d placed earlier. The document stated clearly: Kevin’s parents had never actually died.

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One month after my mother passed away, my father brought his mistress home. I screamed and cried, grabbing a glass and hurling it at the woman and her daughter. The scheming mistress cried, but clutched her head and leaned against my father, saying she was fine. My father flew into a rage. For the first time ever, he yelled at me and told me to go back to my room. I couldn’t take it anymore and ran away from home. My father was so angry his heart condition nearly flared up: “If you leave, don’t ever come back!” But I still left. I didn’t even take a single penny—I wanted him to regret cheating, to regret losing me and my mother! But after I left, I realized how brutal the real world actually was. I hadn’t even finished high school. All I could do was manual labor and food delivery. Three thousand dollars a month wasn’t enough to rent a decent place. I had to share a cramped basement apartment with strangers. One night, rushing to make a delivery, I ran a red light and got hit by a truck. I died in an unclaimed body in the morgue, while my father was throwing a one-month celebration for his new son at his mansion. He had a loving wife, a son and daughter, the perfect happy family—while I died alone on a freezing night! But then, when I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day that woman and her daughter first showed up! This time, I didn’t cry or scream. I just secretly slipped my father a sterilization drug.

The glass hit the mistress square on the head. She clutched her bleeding forehead and collapsed against my father. My father screamed at me: “Emma! Have you lost your mind? Did everything I taught you go in one ear and out the other?” I froze for a moment, then realized—I had been reborn. The mistress clung to my father’s arm and said softly: “Richard, don’t be so hard on her. She just lost her mother. It’s normal for her to be upset.” My father held her protectively and pointed at me: “Apologize to Victoria right now!” Victoria’s eyes glistened with tears as she quickly waved her hands: “No, no, it’s fine. I know Emma looks down on someone like me. Please don’t fight because of me. I’ll just leave.” She turned and started dragging her suitcase toward the door. But then her daughter, Megan, suddenly burst into tears: “Mom, didn’t you already give up our apartment? Are we going to be homeless again?” My father, who had been hesitating about whether to let them stay, suddenly made up his mind. He pointed to the master bedroom: “Stay. Victoria, from now on, you’re the lady of this house!” Then he pointed at me: “Emma, go to your room and think about what you’ve done!” The mother and daughter kept their heads down, sobbing, but I could see the triumph hidden in their eyes. Scheming bitches! She knew exactly what she was getting into when she became his mistress. My mother wasn’t even cold in her grave, and here they were, moving in. I didn’t know what kind of act she was putting on. I clenched my fists, wanting to throw another glass. But when I looked up, my father’s face was already red with fury. In my previous life, my pride couldn’t handle my father yelling at me. I stormed out without taking anything—and all my jewelry and designer bags ended up with Megan. In the end, I died getting hit by a truck over a three-dollar delivery tip. A miserable death. This time, I would not make the same mistake! I relaxed my grip and pinched my thigh hard, forcing tears to well up in my eyes. “Dad, are you abandoning me?”

My father, who had been furious just moments ago, paused. His tone softened slightly: “What nonsense are you talking about? You’re my only daughter! How could I ever abandon you?” I pouted and pointed at Megan: “What about her? Isn’t she here to be your daughter? Isn’t she moving into our home?” My father said without thinking: “She’s Victoria’s daughter. If you don’t like it, she can just call me ‘Uncle Richard’ instead.” Seeing their chance at the mansion slipping away, Victoria and Megan’s faces stiffened. Megan put on her most pitiful expression: “Uncle Richard, does Emma not like me?” Victoria immediately jumped in: “Richard, are we making things difficult for you by being here? If Emma really doesn’t want us, I won’t force it.” “As long as I can be with you, anywhere is home.” My father was instantly moved by this heartfelt declaration. He took a deep breath. “Emma, from now on, Victoria is like your mother! And Megan is like your sister. You need to treat them well.” My hands clenched tight, my nails digging into my palms. The flowers on my mother’s grave hadn’t even wilted yet, and this woman was supposed to be like my mother? “Dad, it hasn’t even been thirty-five days since Mom passed. You two were childhood sweethearts, deeply in love. Is Victoria really in such a hurry?” At the mention of my mother, guilt flickered in my father’s eyes. He finally stopped insisting. “You’re right, I wasn’t thinking clearly. Victoria, why don’t you and Megan stay at the apartment downtown for a few days?” Victoria stared at me, a flash of venom in her eyes. She clutched her injured forehead and said weakly: “Richard, you know I’ll do whatever you say…” Before she could finish, she fainted. Megan nearly burst into tears. “Mom! What’s wrong? Please don’t scare me! You know your health isn’t good!” My father went into full CEO-rescue mode, scooping her up and shouting: “Doctor! Where’s the doctor?!” I sat on the couch, smirking coldly. So what if she used this trick to stay? I had plenty of ways to get rid of them!

“The family doctor said Victoria has a concussion from you hitting her with that glass. Go apologize properly!” Victoria was lying in bed, her head wrapped in gauze, still playing peacemaker. “Richard, don’t blame her. I’m sure she didn’t mean it, right?” Victoria looked at me with that soft, challenging gaze. Normally, I would have been provoked. But now? I could out-manipulate her. I put on my most pitiful expression: “I’m sorry, Dad. I was just so angry that I threw a glass. How was I supposed to know Victoria would walk right into it?” My father was so caught off guard by my response that he actually laughed, his anger fading. He patted my head and said: “I’ve spoiled this child too much. Victoria, please don’t be upset.” Victoria’s face darkened, but she forced a smile and said it was fine. As long as they could stay here, she wasn’t worried about winning over a man’s heart. When it came time to choose bedrooms that evening, Megan immediately set her sights on my room on the second floor. My room was spacious with great natural light, plus it had its own bathroom and walk-in closet. Victoria quickly said: “That’s Emma’s room. Do you really think you deserve to stay there?” “Richard, Megan isn’t used to such big rooms. The guest room downstairs is fine. We don’t want to be any trouble.” Megan started crying pitifully, and I could see my father starting to soften. I spoke up immediately: “Dad, I think Victoria has a point. What if Megan has nightmares in such a big room?” “Our guest room is perfectly nice. Once it’s tidied up, Megan will feel right at home.” My father’s furrowed brow relaxed: “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. Since she’s not used to big rooms, the guest room will do for now.” Victoria couldn’t maintain her smile any longer. But the smile didn’t disappear—it just moved to my face. Back in my room, I pulled up the hidden camera feed I’d installed in the guest room earlier. Megan was crying and throwing a fit about not wanting to stay in that room. She wanted my big room. “Mom, you said I was going to be a rich heiress! Why am I still being stepped on by Emma?” Victoria’s face was dark with anger: “What do you know? This is called strategic retreat. Does that little brat really think she can outplay me?” “Your Uncle Richard doesn’t have a son. Once I get pregnant with his baby, we’ll see how smug Emma is then!” With that, Victoria walked out the door, ready to bring tea to my father in his study. And I had already slipped the sterilization drug into the kettle.

What I didn’t expect was that three months later, Victoria actually got pregnant! When I heard the news, I was stunned. I immediately messaged the seller who’d sold me the drug, asking what was going on. The reply came: “That’s absolutely impossible. This isn’t some ordinary fertility suppressant. If a man takes too much of this, he’ll become…” The rest of the message made me laugh—and confirmed one thing. My father definitely couldn’t get anyone pregnant anymore. So whose baby was Victoria carrying? My father was overjoyed at becoming a father again in his later years. Not only did he have the master bedroom completely redecorated to Victoria’s taste, he even insisted that Megan move into my room. “Victoria said Megan gets scared sleeping alone. Let her stay with you.” Victoria stroked her still-flat belly and shot me a triumphant smile. “Emma, you don’t mind, do you?” I smiled right back at her: “Of course not. Once you give birth to my little brother, we’ll all be one big happy family.” Seeing us getting along so well, my father beamed with joy and announced that the whole family would go out for dinner that night. When I got back to my room, Megan was standing in front of the mirror, trying on a pair of my wine-red stilettos. When she saw me come in, she grinned: “Such pretty shoes. I’m just trying them on. You don’t mind, do you?” Those were a gift from my mother for my eighteenth birthday. The last gift she ever gave me. I couldn’t even bring myself to wear them. I couldn’t take it anymore. My face went cold: “Take them off. Now.” Megan sneered: “Dropping the act now that your dad’s not around?” Then she kicked her foot hard against the full-length mirror. The delicate heel snapped clean off, and the glass shattered with a deafening crash. I stood frozen as hurried footsteps thundered up the stairs behind me. Victoria came up clinging to my father’s arm. She covered her mouth, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Megan! What happened to your leg? There’s blood everywhere! Does it hurt?” Megan clutched her bleeding shin, crying: “I’m sorry, Emma. I shouldn’t have tried on your shoes. Please don’t blame Mom.” The broken heel lay discarded on the floor—it looked exactly like I’d thrown the shoe in a fit of rage. My father frowned, disappointment written all over his face: “Emma, I actually thought you’d grown up a little. Turns out you’re two-faced!” I instinctively tried to explain: “She’s the one who—” But my father cut me off, raising his voice: “Enough! You always have excuses! I think you just don’t want this family to be happy!” I shut my mouth. My father made a phone call, then pointed at my closet: “Pack your things. You’re an adult now—move out.” “I’ve already arranged a place for you. Don’t come back unless it’s absolutely necessary. Victoria needs to rest. She can’t be stressed.” I nodded: “Fine. I’ll go. But I’m taking one thing with me.”

With that, I shoved Megan aside and pulled the heels off her feet. Her hands landed on the broken glass, and she let out a shriek. She glared at me through gritted teeth. I didn’t even look at her. I just wiped the stains off the shoes with disgust. “Congratulations. You two finally got what you wanted—getting me kicked out.” My father was about to lecture me again, but I looked up at him, my voice breaking: “This was the last gift Mom ever gave me. I’m not leaving it for them.” My father froze. I walked past them and headed downstairs without another word. The driver was already waiting at the door. I got in the car and closed my eyes. I’d already sold off or swapped out everything valuable in the house. After what happened in my past life, I understood one thing clearly: money is the only thing you can count on. As for Victoria and her daughter? There was plenty of time to deal with them. The apartment my father arranged was near my school. It was one of those fancy prep schools where money could buy your way in. When I showed up the next day, I found out Megan was enrolled there too. She was wearing my clothes, carrying one of the fake designer bags I’d swapped in, surrounded by classmates showering her with compliments. “Oh look, isn’t that our former heiress? Got kicked out and still showing up to class?” The group burst into mocking laughter. Megan sauntered over to me and said sweetly: “Don’t listen to them, Emma. Even after the baby’s born, you’ll still be part of the family.” I pulled my hand away coldly: “‘Our’ family? Are you even a Whitmore?” Megan’s expression stiffened. She pouted: “Do you still hate me, Emma? It’s not like I asked Uncle Richard to kick you out.” Some of the social climbers quickly jumped in: “Megan, don’t apologize to her. She’s just stuck up!” “Exactly. Acting all high and mighty when she won’t even get a cent of the inheritance.” I said nothing, just looked down at my book. I’d been through enough in my past life to know how fickle people could be. Their mockery didn’t faze me. Megan basked in the attention and announced loudly: “When my little brother’s one-month celebration comes around, you’re all invited!” I gripped my pen tighter, smiling coldly to myself. Oh, let them all come. I couldn’t wait. Ten months passed in the blink of an eye, and the day of the baby’s one-month celebration arrived. My father called me personally and told me to come home. “Enough with the attitude. This is your baby brother. What will people think if his big sister doesn’t show up?” I agreed immediately and grabbed the folder sitting on my desk, tucking it into my bag. When I arrived in my plain school uniform, my father—who was busy greeting guests—frowned at me. “Emma, do you have any sense of dignity? You couldn’t even find a decent outfit?” I glanced at Megan and tilted my chin toward her: “All my nice clothes went to the new heiress, didn’t they?” My father went silent. He waved over his assistant to take me to change. But Victoria appeared, cradling the baby: “Emma, you’re here! Would you like to hold your little brother?” Before I could react, she was already placing the baby in my arms. I reached out to catch him—but it was too late. The swaddled infant slipped from the blanket and hit the marble floor. The baby’s agonized wails echoed through the hall. I stared at her in disbelief. This woman was ruthless enough to use her own son as a pawn! All eyes turned to us. Victoria sobbed dramatically: “Emma! Even if you don’t like your brother, how could you drop him like that?” My father’s face went dark. Without even letting me explain, he slapped me across the face. My head snapped to the side, my cheek burning. It took me a moment to process it. My father had hit me. This was the first time in my entire life. A wave of humiliation and fury exploded in my chest. My father clutched his chest, glaring at me with raw disappointment: “I really misjudged you! You heartless, ungrateful girl! You couldn’t even hold onto your own brother!” Victoria clutched the baby, wailing: “He’s just a baby! Can’t you stand him that much? Are you that afraid he’ll take your inheritance?” Everyone was staring at me now. Some with contempt. Some with disdain. Some just enjoying the show. “The Whitmore heiress is vicious, huh? Dropping a one-month-old baby like that!” My father was trembling with rage. He spat out: “Do you think I’m too old to do anything? Let me tell you—you won’t see a single penny of my money!” The room erupted in shocked murmurs. Victoria and Megan couldn’t hide their glee. This meant the entire Whitmore fortune would be theirs! I touched my stinging cheek and let out a bitter laugh. But I didn’t break down or cry like they expected. Instead, I pulled the document out of my bag. “Dad, why don’t you take a look at this gift first before you make any decisions?”

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My husband was an undercover hero who helped take down the mob. To save that hostage girl, he was tortured by them for an entire month. After he was rescued, his body was covered in scars, and he developed a severe physical condition. The doctors said it was psychological trauma—that he couldn’t be pushed. I was heartbroken. For three years, I didn’t even dare breathe loudly in my sleep. I was terrified of disturbing his fragile nerves. I spent every penny we had on his treatment. I even paid for that poor rescued girl’s education. On the day of the police commendation ceremony, the big screen accidentally played an unreleased surveillance clip. In the footage, that man—who acted so timid and submissive around me— was pinning that girl against a desk, going at it like a wild animal. His mouth was full of filthy words, his movements rough and savage. He quickly covered my eyes. “Don’t look! That was just an act to gain the mob’s trust!” “Tech team! Who played that video? Shut it off now!” Captain Harris’s roar exploded through the auditorium. The blinding white light from the screen vanished, plunging the entire hall into dead silence and darkness. I sat frozen in my seat, hands and feet ice cold. The hand covering my eyes carried the familiar scent of tobacco. But that same hand, just moments ago on screen, had been gripping another girl’s hair. “Emma, don’t look.” Ryan’s voice came from beside my ear—steady as always, but with an almost imperceptible tension. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. My fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of my shirt, wrenching the soft fabric into a hard knot. It was a nervous habit of mine. The lights snapped back on with a sharp click, stinging my eyes. Everyone around me—colleagues, family members—their gazes landed on me like spotlights. Pity. Curiosity. Contempt. Schadenfreude. Ryan lowered his hand. His face looked pale under the lights, but his eyes remained calm. He took off his crisp uniform jacket and draped it over my shoulders, covering my trembling body. “Just a misunderstanding. Special interrogation tactics, that’s all.” He spoke to the people around us. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough for the nearest rows to hear clearly. “Everyone, please continue. Let’s not let this little hiccup ruin the ceremony.” His tone was calm, as if that clip—practically worthy of an adult film—was nothing more than mundane work footage. Captain Harris hurried over, his face full of apology and concern. “Emma, are you okay? Those idiots in tech messed up. I’ll deal with them later!” The way he looked at me was pure, genuine concern—like an elder worried about someone younger. For three years, the entire department knew about Ryan’s condition. They also knew that to take care of him, I’d quit my job and stayed by his side every moment. In their eyes, I was the noble, patient, selfless officer’s wife. But now, that nobility had become a huge joke. “I’m fine, Captain.” My voice came out dry and hoarse. Ryan wrapped his arm around my shoulders, his grip firm and commanding. “I’m taking her home to rest.” He didn’t give anyone a chance to ask more questions. We walked through countless complicated stares and left the auditorium. Cold wind rushed through the corridor. I shivered. It wasn’t until we got into the car that he let go of me. The car felt cramped. The smell on him—sweat mixed with something primal—made me nauseous. I turned to stare out the window, my stomach churning. “It was fake.” He started the car and finally spoke. “What was fake?” “What happened in the video. It was a performance for the mob, to gain their trust.” His explanation was exactly what I’d expected—calm, logical, flawless. “That girl, Anya, she was in too deep back then. Without some special tactics, she wouldn’t have talked.” “I thought those files were destroyed long ago. I didn’t expect the tech team to make such a mistake.” He drove while glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “I know it’s hard to accept, but that was my job.” “Emma, you have to understand.” Understand. Those words again. For three years, I understood the trauma from his failed mission. I understood his physical condition. I understood all his sensitivities and fragilities. I took care of him like a delicate porcelain doll. But I couldn’t understand how he could sleep with another woman on a desk without batting an eye. Yet around me, a single touch seemed like torture to him. The car stopped downstairs. I didn’t move. Ryan unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned toward me. His face was close to mine. Those eyes that once made me fall so deep—now they were filled with exhaustion and some complicated emotion I couldn’t read. “Stop being upset, okay?” His voice softened, coaxing. “Anya’s waiting for us upstairs. She was really scared today.” Those words hit me like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I whipped my head around and stared at him. “Why is she in our home?” Ryan frowned, a flash of impatience crossing his eyes. “She was scared living alone. She moved in a few days ago.” “I thought I told you.” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world—as if this wasn’t my home, just some hotel where anyone could crash. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. He hadn’t told me. He hadn’t told me anything.

I pushed open the car door and stumbled toward the building. The key jammed in the lock. It took several tries to get it right. The moment the door opened, an unfamiliar perfume hit me. In the entryway sat a pair of pink high heels that didn’t belong to me. On the living room couch lay a woman’s jacket. On the coffee table were half-eaten snacks and a fashion magazine. Everything here announced the presence of another woman. Anya walked out of the master bedroom wearing my nightgown. That silk nightgown—I’d splurged on it for my birthday and never once worn it. Now it hung loosely on Anya’s slender frame, the neckline gaping wide, revealing patches of suggestive red marks. “Ryan, Emma, you’re back!” When she saw us, her face took on a startled, rabbit-like expression. She instinctively pulled at her collar. “I’m sorry, Emma. Your nightgown… all my clothes are in the wash. Ryan said I could borrow yours.” She looked at me timidly, her eyes glistening with tears, as if I were the intruder here. Ryan walked in and casually took the glass of water from Anya’s hand, taking a sip. “Were you scared? It’s okay now.” He stroked her head, the gesture intimate and natural. That kind of tenderness—I’d only ever seen it when he first came back from missions, at his most vulnerable. “I’ll go make dinner.” I dropped those few words and fled into the kitchen. Cold water ran over my hands, but I felt nothing. My body was like cotton set on fire, burning from the inside out. I could hear them talking quietly in the living room. “Ryan, is Emma mad? It’s all my fault…” Anya’s voice was tearful. “Don’t overthink it. She just needs time to process.” Ryan’s voice was low. “You had a scare today. Go rest early.” “But I’m scared. Every time I close my eyes, I see those surveillance images…” “Then I’ll stay with you for a while.” The door clicked softly shut. I turned off the faucet and leaned against the cold counter, trembling all over. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t. He just couldn’t with me. I made three dishes and a soup for dinner—all Ryan’s favorites. For the first time, I didn’t serve him food like I usually did. The atmosphere was suffocating. Anya kept her head down, eating in tiny bites, her eyes red-rimmed. Ryan’s expression wasn’t good either. He barely ate before setting down his fork. “I’m full.” He stood up and pulled a stack of cash from his wallet, placing it on the table. “This month’s living expenses. Let me know if it’s not enough.” I stared at those crisp bills and found them blinding. When did our relationship come down to just this? “Is Anya’s tuition and rent coming from this too?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. Ryan’s movements froze. He turned to look at me, his eyes going cold. “She’s a girl with no one to rely on. Helping her is the right thing to do.” “Emma, I thought you were better than this.” Better than this? I’d spent every penny we had treating his so-called “condition.” I’d sold the jewelry my mother left me to pay for this “poor girl’s” education. And all I got was being told I wasn’t being generous enough. My heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. I could barely breathe. “Fine. I’m petty.” I lifted my head and met his gaze. “Ryan, tell her to move out.” “This is our home.”

Anya’s fork clattered to the floor. She flinched, shoulders hunching, tears spilling down her cheeks. Ryan’s face went completely dark. He didn’t look at me. Instead, he walked over to Anya, bent down to pick up the fork. “Don’t be scared.” He pulled her up and positioned her behind him, shielding her like she was facing some vicious enemy. “Emma, are you done throwing your tantrum?” I watched him protect another woman like that, and I laughed—but tears fell despite me. “Ryan, who’s the one throwing a tantrum here?” “For the past three years, I’ve lived like a ghost for you.” “I didn’t dare speak loudly. I didn’t dare sleep with the lights on. I was terrified of disturbing your fragile nerves.” “I made you my whole world, my everything. And what about you?” “You were out there sleeping with another woman, then coming home to tell me it was for work!” “How am I supposed to believe that? How am I supposed to understand?” My voice grew louder and louder until I was screaming. Three years of grievances and pain exploded in that moment. Behind him, Anya trembled even harder, crying: “Emma, please don’t blame Ryan. It’s all my fault… If it weren’t for saving me, he wouldn’t have—” “Shut up!” Ryan suddenly growled, cutting her off. The coldness in his eyes could have frozen me solid. “Emma, you really think I’m lying to you?” I bit my lip and said nothing, but the distrust in my eyes said everything. He suddenly laughed—a laugh filled with self-mockery and bone-deep exhaustion. “Fine. Since you don’t believe me, I’ll show you the proof.” He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen rapidly, then tossed it in front of me. On the screen was a hospital diagnostic report. Severe Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, accompanied by serious physiological dysfunction. Black words on white paper, searing my eyes. Below were several video clips—recordings of his hypnotherapy sessions with a psychologist. In the videos, he looked like a helpless child, curled up on the couch, drenched in cold sweat, mumbling words I couldn’t understand. It was a side of Ryan I had never seen—his most vulnerable self. “See?” His voice was rough. “The doctor said my trauma stems from that month of torture. I have an instinctive resistance and fear toward all intimate contact.” “The reason Anya is different…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “The doctor’s analysis is that because she went through the same hell I did, my subconscious sees her as safe—so it lowered my defenses.” “It’s a pathological response, not a betrayal.” His explanation sounded airtight, even scientifically rigorous. So I wasn’t his exception. I was the unsafe factor being excluded. “So I’m the cause of your condition, is that it?” I murmured. Ryan seemed caught off guard. He froze for a moment. He stepped toward me, wanting to hold me, but I stumbled back a step. His outstretched hand hung in the air, his expression complicated. “Emma, it’s not what you think.” “I love you. I just want us to have a good life together.” “Give me some time, okay? I’ll heal myself.” His voice was soft, almost pleading. I felt like I was losing my mind.

That night, for the first time, Ryan didn’t go sleep in the study. He lay beside me, his body rigid, but a galaxy stretched between our hearts. The next morning, I woke up to find him already gone. In a daze, I packed a few clothes and stuffed them into a suitcase. I needed to get away. I needed to clear my head. I sent Ryan a message saying I was going to stay at my parents’ place for a few days. He didn’t reply. I dragged my suitcase downstairs. At the entrance of our complex, I spotted Ryan’s car parked not far away. He hadn’t left. Something indescribable stirred in my chest. I pulled my suitcase toward his car, step by step. The window rolled down, but it wasn’t Ryan’s face. It was Captain Harris. “Emma, where are you headed?” His expression was serious. “I… I’m going to stay at my parents’ for a few days.” Captain Harris sighed and opened the car door. “Get in. Let’s talk.” The car didn’t head toward my parents’ house. Instead, it circled the city’s most congested main roads, round and round. “That kid Ryan—stubborn as a mule.” Captain Harris drove while he talked. “I know you’ve been wronged. But you also know what these three years have been like for him.” “That month—no human being should have to go through that. If it were me, I probably would’ve lost my mind.” I kept my head down, fingers unconsciously twisting my shirt hem again. I’d heard all this countless times. “I know.” “You don’t just know—you’ve been incredible.” Captain Harris glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Everyone at the station says Ryan must have saved the world in a past life to marry a woman like you.” “But Emma, some things can’t be fixed just by being good.” My heart clenched. “Captain, do you know something?” Captain Harris was silent for a long time—so long I thought he wouldn’t speak again. He pulled the car over by the river and lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag. “About Anya—what Ryan told you wasn’t the whole truth.” My stomach seized violently. A wave of nausea hit me. My body reacted faster than my brain could process. I never expected what he said next would push me into the abyss. “Anya wasn’t just some ordinary hostage.” “She was the mob boss’s adopted sister.” My mind went blank with a deafening buzz. “What did you say?” “That mission—Ryan’s goal was to take down the entire organization.” “Anya grew up in that world. She did whatever her brother told her. It took Ryan a long time to make her waver.” “Later, when things went south, her brother wanted to clean house. Ryan got captured because he was protecting her.” “So he wasn’t tortured for saving a hostage—he was tortured for protecting Anya?” I could hear my own voice shaking. “You could say that.” “Then… that video?” “It was staged.” Captain Harris exhaled a ring of smoke that blurred his face. “Ryan needed to get the final piece of evidence. The team helped him fake that video.” “To protect his reputation—and to give Anya a fresh start—everyone agreed on the same story.” My marriage. My love. Everything I’d given for three years—all built on a massive lie. “Why… why are you telling me this?” I used every ounce of strength to ask that question. Captain Harris stubbed out his cigarette, his eyes full of struggle and reluctance. “Because that kid Ryan—he’s in too deep.” “What he feels for Anya isn’t just about the mission.” The air in the car seemed to freeze. A clean break is better than a slow death. How easy that sounds. My three years of youth. My wholehearted devotion. The love I thought was unbreakable—it had been a joke from the very beginning. I don’t even know how I got out of the car or how I made it back to that so-called home. I pushed open the door. The place was empty. Anya wasn’t there. Neither was Ryan. Just as well. I needed space to digest the truth. I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. My eyes burned dry, but not a single tear would fall. My phone buzzed—a picture message from an unknown number. A photo. In it, Ryan and Anya sat in an upscale restaurant, making wishes over candlelight. Anya wore a birthday tiara, her smile bright and sweet. Ryan’s gaze held a tenderness and adoration I had never seen before. Below the photo was a message: Emma, Ryan’s helping me celebrate my birthday. We’ll be back later. He didn’t want you to overthink, so he told me not to tell you.

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At a friends’ gathering, my boyfriend’s female best friend grabbed my phone while I was in the bathroom. She announced to everyone: “Weren’t you all curious about what she writes in her phone notes? Let’s take a look right now!” Everyone crowded around: “It’s definitely about how pathetically she chased after Jason. Didn’t she have a crush on him for three years?” In an instant, all eyes turned to Jason Sinclair. He lounged lazily on the private room sofa, a satisfied smile on his face. “Jason, can I open it?” Jason didn’t stop her. So Sophia unlocked my notes and read the first page. “Today I finally ran into Jason. I confessed to him and he called me crazy.” Everyone burst into laughter. Then came the second page: “Jason finally agreed to be with me. I’m so happy.” … The last page: “Three years of being with Jason, and I still can’t see him as you.” 0 The words hung in the air, and the room fell silent. Jason’s face darkened as he snatched the phone away. No one dared speak. In the tense atmosphere, someone called out: “Victoria’s here.” Everyone turned to look at me with mocking eyes. I had witnessed everything from outside the door. My whole body felt cold. Jason seemed even angrier than me, his eyes filled with rage. Seeing me standing still, he got up and forcefully dragged me to the stairwell. “Victoria, what does that last line mean?” “Who is he?” The dim light shifted across Jason’s face, and I froze for a second. The face looked so similar. But no matter how similar, he still wasn’t him. Perhaps my gaze was too obvious. Jason grew even angrier and punched the wall behind me. “Who are you looking at through me?” I snapped back to reality and countered: “And what about you? You’re my boyfriend, yet you let another woman go through my private things?” Jason froze, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. Just then, Sophia came running out, playing the peacemaker: “Jason, how could Victoria possibly have someone else in her heart? She probably made someone up in her notes just to make you jealous.” “It’s all fake. Didn’t Victoria do plenty of crazy things to chase you before?” Perhaps remembering how I used to stop at nothing to pursue him, even using other men to provoke him. Jason finally calmed down, his face showing its usual hint of disdain. He stepped back from me, frowning: “Victoria, are you done with your games? Only you could come up with something this boring.” “You’re so annoying, always being so dramatic. Do I have to revolve around you twenty-four seven?” Sophia chimed in: “Victoria, don’t do this kind of thing again. I’m keeping an eye out for you—you’re the only woman by Jason’s side.” I scoffed. Wasn’t she a woman too? Then Sophia deliberately hooked her arm around Jason’s shoulder, saying casually: “Jason, let’s go back. The guys are waiting to party all night.” “Let Victoria cool off by herself. You can’t keep spoiling her.” Jason looked at her, an indulgent smile appearing on his face that even he wasn’t aware of. A bitter ache rose in my heart. Just like before, he would always indulge Sophia. Whatever she wanted, he would agree to. But with me, he was always harsh. When Sophia had cramps, one phone call could make him abandon me and rush to take care of her all night. When it was my turn, he would just say: “Drink some hot water. Everyone else deals with it. Just tough it out.” Despite being treated coldly by him countless times, I never felt wronged. As long as I could see that face, it was enough. Watching them playfully walk away together, my thoughts were interrupted by a message. I opened the screen. It was from a number I knew by heart. “I’m back.” 0

In the early morning, Jason came home completely drunk. He was draped all over Sophia, and even when she put him on the couch, his hands still clung to her tightly. “Sophia, you’re not allowed to say yes to that guy who’s pursuing you.” Sophia smiled provocatively: “Victoria, don’t overthink it. He’s just vetting guys for me.” It didn’t matter anymore. Over the years, men who got close to Sophia were always driven away by Jason in various ways. At first, I thought it was coincidence. Eventually, I couldn’t help but confront him. He would just snap at me irritably: “Sophia and I are just bros. Those guys chasing her are all no good. I’m just helping her deal with them. Is that a problem?” “You have a dirty mind, so everything looks dirty to you!” Pulling myself from the memories, I looked at Sophia and smiled calmly: “I know. I’m not overthinking.” Whether he was vetting guys or truly in love with her, it no longer had anything to do with me. A flash of surprise crossed Sophia’s face. She said awkwardly: “Well, I’ve delivered him. I’ll be going now.” She tugged her hand several times before freeing it from his grip. The winter night was freezing. Looking at Jason’s face, I couldn’t bring myself to leave him like that. I brought out a blanket and covered him. When I pulled the blanket up and accidentally touched his waist, he opened his eyes. Seeing it was me, he snapped: “Get away! Don’t touch me!” My hand paused. The next second, I calmly pulled the blanket off. “It was an accident. Didn’t mean anything by it.” With that, I took the blanket and went into the bedroom. Jason was stunned for a moment, wanting to say something, but ultimately stayed silent. The next morning, as soon as I arrived at work, I was informed that Sophia would be replacing me on the interview project with the top business executives. I was told to send her all the interview materials I had gathered. The project was almost complete—just one final interview left. Without even thinking, I knew Jason was behind this. A chill spread through my heart. He knew exactly how much effort I had put into this project, how many nights I’d spent working in the study. Yet he still let Sophia take my work. Just then, Jason walked in with Sophia. His first words were a warning: “Victoria, cut Sophia some slack. She finally found a project she likes.” “There are so many people at this company. Don’t make things hard for her. Just hand over the project materials.” He was afraid Sophia would feel awkward, so he personally came to smooth things over for her. Yet from work to our relationship, he never once considered my dignity. I couldn’t help but remember the past. Whenever I liked something, if Sophia wanted it too— Jason would give it to her. I had tried begging him not to always side with Sophia, to consider my feelings just once. But all I ever got was his cold response: “If you don’t want to break up, give it to her.” Every time I tried to fight for something, I ended up humiliated. Now, I didn’t want to fight anymore. I didn’t care who he sided with. Seeing me stay silent, Jason’s face darkened with anger. He lowered his voice threateningly: “Victoria, you’d better not make a scene… otherwise…” I smiled and cut him off, shoving the materials I had just organized into Sophia’s hands. “Here. It’s just a project.” Both of them were stunned. Jason grabbed my hand, his eyes dangerous as he stared at me. “What are you playing at?” “Victoria, are you upset? Is that why you’re saying this?” Sophia’s eyes reddened as if she was about to cry. Then she turned to leave. Jason panicked, grabbing her hand. “Sophia, I said it’s yours, so it’s yours.” I laughed coldly, seeing through Sophia’s act. “Sophia, can you drop the act?” “The project and Jason—I’m giving you both…” Before I could finish, Jason’s slap landed on my face. “Who said you could talk to Sophia like that!” My colleagues surrounded us. Jason didn’t care about my dignity. He only worried about upsetting Sophia. Time seemed to freeze. Seeing the red mark rising on my cheek, a flash of pain crossed Jason’s eyes. He stammered: “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to…” Sophia’s crying interrupted him. She said petulantly: “I don’t want it anymore.” Jason glanced at me, said nothing, and chased after Sophia out of the office. I ignored the mocking comments around me, rising one after another just like before. Five days. Just five more days and it would all be over. Everything they gave me today, I would return in full. 0

For three days straight, Jason didn’t come home. The old me would have sent countless messages begging him to come back. But now, I didn’t care where he went. I had just finished throwing away everything that belonged to me in the apartment when my mom called: “Victoria, your dad and I already made dinner plans with Jason’s parents tonight. Let’s discuss the wedding.” I wanted to refuse, but then I thought about it. Over the years, all four parents had invested so much effort into my relationship with Jason. Now that the story was ending, I owed them an explanation. So I agreed. Jason arrived half an hour late. I didn’t expect him to bring Sophia. Noticing my parents’ displeasure, Jason explained dismissively: “We once promised to witness each other’s happiest moments.” “So naturally, she has to be here for the wedding discussion.” Sophia added provocatively: “Yes, we’ve been best friends for so many years. Our bond is naturally special. Victoria, do you mind?” Jason’s gaze swept over me casually, as if waiting for my reaction. I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t refuse. I smiled and reassured my parents: “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” After hearing my response, Jason’s face darkened, and the glass in his hand slipped to the floor. Was he expecting me to throw a fit like before? But I used to care about him. Now, my feelings for him… had completely faded. The atmosphere was strange. Jason’s parents looked apologetic: “Victoria is a wonderful girl. Why don’t we set a wedding date? Whatever your family wants, we’ll agree to it.” My mom smiled: “This is Victoria’s decision to make.” All eyes turned to me. I stood up, and under Jason’s ambiguous smile, I spoke: “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to marry Jason.” My answer shocked everyone. Even Sophia, who had been waiting to see me rejected, froze with her glass mid-air. After a moment, Jason scoffed mockingly: “Victoria, your family has brought up marriage so many times before, and now you’re saying you don’t want to marry me? Do you think I believe that? You set up this dinner to make peace with me, didn’t you?” In the past, my parents had indeed mentioned marriage to Jason multiple times. Even though they didn’t like him, they couldn’t refuse because I was so in love with him. I wanted to keep that face by my side forever, so I threatened my parents with tears and tantrums. So they had to humble themselves for me, again and again. But every time, Jason would brush it off: “I’ll marry Victoria once my career takes off.” After the company went public, he said: “I need to mature more before I can make Victoria happy.” Wait, wait, wait—year after year. He made endless excuses, but I knew what he really wanted to say: The person he wanted to marry wasn’t Victoria. It was Sophia. This time, I would be the one to say it clearly. I spoke again: “Jason, like you’ve always said, we really aren’t suited for marriage.” Seeing how calm I was, confusion and panic flashed in Jason’s eyes. He was about to say something when Sophia suddenly clutched her stomach in pain. “Jason, I think I ate something bad. My stomach really hurts. Can you take me to the hospital?” Jason picked up Sophia in front of my parents and rushed toward the door. Ignoring his parents’ attempts to stop him, he said impatiently to me: “We can discuss the wedding anytime. It doesn’t have to be now. Sophia’s not feeling well and needs to go to the hospital right away.” “Just wait. I’ll definitely marry you.” As soon as he left, his parents shook their heads helplessly: “Victoria, he doesn’t deserve you. We really do want you as our daughter-in-law.” I smiled and comforted them: “It’s okay. There will be other opportunities.”

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After I was murdered, my daughter—who had always despised me—risked her life to avenge me. My wife, who used to spend every day indulging in pleasure, personally killed all my enemies with her own hands. Then she died for love, clutching my urn. My soul floated in the air, unable to believe what I was seeing. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the past. I was in the middle of viciously berating my daughter for only ranking second in her class, while smashing my wife’s expensive perfumes to pieces. Me: “…” Ah, was I really this cruel before? This time, I’m going to live differently. Shattered perfume bottles littered the floor, torn test papers scattered at my feet. The butler and servants stood nearby, trembling. I silently set down the last perfume bottle in my hand, changing my grip on my daughter Aurora’s arm from pinching to stroking. Aurora took a step back, dodging my hand. Her delicate yet still childish features held a cold edge. She bent down to pick up the torn pieces of her test paper one by one, clutching them in her hand, then turned and left in silence. I stared at her retreating figure for a few seconds, then raised my voice: “Aurora!” She stopped on the stairs but didn’t turn around. “I remember you have a parent-teacher conference tomorrow? I happen to be free—I’ll go,” I said. “Not necessary.” Aurora flatly refused and continued upstairs. The words I hadn’t spoken stuck in my throat. I sighed quietly to myself, glanced at the mess covering the floor, and ordered someone to clean it up. Then I dialed a number. It rang for a long time before someone on the other end answered leisurely, background noise chaotic. “What is it?” A woman’s voice, her tone light and lilting, humming a tune. A frivolous manner through and through. Yet this was the same woman who, after my death, went mad and destroyed my stepmother’s family—their business collapsed, their family fell apart. My thoughts drifted far away, recalling what I’d witnessed as a wandering soul. My wife, Raven—always promiscuous, living a dissolute life—had red-rimmed eyes, bloodless lips, and none of her usual casual attitude. She used ruthless methods to make everyone who had wronged me pay a terrible price. Actually, I could understand these actions. After all, no matter how bad my relationship with this mother-daughter pair was, I was still the male head of the Lane family, the family’s representative. But Raven had absolutely no reason to die for love with me. After she finished avenging me, she stood by the seaside where we’d held our wedding, holding my urn. She stood there for most of the day, the wind stripping away her usual composure until nothing remained. Only desolation. At the time, my soul floated nearby. I sneered to myself—running around partying every day, and now you finally have some conscience? Then. Under my shocked gaze, she walked step by step toward the deep sea, clutching my urn. Never looking back once. Lonely and resolute. Until the waves rose and covered her, and her figure vanished. Leaving only my soul, deeply shaken. … This damn, childish woman, polluting the waters. When her body bloated and floated up, she’d definitely look hideous. The late-night beach. So quiet. So quiet. My lonely soul seemed trapped in place, yet I also felt a damp, salty wind blow past, disheveling my hair and disturbing my heart.

I gripped my phone tightly against my ear, listening to Raven’s casual voice: “Need money? Or what?” I pressed my lips together: “I broke your perfumes.” Raven let out an “oh,” unconcerned: “Fine. I’m hanging up then.” Before she could disconnect, I quickly spoke: “Where are you?” She paused on the other end. A moment later, all the chaotic music sounds disappeared, leaving silence so complete you could hear a pin drop. “What. You want a divorce?” Raven’s previously lazy tone turned slightly cold in an instant. “After the divorce, where would you go? Back to the Blake family? Would they let you have an easy time? “Did you fight with Aurora again? “You’d better not forget—your business still has my financial backing. “Darling. Shut up now, and I can pretend I didn’t hear anything.” I listened to Raven’s entire string of words in considerable astonishment. I really had no idea how she’d gone from me asking where she was to assuming I wanted a divorce. But I knew she’d always been like this—beneath her seemingly easygoing exterior lay a lofty indifference. She could speak moving words of love with her romantic almond-shaped eyes completely devoid of warmth, and she could easily discard past lovers. She moved between numerous men but never gave her true heart to anyone. And I wasn’t exactly good-tempered myself. In street terms, I was an arrogant, domineering lunatic—especially after I got sick, I became especially tormenting. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have turned the entire Lane household upside down in my previous life. My earlier good mood had come from seeing what they’d done after my death. I’d been so moved that I’d wanted to be gentler with them in this new life. Who knew neither of them would appreciate it. “Fine, let’s divorce right now. Take your daughter and get lost,” I said coldly with a sneer, deliberately saying the opposite of what I meant. As soon as I spoke, I locked eyes with Aurora, who was coming downstairs with books in hand. Her dark eyes showed no discernible emotion. She looked half like her mother, half like me, but her personality resembled neither of us. I wanted to see how they’d react to hearing about divorce.

“You want a divorce?” Aurora stood not far from me, her tone calm. She had a maturity that didn’t match her age. Though… children without parental love do tend to mature earlier. I watched Aurora’s expression carefully, raising an eyebrow almost imperceptibly: “Your mother doesn’t love me, and your relationship with me isn’t even as deep as your relationship with your tutor. What reason do I have to stay with you Lanes?” “No…” Her expression showed no obvious change, but her words stuttered for a brief moment. After a long while, Aurora said flatly, “My mother won’t agree to it.” “Well, that’s not up to her,” I replied. The living room fell quiet for a moment. “Because I won’t let you attend the parent-teacher conference, you want a divorce?” Aurora suddenly asked. I froze. Just like mother, just like daughter—both had such peculiar thought processes. Aurora lowered her eyes, as if making some kind of decision. “…If you want to attend, then attend.” Me: ? I suddenly understood why Aurora was reacting this way. She must think I’d embarrass her at the parent-teacher conference, which is why she didn’t want me to attend. But… she even less wanted me to divorce Raven. My heart softened a little. “…Daddy just wants to know how your studies are going lately.” After a long silence, my voice gentled as I tried taking a step toward Aurora. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something. Just then, the villa’s front door opened. Aurora and I both turned to look. Raven’s tall figure stood backlit in the doorway. As Raven strode in on her long legs from the entrance, the hickey on her neck gradually became clear. The air pressure in the villa dropped again and again. Aurora stared at Raven’s neck for several seconds, then didn’t even ask how she was doing. She simply walked around Raven and headed straight outside. I instructed the butler to have someone follow her. The butler smiled: “It’s exactly time for the young miss’s tutoring session. The driver is already waiting at the door.” I paused slightly, then nodded, suppressing my worry. Raven’s gaze met mine. She raised her index finger slightly, and everyone else in the villa left, disappearing from view. “Where did you get the nerve to ask for a divorce?” Raven loosened her collar, her casual manner making it seem like an offhand question. I couldn’t control my gaze—it locked firmly onto her. It was scrutiny, it was questioning, and it was… strange. She was clearly such a cynical person, so why would she, after my death… Raven lazily leaned back on the sofa, crossing her arms as she looked me over, her tone still flippant: “Darling, you’d better remember—the banquet is tomorrow night.” Tomorrow night’s banquet would be attended by several local families, including my birth family. My birth family was very strange. They both hoped I could firmly bind Raven and the Lane family, yet also didn’t want me to have it easy. “You have enough lovers outside. No need to waste your breath calling me ‘darling.’” I smiled without picking up her thread, sitting down beside her. My words contained a deliberately casual probe. After death, as my soul wandered aimlessly, I’d seen many scenes I’d never witnessed before. Like the countless men around Raven—there seemed to be another story there. However, I still needed to explore the specific truth. Raven’s expression became unnatural for a moment. She glanced at me, and the smile at the corner of her mouth faded somewhat. “You’re actually jealous of me?” She seemed to mock herself, seemed to be sarcastic, her fingertips tapping her own thigh intermittently. I took the opportunity to also place my hand on her thigh. The woman beside me immediately froze completely. Raven: ? “Wife,” I lifted my lips provocatively at her, “Although you always think what’s outside is better, but…” Raven stood up almost as if fleeing in panic. She took a deep breath, looking down at me: “Felix, have you lost your mind?” Raven’s ears turned red. But someone experienced in the game of love couldn’t possibly be embarrassed that easily. I pulled at my lips, launching into a continuous stream without pause: “We already have such a big kid—what’s wrong with touching you? Are you so precious that you can’t be touched? We’re not even divorced yet. I’m your legal spouse—is it illegal for me to touch you?” The tension was thick. This was the tone I’d always used when speaking in the Lane household in my previous life. Mm. Except this time, the tension carried a hint of teasing. Loyalty is the foundation of maintaining a marriage. In my previous life, I’d always felt Raven was playing around outside, which disgusted me to death. Naturally, I had no good attitude toward her and was even less willing to be close to her. But now it seemed the previous intelligence had some errors. So my attitude could change accordingly. Raven repeated again: “…You’ve lost your mind.” This time not only her ears but her neck also flushed slightly pink. Just as I thought Raven would fly into an embarrassed rage and turn to leave, the butler rushed over urgently, phone in hand: “Madam, Sir, something’s happened to the young miss!” I frowned, exchanged a glance with Raven, then chose to rush to the school together. After getting in the car, Raven was on the phone with her people: “Figured out the reason?” I turned my head to look at the scenery flying past the window, while listening to Raven’s lazy, careless words on the other end: “Hit someone? Getting arrogant just because I donated a few sums to the school? Tch, making a big fuss—no idea who she inherited that from.” The corner of my mouth twitched hard. She might as well have pointed directly at me. But Aurora was mature and quiet to a frightening degree, completely lacking the innocent and naive appearance other eight-year-old children had. I wanted to refute Raven but held back. I was very puzzled about what could make a child like Aurora resort to hitting someone.

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As a top-tier surgeon, when I announced my resignation and that I would no longer operate, every surgeon in the hospital was thrilled. They even threw a celebration party. But only the intern my wife brought in—hailed as a once-in-a-century medical genius—came to me looking deeply troubled. “Dr. Bennett, even though you made a few mistakes in recent surgeries, your skills are still there. We need you. The patients need you too.” His face was full of earnest concern. If I weren’t the one involved, I might have actually believed him. I turned and walked away without expression. In my previous life, he was an intern who assisted me in surgeries. But during each operation, my body would suddenly lose control, and Dylan would step in at the critical moment to finish the surgery flawlessly. After several instances, he became the medical genius everyone praised, while I became a fraud who didn’t deserve my reputation. To prove my true abilities, I took on a surgery for a patient with a world-class rare condition, despite enormous pressure. I spent sleepless nights researching materials, finding similar cases, and developing a surgical plan. But when I stepped confidently onto the operating table, my body lost control again. Dylan once more stepped in to complete the surgery perfectly—and his surgical approach was exactly the same as what I had planned. He became the miracle doctor in everyone’s eyes, while I became the quack everyone despised. Unable to accept this crushing blow, I ended my life with a scalpel. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day Dylan first arrived at the hospital.

“The patient started hemorrhaging suddenly just now, and our great Dr. Bennett froze completely. Thank God Dylan was there, or we would’ve been in serious trouble.” “And he still calls himself a top surgeon—isn’t he embarrassed? Always putting on that high-and-mighty act. Well, now that we have a genius like Dylan for comparison, how can he even show his face in the operating room anymore?” The familiar mocking voices pulled me back to reality. That’s when I realized—I had been reborn. I ignored their taunts and headed straight to neurology for a full physical examination. The results showed I was completely normal. I suspected the problem lay with Dylan. To test my theory, I immediately took another surgery, but this time I refused to let Dylan into the operating room with me. The surgery began smoothly, but at the most critical moment, my body lost control again. And just then, as if he had somehow known in advance, Dylan rushed in and completed the rest of the surgery. After leaving the operating room, Deputy Director Marcus called me into his office and spoke to me with heartfelt concern. “Bennett, have you been overworking yourself lately? How about I give you a few days off to rest?” “Don’t worry about the hospital. I think that young man Dylan is quite capable—he’s done beautifully on these last few surgeries.” “You’re not getting any younger. Maybe you should consider stepping back to a less demanding position.” I looked at the deputy director in disbelief—my mentor, the man who should know my abilities best. Even he didn’t trust me anymore? My eyes instantly reddened. “Professor, even you don’t believe in my skills anymore?” Seeing my reaction, the deputy director sighed deeply. “You’re my student. Of course I know what you’re capable of.” “But based on your recent performance, I think it’s time for you to step down.” I left the director’s office in a daze and returned to the surgical department. Everyone was gathered around Dylan, asking him about emergency solutions for unexpected complications during surgery. And he generously shared his knowledge, holding nothing back. But what he was saying—it was all experience I had accumulated over the years. How was this possible? This knowledge came from my own summary of over a thousand surgeries. I had never systematically taught it to anyone. Everyone kept exclaiming with admiration. “Dylan, you really are a legendary medical genius. You’ve only been in a few surgeries, yet you can think of so many emergency protocols and execute them so well. Is this just the difference between people?” At that moment, my wife Victoria spotted me through the crowd and pulled her lips into a mocking smile. “Dylan is a true genius—unlike certain people who’ve done so many surgeries yet still get paralyzed with fear during major hemorrhaging. I don’t know how they have the nerve to call themselves a top surgeon.” Dylan followed her gaze to me, his eyes flashing with undisguised satisfaction. “Victoria, don’t talk about Bennett like that. He’s your husband, after all.” “I came here to learn from Dr. Bennett, not to compete with him. Since I have a natural talent for surgery, I should use it properly to save more patients.” His words earned a chorus of praise and approval. At first, everyone had been skeptical of Dylan’s genius, but after he repeatedly rescued critical situations with perfect surgical execution, they gradually became convinced. Even the hospital administration valued him highly and made him a priority for development. He became the miracle doctor everyone competed to work with. My wife and colleagues, who used to revolve around me, all abandoned me to fawn over Dylan instead. I could understand why. In this situation, aligning with Dylan would easily get them more resources and rewards. “Dylan, you’re too generous! Bennett can’t even compare to you. In the last surgery, he was afraid you’d steal his spotlight, so he deliberately kept you out of the operating room. In the end, you still had to clean up his mess.” “Exactly. Whenever I ask him anything, he never answers. He just says he can only teach during actual surgery. I think he just doesn’t know and is making excuses.” “Dylan, you’re the future hope of our surgical department. We’re counting on you.”

I looked coldly at this group of people with Dylan at their center. In my previous life, it was exactly this kind of treatment that drove me to end my life with a scalpel. Instead, it had only benefited Victoria and Dylan. Given a second chance at life, I would take back everything that belonged to me. I turned and left in silence, not returning to the home I shared with Victoria. Instead, I went back to the apartment I had bought for myself before marriage. I couldn’t figure out where things had gone wrong. But I was certain of one thing—this had something to do with Dylan. Even if he were a so-called medical genius, he couldn’t possibly come up with such detailed emergency protocols without sufficient practical experience. More importantly, every time he stole the spotlight, my body would suddenly stop obeying me. What had Dylan done to me? At that thought, a name suddenly flashed through my mind. Yes! Him. I could tell him what was happening to me—maybe he would know how to solve it. I quickly found his phone number and called him. He answered almost immediately. I explained in detail the strange occurrences with my body and Dylan’s suspicious behavior. After a moment of contemplation, he said he would have an answer for me in three days. He told me to avoid contact with Dylan as much as possible during those three days. With his assurance, I felt much more at ease. I immediately requested a week off from the hospital. I had thought I could relax for a few days. But while I was avoiding Dylan, he had no intention of letting me go. On the morning of my third day off, Victoria suddenly called me. Her tone was extremely unfriendly as she interrogated me. “Bennett, why didn’t you tell me you were taking time off?” I had no patience for her anymore. “What does my taking time off have to do with you?” Victoria paused on the other end. But only for a moment. Then she commanded me irritably. “Never mind that. Get to the hospital right now.” I laughed coldly. “I’m on vacation. If you need something, find someone else.” I hung up decisively and turned off my phone. I lay back down in bed, about to fall asleep again. Suddenly, someone started pounding on my door. They were also shouting my name. I looked through the peephole—it was Victoria and Dylan. Not wanting them to disturb my neighbors, I opened the door in annoyance. “Victoria, what do you want?” Seeing me open the door, she grabbed my arm without a word and tried to drag me out. I shook her off forcefully. “Are you insane? Say whatever you need to say here, or I’m calling the police.” Victoria’s face turned ashen. “Come back to the hospital with me right now. There’s a surgery today that you have to perform.” I looked at her entitled attitude and laughed mockingly. “Isn’t Dylan the medical genius? Can’t he just do it? Why do you need me?” Victoria’s face showed nothing but impatience. “Bennett, I’m giving you one last chance. Are you coming back to the hospital with me or not?” “No!” I refused coldly and decisively. She laughed coldly in anger. “You’re forcing my hand.” Then she shoved her phone in my face. A video was playing on the screen. In the video, a woman was trying to press an envelope of cash into my hands, which I refused. The next second, she was crying and kneeling in front of me, begging desperately. I remembered this incident. The woman’s son had suffered a sudden stroke, and I had treated him. After the surgery, the woman tried to give me money privately to thank me for saving her son’s life. When I refused, she immediately knelt in front of me, crying and pleading. I looked at Victoria in confusion. “Why are you showing me this?” Victoria’s lips curved into a provocative smile. “Don’t rush. Keep watching.” The recorded video ended, and the woman who had been kneeling before me appeared on camera. Dressed in shabby clothes, she tearfully accused me in front of the camera. “It was this Dr. Bennett who caused my son to become paralyzed.” “At the time, he refused to operate on my son because he thought the money I offered him privately wasn’t enough, and we missed the optimal treatment window.” “But I really couldn’t come up with more money. It’s my fault for being useless and harming my son.” The video ended there. Victoria threatened me with a cold laugh. “If you don’t obediently come back with me today, I’ll post this online and completely destroy your reputation!” I looked at Victoria in disbelief. I never imagined she would frame me like this for Dylan’s sake. “Fine. I’ll go back with you.” Since you want me back so badly, I’ll grant your wish—just don’t regret it later.

As soon as I stepped through the hospital entrance, Dr. Rachel, the head of surgery, grabbed me and rushed me inside. “Bennett, thank God you’re here. We just got a car accident victim with intracranial hemorrhaging, and we also discovered an intracranial aneurysm.” “You’re the only one in our hospital who’s performed this type of surgery. Get ready quickly.” I asked about the patient’s condition in detail—there was no immediate life-threatening danger for now. I watched Dylan preparing to change into his surgical scrubs and said calmly: “Director, as you know about my recent situation, I’m really not in any condition to perform surgery.” Hearing my words, the director’s face flashed with hesitation, but she couldn’t think of anyone more suitable than me. Watching the director’s forehead break out in sweat from anxiety, I tentatively suggested: “Director, don’t panic yet. I’ll find someone to come over. They should make it in time.” Dylan, who had just been looking pleased, suddenly went pale. Before the director could respond, he anxiously objected. “No!” The director and I both looked at him. His face showed a flash of awkwardness. “I mean… the patient might not be able to wait. Since Dr. Bennett is here, just let Dr. Bennett do it.” The director looked at me somewhat hesitantly. “Bennett, why don’t you go ahead and do it?” Before I could speak, Dylan’s eyes turned red with urgency. “Dr. Bennett, I know you’re still angry at me for stealing your spotlight, but you really can’t just watch someone die.” As he spoke, his eyes filled with tears. Seeing him cry, Victoria’s face filled with heartache, and she looked at me with an even darker expression. “Bennett, that’s enough! I never realized you were such a cold-blooded person.” “Just go do the surgery and let Dylan assist you.” I looked at her coldly. “How am I being cold-blooded? I understand my own condition. I’m not suitable to perform such a complex surgery right now.” “And I already said I would find someone to replace me for this surgery.” My words left Victoria speechless. But then Dylan suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me, crying. “Dr. Bennett, I was wrong. I can resign. I’ll never appear in front of you again.” “But the patient in the operating room really can’t wait. I’m begging you on his behalf—please save him.” His actions instantly ignited the anger of everyone present against me. “Is this even a doctor? This is a butcher.” “How can he be so cold-blooded, refusing to save a life?” Then someone shouted: “I just saw online that someone exposed him—he refuses surgery when families don’t give him money under the table.” This was like adding fuel to fire, pushing everyone’s anger to its peak. No one would listen to my explanations anymore. The scene instantly descended into chaos, with people rushing at me to attack. “Beat this heartless doctor who refuses to save lives to death!” “Kill him!” I was surrounded by the crowd. I don’t know who kicked my knee viciously. “You beast, get down on your knees!” I collapsed in pain, clearly hearing the sound of bone cracking. Then someone grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the floor. “You unscrupulous doctor who values money over lives—confess!” My forehead instantly began bleeding, and my vision kept going dark. Unable to resist, I could only curl up on the ground with my arms protecting my head while the crowd beat me. Their fists rained down on me like a storm. I don’t know who kicked me viciously in the abdomen—I immediately spat out a mouthful of blood. Only then did security arrive to control the angry mob. The director and several colleagues helped me up as I was about to lose consciousness. Looking up, I saw the satisfaction in Dylan’s eyes. He wanted to force me to perform this surgery, then use the same trick again. He wanted to step on me to gain higher honors while I would be completely destroyed with no chance of recovery. He was paving his path to advancement with my flesh and blood. “Dr. Bennett, please just agree. Otherwise, we can’t save you either.” Dylan’s expression was earnest as he pressured me once more. I silently scanned the faces of everyone present—angry ones, mocking ones, and those waiting to see me humiliated. Among them were patients I had treated. But now they all glared at me like I was their enemy. Just then, my phone rang.

I answered and listened silently, then couldn’t help but pull my lips into a mocking smile. Seeing this, the crowd became angry again and wanted to rush at me. “He’s still smiling! Absolutely cold-blooded—not even human! Beat him to death!” But I suddenly bowed deeply to the crowd. “I’m sorry. As you can all see, in my current condition, I simply cannot perform surgery.” As I spoke, I raised my right hand, which had been trampled until it was covered in blood, my fingers hanging limply. A flash of panic crossed the eyes of those who had just beaten me, but they quickly became self-righteous again. “We beat you because you value money over lives—you don’t deserve to be a doctor!” “Since everyone thinks I’m unworthy, then I hereby announce that from today forward, I’m stepping back from the front lines and will no longer perform surgery.” I looked calmly at Dylan’s face, which was gradually turning deathly pale. I wanted to see how he could still be a medical genius without me. Hearing this, everyone present first froze, then someone shouted “good” first. “Good! At least you have some conscience and know when to get lost.” Some colleagues who had long been unhappy with me showed delight on their faces, quietly celebrating. “I’ve been annoyed with him for ages. Finally, he’s gone.” Although the director still seemed somewhat hesitant, I could see she was secretly relieved. “That’s fine. You’ve been exhausted all these years—it’s time to rest.” I swept my gaze coldly over everyone. Most of their faces showed varying degrees of pleasure. Among them were patients I had treated, and doctors I had trained personally. Some of them—I had taught their skills. Some of them—I had saved their jobs. And some of them—I had saved their lives. But they seemed to have forgotten all of that. Now they were all unanimously gloating over my failure. But Victoria and Dylan, who should have been the happiest, looked extremely unpleasant at this moment. Dylan’s eyes were full of panic as he grabbed me before I could leave. “Dr. Bennett, you can’t leave. The patient in the operating room is still waiting for you to save them.” “I took your class in college, and I still remember how you emphasized to us repeatedly that human life is paramount.” “I know you’re a good doctor who just made a mistake.” “But as long as you’re willing to change, we’ll all forgive you.” I laughed coldly and shook him off. “Dylan, are you blind? My hand can’t even hold a scalpel right now—how am I supposed to perform surgery?” Hearing this, Dylan thought there might still be room for negotiation, and a flash of delight crossed his face. “Dr. Bennett, you don’t have to operate yourself. Just be my assistant and guide me through it from the side.” I looked at him coldly. “Dylan, aren’t you a medical genius?” “Several times before, you had to finish my surgeries. I believe your abilities surpass mine.” “Even without me, you can handle this surgery, can’t you?” Seeing me so stubborn, Dylan’s tears were about to fall. Victoria also blocked my path, her face still wearing that cold expression. “Bennett! Enough with the tantrum!” “Dylan is doing this for your own good.” “Your reputation is already bad. If you do this surgery, you might still have a chance to turn things around.” I stared at her coldly, enunciating each word clearly. “I don’t need it!” Victoria’s expression grew even darker. “Why have you become so unreasonable?” “I’m warning you—if you don’t go into that operating room today, we’re getting divorced.” I smiled mockingly. “Victoria, do you think I can continue living with you?” “I’ve already retained a lawyer. The divorce papers will be delivered to you tomorrow.” Victoria froze. She couldn’t believe I would initiate a divorce. After all, for the past ten-plus years, I had been the one desperately maintaining this household. I prepared carefully for her birthday every year. I prepared everything for all our anniversaries and practically dragged her to celebrate them. I had never refused any of her requests. I had carefully protected our relationship and managed our marriage. She couldn’t believe I would give up on my feelings for her so easily. Victoria didn’t stop me again. I walked right past her. But Dylan still wasn’t ready to give up. He rushed in front of me. With a “thud,” he knelt before me again, crying bitterly. “Dr. Bennett, I’m begging you. You just need to enter the operating room—I’ll handle everything else.” Seeing the crowd getting agitated again because of his performance, I rolled my eyes and fainted on the spot.

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My neighbor next door, Victoria, who suffers from gout, loves stealing my food delivery. She even gossips about me in the community group chat: “Only losers order takeout every single day!” I smiled coldly and started doing my research, customizing a meal plan just for her. “Foods gout patients must absolutely avoid.” “Which foods raise uric acid levels the most.” Since she wants to eat my food so badly, I’ll let her eat her fill! On my way home from work, I ordered a spicy pizza. The delivery guy arrived before me, so I told him to leave it at my door. A minute later, I stepped out of the elevator to find my doorstep completely empty. Looking around, I spotted sauce drippings on the floor, forming a trail that led straight to the door across from mine — Vincent Parker’s place. I walked over and knocked, wanting to get to the bottom of this. A chubby woman with smeared makeup and tacky pajamas appeared at the door, her face showing clear impatience. From her appearance, this must be Victoria, the granddaughter that old Mr. Parker had mentioned just moved in. I politely asked, “Hello, did you happen to see my food delivery?” She rolled her eyes rudely. “I’ve been home this whole time and haven’t stepped outside. Where would I have seen your takeout?” If it weren’t for the sauce stains on the floor and the food remnants at the corner of her mouth, I might have actually believed her. Before I could say anything more, she slammed the door hard in my face. I shook my head with a bitter smile. Must be hunger making me delirious. You need solid evidence to catch a thief, after all. This wasn’t the first time my delivery had gone missing. The thief wasn’t picky — from ten-dollar coffee to thirty-dollar desserts, even fifty-dollar pizzas — she took it all. I hadn’t had a specific suspect before, but today was just too suspicious. When I got on the elevator, the delivery guy had just reached my door. From the time he set it down to when I got back, it couldn’t have been more than a minute. That was way too fast. Thinking back carefully, my deliveries only started disappearing after Victoria moved in. Just days after moving in, she posted this weird statement in the community group chat: “Men these days don’t know how to manage money — total wastrels!” “Normal people cook their own food. Only losers order takeout!” At the time, I just figured she had weird opinions and ignored her. But then she escalated and even had the nerve to @ me directly. Of course I wasn’t going to let that slide! I replied directly: “I know you’re blunt, but you can’t just run your mouth without thinking!” “If you love sticking your nose in other people’s business so much, maybe focus on yourself first.” After that, Victoria looked at me like she wanted to murder me with her eyes every time we crossed paths. Starving and frustrated, I complained to my buddy Jackson. He said helplessly, “Are you an idiot? Don’t you have a security camera at your door? Just check the playback.” I slapped my forehead. I was so hungry I’d forgotten about the camera I’d just installed because of the repeated thefts. I quickly pulled up the footage on my phone. My instincts were right on the money. The takeout thief was Victoria. In the surveillance video, she sneaked out of her place like a ghost, grabbed the delivery, and bolted. In her haste, some sauce spilled out and dripped all over the floor. As she ran, she muttered under her breath: “Pizza? This guy throws money around like crazy!” “What a wastrel!” I was fuming mad. Vincent seemed like such a gentle old man — how could he have such a bizarre granddaughter? After hearing my complaint, Jackson looked at me like I was an idiot: “Haven’t you heard that family influence matters?” “If you don’t believe me, keep watching the playback.” I didn’t believe it at first, but the surveillance footage slapped me hard in the face.

Victoria opened the door and smoothly picked up my delivery while Vincent stood nearby, keeping watch. The usually kind-looking old man seemed like a different person — brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, he spat viciously: “Takeout again. This kid really is wasteful! Anyone ending up with a partner like this would be furious.” He bent down and examined the potted plant by my door carefully. “Victoria, does this thing need a battery change? If it runs out of power, it won’t capture anything.” I zoomed in on a screenshot, and a chill ran from my feet up my spine. On the pattern painted on the flowerpot, there was a tiny hole poked in one spot, with a hidden camera positioned to aim directly at my doorway. The flowerpot was a housewarming gift Vincent had given me. I’d said I was worried about not taking good care of it, and he’d thoughtfully told me to put it by my door, saying he’d help look after it when he had time. Turns out there was a pinhole camera hidden inside it. At that moment, Victoria spoke up angrily: “That damn guy is so difficult to deal with. I already took the advance payment, and a whole batch of clients are waiting to see.” “He covers himself up completely every time he goes out. Who does he think he’s fooling?” “Didn’t you say you’d already gained his trust? How is there still no progress?” “Hurry up and get smarter about this. Build a good relationship with him and get equipment inside his place as soon as possible.” “The people in the group love his hot looks. If we can capture some private footage and sell it, I’ll really strike it rich.” The two of them whispered by my door for quite a while. I understood now — Victoria was the admin of an illegal voyeurism group, making money by posting secretly filmed photos and videos of handsome guys. Good thing I always dressed pretty conservatively when going out, or they really would have succeeded. Their scheme was perfectly designed: use an elderly person to lower a young single man’s guard, build trust through calculated concern, and gain entry to the home. Install equipment, film secretly, and profit. If it weren’t for the repeated missing deliveries, I never would have discovered that the kind-looking Vincent was actually a wolf in human clothing. Judging by how well they worked together, I definitely wasn’t their first target. Who knows how many people had already fallen victim to them. After muttering for ages, looking all sneaky, they clearly weren’t cooking up anything good. Sure enough, they carefully cut a small opening in my doormat and installed another pinhole camera, apparently hoping to capture my private moments. Mission accomplished, Vincent lovingly patted Victoria’s head: “My smart granddaughter.” “This kid puts on airs all the time, but I saw through his true colors ages ago. Spending dozens, even hundreds on a single meal — that money definitely didn’t come from honest work!” “By filming him, we’re exposing him! He’ll probably end up begging us for mercy!” There were only two households on this floor, and my door camera was positioned pretty discreetly, so they didn’t notice it. The two of them treated me like prey already in the bag, making crude comments about me right there in the hallway. The video ended, and my heart turned cold. Human hearts could be so wicked. The kind-looking Vincent was actually a wolf in human skin. At least it wasn’t too late. Let’s see who’s better at this game!

The next morning, Vincent knocked on my door bright and early. His face was full of benevolent smiles, and he held a bouquet of trendy preserved flowers. “Connor, I’m so sorry. I failed you — didn’t help you keep an eye on things properly.” “Didn’t you say real flowers were too much trouble to care for? I heard these preserved flowers are really popular, and they smell wonderful in the home. I’m giving them to you as an apology.” If I hadn’t watched that surveillance footage, I really would have been fooled by his sincere expression. So he wants to play pretend? I can do that too. I put on a delighted expression and accepted the preserved flowers. “Oh my God! I’m so happy! I’ve wanted these for ages but couldn’t get them! You’re amazing for finding them!” “I won’t be polite then. Thank you so much!” The preserved flowers in my arms bloomed wildly and passionately, giving off an alluring fragrance. But what I was thinking was: “So where exactly did they hide the camera?” Back home, to avoid tipping them off, I placed the preserved flowers on the dining table. Ha, you want to spy on me? Fine, I’ll just live normally and see what you can do. I reviewed everything while thinking about how to get revenge. Never letting evildoers off the hook was my principle for dealing with the world. Such a vicious woman and bad old man had to be punished, had to be sent to the police station to be done with it. But before that, I wanted to play with them a bit. Let them know what it means to kick a steel plate. While going about my normal activities in front of the preserved flowers, I heard commotion outside the door. I tiptoed to the door and looked out. The pudgy Victoria was pointing at Vincent’s nose and cursing: “You useless old bastard, you can’t even cook a decent meal. What good are you?” “If it weren’t for you, how would my parents have died? How would I have ended up like this? If you keep being useless, get out of this house. I don’t support deadweight!” Victoria cursed while slamming her door hard as she went back inside. Vincent sobbed pitifully, looking quite miserable. If I didn’t know the truth, I’d definitely sympathize with an elderly man being verbally abused by his granddaughter like this, and might even invite him into my home to comfort him. That way he’d push for more, establish deeper contact with me, and everything would become even more convenient for him. Vincent cried sorrowfully while stealing glances toward my door. Not a bad performance with this sob story. Through the pinhole camera in the preserved flowers, they knew I was home, so they put on this act. He sat on the floor wailing while heavily slapping his own thighs: “Why am I not dead yet? Why am I still alive?” “God, just take me away.” “I’m only doing this for your own good. The doctor said your uric acid is high and you can’t eat those things.” To make his performance more convincing, Vincent’s words revealed his daily dissatisfaction with Victoria. I sneered and walked away from the door. “What’s the rush? Karma always comes around.”

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Our family was so poor we could barely afford to eat, yet the lottery ticket I casually bought won five million dollars. My brother’s eyes turned red as he lunged at me, snatching the ticket and trying to tear it up. My dad, who usually doted on me most, held a knife to my throat: “If you don’t tear up that thing, I’ll cut off your hands today.” Even my mom, bedridden and waiting for life-saving money, propped up her weak body and crawled over, crying out in terror: “You can’t claim the prize.” To stop me from claiming the prize, my family tied me up in the basement and threw in a starving wolf-dog. In the end, I was mauled to death by that beast. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day I won the lottery. My brother was holding two stale pieces of bread, smiling as he handed them to me. “Stella, once our family has money, we can take you out for your favorite pasta.” “By the way, did that lottery ticket you bought win anything?” Hearing his concerned voice, I snapped back to reality. Looking at the familiar lottery ticket in my hand, I realized I had been reborn—reborn to the day I won the lottery. In my previous life, I occasionally bought lottery tickets, and my whole family hoped that one day I’d win big and we could live a good life. Our family was very poor. I had already dropped out of school because we couldn’t afford the tuition. My brother was about to get married, but if we couldn’t scrape together money for a house soon, his girlfriend would break up with him. When Dad was working as a security guard, he accidentally damaged a resident’s luxury car and still owed a huge compensation payment. And Mom had kidney failure and was waiting for money to stay alive. The whole family struggled even to eat enough—every meal was just nibbling on bread. Yesterday, I dreamed of a set of lottery numbers. The moment I woke up, I went to the lottery store and bought a ticket. After the drawing, I checked repeatedly and confirmed I’d won the jackpot. I excitedly told my brother, who was in the kitchen slicing bread. He took the ticket, looked closely at it, and his smile froze on his face, replaced by a look of terror. Without a word, he tried to tear up the ticket. I quickly snatched it back and said urgently: “Once we claim the prize, our family will have money! You can buy a house and get married, and Mom will have money for treatment.” But my brother acted as if he couldn’t hear me, frantically fighting me for the ticket. In the chaos, desperate, I bit down hard on his hand. He cried out in pain and staggered back a few steps. My brother’s eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted as he roared at me: “Stella, you can’t claim that prize! Tear up the ticket now!” That terrifying look left me frozen in place, trembling all over. Just then, Dad came home. Seeing my brother cornering me, he didn’t say a word—just slapped my brother on the back of the head: “How dare you bully your sister!” My brother pointed at me with a shaking finger, his voice breaking: “She dreamed of a lottery number sequence and bought a ticket that won five million dollars!” Hearing this, the anger on Dad’s face instantly turned to terror. His eyes went wide as he rushed into the kitchen like a madman, grabbed a knife, and charged at me. “Tear up that winning ticket right now, or I’ll kill you!” Dad’s knife was about to come down when Mom came in just in time and shielded me. “Have you lost your mind? You’re going to use a knife on our daughter!” Dad gave a cold laugh. “Stella’s lottery ticket won.” “So what? Stella’s always been lucky—she wins five or ten dollars all the time.” “It’s the jackpot. Five million dollars.” Mom, who had just been protecting me, turned deathly pale, as if she’d seen a ghost. She shoved me out of her arms and shook her head frantically: “No, no, you can’t.” At that moment I realized my whole family didn’t want me to claim the prize. I waved my hands frantically, trying to explain: “This money isn’t just mine! With this money, my brother can start a family, Dad won’t have to hide from creditors, Mom can get treatment and surgery, and I can go back to college. This is a miracle for us!” But neither parent paid me any attention. They frowned and exchanged panicked glances. Then Dad spoke: “We can’t let her leave the house anymore.” Mom’s face darkened. “I have an idea. Lock her in the basement with the wolf-dog.” I stood frozen, my whole body numb, unable to believe what I was hearing. I couldn’t understand why, after learning I’d won five million dollars, they’d all changed completely. Our whole family desperately needed money. This windfall should have been a blessing, so why had things turned out this way? Before I could figure it out, my parents started dragging me toward the basement. In my panic, I turned and tried to run, but my brother grabbed me. I cried and begged them to let me go, even saying that if they didn’t trust me, I’d give them the ticket and let them claim the prize. However, they turned a deaf ear to my pleas and forced me into the dark, stinking basement. They wouldn’t let me eat or drink, and they put a starving wolf-dog in the basement with me. My whole family knew that I’d been bitten by a wild dog as a child and was terrified of dogs. The moment I saw the wolf-dog, I nearly collapsed in fear. I pounded on the door with all my strength, begging them to let me out. But no matter how much I cried and screamed, no one responded. The wolf-dog suddenly lunged at me and tore a chunk of flesh from my thigh. The intense smell of blood rushed into my nose. I passed out from the pain. After one night, my parents and brother came to the basement to see me. My mom asked with a smile: “Stella, you must be hungry? I brought you some bread.” I laughed bitterly, not understanding how she could act like nothing had happened. I demanded like a madwoman: “Why? Why are you doing this to me?” The smile vanished from her face instantly, replaced by cold indifference. Dad’s face also darkened, his eyes full of disgust. Then he kicked me in the chest. “You ungrateful bastard.” The pain made it hard for me to even breathe. A terrifying coldness churned in Mom’s eyes as the corners of her mouth curved into a chilling arc. “Since Stella doesn’t want to eat bread, let’s bring in a few more wolf-dogs to keep her company.” “These beasts have all been specially trained. They know how to ‘entertain’ disobedient brats.” Then they released several wolf-dogs that surrounded and trapped me, tearing at me viciously. My two arms were torn clean off. In less than a day, I died in excruciating pain. Even in death, I didn’t understand why they wanted to kill me after learning I’d won five million dollars. The terror from my previous life surged through me. I clutched the lottery ticket tightly and took a deep breath. This time, I had to find out the truth.

This time, I didn’t tell my brother I’d won. I thought that as long as I didn’t let him know I’d won five million, nothing bad would happen. But unexpectedly, my brother smiled and asked: “Stella, I saw you go buy a lottery ticket yesterday. Did you win anything?” My heart skipped a beat. I smiled and said: “No, it’s not that easy to win.” “You’re so careless. Give the ticket to me and I’ll check for you—maybe you got it wrong.” “No need, I just checked the numbers one by one. I really didn’t win. Don’t you trust me?” “It’s not that. What if you did win and you made a mistake? Our family would miss out on an opportunity. It won’t hurt for me to take another look.” I deliberately put the ticket in my pocket. “You just don’t trust me. I won’t let you see it.” My brother thought I was being playful. He smiled and patted my head, then stuffed the bread into my hand. “Fine, fine, I won’t look. You must be hungry—eat up.” I took the bread and headed out. “The weather’s nice. I’m going out for some air.” I decided to leave the house first and calm my panicked mind. But the moment I turned into the alley, my heart suddenly clenched—the ticket in my pocket was gone! My blood froze instantly. I immediately turned and ran back. When I caught sight of our front door from a distance, I saw my brother standing there, deathly pale and rigid. The ticket that should have been in my pocket was now in his hand. He raised his hand to tear it, but I rushed over, snatched the ticket back, and ran. I heard him roar behind me: “Stella, you can’t claim that prize!” In my previous life, even until I died, I never understood why my brother, who had loved and doted on me since childhood, would change so completely the moment he learned I’d won big. The viciousness in his eyes was something I’d never seen before. My brother chased me desperately. My stamina was no match for his, and he caught up quickly. I trembled all over and screamed: “Help! My brother’s trying to kill me!” The alley was full of familiar neighbors. Hearing my shouts, they all came out to see what was happening. My brother clearly hadn’t expected this. Seeing I couldn’t escape, I turned and dropped to my knees before him, crying: “Why? We’re about to have a good life—why do you want to tear up that ticket?” My brother ground his teeth and cursed under his breath: “Shut up, you bastard!” He tried to drag me away, but just then, some of the watching neighbors hurried over. Mr. Thompson from next door forcibly pulled him away from me. “How can you hit your own sister?” The other neighbors started talking among themselves. “I just heard you shouting about winning the lottery—that’s wonderful news! Why would you hit her?” “Even if she’s your sister, you can’t hit her! Hitting people is illegal! If you try anything else, we’re calling the police.” My brother’s breathing was rapid, veins bulging in his neck as he glared at me viciously. But surrounded by the crowd, he couldn’t do anything. Suddenly, he smiled at something behind me. Confused, I turned around and saw Dad approaching.

From a distance, Dad saw my brother and me surrounded by the crowd and his brow furrowed deeply. It was obvious something had happened. Seeing Dad approach, my body tensed up sharply, my nails digging deep into my palms. The neighbors all talked at once, complaining to Dad that my brother had laid hands on me. Dad immediately flew into a rage, raising his hand to slap my brother’s face. Just as the slap was about to land, my brother shouted: “Stella won a five-million-dollar jackpot!” “That’s not true! My brother made a mistake!” My eyes reddened with anxiety, my voice trembling. “It’s absolutely true! I even took a photo of the ticket.” My brother’s tone was agitated as he eagerly showed his phone to Dad. The moment Dad’s gaze fell on the screen, his eyes trembled slightly. Then he stared fixedly at the image, frozen in place. I called out anxiously: “Dad…” When he looked at me again, Dad’s eyes were bloodshot. He raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face. “He told you to tear up that ticket—why didn’t you listen!” My heart was utterly shattered, yet I still bit down hard and argued: “The family really needs money. Mom’s illness needs treatment, you need money to pay your debts, my brother needs to get married, and I want to go back to school.” “You heartless bastard, how dare you talk back to me!” Dad rushed over, pressing my head hard against the wall with one hand while the other went for my pocket. Just then Mom rushed over, pushing Dad away forcefully and shielding me behind her. “What are you doing? Stella’s forehead is bleeding!” Mom yelled at Dad. But Dad wasn’t angry. He just laughed coldly: “You feel sorry for her, but this heartless bastard doesn’t deserve to be our child.” After Dad said this, all the neighbors were shocked. Everyone knew that Dad usually loved me, his daughter, the most—treating me like a precious gem. No one could believe he would say such things about his own daughter. Mom clutched her chest in anger and asked: “What on earth happened?” My brother handed over his phone. I quickly blocked Mom, looking at her with pleading eyes. “Mom, don’t look at it. Don’t believe them.” I knew that once Mom looked at the phone and learned I’d won the jackpot, she would immediately disown me as her daughter. Mom held me in her arms, softly comforting me: “Don’t worry. Your dad and brother are probably just confused about something. Once I figure it out, everything will be fine.” I shook my head desperately: “No, Mom, don’t believe them. If you believe what they’re saying, you won’t love me anymore.” “Stella, don’t worry. No matter what happens, I’ll be on your side. I love you more than anyone in the world.” She looked at me with gentle eyes, trying to reassure me. Just then Dad lost his patience and shouted at Mom: “She won a five-million-dollar jackpot! The ticket’s in her pocket.” After hearing Dad’s words, Mom’s face changed drastically. Her originally gentle features became twisted, a sinister gleam flashing in her eyes, frightening me so much I trembled all over. Her face went pale as she forced out a stiff, bitter smile and looked at me.

Unlike Dad and my brother’s agitation, Mom’s abnormally calm reaction sent chills through me, making my skin crawl. Her voice was ice-cold: “This is good news, Stella. Come on, let’s go home and celebrate.” But there was no joy in those words, not a trace of a smile on her face, and the hand she extended toward me was trembling slightly. Clearly she was barely holding herself together, desperately suppressing her emotions. “No, I don’t want to go home.” I scrambled to my feet in panic, stumbling backward into the crowd. Mom’s brow furrowed into a dark cloud, her eyes revealing a sinister, vicious look as she demanded coldly: “Stella, what are you doing? It’s getting dark—if you won’t go home, where will you go?” My parents were about to grab me. I quickly grabbed onto a neighbor, pleading through my tears: “Please save me! I can’t go back with them—they’ll kill me!” The neighbors looked at each other in confusion. Everyone knew that our family doted on me. Even if I did something wrong, it was only natural for my parents to discipline me. Outsiders really had no place interfering. Just as everyone hesitated, Mrs. Martinez stepped forward. “The child seems to have something on her mind. Don’t force her.” “That’s right. Stella’s always been such a good kid. Talk it out nicely—don’t use force. Look how scared the child is.” But my parents seemed consumed by rage, unable to hear any advice. Their faces twisted as they closed in on me. “Stella, are you having some kind of episode? Stop spouting nonsense!” “Come home with us right now! Stop making a scene!” As soon as the words left their mouths, Dad and my brother came forward without another word and grabbed me. Seeing this, Mrs. Martinez hurried to block them. “Don’t be so rough with the child! What if you scare her badly?” “I’m disciplining my own daughter—it’s none of your business!” Dad’s eyes were red as he roared at Mrs. Martinez. Mrs. Martinez was elderly after all—there was no way she could stop my strong young brother. I felt my wrist gripped tightly as I was forcibly dragged out, the rough ground scraping my knees painfully. The watching neighbors, no matter how kind-hearted, wouldn’t dare fight my parents for me. Just then, a pair of hands blocked my brother’s path. “Who said you could drag a young girl around like that!” Hearing this stern rebuke, my brother finally let go. It turned out a neighbor had called the police. Seeing the officers, Mom quickly explained: “Officers, this is our daughter. It’s getting late and she won’t come home. We’re worried about her safety, so we wanted to bring her back.” The officer turned his gaze to me. I immediately protested loudly: “That’s not true! I won a big prize and they want to take me back and lock me up!” The three people behind me stood frozen, their expressions unspeakably strange. “If you don’t believe me, ask the neighbors. My family’s been acting really weird since they found out I won.” The officer asked around the crowd. The neighbors confirmed one after another that my family’s attitude had indeed been suspicious. After getting confirmation, one officer questioned them sternly: “Why are you trying to stop the child from claiming her prize? Are you worried she’ll keep all the money? But the child already said the money would be for the whole family.” My parents sneered disdainfully. “We don’t care about any prize money. We just want to bring our daughter home.” “Illegally restricting someone’s personal freedom is against the law.” The officer’s tone grew more serious. But they still looked completely unconcerned. I anxiously grabbed the officer’s sleeve: “I just want to know why they’d rather break the law than let me claim the prize. Why do they have to lock me up?” Under the police’s stern questioning, Dad reluctantly handed over his phone, his movements full of resistance. When I saw clearly what was on the phone, I finally understood why they wouldn’t let me claim the prize.

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