Author: Momo Chan

1 Ever since my husband started reserving every single weekend for his late buddy’s sister and her kid, my son started stuffing coins into an old cookie tin. When his teacher asked what he was saving up for, he tilted his head up and said, “To rent a dad for a day.” On the day of the school’s father-son field day, while other kids held their fathers’ hands and sprinted across the finish line, Sam stood alone on the sidelines holding a card. On the back of the card, written in crooked, childish handwriting, were the words: Space available for rent. Half days accepted. I tried to pull him away, but he looked up and whispered, “Mom, did Aunt Amber buy out all of Dad’s time?” Later, when my husband finally realized something was wrong, he rushed home carrying a limited-edition robot kit to make up for missing Sam’s birthday. The front door was ajar. On the living room coffee table lay a return slip drawn by our son. Under the reason for return, it read: Dad is constantly out of stock. Customer service is terrible. Item no longer wanted. … “Rachel, is this how you raise our son?” Nicholas slammed the paper return slip onto the glass table. The thin paper crumpled under his palm. At the top was a grid drawn with colored markers in Sam’s shaky hand. Item Name: Dad. Duration of Use: Six years. Damage Level: Constantly missing, breaks promises, gives my belongings to other people. Reason for Return: Out of stock long term, terrible customer service. Item no longer wanted. Nicholas stared at the words, his face pale and tight. “I’m not even dead, and he’s treating me like broken junk to be returned?” I pulled Sam behind my back. “You’re not junk.” Nicholas choked on his next word. He glared at me, his temper flaring higher. “Rachel, stop with the passive-aggressive commentary. I cleared my schedule to come back and celebrate his birthday today. What more do you want?” I glanced at the limited-edition robot kit in his hand. The corner of the box was crushed. The security tape had already been sliced open and peeled back. “Did Mason reject it first?” I asked quietly. Nicholas froze for a split second. “Can you stop dragging Amber and Mason into everything? Mason is young, he opened it to take a look and didn’t care for it. I knew Sam would like it, so I brought it home.” Before I could reply, Sam poked his small head out from behind my hip. He stared at the battered box, his voice barely a whisper. “Dad, is my birthday present just someone else’s leftovers?” Nicholas knit his brows into a harsh line. “Don’t be so petty, Sam.” Sam squeezed the hem of his shirt. “Then can I have the remote-controlled car you bought for Mason after he’s done looking at it?” Nicholas’s expression darkened. “Sam, Mason’s situation is different. His mom is raising him on her own, and he has sensory processing issues. What’s wrong with me taking a little extra care of him?” Sam slowly lowered his head. “I only have one mom, too.” Nicholas went still. A flicker of guilt flashed across his eyes, but he quickly shoved it down. He reached out to pat Sam’s head, but Sam flinched and ducked away. Nicholas’s hand hovered in the air, his pride wounded. “Sam, I’m your father.” Sam looked up at him. There were no tears, no screaming, no tantrum. Just a terrifyingly quiet gaze. “Can a dad expire?” Nicholas was rendered completely speechless. That night, Sam didn’t touch his birthday cake. He dragged out his metal cookie tin from under his bed and placed it in the center of my palm. Inside was one hundred seventy-three dollars and fifty cents, the bills and coins neatly stacked and sorted. “Sam isn’t renting Dad anymore,” he said, trying his best to offer me a smile. “Mom, keep the money for train tickets.” My throat felt like it had been scraped with sandpaper. I pulled him into my arms. His small, thin shoulders were tense, but he didn’t shed a single tear. For years, Nicholas always claimed he was busy. Busy with the technology center projects. Busy with the youth robotics league. When Amber’s hallway light broke, he was busy fixing it. When Mason had a mild fever, he was busy rushing them to the emergency room. Whenever Amber sighed and said, “Nicholas, my brother ruined his hand back then just to save your life,” Nicholas would drop everything and walk out on Sam’s parent-teacher conferences in the middle of the night. Yet when Sam had his first terrifying high fever at age five, Nicholas didn’t come home. When Sam graduated from kindergarten, Nicholas didn’t come home. When Sam fell on the pavement downstairs and chipped his front teeth, Nicholas didn’t come home. Every single time, he had an excuse. And every single time, the excuse involved Amber and her son. After Sam fell asleep, I walked into the study. At the very bottom of my desk drawer lay an employment contract. Lead Curator, Southwest Ancient Manuscript Restoration Center. I had once stayed in this city for Nicholas, turning down two advanced fellowship programs and giving up a chance to lead my own research team. I wasn’t waiting anymore. I picked up a pen and drew a red circle around a date twelve days from now on the calendar. That was the final deadline to report for duty. In twelve days, I would take Sam and leave. As for Nicholas… since he had been returned, he didn’t need to take up space in our lives any longer. 2 Nine days until departure. I stepped out of the museum’s storage vault, still carrying the faint scent of turpentine and aged paper. When I unlocked the front door, the apartment was in absolute chaos. The rug in Sam’s bedroom had been kicked aside. Two movers were hauling his custom electronics workbench toward the doorway. Mounted on the table was a robotic arm he had spent three months assembling. I had gone out of my way to source those specific, delicate components from a specialized supplier. Every day after finishing his homework, Sam would put on his safety goggles and lean over the desk like a tiny engineer, adjusting every wire with pride. He had named that robotic arm “Little Boat.” He told me that when Dad finally came home, he would program Little Boat to hand Dad a glass of water. Now, Little Boat was shoved carelessly into a cardboard box. Wires were snapped, and half the arm hung limply over the side. Nicholas stood near the hallway, directing the crew. “Careful with those parts. Don’t lose anything. Mason needs them for his competition next week.” I froze in my tracks. “Nicholas, what are you moving?” He turned around, his tone entirely offhand. “I’m borrowing Sam’s setup for Mason for a few days. Mason is competing in the city innovation fair, and they don’t have a proper workbench at their place.” “Borrowing?” I walked over and stepped directly in front of the movers. “Did you ask Sam?” Nicholas frowned. “Sam is just a kid, what does he know? Leaving this gear here is just playing around. Mason actually needs it for serious work.” Just then, Sam ran out of the bathroom. Seeing his workbench being hauled away, his face drained of all color. “Dad, no!” He sprinted forward and wrapped his small arms around the table leg. “Little Boat isn’t finished! The teacher needs to check it tomorrow, I promised her!” Nicholas grabbed Sam by the collar and pulled him back. “Stop throwing a fit.” Sam panicked, tears brimming in his eyes. “You said this workbench was mine!” Nicholas said sternly, “Mason needs it more than you do.” Sam stared up at him, bewildered. “What about me?” Nicholas lost his patience entirely. “You have your mother to stay with you every day. You have a complete home. What does Mason have? His mother is struggling on her own, and his uncle lost his livelihood because of my past accident. Why can’t you just yield to him for once?” I let out a cold laugh. “So you’re paying off your debts to the family by stealing from your own son?” Nicholas’s expression shifted. “Rachel, watch your mouth!” “Is it too harsh?” I pointed at the snapped wires of the robotic arm. “You crushed three months of your son’s hard work just to curry favor with someone else’s child, and I’m supposed to applaud you?” Nicholas suppressed his anger. “Don’t make this a moral crusade. I’ll buy him a brand new set tomorrow.” Sam suddenly spoke up, his voice barely audible. “You said that last time, too.” Nicholas stiffened. Sam looked up, counting on his fingers one by one. “You said you’d buy me a telescope, but you gave it to Mason.” “You said you’d take me to the astronomy exhibit, but you went to the hospital with Aunt Amber.” “You said you’d teach me how to solder circuit boards, but Mason cried, so you left.” He sniffled softly. “Dad, are your tomorrows only reserved for other people?” Nicholas’s face darkened inch by inch. “Sam, don’t pick up your mother’s dramatic habits.” Sam flinched at the harshness in his tone. I stepped forward and gathered Sam into my arms. “You want to move it? Fine.” Nicholas looked at me, caught off guard, as if he hadn’t expected me to yield. I pulled out my phone and hit record. “State it clearly for the camera. This equipment belongs to Sam. You are taking it without his consent. Any damage will be reimbursed at full price, and the credit for his design remains solely under his name.” Nicholas sneered. “You’re recording this? Rachel, you’ve become completely unhinged.” I nodded. “Yes, because I know exactly how reasonable you like to pretend you are.” The movers stood there awkwardly. Nicholas pressed his lips into a tight line, but ultimately signaled the workers to carry the boxes out. At eleven that night, Amber posted an update on social media. In the photo, Mason sat at Sam’s workbench, grinning brightly with his prominent canine teeth showing. The caption read: Mason finally has his very own tiny laboratory. Thank you, Nicholas. You always say my brother ruined his hand for you, but I know you’ve always considered us your real family. The very first like on the post came from Nicholas. Sam leaned against my side. When he saw the photo, he didn’t cry. He simply walked over to his bedroom wall, peeled off a sticky note that read Dad and Sam build a Mars rover together, crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it into the trash can. I closed my phone, opened my laptop, and finalized the lease agreement for a two-bedroom apartment in the new city. The landlord messaged asking when I could move in. I replied: As soon as humanly possible. Three minutes later, a text from Nicholas popped up. Is Sam still throwing a tantrum? Soften him up a bit. I’ll take him behind the scenes at the tech museum this weekend to make it up to him. Looking at the word compensation, a hollow wave of absurdity washed over me. He always assumed injuries could be discounted. He had no idea that some things, once broken, came with no customer support at all. 3 Four days until departure. Sam’s youth robotics showcase was held at the community center. Without his workbench, he had been forced to piece together a crude, makeshift vehicle using spare parts from old toys. Before leaving the house, he polished the tiny plastic chassis three times. Then, he carefully tucked an entry ticket into his jacket pocket. It was the ticket he had saved for Nicholas. I asked him, “Are you still waiting for him?” Sam kept his head down, snapping a small wheel into place. “He said he would definitely come today.” I didn’t shatter his hope. When we arrived at the venue, other children were fine-tuning impressive, polished creations. Sam sat in a quiet corner, cradling his humble little car, his eyes darting toward the glass entrance every few seconds. Five minutes before the presentations began, Nicholas sent a text. Emergency system glitch at the technology center. I’ll be late. Tell Sam not to make a scene. I put the phone away. Sam had already seen the notification banner on my screen. He asked quietly, “He’s not coming again, right?” I knelt down and straightened his collar. “Mom is here to watch you.” He nodded gently. “Okay.” When Sam’s name was called, he walked onto the small stage, his voice trembling slightly into the microphone. “My project is named… The Homecoming.” A few parents in the audience chuckled softly. Sam held the controller tightly. “It can automatically detect paths, navigate around obstacles, and find its pre-set destination.” The little car hummed to life. Though it moved slowly, it navigated around every barrier on the board with steady precision, finally stopping right in front of a small wooden block labeled Home. The instructor led the applause. A faint smile finally touched Sam’s face. At that exact moment, familiar voices echoed from the back door. “Mason, slow down, watch your step.” Nicholas walked in, holding Mason’s hand. Amber followed right behind them, her voice soft and sweet. “Nicholas, it’s Mason’s first time on stage. He feels so much safer with you here.” The smile on Sam’s face instantly froze. I turned around to look at Nicholas. When his eyes met mine, a flash of guilt crossed his face, but he quickly composed himself and walked over. “See? I made it.” I looked down at the project in Mason’s hands. It was a robotic arm. The outer casing had been covered in shiny new stickers, but I recognized the jagged scratch along the base immediately. That was Sam’s Little Boat. Sam recognized it, too. His fingers turned white around his controller. “Dad… that’s mine.” Nicholas frowned. “It’s just borrowed for Mason’s presentation.” Mason shrank behind Nicholas’s jacket, his eyes welling up with tears. “Uncle Nicholas, am I not allowed to use it? Does Sam hate me?” Amber immediately knelt down to hug her son. “Sam, I don’t mean to criticize you, but your father just wants Mason to build some confidence. You’re so smart, missing one minor opportunity won’t hurt you.” Sam looked at her. “Then why can’t he miss an opportunity?” Amber’s smile stiffened. Nicholas snapped sharply, “Sam!” The entire room fell dead silent. Sam flinched from the sudden shout, but he didn’t back down. “It’s mine.” Nicholas lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Stop making a fool of me in public.” I stepped firmly between Nicholas and my son. “The only person making a fool of himself here is you.” Noticing the surrounding stares from other parents, Nicholas’s temper flared. He reached out aggressively to snatch the makeshift car from Sam’s arms. “Since you don’t know how to behave, I’m taking this back until you learn some manners!” “No!” Sam pleaded, clinging to the toy with all his strength. During the struggle, the small vehicle slipped from their hands and smashed onto the hard floor. A sharp, jagged piece of metal sheared off and sliced straight across Sam’s open palm. Blood welled up immediately. Sam turned pale from the sudden, searing pain. I lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t move!” Nicholas panicked for a split second. “Sam… I didn’t mean to…” Sam looked at his shattered project on the floor, then down at the bright red blood dripping from his hand. Slowly, he pulled the crumpled entry ticket out of his jacket pocket. It was crushed from being held tightly all morning. He held it out toward Nicholas. “Dad, I’m returning your ticket.” Nicholas’s voice went raspy. “Sam…” Sam raised his left arm to wipe away his tears. “You don’t have to come anymore.” I rushed Sam straight to the urgent care clinic. While the doctor stitched his palm, he bit his lower lip hard, refusing to let out a single cry. The nurse praised him for being brave. Sam stared at his heavily bandaged hand and whispered, “It’s better if it hurts a little.” My heart squeezed tightly. “Why?” He looked up at me. “So I’ll remember never to save a ticket for him again.” I wrapped my arms around him, tears threatening to spill over. When we got home, Sam sat at his desk and emptied every coin remaining in his cookie tin. He counted them one by one, then took a marker and wrote new words on the lid. It no longer said Rent a Dad. It said Moving Fund. I pulled up the travel app on my phone, selected our train tickets scheduled for five days later, and rescheduled them for the day after tomorrow. There was nothing left in this house worth waiting for. 4 The day before our departure. I took Sam to the main branch of the technology museum to retrieve his stolen workbench. Nicholas wasn’t at his office desk. A staff member mentioned that the annual youth science festival was taking place, and Nicholas was downstairs at the underground hydro-stage area accompanying special guests. I held Sam’s hand as we walked toward the lower exhibition hall. As soon as we reached the entrance, I saw Nicholas standing beside the water curtain stage. He was leaning over, carefully adjusting a pair of protective goggles for Mason. Amber stood right beside him, smoothing down the collar of his suit jacket with a natural, practiced intimacy. Sam stopped dead in his tracks. I felt his tiny hand go completely limp in mine. Nicholas spotted us. He instinctively pulled away from Amber’s touch. “Rachel? What are you doing here?” “Taking back what belongs to my son,” I said. Amber offered a gentle, sorrowful smile. “Rachel, Mason is still using the workbench. Could you grant us just two more days? His final evaluation is coming up, and switching equipment now would cause him a complete meltdown.” I stared cold eyes at her. “If he has a meltdown, what does that have to do with my son?” Amber’s eyes instantly welled with tears. Nicholas’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Rachel, can you stop starting a fight the moment you show up?” Sam suddenly spoke, his voice unnaturally calm. “Dad, I don’t want it anymore.” Nicholas blinked, caught off guard. “What?” Sam pointed toward the back door. “I don’t want the workbench, and I don’t want Dad anymore. Let me and Mom go.” He turned around and pulled my hand. At that precise moment, the red warning lights above the hydro-stage flashed frantically. An ear-splitting alarm blared through the underground speakers. Warning: Drainage failure detected in the underground exhibit. All visitors, evacuate immediately. Panic erupted instantly. Staff members yelled through megaphones, “Do not crowd the water curtain area! Use the exits on the right!” A second later, the overhead emergency high-pressure sprayers malfunctioned, pouring massive torrents of water down like a waterfall. Water accumulated rapidly across the polished floor. People slipped, and children screamed in terror. I instinctively scooped Sam into my arms and sprinted toward the main exit. In the surging chaos, Mason was knocked over by the fleeing crowd, tumbling into the narrow maintenance trench beside the stage. Sam was bumped out of my grip by a rushing crowd, falling backward into an equipment alcove on the opposite side. The automatic fire door of the alcove short-circuited, slamming down halfway and jamming securely in place. Water surged inside, quickly submerging Sam up to his knees. I threw myself against the crowd, screaming like a lunatic. “Sam!” Nicholas was closest to the stage. He saw Sam first, but in the next fraction of a second, his eyes caught sight of Mason trapped in the trench. Sam gripped the bottom edge of the metal door, his voice shaking. “Dad! Save me!” Mason was crying hysterically. “Uncle Nicholas! I’m scared!” Amber shrieked frantically, “Nicholas! Mason can’t swim! Please save him first!” In that single instant, Nicholas hesitated. It was truly only a split second. But I saw it with horrifying clarity. He turned his back on Sam and sprinted straight toward Mason. Sam saw it, too. The small hand he had reached out through the gap slowly dropped to his side. A burst of raw agony exploded in my chest. “Nicholas!” My voice was instantly drowned out by the roar of rushing water and frantic screams. I threw myself against the jammed door, slamming my shoulder into the heavy frame once, twice, again and again. Water surged up to my waist. Sam’s face grew paler by the second. His trapped right hand was caught underneath the heavy metal frame, blood seeping out and diffusing into the rising water. He didn’t call for his father again. He just looked at me. “Mom… it hurts.” I gritted my teeth and forced my fingers into the narrow gap beneath the door. Sharp metal edges sliced into the back of my hands, but I felt no pain. “Sam, look at Mom,” I sobbed, prying upward with everything I had. “Don’t close your eyes. Mom is taking you out.” Behind us, Nicholas had already lifted Mason into his arms and carried him to the safety platform. Amber threw her arms around him, weeping and calling his name. Using every ounce of strength in my body, I managed to wedge the door open enough to drag Sam out. His right hand hung completely limp. His little body was ice cold. When the paramedics arrived, I carried him straight into the back of the ambulance. Nicholas came running after us, his clothes soaked through. “Rachel! How is Sam?” I shoved him back, refusing to let his fingers touch the gurney. Seeing Sam’s pale, bloodless face, terror finally took hold of Nicholas’s eyes. “Sam! Dad is right here!” Sam kept his eyes closed, giving no reaction at all. The paramedics pushed me back, and the doors of the emergency bay slammed shut. The red light flickered on above the entrance. I sat on the cold metal bench in the hallway, blood still dripping slowly from the gashes on my knuckles. My phone screen was shattered and water-damaged. I opened the chat window with my attorney and sent over the signed documents. The divorce papers are finalized. Custody and asset division will go through litigation. I want a permanent order keeping Nicholas away from my son. After hitting send, I opened the transit app. I changed our tickets scheduled for tomorrow morning to the final train leaving tonight. Nicholas… you didn’t just fail to choose him today. You failed to choose him every single time.

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1 When the national training camp roster was announced, my father took me straight to the nephrology ward. Skylar sat in a wheelchair, pale. Brenda, the woman I’d called Mom for over a decade, slid a medical report across the desk. “You and Skylar are an initial match. You’re an athlete, you’re strong. You can live fine with one kidney. Save your sister first.” Tyler stood by the door, holding my driver’s license. “There will be other competitions, Brooke. She can’t wait.” I stared at them and laughed bitterly. My ten years of training meant nothing to them but a box of spare parts for Skylar. Down the hall, my father sent voice notes to relatives: “Skylar has a chance! Brooke’s a match.” Tyler coaxed Skylar: “Don’t be scared. Brooke won’t leave you hanging.” My phone buzzed. The family group chat shared a GoFundMe: Please Help Save Our Beloved Daughter, Skylar. I quietly deleted the ethics committee appointment they’d scheduled for me, then replied to Coach Dawson. Since they wanted me to part with a piece of my body, I’d start by cutting myself out of this family. … Coach Dawson’s reply popped up almost instantly. Brooke, are you confirming your registration? If you don’t report within forty-eight hours, your spot goes to the alternate. I stared at the screen, my fingertips numb with cold. The official roster for the Women’s 400-Meter Hurdles National Training Camp. My name sat at number three. I had spent ten grueling years running for this exact spot. Ten years ago, when I won my very first regional championship, Tyler stood outside the finish line, holding up his jacket to block the cold wind for me. “Brooke, when you make the national team, I’ll carry your flag.” I believed him. So even when my knees throbbed so painfully in the middle of the night that I couldn’t sleep, even when my ankles were wrapped in layers of compression tape, I never once thought about stopping. Yet right now, he stood in a hospital corridor, holding my ID, refusing to give it back to me. The physician placed the chart back on the desk. “It’s only an initial match. We still need detailed secondary evaluations. A living organ donation must be entirely voluntary on the donor’s part, especially since she’s a professional athlete. The risks and recovery timeline require extreme caution.” Brenda nodded frantically. “She’s voluntary! Brooke has always been a good girl. She’s just overwhelmed right now.” I lifted my head. “I am not voluntary.” The hallway went dead silent. Tears welled in Skylar’s eyes first. “Brooke… I’m so sorry. If I weren’t dragging everyone down, you wouldn’t be put in such a hard spot.” The moment she spoke, Brenda dropped to her knees to pull her into a tight hug. “Skylar, baby, don’t think like that. Your sister is an athlete, she recovers fast.” My father’s face darkened instantly. “Brooke, we’re family. Don’t be so calculating.” I turned my eyes to Tyler. He knew better than anyone that I hadn’t even gone home for Christmas just to prepare for this camp. He knew that after donating a kidney, I might never be able to return to elite athletic performance. Yet he simply avoided my gaze. “Brooke, just give Skylar some hope for now. I’ll stay by your side through your entire rehabilitation.” He wasn’t ignorant of the consequences. He had simply made the decision to sacrifice me. Brenda reached over, trying to snatch my phone. “Stop looking at all those messages. The hospital scheduled your ethics evaluation for tomorrow morning. Just cooperate with the doctors.” I took a step backward. “I’m not going.” My father slammed his palm onto the back of a plastic chair. “Don’t you dare!” Skylar flinched dramatically, and Tyler immediately bent down to support her. “Don’t worry, I’m here.” When he looked up at me, his voice was heavy with reprimand. “Brooke, stop terrifying her.” I was the one being pushed onto an operating table. Yet he was scolding me for terrifying her. The physician reminded them once more, “Family members cannot make medical decisions on behalf of an adult donor.” Brenda offered a strained smile. “We know, Doctor. She’s just stubborn. We’ll talk some sense into her once we get home.” I lowered my eyes, flipping my phone screen downward. The red recording indicator on the screen was quietly blinking. I was seven years old when my father brought Brenda and Skylar into our house. That was the day I learned Skylar wasn’t just a stepsister. She was my father’s biological daughter, too, born to Brenda. My father had patted my head back then, saying, “Brooke, you’re a family now. You’re the older sister, and Skylar is frail. You need to look out for her.” For over ten years, I called Brenda “Mom.” And for over ten years, I yielded everything to Skylar. I gave up the bigger bedroom, gave up my birthdays, gave up my father’s affection. And now, they wanted my body, too. As we walked out of the clinic, my father was already tapping away in the family chat. Brooke’s initial match came back positive! Skylar is saved! A flood of praise instantly erupted in the group. Brooke is so mature! That’s how an older sister should act. She’s an athlete, losing one kidney won’t hurt her. Not a single person asked whether I consented. I reached out to take my ID back from Tyler. He slipped it into his coat pocket. “After you calm down.” Before major competitions, he used to hold onto my race bib and kinesiology tape just like this. I used to think it was thoughtfulness. Only now did I realize that the same hands could be used to lock me down. When we arrived home, the dining table was covered with dishes. Low-sodium meals, blanched vegetables, half a bowl of clear broth. Everything was tailored specifically for Skylar’s delicate condition. Brenda sat beside her, carefully blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it down. “Skylar, drink more. The doctor said you can’t be malnourished right now.” Only when caring for Skylar did she resemble a true mother. Meanwhile, after calling her Mom for more than a decade, the only lesson I had learned was how to surrender. Tyler sat on Skylar’s other side, slicing an apple into tiny, uniform cubes for her. I stood in the entryway, my heavy gym bag still slung over my shoulder. I had been fasting since morning for blood draws, then dragged around all afternoon to discuss organ donation procedures. My stomach twitched with sharp, empty pangs. No one asked if I had eaten. I turned and walked into the kitchen. Inside the pot was only half a bowl of cold rice porridge. The moment my fingers touched the rim of the bowl, Brenda stepped into the kitchen behind me. “That’s for Skylar’s midnight snack,” she said coldly. “You’re an athlete, missing one meal won’t kill you.” I looked at her. In that singular moment, it became crystal clear to me: she wasn’t incapable of being a mother. She was simply only a mother to Skylar. My father pushed an old debit card across the kitchen counter toward me. “Transfer last month’s state team stipend to your mother.” I stared down at the card. It was my training allowance card, which had been linked to Brenda’s phone account for years. “That’s my emergency reserve for training camp,” I said softly. My father scowled. “Don’t you see what this family is going through right now? Skylar needs a private room, she needs dialysis, she needs to wait for surgery!” Brenda’s eyes reddened. “You’ll have plenty of prize money once you’re on the national team! Skylar can’t afford to wait right now!” I spoke up in a low voice. “Didn’t you already start a fundraiser?” The living room fell instantly quiet. Skylar immediately dropped her head. “Brooke, I’m sorry for making a scene and embarrassment out of our family. Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t seek treatment.” Brenda rushed out of the kitchen to wrap her arms around Skylar. “Don’t speak such nonsense!” Tyler handed a piece of apple to Skylar’s lips. “Eat this first. Don’t worry about any of this.” My phone chimed with a notification. It was a link sent privately by a relative. Brooke, you’re such a good girl. I shared the fundraising link for you! I clicked the link. At the very top of the GoFundMe page was a photo of Skylar lying frail in a hospital bed. The second photo was a back view of me crossing a finish line in my state team uniform. The caption read: Older sister Brooke is a state athlete and has agreed to selflessly donate her kidney to save her sister. A bond of true sisterhood. Please help this family in need. I stared at that photo, my fingers tightening around the edge of my phone. That was a photo from last year’s National Youth Championships. After crossing the finish line, I had collapsed onto the track, my knees raw and bleeding onto the asphalt. My parents hadn’t come. Only Tyler had shown up. He had said that moment of glory deserved to be preserved. I raised the screen right in front of Tyler’s face. “Did you give them this photo?” Tyler’s posture stiffened. “Your aunt said the fundraising platform required proof of the family’s situation. Brooke, it’s an emergency. We can delete the photo later.” Skylar chimed in with a soft, trembling voice. “Brooke, are you mad at me for using your picture? I was just afraid people wouldn’t help me…” Every sentence she spoke sounded like an apology, yet every sentence dragged me into the spotlight to be judged by everyone. I pulled the debit card back and shoved it into my bag. “I’m not transferring a single cent.” My father’s face turned livid. “Brooke, are you trying to force my hand?!” I didn’t bother arguing further. As I turned to head upstairs, a banking alert popped up on my phone. The remaining balance in that old stipend account had just been forcibly transferred out. Tyler pursued me to the foot of the stairs, lowering his voice to a gentle plea. “Brooke, I know you feel wronged. But Skylar really has no other way out.” I stopped on the steps. “Did the doctor say that to you directly?” He fell silent for a moment. “Your parents wouldn’t lie to you.” A faint, bitter smile touched my lips. He hadn’t even bothered to ask the doctor himself. He simply assumed that my sacrifice was the default option. The next day, the state team hosted a farewell ceremony for the athletes selected for the national squad. Coach Dawson had reserved three seats in the very front row for my family. Three chairs. My father, Brenda, and Tyler. She handed me the event program, smiling as she patted my shoulder. “Don’t look so tense today. This is a massive milestone.” I nodded silently. Yet when the ceremony began, those three seats remained completely empty. My teammates walked up to the stage one by one. Some received bouquets from their mothers; others had fathers holding up cameras to capture the moment. When my name was called, Coach Dawson was the only person standing in the audience, clapping warmly for me. She tucked a bright bouquet of sunflowers into my arms. “Brooke, keep running forward. No one can run your lane for you.” A sudden wave of heat prickled my nose, and tears nearly spilled over. After the group photos, my phone buzzed several times. Brenda had posted a photo in the family group chat. Skylar was sitting on a hospital bed, wrapped tightly in my official USA National Team jacket. Tyler was kneeling partially beside the bed, zipping the jacket up to her chin. My father stood on the side, holding a mug of warm water. Brenda’s caption read: Skylar wanted to wear her sister’s jacket for good luck. We will all get through this together. She and I shared half the same blood. Yet that tiny shared lineage wasn’t a bond of affection in their eyes, it was a license to strip me bare. Relatives flooded the chat with replies. Skylar looks so pretty in it! The sisters have such a deep bond. Skylar will definitely recover! I looked down at the standard team track jacket I was wearing. That official national team windbreaker had been issued just last night. It had my name printed clearly across the back: BROOKE. I had carefully ironed it and placed it at the very top of my suitcase. Now, it was draped over Skylar. A text from Tyler popped up. Skylar just wanted to try it on for encouragement. It’s just a jacket, don’t be so petty. I stared at the words don’t be so petty for a very long time. When I was younger, I owned a pair of track spikes that I wore during my very first state victory. Skylar had begged to try them on. She wore them while running through the gravel paths in the neighborhood garden, snapping the spikes and clogging the soles with mud. My father had brushed it off, saying children were naturally curious. Tyler had advised me that shoes could easily be replaced. Later, my first championship medal was taken by my father and placed under Skylar’s pillow in the hospital. He claimed looking at it gave Skylar courage. Every single time, it was met with don’t be so petty. It was as if the moment I stood up for myself, I became the villain. Coach Dawson walked over, saw the photo on my screen, and her expression darkened instantly. “Did your family take that without asking?” I locked the screen. “It’s fine.” She didn’t push further, simply handing me an envelope containing my reporting documents. “The team bus will take you to the airport tomorrow morning at six-thirty. Don’t forget your ID and medical clearance files.” My chest tightened sharply. My driver’s license was still in Tyler’s possession. And my registration letter… had been in my suitcase last night. I caught a cab straight back to the house. The living room lights were blazing. My father, Brenda, Tyler, and Skylar were all gathered there. My national team windbreaker was draped across Skylar’s lap, while the removable name tag from the back sat casually on the coffee table. I walked over and picked the jacket up. Skylar’s eyes filled with tears immediately. “Brooke, I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to feel a little bit of confidence.” Brenda pressed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Brooke, it’s just a piece of clothing. Skylar is going through so much, must you fight her over everything?” I pinned the name tag securely back onto the jacket. “This belongs to me.” Tyler frowned deeply. “Can’t you even grant her a tiny piece of hope right now?” I looked him dead in the eye. “Since when did my personal belongings become her source of hope?” He choked on his words, unable to answer. My father threw a printed document onto the glass table. “You’re not going to the airport tomorrow.” “The hospital scheduled your ethics committee review.” I turned my head toward Tyler. “Did you know about this, too?” He averted his eyes from mine. “It’s just an interview.” Brenda interjected, “It doesn’t mean surgery right away. We just need to give Skylar a ray of hope first.” I turned around, walked upstairs, and unzipped my suitcase. The clear document pouch was completely empty. My ID, my backup bank card, and my national team registration letter were all gone. Behind me, Brenda’s voice was soft and sickeningly gentle. “Mom is keeping those safe for you. I’ll give them back once the interview is finished.” I gripped the hard shell of the suitcase, my knuckles turning stark white. They didn’t just want me to yield. They were actively locking the door on my future. At four in the morning, muffled noises echoed from downstairs. My father was on the phone. “Yes, we are definitely bringing her over today. She’s just throwing a minor temper tantrum, it won’t affect the donor evaluation.” Brenda stood outside my bedroom door holding a glass of warm milk. “Brooke, drink this and get a little more sleep. We’ll head to the hospital when you wake up.” I stared at her hand gripping the glass tightly, making no move to take it. “Sleep until I miss my flight registration?” Her eyes instantly turned red. “I have no choice! Skylar suffers so much pain during dialysis every day, can’t you just feel a little sympathy for her once?” I asked in a low voice, “When my knees hurt so badly in the middle of the night that I couldn’t sleep, did you ever feel a single drop of sympathy for me?” She froze. It was as if the thought had never once crossed her mind. A moment later, my father stormed up the stairs. “Brooke, you are going to that hospital today whether you like it or not! Skylar is my daughter, she is your flesh and blood!” “You share the exact same blood, how can you be so heartless?!” I looked at him calmly. “She’s your daughter, but so am I. Yet from beginning to end, you’ve only ever treated me as the spare part built to save her.” Tyler stood right behind him, holding the ethics interview confirmation form. The edges of the paper were crumpled under his tight grip. “Brooke, just sign this first,” he urged, his voice desperate. “It’s not a surgery consent form, it’s just an evaluation agreement.” I stared at him. “Are you going to force my hand to sign it, too?” Bloodshot lines streaked the whites of his eyes. “I don’t want to force you! But I can’t just stand by and watch Skylar die!” I stepped closer to him. “What if I can never run again after donating?” His voice went hoarse. “I’ll handle your rehabilitation. If you can’t run anymore… I’ll support you for the rest of your life.” I looked at him, and suddenly, a quiet laugh escaped me. “Tyler, I want the track. I don’t want a bed provided by you to lay in for the rest of my life.” His face drained of color in an instant. My father lunged forward to grab my gym bag. “You still think you’re leaving?” “If you walk out that door today, I’ll pretend I never had a daughter like you!” I clamped my hands onto the straps of my bag. “From the moment you put my picture on that fundraising page, you stopped treating me like a daughter.” My father raised his hand to strike me. Tyler immediately stepped in, grabbing his wrist. “Sir, don’t hit her!” I stared at Tyler’s hand. He knew how to block a slap. But he wouldn’t block the blade aimed at my life. I turned back into my room and pulled a dusty metal box out from beneath the floorboards. Inside lay my very first regional championship gold medal. Beneath the medal was a printed copy of my temporary digital flight permit, a secondary bank card, a duplicate copy of my registration letter issued directly by Coach Dawson, and a medical risk assessment form handed to me by the team doctor. I had long stopped trusting them with my final way out. Brenda’s face turned ghastly white. “When did you prepare all of this?” I shoved my windbreaker firmly into my duffel bag. “The moment you all agreed to donate my organ without my consent.” Tyler took a step toward me. “Brooke, don’t go.” I unclasped the red braided string from my wrist. On my eighteenth birthday, he had tied it around my wrist outside the training facility, telling me he hoped I would stay safe and sound in every single race. I placed the red string into his open palm. “Tyler, you protect her. I’ll protect myself.” His fingers clenched violently around the string. I picked up my bag and walked downstairs. Brenda ran out behind me, weeping, while my father roared my name from the porch. Skylar stood at the top of the stairs wrapped in her robe, calling out “Brooke” in a frail, soft voice. I didn’t stop for a single second. The cold morning wind whipped against my face, cutting like a blade. Outside the residential gates, Coach Dawson was sitting in the passenger seat of the team van. Seeing me approach, she asked no questions and simply pushed the door open for me. When we reached the airport, the boarding call was already echoing through the terminal speakers. As I handed my digital boarding pass to the agent, my phone vibrated intensely. It was Coach Dawson calling from the terminal entrance. Her voice was unusually grave. “Brooke, don’t panic.” “The national team administration just received a signed document submitted directly by your family.” “They claimed you are currently undergoing organ donor evaluations, and the team medical board is requesting a temporary hold on your registration.” “It’s not a cancellation of your spot, but you must clear the medical audit and provide a formal statement within twenty-four hours.” Immediately after, a voice note from Tyler popped up on my screen. Brooke, I just wanted you to come back and talk to them once. Please come back first. We can figure out a way to resolve the registration issue later. The boarding gate scanner let out a sharp, crisp green beep. I gripped my phone, turned off the screen, and stepped straight into the jet bridge. I needed to reach the base, secure my spot, and only then would I have the strength to settle these debts one by one.

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1 Vincent’s strict rules took effect on the second day of our marriage. “Monthly personal spending is capped at fifteen hundred dollars.” “Any single purchase over one hundred dollars requires a receipt and my prior approval.” “I’m not being stingy, Nina. I’m helping you build good financial habits. You’ve always been reckless with money.” Back then, I thought he made sense. So for three years, I deliberated for half a month over buying a jacket, and waited days for his text approval just to replace my contact lenses. Until last month, when I found a credit card statement tucked inside the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Cardholder: Brooke, his executive coordinator. Transactions from the past three months: A luxury boutique: $12,000. A high-end SPA annual membership: $4,500. A Michelin-starred restaurant: $2,000. The total exceeded my personal allowance for two whole years. I folded the statement and slipped it back into his pocket, exactly as I had found it. When he came home that evening, he saw me writing in my ledger. “How much did you spend today?” he asked casually. I didn’t even look up. “One hundred and twenty dollars. Sixty-three for groceries, fifty-seven for utilities.” He hummed in satisfaction and walked into his study. What I wrote on the last page of that ledger wasn’t a set of numbers. It was my signature. Signed at the bottom of a divorce agreement he hadn’t seen yet. … The next morning, Vincent flipped to the last page of my ledger. The divorce papers were tucked underneath the drawer lining, so he missed them. He only saw the rows of meticulously written figures. “Why were the utilities twelve dollars higher yesterday than last month?” He tapped his finger against the page, his voice completely calm. “It was cold. The water heater ran a little longer.” “Nina, twelve dollars isn’t much, but bad habits start small.” He pulled out his fountain pen and wrote next to the entry: Control consumption. I stared at those words, suddenly feeling that three years was an eternity. Long enough for him to forget that before our marriage, I had never kept a single ledger in my life. My mother called right then. She coughed twice and asked gently, “Nina, the hospital said the follow-up MRI needs a contrast injection. Six hundred and eighty dollars seems so expensive. Maybe a regular scan is enough?” I gripped my phone tight. “It’s not too expensive, Mom. Get the contrast scan.” Vincent glanced up at me. Once the call ended, he opened our shared family account app on his phone with practiced ease. “What scan?” “My mom’s post-op checkup. Six hundred and eighty dollars.” “Didn’t she just get checked last month?” “The doctor saw a shadow and wants to confirm.” Vincent frowned. “Let her do the basic one first. Contrast scans are just hospitals trying to boost revenue. She’s getting older, and contrast dye is hard on the kidneys anyway.” With a flick of his thumb, he tapped Reject. I stared at him. “The specialist explicitly recommended the contrast.” “The specialist isn’t paying the bills.” He set his phone face down on the table. “You always let your anxiety take over and believe whatever people tell you.” The landline in his study rang. Vincent answered it, his tone visibly softening. “Brooke, what’s wrong?” Her voice leaked through the speaker. “Vincent, about that necklace for the brand launch? The jeweler says the security deposit is three thousand dollars. Should I pay out of pocket first?” “No need. Swipe the corporate secondary card.” “Won’t finance flag me for going over budget?” Vincent chuckled softly. “It’s for work. Don’t waste time worrying about small change.” I lowered my head and transferred six hundred and eighty dollars to my mother. The money came from an old bank account I had kept from before our marriage. The moment the transfer went through, Vincent’s phone buzzed with a notification. He saw the alert on the family asset management app, and his face instantly darkened. “Where did you get that money?” “It was left over from before we got married.” “Didn’t I tell you all household funds need to be managed together?” “That money is for my mother’s test.” “I never said I wouldn’t pay. I just wanted to verify if it was necessary first.” He snatched my phone and linked my old account into the shared family portal. “Don’t spend money behind my back again, Nina. Honesty is the foundation of a marriage.” He sounded so righteous. As if I were the one who had committed a crime. Before Vincent left for work, I habitually reached out to adjust his tie. The moment my fingers brushed his collar, the memory of that secondary card statement flashed in my mind. My hand slowly pulled back. He didn’t notice. He just glanced at his watch. “I have rehearsals for the launch event tonight, so I won’t be back for dinner. Don’t buy too many groceries, food spoils if left too long.” After the door clicked shut, I booked the appointment for my mother. That afternoon, an invitation to a brand launch arrived in my inbox. It was Davenport Group’s new line of high jewelry, named Lumina. The lead designer listed on the invitation was Brooke. I opened the digital brochure. The cover feature was a half-moon crescent brooch. It was identical to the sketch locked in my study drawer. Beneath the image was a single line of text: [Created by Brooke after three quiet years, dedicated to every woman trapped inside a marriage.] I pushed open the study door. The drawer holding my sketches was completely empty. “I told Brooke to take those sketches.” Vincent didn’t deny it when he returned home. “You were just sitting around doing nothing anyway. Brooke can turn them into real pieces. It’s not a waste.” I stood by the dining table. “I drew those.” “I know.” “Why is her name on the booklet?” Vincent studied me for a few seconds, as if weighing how to explain a simple concept to a child. “Because she handled the sourcing, the production, and the marketing. Nina, a few loose sketches aren’t a final product. Stop confusing a casual hobby with a professional career.” “I was a jewelry designer before we got married.” “Your little boutique turned a net profit of less than a hundred and fifty thousand a year.” His voice was indifferent. “Davenport Group invested five million in this launch. Could you afford the cost of failure?” I gave no answer. Three years ago, when he asked me to close down my studio, he used the exact same excuse. He said it was for my own good. He said my stomach was fragile and I shouldn’t pull late nights. He said he could provide for me. Back then, I handed over my client lists, locked my keys in the drawer, and truly believed I had been blessed with the safest marriage in the world. Only now did I realize that someone who is kept has no right to claim ownership. “Add my name as co-designer,” I said. Vincent picked up a glass of water, his tone growing cool. “We can discuss it after the launch.” “I want it changed now.” “Nina, stop acting throwing a tantrum at a time like this.” He set the glass down. The water sloshed inside. “Brooke has worked herself to the bone for four months for this event. If you jump out now to demand credit, how will the team look at her?” “She worked for four months. I drew for four years.” “So what?” Vincent looked up, his eyes cold and logical. “You want everyone to know that the CEO’s wife sat idle at home for three years and suddenly popped up to ride her husband’s coattails?” My nails dug deep into my palms. He always had a way of twisting things, wrapping my legitimate work into something shameful. The next day, I went to Davenport headquarters. Brooke was inside the main conference room trying on jewelry. Seeing me, she raised her wrist, showing off a delicate, translucent jade bangle. It was my mother’s wedding gift to me. “Mrs. Davenport, you arrived just in time. Could you check if this piece suits the featured set?” I walked over. “Take it off.” Her smile stiffened slightly. “Vincent said the showcase needed a touch of classic heritage. He let me borrow it for a few days.” “That belongs to me.” “I know.” She gently stroked the polished surface, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But Vincent said leaving it in your jewelry box just collects dust. It’s better off creating real value.” There were over a dozen staff members sitting around the table. Some pretended to read documents, while others stared straight ahead, pretending to be deaf. When Vincent pushed the door open, Brooke was pretending to slip the bangle off. “What’s going on?” With tear-filled eyes, she whispered, “Nina doesn’t like me wearing it. I’m taking it off right now.” Vincent placed a hand over hers, stopping her. “The promotional shoot starts in ten minutes. Changing the look now will ruin the schedule.” Only then did he turn to me. “It’s just a bracelet. She’ll return it as soon as the launch ends.” “It belongs to my mother.” “Your mother gave it to you, which makes it yours. Lending it to a colleague for a day isn’t something to throw a fit over.” Brooke chimed in softly, “Vincent, please don’t argue with Nina because of me. It’s fine if we skip my promo shots.” “The whole production team has been waiting for two hours. How can we just cancel?” Vincent handed her a corporate expense slip. “The deposit for the necklace is approved. I added seven thousand to your wardrobe budget as well. Don’t scrimp.” He turned back to me, as if suddenly remembering something. “Did your mother’s test results come back?” “This afternoon.” “If there’s no major issue, stop making her run to the hospital over nothing. Travel expenses add up.” The room fell dead silent. Brooke lowered her eyes, but a subtle curl lingered at the corner of her lips. My phone rang. It was the hospital. The doctor informed me that the shadow looked suspicious. They advised immediate hospitalization for surgery, requiring a four-thousand-five-hundred-dollar deposit. I submitted the expense request right in front of Vincent. He glanced at the notification on his screen. “Four thousand five hundred dollars is not a small sum. I’ll talk to the specialist first.” “The surgical bed is only held until this afternoon.” “Then let them release it. If it were truly an emergency, they wouldn’t turn a patient away over a deposit delay.” He tapped Hold Approval. A brand assistant hurried over right then. “Brooke, the rush fee for the couture gown logistics comes out to seven thousand dollars.” Brooke pulled out a card and handed it over. “Charge it here.” As the POS machine spat out the receipt, Vincent’s phone screen lit up. A notification popped up: Secondary Card Transaction: $7,000. He glanced at it once, then casually flipped his phone face down on the table. I went straight to a jeweler and sold my diamond wedding ring. The buyout offer was six thousand dollars, just enough to cover my mother’s hospital deposit. As the clerk placed the ring into a sealed bag, she asked, “Are you sure you want to go through with this? There’s an inscription inside the band.” I shook my head. “It’s fine.” That ring had originally cost forty thousand dollars. Vincent had placed it on my finger himself, promising he would never let me worry about money again. Now, it was worth just enough for one surgery. When I returned from the hospital, Vincent was sitting in the living room. The buyback receipt from the pawn shop sat on the glass coffee table. “Where is your ring?” “Sold.” “Why couldn’t you wait for my approval?” “My mother couldn’t wait.” His jaw tightened. “I spoke with a consultant. The surgery could easily have been postponed by a week.” “They would have given the bed to someone else today.” “Then we would have found another hospital.” “The lead surgeon only had availability this week.” I bent down to change my shoes, my voice barely audible. “I paid for it with my own ring. You don’t have to bear a single cent.” Vincent stood up and grabbed my wrist. His grip wasn’t painful, but it held me firmly in place. “Nina, do you really have to push me like this?” “Pushing you how?” “Pushing me to play the bad guy who doesn’t care about your mother, forcing me to bow my head to you over a few thousand dollars!” I looked at him, completely speechless. So in his eyes, my mother’s life was nothing more than a bargaining chip for me to win an argument. Vincent let go of my wrist and pulled a black metal card from his wallet. “There’s fifty thousand in this account. The PIN is your birthday. Go buy the ring back. Don’t make the Davenport family look like a joke to outsiders.” My reflexes moved faster than my mind. I reached out to take it. Just then, his phone screen flashed. Brooke sent a picture of herself wearing my jade bangle alongside the twelve-thousand-dollar necklace. Her message read: Vincent, will you come with me to meet the investors tonight? I’m nervous going alone. Vincent withdrew the card and slid it back into his wallet. “Go to the hospital first. I have a business dinner tonight.” “My mother has surgery tomorrow morning. A family member needs to sign the consent form.” “Your signature is enough.” “She’s been asking to see you.” “After the launch.” He grabbed his jacket, stepping toward the door before pausing. “Come to the showcase tomorrow night. Brooke said having the designer’s family present creates better press. Don’t wear anything too shabby. I’ll have my assistant send over a dress.” The evening before my mother’s surgery, Simon came to the hospital. He was a former legal advisor to my late father, and someone I had known since childhood. He handed me a thick manila folder. “Your father left you a proxy trust for thirty-two percent of Davenport Group shares. It expires next month. You never reached out, so I had to bring it to you in person.” I froze. “What shares?” “Thirty-two percent,” Simon said, looking into my eyes. “When Vincent was starting the business, your father provided the initial seed capital under your name. After your wedding, you signed a proxy agreement transferring voting rights to Vincent for three years.” Memories flooded back. Right before our wedding, Vincent had brought me a stack of papers. He told me they were for setting up a joint account and updating insurance beneficiaries. I hadn’t read a single line. I had just signed where he pointed. “And when the three years are up?” “You can choose to renew it, or you can revoke it immediately.” The hospital room door swung open. Vincent stood at the entrance, his eyes locking onto the document folder in Simon’s hand. “What are you doing here?” Simon stood up calmly. “I’m helping Nina sign the surgical consent form.” “She has a husband. She doesn’t need your help.” Vincent walked in, placing another set of documents on the table in front of me. “The brand launch requires a formal design release. Sign this, and I’ll have accounting reimburse all of your mother’s medical expenses.” I flipped to the final page. The scope of the release covered all of my design work, both before and after our marriage, granting perpetual rights to the company. “And if I don’t sign?” Vincent’s expression remained completely unbothered. “Then we follow company policy for reimbursement requests. I can’t guarantee every medication your mother needs will pass approval.” My mother’s quiet voice came from behind the privacy curtain. “Nina, is Vincent here?” Hearing the faint sound of gurneys rolling down the hallway outside, I picked up the pen. Vincent held down the edge of the paper, reminding me softly, “Sign your full name, Nina. Don’t make a mistake.” I wrote out Nina Shen, stroke by stroke. As the tip of the pen lifted off the paper, my mother let out a quiet, heavy sigh from behind the curtain. “Nina, I allowed you to marry him back then because he promised me he would never make you bow your head.” Vincent’s fingers rigidified slightly. A nurse pushed open the door. “Family members please step back, we’re moving the patient to the operating room.” He snatched up the signed agreement, avoiding my eyes. Before the launch event began, the assistant delivered a dress that was a size too large at the waist. The price tag still bore Brooke’s name. It was a piece she had tried on and rejected. I didn’t wear it. Instead, I wore a simple black dress I had bought three years ago. The collar was slightly faded. Vincent stood behind me, clasping a simple necklace around my neck. “Don’t mention design credits tonight, and don’t bring up your mother’s hospitalization.” “Investors don’t like founders with complicated baggage.” In the mirror, he was standing behind me, his touch as meticulous as ever. For a fleeting second, I almost forced myself to believe that he was just overly focused on his career. Until Brooke pushed the door open. She was dressed in the Lumina series’ showpiece gown, my mother’s jade bangle gleaming on her wrist. “Vincent, the press has arrived.” Vincent fastened the final hidden button on my dress and stepped back. “Nina, take a seat in the second row. If reporters ask, tell them you’ve always supported Brooke’s creative vision.” I turned around. “Those designs are mine.” “You signed the release contract.” “I signed an authorization, not a waiver of authorship.” Brooke inhaled softly. “Maybe we should just credit Nina publicly tonight. Even if the brand gets pulled from the showcase and investors sue us, I don’t want Nina to feel mistreated.” Vincent turned his gaze on me, his tone dropping below freezing. “Are you satisfied now?” Those four words felt like a brutal slap across the face. I didn’t argue further. Halfway through the presentation, the host invited Brooke onto the stage. The massive LED screens displayed twenty-four pieces of high jewelry, one by one. Every single one of them originated from my sketches. Finally, the centerpiece appeared on screen, a crescent brooch named Homeward. I had drawn it right after my father passed away. Vincent had once held me close and whispered that we would never sell this piece; we would save it for our future daughter. On stage, Brooke smiled brightly into the cameras. “Homeward was a gift from Vincent to me. He once told me that a woman can live without a marriage, but she can never live without her own identity.” Applause erupted across the auditorium. Vincent sat in the front row, looking up at her with admiration, a look I hadn’t seen directed at me in three years. Suddenly, the host walked down the aisle and handed me the microphone. “Mrs. Davenport, we hear you also come from a design background. How would you evaluate Ms. Brooke’s creation?” Every lens in the room pivoted to cover my face. Vincent leaned over, whispering a terse warning, “Answer the way we agreed.” I held the microphone. “It feels very familiar.” A few light chuckles echoed through the crowd. The host pressed on. “Familiar in terms of style?” Brooke spoke up first, her voice dripping with artificial grace. “Nina often looked through my draft folders at home. Our tastes naturally influenced each other.” She sounded modest, yet she skillfully flipped the accusation of plagiarism onto me. Vincent took the microphone from my hand. “My wife hasn’t worked professionally in design since our marriage. She occasionally doodles at home, and Brooke shares concepts with her so she doesn’t feel isolated.” I looked directly into his eyes. “Vincent, are you entirely sure about that?” He frowned. “Don’t cause a scene.” Right then, the main screen flipped to a side-by-side promotional shot. In the photo, Brooke wore my jade bangle, standing side by side with Vincent under the headline: Davenport Group’s Ultimate Creative Partners. Someone in the crowd yelled out jokingly, “Vincent, with Ms. Brooke understanding you so deeply, isn’t your wife jealous?” Vincent offered a polite smile. “Nina is very mature. She knows how to keep work and personal life separate.” Brooke walked over with two glasses of champagne and handed one toward me. “Nina, thank you for your understanding over these past three years. Vincent always says that without you keeping the home running smoothly, he couldn’t throw himself entirely into supporting my work.” As she leaned in, her voice dropped so low only I could hear: “The fifteen-hundred-dollar monthly rule? I suggested it to him.” “I told him that when a woman has no financial freedom, she can’t run away. Vincent thought it was brilliant.” I looked up at her. She smiled with immaculate sweet malice. “Oh, and that perpetual design release? I drafted it myself. When you signed it, you must have been so worried about your mother, right?” The glass in my hand trembled slightly. I didn’t throw the drink in her face. Vincent stepped over and took the glass from my hand. “Your stomach is weak. Don’t drink alcohol.” I looked at him calmly. “Did you restrict my money because you were afraid I’d leave?” “I restricted it because you lack financial discipline.” “And handing my work to her was also for my own good?” His patience finally snapped. He lowered his voice to a hiss. “Nina, as the CEO’s wife, you are already luckier than ninety-nine percent of women out there. Stop trying to have everything.” “And what if I insist?” “Then feel free to try walking away.” Vincent smoothed down my shoulder strap, his gesture appearing intimate while his words burned with ice. “No job, no client network, and your mother’s ongoing medical expenses racking up every day. How far do you honestly think you can walk?” I stared at his face, and suddenly, I smiled. It wasn’t out of spite, nor was I waiting for him to pull me back. I simply realized that these three years had officially come to an end. I pulled the signed divorce papers from my evening clutch and slipped them into the front pocket of his suit jacket. “Vincent, remember to approve it.” He assumed it was just another itemized receipt and didn’t even bother to look down. I turned and walked straight out of the convention hall. Simon was waiting outside by his car. I handed him my three years of expense ledgers. Tucked inside the last page was the formal revocation of my share proxy. “Deliver this directly to the board of directors.” He took the ledgers. “What about the brand launch inside?” Inside the auditorium, the stage screen began counting down for the grand reveal. Five. Four. Three. I tapped the confirmation button on my phone, sending a remote command linked directly to the venue’s broadcast server.

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1 To secure my daughter Poppy an internship, I came out of retirement and traded my proprietary core algorithm with my best friend’s firm for a three-month spot. Eager to impress, Poppy offered to help a male coworker organize files one evening. By the next morning, rumors exploded. She was accused of seduction and wrecking a marriage. Garrett’s wife slapped her in front of the entire office, weeping and threatening to jump. The team rallied around Garrett, calling Poppy a home-wrecker. I pulled her out, but that night his wife posted a carefully edited video that triggered a tidal wave of cyberbullying. Poppy just said she was tired and wanted to sleep. By the time I sensed something was wrong, she’d swallowed a lethal dose of sleeping pills and fell into a vegetative state. I suffered a catastrophic brain hemorrhage and was left paralyzed. In the months that followed, Garrett’s wife built a massive online following as the brave, faithful wife, dragging him onto reality shows and monetizing our tragedy. While my family was destroyed, I died in agony. When I opened my eyes again, my phone buzzed with a text from Poppy. … [I’m working late tonight to help a colleague sort some files.] My breathing hitched. My hands shook uncontrollably. Another message popped up instantly, accompanied by a cute sticker. [Mom worked so hard to get me this spot. I have to prove myself and make you proud!] My heart hammered against my ribs. I typed back at lightning speed. [It’s an emergency! Come home right now!] This time, under no circumstances would I let Poppy be alone with Garrett again! Minutes later, the front door unlocked. Poppy rushed inside, panic written all over her face, not even stopping to kick off her shoes. “What happened to Dad? Is everything okay?” Looking at her glowing, youthful face, tears nearly spilled from my eyes. In my past life, Poppy became a breathing corpse in a hospital bed. Everyone knew she was brain-dead and urged us to pull the plug. My husband and I refused to give up. We watched our vibrant, beautiful daughter swell up, lifeless and fading. It tore my heart into shreds. My mother-in-law brought old photos of Poppy to my bedside, sobbing as she begged me to let ourselves and the child go. I hesitated, paralyzed by grief. Until someone leaked Poppy’s hospital room address online. Trolls invaded the ICU, taking crude, humiliating photos of her limp body and spreading them across social media. The headlines screamed: Karma Hits Hard and The Fate of a Home-Wrecker. Garrett’s wife pinned Poppy’s face to her live-stream cover to drive traffic for her online shop. She put on a hypocritical show in her live streams, sighing heavily and telling her viewers not to be too harsh, right before pitching her products. The chat was filled with praises for her big heart and vicious insults claiming my daughter deserved to die. Her sales smashed new records. I was so consumed by rage that I suffered another stroke, completely paralyzed. Once a top-tier tech architect holding core industry patents, I was reduced to a drooling, helpless invalid. Eventually, our family couldn’t afford the medical bills for two bedridden patients. We had to bring Poppy home to let nature take its course. My mother-in-law died of heartbreak during the harsh winter. My husband’s hair turned completely white as he struggled to care for me, only to be crushed by a semi-truck on his way to fetch my medication, leaving nothing behind. By the time the police identified his remains, I had already suffered a fatal heart attack, dying alone in our cold apartment. Recalling every nightmare of that past life made my blood run cold. The culprits behind this tragedy weren’t just Garrett and his wife. There was also my so-called best friend. I masked the cold fury in my eyes and took my daughter’s hands. “Your father cooked a feast to celebrate your new job.” “That is the most important emergency right now.” In the previous life, when Poppy started her internship, David and I made a lavish dinner. We waited with excitement, only to get her text about working late. We knew how hard the job market was. Even though our savings could support her comfortably for the rest of her life, she wanted her own career and wanted to make us proud. We understood that. To avoid burdening her, we said nothing and never forced her to come home. We had no idea that silent understanding would lead to our total destruction. In this life, to hell with working overtime! Instead of being set up by snakes, we were going to sit down as a family and enjoy a proper meal. I scooped a huge portion of fish onto Poppy’s plate. She blinked, looking at me with a helpless smile. “How do I explain this to my coworker tomorrow?” “I promised to help, and now I’m at home eating a feast.” “He went through so much trouble to get me permission to enter the secure document vault. He’s going to be furious if I bail.” I raised an eyebrow and served her another piece of fish. “He’s just a colleague. Why do you owe him an explanation?” “Everyone at the office knows you have connections. You should use that pull to set boundaries.” “It’s a rare chance to put your foot down. Don’t waste it and end up taking the blame for someone else’s work.” Poppy blinked, biting her chopstick as she pondered my words. I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She had always kept her struggles to herself so we wouldn’t worry. It wasn’t until everything collapsed in the past life that I realized the unbearable pressure she faced at work. Enduring psychological abuse just to build a resume was never worth it. I placed my hand over hers and met her eyes with absolute certainty. “You are your parents’ precious daughter. No one gets to bully you.” “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to resign. We can take our time finding a job. There’s no rush.” “If you want, I’ll teach you programming step by step myself!” Poppy froze, her expression torn, looking down in silence. Suddenly, her phone rang. Poppy casually hit the speakerphone button. Garrett’s anxious, sharp voice blared through the speaker. [Why did you leave? Didn’t you say you were going to help me?] [Who taught you to handle work like this!] [You only got this job through connections anyway! Aren’t you embarrassed to embarrass your family like this!] I snatched the phone straight out of my daughter’s hand and let out a cold laugh. “Helping you was an act of courtesy, not an invitation to walk all over her!” “If you can’t even finish your own basic workload, no wonder Ms. Mercer keeps denying your promotion!” “Looks like you’re the one next on the layoff list!” The line went completely dead before he abruptly hung up. Poppy stared at me in shock, swallowing hard. She reached out to take her phone back, but I held my hand over it firmly. She went back to eating her dinner in silence before taking a shower. As I was rinsing the dishes, the water running in the sink, a chime sounded. I glanced down at the screen. It was a text from Garrett. [Poppy, I was just overwhelmed earlier. I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you.] [The workload is huge and I really can’t handle it alone. Please come back and help me!] [When the team has our next dinner, I’ll make sure you get integrated into the group.] [Don’t tell your mom. Just slip out quietly and come over.] I sneered. I immediately backed up the messages to my cloud drive and blocked Garrett’s number on her phone. I cut off his ability to harass Poppy once and for all. The next morning, I accompanied Poppy to the office. The moment we stepped through the glass doors of the suite, a shrill, hysterical screech erupted from the open floor. “Where is Poppy? Where is the little slut trying to seduce my husband!” “The Valley Firecracker isn’t someone you can mess with!” I frowned. Tessa was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes wide and scanning the cubicles like a mad dog. She held a phone recording in one hand while dragging a terrified female employee with the other. The employee was trembling, and the moment she saw Poppy, she pointed frantically. “That’s her! She’s Poppy!” Tessa snapped her head toward us, charging forward with terrifying speed. Whispers instantly broke out among the surrounding employees. “That’s what happens with nepo babies. They have zero skills, so they rely on cheap tricks to get ahead.” “The manager asked Garrett to train her, and Garrett took her everywhere last week. She probably thought he had big pull!” “She offered to work late with him yesterday. Two people in a closed room, she probably couldn’t wait to jump a married man!” “How shameless. Here I thought she was just an innocent little rookie.” I shot a freezing glare at the two gossiping women and tightened my grip on my heavy leather handbag. The two women instantly shrank back, shutting their mouths and looking away. Poppy was shaking violently beside me. She shook her head, looking at her colleagues in utter desperation. “I didn’t! That’s not true!” “I offered to help because Garrett was mentoring me recently!” “I wanted to pull my weight and show I was working hard!” “I had a family emergency yesterday, so I went straight home! We were never alone together!” Her colleagues exchanged knowing, sarcastic smirks. They stood on the sidelines, enjoying the drama and tossing fuel on the fire. It was the exact same scene from my past life. Except this time, I didn’t burst into helpless tears while trying to explain. I held Poppy’s trembling hand tightly, looking at her with immovable strength. “A bunch of clueless bystanders. Talking to them is a waste of breath.” “You did nothing wrong. You don’t owe them an explanation!” “Stay calm!” She froze, bit her lip, and gave me a firm nod. Suddenly, Tessa lunged forward aggressively, calling Poppy a lying whore and reaching out to grab her hair. Without a second thought, I swung my heavy leather tote with full force, smashing it straight into Tessa’s phone and sending it flying across the room. Tessa turned to me in a murderous fury, spewing a torrent of profanities. I swung the bag a second time, slamming it directly into her mouth. Tessa staggered back, falling onto her butt on the carpet, holding her bloody lip in absolute shock. I swept a freezing glance across the open office. “A company this size doesn’t even have security?” “What are we paying you useless people for!” Dead silence descended upon the floor. The security guards who should have been on duty were nowhere to be seen. Garrett’s face turned pale as he rushed forward to embrace his crying wife. “We’re just small fish, how could we ever compete with people like you?” “She has Ms. Mercer backing her! If we cross them, we’ll be blacklisted from the entire industry!” “Poppy, let me give you one last piece of advice!” “Focus on honest work instead of using seduction to climb the corporate ladder!” Garrett shook his head with dramatic disappointment. Poppy was shaking with rage. I walked straight up to Garrett with an icy face. The moment he raised his head, I raised my palm and slapped him across the face. “What kind of garbage are you! Take a look in the mirror!” “You look like a bloated pig! Only a pig-obsessed woman like your wife would think you’re a prize!” Garrett’s expression darkened instantly. He scrambled to his feet, yelling that I was committing assault. Tessa went completely insane, grabbing a heavy potted plant from a desk and smashing it onto the floor. The office turned into pure chaos. Security was nowhere in sight, and the coworkers stood by doing nothing. Tessa sobbed hysterically, screaming that we were abusing our power, threatening to jump out of the eighteenth-floor window. I walked over and pushed the window wide open for her. “Jump!” Tessa faltered, her hands slipping slightly from the window frame. Seeing this, Garrett rushed forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Honey, don’t do anything crazy!” “She’s the one who destroyed our family and sent you provocative texts to rub it in!” “Just because her mother is a big shot, are we supposed to suffer in silence?” “Our life is ruined by her! Why should she get away with it? Let’s expose her online!” Heavy footsteps sounded from the hallway. My best friend, Mia, walked in, her brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “What is all this noise!” “The CEO is coming by for an inspection shortly. Do you all want to get fired!” The moment she spoke, the employees scrambled back to their cubicles. Garrett held his wife, tears streaming down his face, acting as if the entire world owed them justice. Mia turned to me, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “Evelyn? What are you doing here?” I looked at her, my smile not reaching my eyes. “As an executive, is this how you manage your staff?” “Garrett begged my daughter for help, and now he fabricates lies out of thin air to slander her! How do you even hire people like this!” Mia’s eyes widened slightly. She immediately snapped at Garrett. Garrett’s face shifted, and he pulled out his phone. “I didn’t want to ruin her completely, but your mother refuses to let it go.” “Your own mother is destroying your reputation! I’ve been more than generous!” Garrett opened a text message thread. On the screen was an explicit image of a scantily clad woman. And the face belonged to my daughter. “Look for yourselves!” “She has no shame! She sent this photo directly to my phone!” “Look closely at the sender’s number!” Gasping sounds rippled through the office. Poppy snatched the phone, all color draining from her face. She broke down in tears, protesting that she never took or sent such a picture. But the phone number matched hers perfectly. Mia let out a loud cough, signaling Garrett to put the phone away. She shot a look at my daughter, her face filled with undisguised disgust. “You really have no self-respect.” “He has a happy family. Why do you have to ruin it, and get exposed in public?” “If I were you, I’d jump out that window right now!” Poppy’s knees buckled in terror as she wept uncontrollably. I pulled her into my arms, standing as steady as a mountain. Garrett held his swollen cheek and spoke up again. “The CEO asked me to mentor the new intern, so of course I tried my best. Who knew it would turn into a nightmare!” “Ever since she started, Poppy constantly tried to be alone with me!” “Once we got familiar, she started making physical contact!” “Yesterday when I was drowning in work, she volunteered to help. Everyone in the office heard her!” “I thought she was being helpful, so I put in a request for archive access.” “She knew the secure document vault didn’t have security cameras inside, so she took advantage of it! She stripped completely naked right in front of me!” “She said if I gave her a good review to ensure her full-time conversion, she’d make it worth my while! I refused, so she tried to force herself on me! Then she sent me this photo, threatening to send it to my wife!” “I have a happy marriage! Why are you trying to ruin me!” Garrett looked utterly broken. I felt nauseous listening to his ridiculous lies. I held my trembling daughter tight, holding back the urge to tear him apart with my bare hands! Mia coughed softly again, signaling Garrett to stop talking. Across the room, the employees pretended to work while staring intently at my daughter. Their gazes were like sharp daggers, flaying her alive. “Evelyn, take Poppy home for now.” “Everyone needs to calm down. Making a scene benefits no one.” “The CEO is arriving later. I’ll explain the situation to her.” “Though as for your daughter’s internship… I’m afraid…” Mia put on an apologetic, helpless smile. “I’m just worried about the firm’s reputation. Even though you’re old friends with Ms. Mercer, ruining the company’s image leaves us no choice but to take strict disciplinary action.” I ignored Mia’s words entirely, keeping Poppy securely behind my back. I stood tall, looking down at Garrett with icy contempt. “The document vault holds our core proprietary assets. Access permissions require multi-tiered administrative approvals.” “If anyone enters without authorization, the system administrator receives an immediate alert.” “When we had a near-data leak previously, Ms. Mercer held multiple meetings demanding an upgrade to the security architecture, but even you, Mia, failed to solve the vulnerability.” “Yet just days before Poppy joined, a breakthrough miraculously occurred.” “Tell me, who built that system upgrade?” “I am the top system administrator of this entire company!” I folded my arms, letting out a cold, mocking laugh at Garrett. “I never approved Poppy’s request to enter the document vault last night.” “So how exactly did she enter?” “You sound so confident claiming her access was approved, without even verifying the system logs.” “The previous administrator was Mia. Do the two of you share some dirty little secret?”

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1 The night before we were supposed to get our marriage license, I walked in on my fiancé and my best friend kissing on our wedding bed. In a state of sheer panic, I tumbled down the stairs, suffering a severe traumatic brain injury. When I finally woke up, I had developed a rare form of intermittent amnesia. My memory was trapped on the day I first tried on my wedding dress, resetting automatically every seven days. For the past six months, my fiancé and my best friend stayed by my side. Alongside my parents, they showered me with meticulous, unwavering care. I truly believed I was surrounded by love. Until today, when I overheard Amanda’s hushed voice through the crack in the door. “What if Summer sees you kissing me like this?” Lucas gave a soft, careless laugh. “What is there to fear? Tomorrow is the seventh day. She will wake up and forget everything all over again. In her heart, we will always be the people who love her most.” My hands trembled violently around the glass tumbler I was holding. He had no idea that my memory had fully returned. I did not just remember the betrayal on the eve of our marriage. I remembered every detail of the past six months. I remembered how they had used the flaws in my mind to shamelessly carry on their affair right under my nose. I turned around, walked quietly back to my room, and booked a one-way ticket to Europe for tomorrow. From now on, no matter how vast the world was, they would no longer be a part of my life. … “Good morning, Summer. How did you sleep last night?” Amanda stood in the doorway, holding a glass of warm milk, her face beaming with a sweet, innocent smile. I flipped my phone face down onto the desk, concealing the confirmation text for my flight. I raised my head and looked at her innocent face. Six months ago, this exact face was tilted up on my wedding bed, welcoming Lucas’s kiss. “I slept fine,” I said, my voice completely flat. Amanda walked over and set the milk beside my hand. Her eyes darted around my desk, scanning for anything unusual. Finding nothing, her smile widened. “Lucas said you had a high fever last night. He specifically asked me to warm up some milk for you. Drink it while it’s hot. Don’t let our good intentions go to waste.” She emphasized the words “good intentions” with deliberate weight. I looked at the steaming glass. A sudden wave of nausea churned in my stomach. Ever since I got sick, Lucas had stayed by my bedside every single time I ran a fever, staying awake through the night to care for me. I used to think that was devotion. Until last night, when I reviewed the security footage from our house and heard him tell Amanda: “Her lucid periods are getting longer lately. I will take her to the clinic next week. Let us increase the dosage on that medication the doctor mentioned.” Amanda had nestled into his chest, her tone dripping with mock pity. “It must be so hard on you, having to manage this invalid.” “It is no trouble,” Lucas had replied smoothly. “For you, I am willing to do anything.” Listening to them exchange sweet vows of devotion had torn my heart to shreds. The tender care I had cherished was nothing more than Lucas monitoring a broken machine that threatened to malfunction at any moment. Lucas walked into the room. Seeing Amanda so close to me, his brow furrowed slightly. “Why are you still in here? Summer needs her rest,” he said. Amanda turned to leave. As she passed Lucas, her fingers subtly brushed against the hem of his jacket. Lucas’s gaze darkened, but he did not pull away. Every single gesture fell directly into my eyes. Once the door closed, only Lucas and I remained in the room. He stepped up to me, naturally reaching out to press the back of his hand against my forehead. “Fever is gone,” he exhaled softly, his tone laced with heart-wrenching tenderness. “Summer, do you have any idea how terrified I was last night?” I stared into his affectionate eyes. For the past six months, those eyes had been my only anchor. Whenever I faced the terrifying unknown of my memory loss, he was the one who held my hand and whispered that everything would be alright. He told me I was his world, that we would have the grandest wedding imaginable. Back then, I was moved to tears. Now, a bone-chilling cold swept through me. “Lucas,” I murmured. “If one day I remembered everything, would you be happy?” Lucas’s fingertips went stiff. A flash of panic darted through the depths of his eyes, though he masked it almost instantly behind a warm, smooth smile. He pulled me into his chest, resting his chin lightly on the crown of my head. “Silly girl. Whether you remember or not, you are my wife. As long as you stay by my side, I am happy.” I rested against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Suddenly, everything felt utterly meaningless. I pushed him away gently. “I am tired. I want to sleep for a bit.” Lucas caught off guard. Normally, I would cling to him at this hour, asking endless questions about our wedding preparations. But he did not dwell on it. He simply tucked the duvet neatly around my shoulders. “Alright, get some rest. Tomorrow, I will take you to try on your wedding dress.” He leaned down, intending to kiss my forehead. I turned my head away, avoiding his touch. His lips brushed uselessly against my cheek. He looked at me, a flicker of scrutiny creeping into his gaze. “Summer, what is wrong?” I closed my eyes. “Just a slight headache.” Lucas remained silent for a moment. “Alright, I will let you rest.” He turned and walked out. The moment the door clicked shut, I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Tomorrow would be the seventh day. It would also be the day I vanished. Lucas, your little game is over. In the afternoon, my parents arrived. My mother carried a thermal flask while my father followed behind with boxes of health supplements. Amanda walked closely alongside them, affectionately holding my father’s arm. “Dad, Summer just recovered from a fever. She shouldn’t eat anything too greasy,” Amanda said softly. My father patted the back of her hand with a fond smile. “Amanda is always so thoughtful.” I leaned back against the sofa, watching the three of them project an image of familial warmth without a trace of emotion. Six months ago, the accident had damaged my brain. Fearing my parents would sink into deep despair, Amanda had volunteered to become their goddaughter, promising to care for them in their old age. At first, I was touched. Amanda and I had been like sisters, after all. It did not take long for me to realize how catastrophically wrong I had been. Amanda appeared in front of my parents more and more frequently, subtly eroding my place in the family. What truly broke my heart, however, was my parents’ attitude. In the security footage I had recovered, my mother had smiled warmly at Amanda and Lucas. “Dear, don’t you think Amanda and Lucas look so much better together? Summer’s condition isn’t fit for marriage anyway. Why not just bless these two instead?” My father had nodded repeatedly in agreement. All four of them had laughed together, completely unconcerned about me as I lay upstairs, unconscious with a raging fever. My mother poured the soup into a bowl and brought it over to me. “Summer, sweetheart, have a taste.” The maternal devotion in her eyes was almost overflowing. Yet this was the very mother who had handed my love to someone else on a silver platter, forcing me to live as a hidden third wheel for six long months. “I don’t want it,” I replied coldly. My mother froze, her hands hovering awkwardly in the air, unsure of whether to pull the bowl back or push it forward. Lucas stepped in smoothly to diffuse the tension. “Mom, Summer isn’t feeling well today. I was actually just about to take her to the clinic for a checkup. She can drink your soup when she feels better.” His words were seamless, and Amanda chimed in seamlessly right on cue. Sitting beside them, I felt like a puppet being casually arranged. Lucas looked down at me, his tone dripping with sweetness. “Let’s go, Summer. I’ll take you to the clinic. We still have to try on your dress tomorrow, so we can’t afford any delays.” I looked at the four people who used to be closest to me in the world. My parents, my fiancé, my godsister. They had banded together to deceive a helpless invalid. After all, I had fluid on my brain. After all, my memory could only hold seven days. A faint smile touched my lips. I turned to look at Lucas with a vacant expression. “Alright, let me get my coat.” When we arrived at the clinic, Lucas went through his usual routine, seeking out the doctor for a private consultation, putting on a flawless display of deep concern. If I hadn’t collapsed on the street two weeks ago and been rushed to a real hospital by a kind stranger, I never would have known the truth. During emergency treatment, the doctors cleared the fluid pressing against my nerves, restoring my memory. I never would have discovered that Lucas had spent a fortune building a mock clinic setup just to keep me under control. Every single medical staff member here was an actor hired to keep the lie alive. After a series of fake examinations, Lucas returned holding a strip of pills, his face clouded with worry. “Summer, the doctor said your condition is worsening. The fluid has spread again. Starting today, we have to double your dosage.” I looked at the dozen pills of various shapes and sizes in his palm. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Lucas, do I really have to take these? You said it didn’t matter if I ever remembered, that you would love me forever…” Before I could finish, Lucas raised his voice slightly, cutting me off. “Summer, this is no time to throw a tantrum! Tomorrow is the dress fitting, and the wedding is next week. This is critical!” I stared at his unyielding expression, chose not to push further, and swallowed the handful of pills at once. Only then did a satisfied smile return to his face. He pulled out his phone, stepping aside as he spoke. “Rest here for a moment while I call your parents to let them know you’re alright.” Watching his back, I walked into the restroom, jammed my fingers down my throat, and threw up until my stomach turned inside out. The pills washed down the drain. I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror, my resolve hardening into steel. Yes, the dress fitting was important, and the wedding was important too. It was just a pity that Lucas would never get to see me wear that dress. That evening, Lucas took me to a high-end private restaurant. It was a habit he had built over the past six months. On the night of the sixth day, he would always take me out for a lavish dinner, claiming it was to celebrate our upcoming wedding. In reality, it was just to keep me calm and ensure I would reset smoothly the following day, just like forcing me to swallow those suppressants. The restaurant had been reserved exclusively for us. A grand piano sat quietly in the center of the dining hall. Lucas held my hand as he guided me to a table. “Take a look and see what you like,” he said, handing me the menu. I didn’t take it. “You order. I like whatever you pick.” Lucas paused, looking at me with a subtle, sharp scrutiny hiding beneath his eyes. “Summer, you are acting very strange today. Usually, you would be begging for the beef Wellington here.” I picked up my water glass and took a small sip. “Is that so? Maybe I just don’t have much of an appetite today.” Lucas didn’t probe any further. He ordered a few dishes I used to favor. While we waited for the food, Amanda arrived. She wore a tailored designer dress and pulled out the chair next to Lucas without an ounce of hesitation. “Lucas, Summer,” she greeted, settling in comfortably. “I just finished fitting my bridesmaid dress and thought I’d drop by for a bite. You don’t mind, do you, Summer?” I looked at her. “Not at all.” Amanda seemed slightly caught off guard by my composure. She raised an eyebrow, her gaze landing on my bare wrist. “Summer, where is the diamond bracelet Lucas gave you? Didn’t you say you’d wear it every single day?” I set my glass down. “I took it off.” “Why?” she asked, putting on an exaggerated look of surprise. “It felt too heavy,” I replied casually. “It was cutting into my skin.” Lucas’s expression darkened instantly. That bracelet was something he had personally bid on during a business trip to South Africa last month. He had told me it represented a love that was one of a kind. “Summer, do you not like it anymore?” His tone carried a subtle edge of danger. I met his gaze dead-on. “It’s not that I dislike it. I just feel like it doesn’t suit me anymore.” Lucas stared at me intently, as if searching my face for the slightest crack in my composure. But he found nothing. Seeing the tension rising, Amanda immediately stepped in to play the peacemaker. “Oh, Summer is probably just tired of wearing the same thing. Lucas, you can just buy her a better one tomorrow, right?” She turned toward me, pointing at her own neck. “Summer, look at this necklace. Does it look good on me?” It was a ruby necklace Lucas had bought at an auction six months ago. Originally, it was meant to be my wedding gift. But after my accident, it found its way onto Amanda’s neck instead. “It looks nice,” I said softly. Amanda smiled triumphantly. “Lucas said the shade really complements my skin tone. Summer, when you try on your wedding dress tomorrow, could you lend me your glass slippers? I have a major audition tomorrow, and I need a pair of statement shoes to hold the floor.” She had finally revealed her true motive. Those glass slippers were custom bridal shoes I had personally helped design. They were one of a kind in the entire world. Lucas frowned. “Amanda, stop causing trouble. Those are Summer’s wedding shoes.” Amanda pouted, tugging gently on Lucas’s sleeve. “But after Summer tries them on tomorrow, she won’t be wearing them again for a while. Leaving them in the closet will just collect dust. Why not let me borrow them? Summer and I are best friends, she definitely won’t mind. Lucas, please just say yes!” Lucas glanced at me. I could see the gears turning in his head, weighing whether to protect the dignity of his memory-impaired fiancée or satisfy the vanity of his secret lover. In the end, he chose the latter. “Summer,” he said, taking my hand and softening his tone. “Amanda is your best friend and our parents’ goddaughter. As her older sister, just let her have her way this once. Tomorrow at the fitting, I will have a new pair sent over.” His hand was warm, but my heart was cold as ice. “Sure,” I pulled my hand back gently. “If she likes them so much, she can just have them.” Lucas froze. Amanda was equally stunned. Neither of them had expected me to yield so easily. “Summer, are you serious?” Lucas asked, genuine disbelief in his voice. “I am,” I looked straight into his eyes. “They’re just a pair of shoes. I don’t want them anymore.” Not just the shoes. I don’t want you anymore, either. The two of them carried on chatting and laughing across the table, but I paid them no mind. Let them play their game. My countdown was almost up anyway. When we left the restaurant, the sky had turned pitch black. Lucas drove us home. The ride was suffocatingly quiet. He didn’t turn on the radio, nor did he initiate a conversation. He simply kept checking on me through the rearview mirror every few minutes. I leaned against the window, watching the city lights blur past. I had traveled this same road for six months, every cycle filled with naive anticipation for a wedding dress fitting, only to wake up in despair again. The car pulled into the underground garage. Lucas parked, but he didn’t unbuckle his seatbelt right away. He turned his body toward me. “Summer. What is wrong with you today?” A hint of suppressed irritation leaked into his voice. “In the past, you would never give your things away to anyone else. And you would never look at me with those eyes.” I met his gaze. “What kind of eyes?” Lucas fell silent, struggling to find the right words. “Like you are looking at a total stranger,” he finally said. I let out a soft laugh. “Lucas, you are overthinking. I just feel like since we are getting married, there is no need to fuss over minor details.” Lucas stared at me, his brows tightly knit. Suddenly, he leaned over, unbuckled my seatbelt, and pulled me into a tight embrace. “Summer, don’t scare me,” he muttered, burying his face into the crook of my neck, his voice trembling slightly. “You are all I have left.” A faint trace of perfume hit my nose. It was Amanda’s signature scent. I closed my eyes, hiding the repulsion flooding my chest, and gently patted his back. “Lucas, let’s go upstairs. I am really tired.” Lucas released me, searching my eyes as if trying to confirm whether I was truly alright. Finally, he nodded. “Okay.” Back inside the house, Lucas drew my bathwater just as he always did, then brought out the hairdryer to dry my hair. His movements were gentle, his fingers running through my strands with comforting warmth. “Summer,” he spoke over the hum of the dryer. “Tomorrow, right after the fitting, we will go get our marriage license.” I looked at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were focused, dripping with apparent devotion. If my memory hadn’t returned, if I hadn’t overheard his conversation this morning, I truly would have believed he loved me to his core. “Alright,” I whispered to my reflection. Once my hair was dry, Lucas carried me to bed and pressed a kiss onto my forehead. “Goodnight, my future Mrs. Crawford.” I shut my eyes. “Goodnight.” I waited until I heard the door close and his footsteps fade down the hallway before opening my eyes. I pulled back the covers and stepped out of bed, pulling a pre-packed suitcase from beneath the frame. Inside were just a few basic pieces of clothing and my passport. Then, I slid the engagement ring off my left ring finger. It was a five-carat pink diamond. Lucas had once claimed it represented his unconditional love for me. I placed the ring directly on top of the original purchase receipt on the nightstand. Finally, I pulled out my phone and blocked every single contact number belonging to Lucas, Amanda, and my parents. When everything was done, I checked the wall clock. Three in the morning. Four hours until my flight. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking around the room where I had been confined for the last six months. It was filled with traces of Lucas: the plush toys he bought, the curtains he picked, the wooden carvings he crafted by hand. I used to think this was my safe haven. Only now did I realize it was a meticulously constructed cage. I stood up, took the handle of my suitcase, and walked toward the door without a single trace of hesitation. Lucas, your “seventh day” will never come again.

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Seven years after I got sucked into a trashy romance novel, my best friend finally gave up and divorced the story’s secondary male lead. I spent weeks taking her to wild night clubs, bungee jumping off snowy peaks, and holding her hand until we ended up at the beach. She finally wiped away a tear as she hurled her platinum wedding ring far into the ocean waves. “Fine. That’s it,” she muttered, her voice raw. “He and that golden female lead can torture each other for the rest of their lives. I am done playing the sacrificial wife. Come on, let’s go home.” She paused, staring at my hand with a puzzled frown. “Wait, why are you still wearing yours? Don’t tell me you still have feelings for Matthew?” I casually slipped off my diamond band and gave it a soft toss into the foam. Unlike her dramatic gesture, mine was completely effortless. “I just realized there is no point in wasting my energy on this person or any of his drama anymore. It’s completely meaningless.” True moving on happens without a sound. Mackenzie’s explosive anger only proved she still cared deep down. Me? I simply didn’t love Matthew anymore. Mackenzie froze at my words, then burst into uncontrollable sobs. I turned around with a sigh, stepping forward to wrap her in a hug. That was when I noticed Matthew standing right behind us. The notoriously cold, stoic billionaire stood under the moonlight, his thin lips trembling almost imperceptibly. “Is that so?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Am I truly that meaningless to you now?” 1 Getting caught talking trash behind someone’s back is usually embarrassing. Yet, as I met Matthew’s pitch-black eyes, every trace of awkwardness simply died inside me, replaced by a hollow calm. I pulled my stone-drunk best friend up by her arm and started walking toward the coastal hotel. It was past midnight. The ocean breeze blew sharp and cold, carrying the dark hum of the tide. Moonlight washed over Matthew as he leaned against the door of his sleek sports car. As I brushed past him, the faint scent of tobacco hit my nose. I used to hate it when he smoked, so he had quit for years just for me. But the night the novel’s female lead, Betty, returned from abroad, he had stood on the balcony puffing through an entire pack. When dawn broke, he turned to me after I had stayed awake all night and whispered a quiet, “I’m sorry.” Sorry for what? Back then, I didn’t dare dig deeper. I didn’t truly understand until Betty pulled strings to steal the prime news anchor position I had poured three years of sweat into. She even came to my house to gloat, casually throwing the rescue cat Matthew and I had raised together right out of the second-story window. When I lost my mind and reached out to slap her, a massive surge of force pinned my wrist and shoved me down onto the hardwood floor. Matthew had shielded Betty, looking down at me like a stranger. “No matter what happens, you have no right to touch her.” That was the moment I finally understood his apology. He was telling me he had chosen Betty, completely discarding my seven years of devotion. “Let me drive you,” Matthew called out behind us. His voice was raspy from the sea wind. Sensing I was about to refuse, he added quickly, “You two have been drinking. You can’t drive, and walking back to the hotel at this hour isn’t safe.” I couldn’t read his shadow-draped expression, but Mackenzie was still weeping against my shoulder, muttering nonsense. “Fine,” I said softly. “Thanks, Mr. Crawford.” Matthew’s hand froze as he reached for the door handle. 2 The interior of the car was suffocatingly quiet. Mackenzie was completely passed out in the backseat, leaving me stuck in the passenger side. The atmosphere stretched tight with unspoken tension. Ever since our fallout, Matthew and I hadn’t seen each other for months. Sitting side by side felt entirely foreign. Gancing at the rearview mirror, Matthew broke the silence. “Jerry has been looking everywhere for the two of you.” Jerry was the secondary male lead Mackenzie had loved to the point of foolishness. It was because of him that Mackenzie, just like me, had given up the chance to return to our real world three years ago. “I know,” I replied neutrally. Seeing my indifferent response, Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand on the steering wheel, letting out a heavy sigh. “Jerry and Betty aren’t what you think. They are just foster siblings…” “I said I know,” I cut him off cleanly. When Mackenzie and I first glitched into this book, a system error left us completely unaware of the plot. We had to rely on each other, treating this place as our reality. By the time the system finally activated, we had already fallen deeply in love with Matthew and Jerry. Even when the system offered us a ticket back to our real lives, we chose to stay behind. Young women in love always do reckless, heartbreaking things for the men they cherish. But every wall hits back. I had turned around, and now I was just waiting for Mackenzie to make her final choice. “If you’re trying to get me to convince Mackenzie to take Jerry back, you are barking up the wrong tree,” I said, my voice hardening. “Even if Jerry and Betty were pure as snow, I would never take his side or do anything to hurt Mackenzie. Besides…” I let out a cold laugh. “They aren’t innocent at all.” Mackenzie had found Betty’s secret diary inside a lockbox in Jerry’s private study, a room he had explicitly forbidden Mackenzie from entering. It was filled with Betty’s obsessive feelings for her foster brother, along with an unsent reply written by Jerry himself. Line after line detailed his unspeakable love for Betty, explicitly noting how Mackenzie’s personality and expressive eyes reminded him so much of his true love. After reading it, Mackenzie had vomited right beside the safe. She called me weeping uncontrollably: “Get me out of here. Please, Sam, get me away from him.” Mackenzie used to care about her appearance more than anything. But for the past two weeks, she had drowned herself in booze, crying in her sleep until her face was swollen beyond recognition. Yet she looked in the mirror yesterday and asked me, “Do I look less like Betty now?” 3 When we arrived at the hotel, I tucked Mackenzie into bed, wiped off her makeup, and changed her into pajamas. When I stepped back out, I realized Matthew was still standing outside the room. Meeting my surprised gaze, he hurriedly put out the cigarette burning between his fingers. “Is there anything else, Mr. Crawford?” He opened his mouth, his voice dropping low. “Jerry is on his way up.” My expression went icy. I turned around to slam the door shut, but his hand clamped around my wrist. “What are you doing?” I snapped. Matthew stared at me, his dark eyes laced with faint red veins, looking utterly exhausted. “He knows he was wrong,” he murmured. “He deeply regrets it. He just wants to apologize.” “An apology fixes everything?” I scoffed. “Does he not realize how repulsive his actions were? What a total scumbag.” It is nearly impossible to be polite to the trashy husband of your best friend. I thought I was holding back, but Matthew’s face still visibly paled. His usual cool composure cracked, revealing a raw flicker of panic in his eyes. He lowered his head, hiding his expression. Taking advantage of his hesitation, I snatched my wrist back and went to shut the door. At the very last second, his large, pale hand caught the edge of the frame, using his own flesh to block the door from closing. The hallway light was dim. “Sam,” his voice was barely a whisper. “Today is my birthday.” I pretended not to hear. “Today is my birthday,” he repeated, his tone laced with a stubborn, desperate edge. “You said you would always celebrate my birthday with me.” 4 Matthew leaned his head closer, an unconscious habit from when he used to seek affection from me. His eyes looked exactly the same as they did seven years ago when I first fell for him: dark, intense, hiding a fiery wildness beneath a layer of frost. “Matthew,” I called his name. A flicker of genuine hope lit up his eyes. But before I could say another word, his phone vibrated violently. The caller ID displayed a single name: Betty. Matthew’s lips parted, his movements stalling with hesitation. “Because of Mackenzie’s social media post, Betty’s career is taking a massive hit…” Betty had majored in broadcast journalism, just like me. The moment she returned to the country, she snagged my primetime show and built a massive following as a star anchor, heavily backed by both Matthew and Jerry. I didn’t bother looking at him again. “Go ahead, answer it.” Matthew stood frozen. He didn’t pick up the call. The hallway clock ticked steadily toward midnight. In a rare display of vulnerability, his voice sounded painfully strained, as if he knew what he was about to ask was completely unreasonable. “Sam… can I ask for a birthday gift?” I had spent the whole day running around with Mackenzie and was far too exhausted to keep playing these emotional games. I offered a lazy nod. The customized ringtone kept chiming in his pocket. Matthew swallowed hard. “Can we… not get divorced?” I noticed his fingers clenching into a tight fist, his knuckles turning stark white. He was probably thinking about Betty’s public image again. After all, the heads of the Crawford and Vance families couldn’t both go through a high-profile divorce because of the same woman. “Sure,” I agreed smoothly. A rare wave of pure relief washed over Matthew’s face, a visible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He took a step back, finally letting go of the door frame. With tender eyes, he traced the features of my face, looking at me the exact same way he did when we first got together. I used to think that look meant love. Before turning around to answer the phone, he left me with a final phrase, his voice bubbling with a bizarre, child-like excitement. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam.” 5 I shut the door quietly. It didn’t matter anyway. I had already struck a deal with the system: the moment Mackenzie gave the word, we would leave this world together for good. Divorce or no divorce, it didn’t mean a thing to me anymore. 6 The next morning, Mackenzie was still fast asleep. I went downstairs to the hotel kitchen to borrow their blender and make her some warm honey soy milk. When I stepped back into the hallway, a sharp, terrified scream shattered the quiet. “Ahhh! Get off me!” “Don’t touch me!” I sprinted into the room. Jerry and Betty were already standing inside. I had overlooked the fact that hotel security wouldn’t dare block a billionaire like Jerry Vance. Jerry’s brows were pulled into a tight frown, his expression a mix of confusion and mounting irritation. “That’s all in the past, Mackenzie! Betty and I are foster siblings. Acting out like this ruins our family name! Do you have any idea what people are saying online about Betty?” He grabbed her arm firmly. “She is a public figure! Do you realize your little tantrum is throwing away years of her hard work? How did you become so unreasonable? Come home with me and post a statement saying it was all a misunderstanding.” Betty dabbed at the nonexistent tears in the corners of her eyes, putting on a picture of tragic innocence. “Jerry, don’t blame Sister Mackenzie. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have been so foolish when I was younger, writing those embarrassing things in my diary…” She let out a soft, mournful sigh. “I realized my mistake long ago, and I’ve completely let go of those feelings.” Jerry’s hand on Mackenzie’s arm suddenly stiffened. The plot of this book was painfully simple. Betty and Jerry shared a taboo, foster-sibling romance, caught between moral boundaries and undeniable desire. Meanwhile, her dynamic with Matthew was a tragic story of childhood salvation and second chances. When Betty returned to the country, she was supposed to engage in a high-stakes, angsty love triangle with both men. Except Mackenzie and I had glitched into the narrative. Jerry had never truly gotten over his taboo obsession, and his possessiveness over Betty went far beyond sibling affection. Hearing her deny her feelings for him right there caused his composure to crack, an instant flash of hurt washing over his face. Watching their silent exchange, Mackenzie laughed through her tears. Her hair was a messy nest, wet tear tracks staining her cheeks. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” she sobbed. “Why do I have to be a spectator to your epic romance? What am I to you? What were my seven years worth?!” Jerry and Betty stood there in their immaculate designer clothes, looking down at her like she was a hysterical madwoman. 7 I couldn’t stand it for another second. I rushed forward, but a long arm reached out and caught me by the shoulder. Matthew towered over me, his dark eyes devoid of warmth. “This is between them,” he said coldly. “Sam, can you stop putting Mackenzie above us every single time? We have our own lives to fix…” He paused, adding smoothly, “Besides, Betty is at the peak of her media career. Mackenzie shouldn’t be sabotaging her right now.” I almost couldn’t believe my ears, but a cold wave of realization settled in quickly. He was the male lead, and she was the female lead. Ever since Betty rescued him from a dark alley when he was just a rebellious teenager, he had been irrevocably in love with her. To him, anyone else’s agony was nothing compared to a single strand of Betty’s hair. “Stop making a scene,” Matthew said, looking back at Mackenzie. “If Mackenzie posts a public apology to Betty online, we can put this all behind us. I won’t hold your recent behavior against you either. Let’s all just go home, alright?” As if remembering something pleasant, Matthew’s expression softened slightly, a faint flicker of warmth gracing his eyes. “Bella is waiting for us at home. You’re so heartless, leaving her behind for so long without coming back to check on her.” Bella was the rescue cat Matthew and I had adopted together. Seven years ago, while hiking, I saved Matthew after he was ambushed and severely injured by his family’s business rivals. At the exact same time, I rescued a tiny, stray calico cat that had been mauled by wild dogs. Back then, Bella was terrified of everyone, refusing to let anyone near her except me. I used to joke that she was just like Matthew, always wearing a fierce glare and refusing to let anyone touch her besides her owner. Matthew would stare at the kitten coldly, turning his head with an annoyed huff. Bella couldn’t care less, rubbing her tail against my ankles with purrs. In the end, Matthew would lose his patience, scoop me into his arms, and glare at the tiny cat: “Get lost! Don’t you have your own wife?!” I used to laugh until my stomach hurt. Back then, I thought those moments were ordinary happiness. Who could have guessed that a few years later, when Betty returned and tried to kick me with her high heels, Bella would leap up to protect me? She scratched Betty’s arm. Betty had flown into a psychotic rage. “Do you really think Matthew cares about you?! You are nothing more than my temporary replacement! Now that I am back, he won’t even look at you! And this miserable cat!” She grabbed Bella and threw her straight out the second-story window. Enraged, I tried to fight back, but Matthew tackled me to the ground, holding me down. He then escorted Betty out of the house, letting her ride away triumphantly in the pink sports car he had bought for her. I crawled down the stairs, bleeding and limping, searching frantically in the rain for Bella. Eventually, both the cat and I collapsed from blood loss. I was rushed to the hospital. When I woke up with a sharp, dragging pain in my lower abdomen, the doctor scolded me harshly: “How could you be so careless? You’re pregnant! You almost had a miscarriage, do you realize that?!” In a daze, I asked him, “Bella… where is my cat?” The doctor frowned. “What cat? You were completely alone when the paramedics brought you in.” When I finally returned to the house, Bella’s body was still soft, but icy cold. She would never stand up to rub against my ankles again. 8 Without a word, I tipped the thermos and poured the boiling honey soy milk straight over Matthew’s hand. Scalded, he instinctively snatched his hand back, his gaze instantly turning dark and dangerous. “What is wrong with you?!” “I should ask what the hell is wrong with you!” I yelled, my voice shaking with pure fury. “Bella has been dead for months! I sent you dozens of messages and you ignored every single one of them! How dare you bring her up like she’s still alive?!” Matthew’s face went through a bizarre transformation. “What are you talking about? How could Bella be dead? I explicitly told Betty to go over and feed her every single day…” He whipped his head toward Betty. Betty nervously shifted her gaze away, not daring to meet his eyes. All the color drained from Matthew’s face. Steels of panic returned to his eyes, and he tried to grab my arm again. “Whatever happened, let me explain when we get home, okay?” I slapped his hand away with everything I had. “Get out!” I dashed over and shielded Mackenzie like a mother hen, turning around and landing two brutal slaps right across Jerry’s face. The pampered billionaire was completely stunned by the impact. Red handprints swelled on his cheek. He stared at me in shock, then turned to Mackenzie with a furious, disbelieving glare. “You’re just going to let her hit me?!” They all knew Mackenzie and I were closer than biological sisters. My actions were a direct reflection of her feelings. Jerry simply couldn’t accept it. Mackenzie didn’t even look at him. She closed her eyes, tears flowing silently down her cheeks, her hands trembling violently as she clutched the hem of my shirt. “Mr. Vance, take your trash and leave,” I said coldly. “She is never going back with you. Nothing you have done makes you worth another second of her time. You don’t deserve her love.” Betty tried to step forward to play the victim again. “How could you hit my brother?! You’re just taking your anger out on him because of Matthew…” I fixed her with a glare that could kill. “Take one more step toward us, and I won’t just slap you. I will post the footage of what you did to my cat online for the entire world to see. Try me, Betty.” Betty stomped her foot, turning to the men. “Jerry! Matthew! Look at her!” Surprisingly, both Matthew and Jerry remained dead silent, ignoring her dramatic whines. 9 Once the door shut and they were gone, I wrapped my arms around Mackenzie. “It’s over, it’s over now. I’m here. I’m taking you home.” Mackenzie sobbed so hard she seemed almost delirious. “Can we really go home?” “Yes,” I whispered gently. She pulled back, staring at me with a sudden flash of clarity in her eyes. “Wait… the system said the interdimensional portal was closed! What price did you pay to open it?!” 10 After burying Bella, I spent weeks in the hospital undergoing intensive treatments to save my pregnancy. Every single message I sent to Matthew vanished into the void. Day after day, long needles were pushed into my veins. I hid under the thin hospital blanket every night, weeping until my eyes were raw. A nurse recognized me as a former TV news anchor and asked for an autograph. On the wall-mounted TV, my old show was airing, but Betty was the one hosting it, smiling radiantly under the studio lights. “So you stepped down because you got pregnant!” the nurse chattered happily. “I was wondering why Betty suddenly took over your spot. Hey, you industry insiders must know all the juicy gossip, right? Is it true that Betty secretly married the CEO of the Crawford Group?” My hands froze. I opened my phone and saw Betty’s latest social media update. She had posted a picture of the pink sports car Matthew gave her, tagging him publicly with the caption: A eighteenth birthday gift finally received at twenty-five. She had also shared videos of a grand firework show and a custom drone light display. The icy billionaire had bent over backward to make her smile, unfazed by how cliché it was. Then came a video of her cradling a fluffy, expensive kitten, tagging Matthew playfully: The very first life we are raising together. Followed by an influx of comments asking about the backstory, Betty responded mysteriously: Shh! That’s a secret between Matthew and me! Shortly after, internet sleuths dug up an old photograph of a teenage Matthew and Betty feeding a stray calico cat behind an abandoned school building. The tender smile on young Matthew’s face was something I had never seen in my seven years with him. So, he was capable of smiling at a tiny creature. He didn’t hate Bella because she was a cat; he hated her because her owner was me. It all made sense now. Love was never something logical. I had given Matthew seven years of my life, pouring my whole heart out for him. Yet the moment Betty walked back into the room, she won everything without even trying.

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On my birthday, Wes insisted on buying me flowers. Knowing his family struggled financially, I deliberately picked a modest $15 bouquet. That very same afternoon, a massive delivery of red roses arrived for my roommate, filling nearly half our room. When she picked up her phone to express her thanks, a man’s voice filtered softly through the speaker. “I am glad you like them.” The tone was lazy and warm, ending on a slightly upturned, husky trail. The entire dorm erupted into teasing squeals, but I froze in place. That voice belonged to Wes. 1 At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. However, I had always been hyper-sensitive to sound. Wes had a distinct timbre, especially the subtle, rising pitch at the end of his sentences. Leah hung up the phone and offered a casual explanation to the room. “The flowers were from my fiancé.” A sudden hush fell over the room. Leah had been chasing the star athlete from the neighboring department for over three years. Where had a fiancé suddenly materialized from? Leah shrugged nonchalantly. “It is an arranged marriage between our families. He is handsome and wealthy enough, but neither of us wanted to settle down with just one person before getting hitched. So, we made a deal: until the wedding, we each play the field.” She plucked a single stem from the bouquet, her tone breezy. “He took on a new girlfriend earlier this year. We agreed that whatever he buys for her, he has to compensate me with a version worth a hundred times the price.” In the lower right corner of the flower wrapper, a price tag remained partially unpeeled. $1,500. Leah flicked the tag with her manicured fingernail, letting out a sharp scoff. “Tsk. Imagine giving a girl a paltry $15 bouquet. That poor girl must be completely brainless, suffering alongside a wealthy heir pretending to be broke, actually believing she found true love.” Her voice held no pity, only cruel amusement. With those words, her gaze drifted toward the stems in my arms. “Audrey, you got flowers too, didn’t you? The petals do not look very fresh, though. How much were they?” Not a dollar more, not a dollar less. They were exactly fifteen dollars. 2 In truth, those were not the flowers I had originally chosen. Earlier that day, as I passed a local florist, a gorgeous arrangement in the display window caught my eye. Soft strawberry almond spray roses paired with delicate white violets, fluffy and light, like a cloud dipped in sunset glow. I fell in love with them at first sight. The clerk informed me the bouquet cost $60. Wes had taken my hand, looking into my eyes with a tender smile. “Audrey, it is your birthday. If you love them, let us get them. I still have a bit of cash left.” He hesitated briefly before adding in a soft voice, “Though, after buying these, I might have to live on instant noodles for the next month. But do not worry about me. Your happiness matters more than anything.” I knew how difficult his life supposedly was. His mother had passed away early, and his father was buried under gambling debts. Nearly every cent Wes earned went toward clearing those loans. We had met during our senior internships. He arrived later than I did, frequently approaching me with questions about work. As the days went by, those questions turned into a quiet, earnest pursuit. He was exactly my type, modest yet brimming with quiet ambition. So, I accepted his confession. I thought we were two kindred spirits, working tirelessly to build a life together in a cold, massive city. How could I ever bear to let him eat instant noodles for a month? So, as much as I adored those strawberry almond roses, I pulled Wes away from the shop. We stood at a late-night street stall, bargaining for a long time before settling on a simple bouquet of cheap alstroemeria. When he paid, Wes looked deeply moved. The warm streetlamp cast a soft glow across his features. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, his voice thick with emotion. “Audrey, you suffer so much just by being with me. I promise I will work hard to give you everything you deserve.” At the time, I threw my arms around him, my heart overflowing with sweetness. I had no idea that while holding me in his arms, he was quietly placing an order for another girl, paying a hundred times the price. Nor did I know that his surname belonged to the Kensington family, the prominent dynasty behind the very conglomerate where I was interning. 3 I did not linger in the dorm. My internship location was far from campus, requiring a two-hour commute each way. To save time, Wes and I had rented a modest apartment near the office. By the time I carried my files back to the apartment, it was already nine at night. The mouth-watering aroma of home-cooked food rushed out to meet me as I opened the door. A small cake sat in the center of the dining table. Wes emerged from the kitchen carrying two hot dishes, offering me a bright smile. “You came back right on time. The food is freshly cooked, just waiting for you.” I had always been an avoidant personality type. On the subway ride over, I had envisioned confronting Wes, demanding to know why he lied, screaming at him through tears before walking away for good. Yet, seeing him fussing around the apartment for my sake, I felt only an overwhelming sense of numbness. Why would a billionaire heir squeeze into a tiny, cramped rental, meticulously acting the part of a destitute soul? The candles were lit, and a party hat was placed on my head. I clasped my hands together, closed my eyes, and made a silent wish. When I opened my eyes, Wes was staring intently at his phone. The pale light of the screen illuminated his face, catching a subtle, lingering smile at the corner of his lips. Moments later, my phone vibrated with a notification from the dorm group chat. Leah had posted a screenshot of a bank transfer for $2,500. She wrote: My fiancé just sent me more money. This time, it is to cover the cake he bought for that girl. Honestly, he is celebrating someone else’s birthday and still remembers me. Isn’t he worried his little girlfriend will get jealous? Below her message, my other roommates flooded the chat with praise, calling her the absolute queen of the relationship. My eyes remained fixed on the profile picture in the screenshot. It was a shot of a man’s back on a beach, his white shirt billowing in the sea breeze. I was the one who had taken that photo for Wes. “What are you staring at so intently?” Wes reached over, lightly smudging a dab of cream onto my forehead. His eyes darkened as he leaned closer, his voice dropping into a raspy whisper. “Audrey, let us move to the bedroom, alright?” We had been together for six months. We held hands and kissed, but we had never taken that final step. I was afraid of pain, and he had never forced me, always holding me tightly through the night while quietly enduring his own restraint. Tonight, I had originally intended to give myself to him completely. After buying the flowers, I had even stopped by a convenience store to buy a box of ultra-thin protection. It was sitting right on the entryway table. However, the thought that Wes was Leah’s fiancé made my stomach turn with violent revulsion. I pushed him away, turned around, and began packing my belongings. Coincidentally, our monthly lease expired tomorrow. “I am moving back to the dorms. I will not be renewing the lease.” He froze slightly. “Why the sudden decision to move back? Audrey, if you are unhappy, can you tell me why?” I ignored him, continuing to fold my clothes into my suitcase. Raised as a spoiled heir accustomed to being catered to, his patience quickly ran thin. “Audrey, your mood has been off ever since you got home tonight. I spent the entire evening cooking, and you have not taken a single bite. Is this all because I did not buy you that $60 bouquet? When did you become so materialistic, throwing a tantrum just because you did not get a present?” How fascinating that in an economic downturn, opting out of a sixty-dollar purchase could get someone labeled as materialistic. I raised my head and met his gaze dead-on. “Wes, is there anything you are keeping from me?” He went still for a second, then shook his head smoothly. “No. Nothing at all.” 4 I did not rip off the mask right then and there. Kensington Corp belonged to his family, and it was the top firm in my field nationwide. I had worked as an intern for six months, fighting fiercely for a full-time offer. My team lead had quietly assured me that my evaluations were stellar, and my spot was practically guaranteed. Yet on the day the final hiring list was posted, I searched from top to bottom three separate times, unable to find my name anywhere. I walked into my team lead’s office to ask for an explanation. With a conflicted expression, she pulled me into a private breakroom and lowered her voice. “Audrey, did you happen to offend someone higher up?” I looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?” “Your name was originally on the approved list. Yesterday, a high-level executive made a personal call and had your name crossed off directly.” Stepping out of the breakroom, I saw Wes sitting at his intern desk. Naturally, his name was not on the list either. A wealthy heir interning was merely a casual game to pass the time. He offered me a paper cup of warm tea, speaking in a soothing, gentle tone. “Audrey, it is alright. There are plenty of great companies out there, you do not have to stay at Kensington. Take your time searching. With your talent, you will shine anywhere.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was the dorm group chat again. Leah had directly tagged me. @Audrey, Kensington posted their full-time offers today, right? Did you make the cut? My fiancé’s girlfriend was interning there too. I do not know if you know her, but she definitely did not get the job. I told my fiancé before that outside flings are fine for fun, but no outside woman steps foot into the family firm. It was set in stone, but my fiancé wiped her name out with a single word. Isn’t he obedient? My fingers tightened around my phone until my knuckles turned stark white. Wes knew how desperately I wanted this job. He knew how many nights I had slept on the office sofa just to refine project proposals. He knew my grandmother was waiting in our rural hometown for me to secure a stable job so I could bring her to the city for medical care. Yet with a single casual sentence, he erased half a year of my relentless effort. Then he turned around, put on a mask of complete innocence, and stood in front of me offering tender consolation. The hot tea in my paper cup steamed softly, scalding my fingertips with a sharp sting. Unable to contain it any longer, I grabbed the hot cup and splashed the liquid straight into his face. “Wes, are you out of your mind?!” The entire open-plan office fell so silent that only the hum of the air conditioner remained. Wes stood stunned for two seconds. He pulled out a tissue, wiped the tea from his skin, and forced down his rising temper as he looked at me. “Audrey, I know you are upset about the job, but you need to maintain your professional composure in public. Once we get home, you can throw whatever tantrum you want. You can hit me or yell at me. Let me take you out for dinner tonight, alright? Please stop being angry.” His tone remained impossibly gentle, as though he were not the very person orchestrating my downfall behind my back. Since I was not getting the job anyway, there was no need to maintain any professional courtesy in this building. I scooped up a heavy stack of printed project files from the desk and slammed them hard against his chest. “We are broken up.” Without another word, I threw my bag over my shoulder and walked out. Wes’s voice chased after me, heavy with suppressed anger. “Audrey, are you really going to hold a grudge forever just because I did not buy those strawberry almond roses? Throwing this kind of temper at me… with such fragile emotional control, it is no wonder the company did not keep you! You need to reflect on your own issues!” Stepping out of the corporate tower, torrential rain was pouring from the sky. The path toward the subway station was already flooded with deep water. In the past, whenever it rained along this road, Wes would crouch down and lift me onto his back. Audrey loves wearing white sneakers, I cannot let Audrey’s shoes get dirty. Back then, I would wrap one arm tightly around his neck, holding an umbrella high over both our heads with the other, chatting happily about our future. Now, heavy raindrops slammed into the murky puddles, shattering the water into countless tiny ripples. I rolled up my pant legs and stepped straight into the freezing water. Rain washed over my face, cool and damp. I tilted my head toward the gray sky, letting out a long, slow breath. My grandmother had always taught me that one must know when to hold on, and when to let go. A breakup was nothing to despair over. Cutting one’s losses in time was all that mattered. Everything would be fine. 5 I moved back into the dormitory. Leah owned a private apartment near campus, but upon hearing I had returned, she moved back into the dorm as well. Suddenly, she became exceedingly chatty. “My fiancé has been in a terrible mood lately. That girl suddenly broke up with him out of nowhere. My fiancé was just playing around, but getting abruptly dumped while he was still entertained threw him for a loop. Since he is my man, he came to vent to me, so I just had to bear with it.” Right as she finished speaking, Leah’s phone rang. A weary male voice echoed through the room, the ending tone trailing upward with a subtle rise. “I am planning a vacation to Europe. Is there anything you want me to bring back?” Leah did not answer immediately, letting out a light chuckle instead. “Why the sudden trip to Europe? Done trying to coax your little girlfriend back?” “If she wants to throw a fit, let her. Once her emotions settle down in a few weeks, I will go back and calm her down.” Leah toyed with the luxury watch on her wrist, casting a deliberate glance in my direction. “Aren’t you afraid that by the time you come back, she will be completely done with you?” “No. She loves me very much.” Through the speaker, the man’s tone sounded impossibly certain. “She takes relationships very seriously, unlike you. If you do not tell me what you want, I will just pick something out for you randomly.” After the call ended, Leah strolled over to my desk. Crossing her arms, she looked down at me with a sweet, mocking smile. “Audrey, my fiancé is heading to Europe. Is there anything you want? I can have him pick it up for you.” Before I could answer, she let out a sigh. “Ah, forget it. My fiancé is quite lazy. He never bothers with other people’s requests, he only brings things back for me.” No matter how detached I tried to be, I could clearly hear the boastful provocation in her words. The feud between Leah and me had taken root long ago. During our freshman year, both of us entered a national entrepreneurship competition. She claimed to have hired top industry mentors, boasting that her entry would easily secure first place. When the results were posted, my name sat at the top for first prize, while she took second. From that day on, her eyes held a constant layer of hostility whenever she looked at me. Later, when I was voted the face of the campus autumn fashion showcase, her resentment only deepened. However, since she rarely stayed on campus back then, our paths seldom crossed, and I simply let things slide. Listening to her sharp taunts now, I raised my eyes to meet hers. “Your fiancé certainly treats you well. It is just a pity that despite being so good to you, he was still on his knees elsewhere, begging another girl to stay.” Leah’s face turned pale. “What nonsense are you talking about?” “Didn’t you say he had a girlfriend? Between a couple, kissing and holding each other is completely normal, isn’t it? What, you can’t even stomach that, yet you still want to play the dignified wife?” A dull thud echoed behind me as a luxury watch was slammed onto the desk. Wealthy people certainly had money to burn, throwing around a six-figure timepiece the moment they lost their temper. Yet her anger evaporated just as quickly. By evening, she returned to the dorm in high spirits, eager to share her news with the room. “Guess who I just ran into outside the library? Elyes! He was standing right under the streetlight waiting for the shuttle, tall, broad-shouldered, with impossibly long legs. I stared for so long I could barely move my feet. I am definitely going to win him over.” Elyes was the guy Leah had been pursuing since freshman year, the one she remained utterly obsessed with. Our roommates crowded around her to look at the stealthy photo she had taken. Meanwhile, I sat at my desk, tapping open a message on my phone screen. It was from Elyes. Audrey, I heard you moved back to the dorms. Are you free to grab dinner sometime? I was not particularly close with Elyes. Back when I worked a part-time job at the campus dining hall, he used to frequent my station. Unlike the typical dining staff whose hands shook while serving, I always served generous portions of meat. Over time, we exchanged contact information, and he would casually message me about daily menu updates. Once I started my internship and began dating Wes, our communication naturally faded away. Until today, when he suddenly sent this message out of the blue. After a moment of thought, I politely declined. Sorry, I am quite busy sending out resumes lately. Elyes did not push further, simply replying: No rush. Whenever you are free for a meal, just let me know. The following days passed without incident. I shuttled between various corporate interviews across the city. Wes never reached out to me once. The last message in our chat history was from several days ago: Audrey, I know losing the offer was hard on you. I am giving you space to vent. I never replied. I assumed we would never cross paths again. Until one afternoon, when an urgent call arrived from my hometown. It was our neighbor. “Audrey, I passed by your yard today and saw your grandmother collapsed on the ground! I couldn’t wake her up no matter what I tried! I called an ambulance to take her to the county hospital, can you come back right away?” I booked an overnight train ticket and rushed back home immediately. The doctor diagnosed her with an aortic dissection, stating that emergency surgery was required right away. The cost was roughly twenty thousand dollars, and a deposit had to be paid before the procedure. My grandmother was a simple melon farmer with virtually no savings. Even combining my work-study funds, I was nowhere near twenty thousand dollars. Pride means nothing when a human life is on the line. So, sitting in the cold hospital hallway, I dialed Wes’s number. I wanted to borrow the money from him. After a long wait, the call finally went through. His voice sounded lazy, tinged with a faint, amused smile. “Finally cooled off? You are finally willing to call me?” I kept my voice low. “Wes, I need to borrow some money from you. Twenty thousand dollars. My grandmother is severely ill…” Before I could finish my sentence, he cut me off abruptly. “Audrey, are you joking with me? You know my family situation, where would I ever get that kind of money? I just started a new part-time job and I am on the clock right now. My coworkers are calling me, I have to go.” In the background, someone was indeed shouting for him, mentioning that the private yacht was about to set sail and telling him to hurry aboard. He offered a brief reply and hung up the phone. He blocked every word I had left to say. I tried dialing his number again. At first, the line was busy, and then his phone was switched off entirely. At that exact moment, the dorm group chat popped up with a new image. Leah had shared a photo of an exquisite emerald bracelet. Is it pretty? My fiancé won it for me at an auction. Imperial green jade, a rare royal collection piece valued at eight hundred thousand dollars. In the photo, the emerald gleamed with a deep, translucent luster, as clear as moonlight caught in ice. I sat alone on a bench in the hospital corridor, the sharp, sterile stench of disinfectant filling my lungs. In this world, people live in vastly different realities. Someone could spend eight hundred thousand dollars without blinking an eye, while someone else was driven to utter desperation over twenty thousand. I looked through the glass window at my grandmother lying motionless on the hospital bed. I remembered telling her not long ago that I had found a man who loved me deeply, that we were going to work hard together toward a bright future, and that I would bring him home to meet her after graduation. It turned out my eyes had been completely blind. Just as I pulled out my phone to search for alternative ways to raise the funds, a tall figure appeared at the far end of the corridor. It was Elyes. Usually immaculately groomed, he looked noticeably windblown and travel-weary. “My academic advisor mentioned there was an emergency at your home, so I took the liberty of coming down,” he said softly. “Is there anything I can do to help? Whether you need funds or assistance, just say the word.”

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In my sophomore year, my webcomic blew up online. Fans quickly pieced together that the male lead was based on Kingsley University’s campus heartthrob, Jonathan. The online friend I had chatted with for ten years sent me a message: “The hero is based on me. Is the heroine based on you? Are you a girl?” Jonathan insisted on meeting me in person. So I set the date for three weeks later, the day the final chapter of my comic was scheduled to drop. But the day before we were supposed to meet, my roommate Emma confessed her feelings to Jonathan. She used the exact same grand gesture from the ending of my comic. And they got together. Emma gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry for borrowing your comic’s idea! He and I will buy you dinner sometime.” Quietly, I pulled out my phone and texted Jonathan: “Emma isn’t me.” 01 When the message went through, Emma was still staring at me. “Or is there something you’ve wanted but couldn’t afford? I can have my boyfriend buy it for you.” My other two roommates couldn’t take it anymore. “We all know Sadie has a crush on Jonathan. How could you just steal her idea?” “Yeah, that’s not borrowing. That’s plagiarism.” Emma’s eyes welled with tears, but nobody comforted her. I had been serializing my comic Sleepless Hours since high school graduation. After starting college, I used my drawing tablet in our dorm all the time. So the three of them knew I was the author, and they promised to keep it a secret. In return, I frequently bought them gifts using my royalties. I just never expected the comic to go viral or for readers to figure out that Jonathan was the inspiration behind the male lead. Back then, Emma had asked me, “Sadie, you don’t actually like Jonathan, do you?” I hadn’t answered. She had laughed. “He’s been the golden boy since freshman year, top ten in the math department, endless girls chasing him. But you probably don’t understand guys like him. Good-looking, wealthy… even if he claims he’s single, he’s definitely got a crowd of girls he flirts with on the side.” Without thinking, I had cut her off. “He’s not like that.” They realized then that I was harboring a secret crush. Emma had gasped. “Oh my god, I’m totally shipping you two!” Then she badgered me until I let her see the ending I had drawn in advance. I hadn’t thought much of it, only reminding them to keep it strictly confidential. It wasn’t until tonight, when a roommate called me and told me to check the main campus group chat, that I realized what had happened. The group chat was flooded with videos taken from different angles. A radiant girl standing under the golden twilight on the East Quad, stepping right into the path of the handsome golden boy. She had orchestrated a grand, romantic, public confession. Just like the female lead in my comic. At the end of the video, Emma asked Jonathan with tear-brimmed eyes, “I’ve never done anything like this for anyone else. All my courage and love belong only to you. Will you be with me?” Those words were the exact dialogue from the comic’s finale. Jonathan didn’t wrap his arms around her like the hero in my drawing. He simply raised his hand and wiped away her tears. The crowd around them erupted into wild cheers. Everyone was chanting, “Say yes! Say yes!” And in the video, I heard his response crystal clear. He said, “Okay.” On May 20th, 2026, they became a couple. 02 “My campus goddess has been pining over someone else for two years?! I am heartbroken!” “Am I the only one who thinks her confession was insanely touching? Being so vulnerable about her past is usually something guys do!” “Plus one! They’re each other’s first love, oh my god!” “Is anyone else reading Sleepless Hours? Holy crap, it’s like the comic came to life!” In a group chat with thousands of students, messages flashed past at breakneck speed. Inside the dorm, Emma wiped her tears, her voice stubborn and defensive. “I just wanted to be brave for once in my life. Is that really a crime?” “Please don’t let this ruin our friendship, okay?” I held back my roomies who were ready to tear into her, looking at her with cold eyes. “You and I are done being friends.” Emma ran out of the room crying, not returning until curfew. The moment the lights went out, Jonathan replied. “Huh?” “Why would you think I mistook her for you?” I froze. His messages kept coming. “When Emma said those things showing how well she knew me, for a second I thought you had come to meet me early.” “But once she talked about her past, I knew it wasn’t you.” I stared at Jonathan’s words. The initial wave of anger and humiliation slowly drained away, replaced by an unbearable, burning shame. Still, I couldn’t swallow what I needed to say. I quickly typed: “Emma saw the ending of my comic. She copied the exact scene for her confession.” Afraid he wouldn’t believe me, I switched apps to send him the raw digital files. Before I could attach them, a notification popped up. Jonathan: “I know.” “She ran out of her dorm to find me earlier. She confessed that her idea came from her roommate’s comic.” 03 I canceled the upload and backed out to the chat window. Below his text, the typing indicator stayed active for a long time. I was typing too: “Everything she knows about you, the words that touched your heart… they all came from my comic…” I typed it out, then deleted it letter by letter. In that moment, I felt like a bitter villain trying to tear the main couple apart. Jonathan’s next block of text finally arrived. “I don’t care about the rest. All I’ve ever wanted is a devotion that belongs solely to me, pure and without ulterior motives. She told me…” It was a long paragraph describing exactly how Emma had touched his heart. It didn’t sound like his usual way of talking. For the past ten years, most of our conversations were about complex math problems, with occasional snippets of our daily lives. Whether it was a brutal exam question or a personal crisis, he always preferred giving conclusions, brushing over the process. Yet right now, he kept sending wall after wall of text. “Two years ago, you thanked me for letting you use me as a model for your comic.” “Now, I want to thank you. Because of you, my real-life heroine has walked into my story.” My fingers hovered over the screen, paralyzed. I realized then that he didn’t need anything I had to say. When the comic was at its peak, Jonathan had asked me: “I saw the comic. The hero is me, right? Is the heroine you? So you’re actually a girl?” My account had always used default settings from when I registered, showing no gender. I had told him that aside from gender, the heroine was the exact opposite of who I really was. He had replied, “Then I want to get to know you even more.” Now, through the cold glow of the screen, he told me: “I’m really lucky to have you as a friend. Under normal circumstances, I ought to buy you a proper dinner.” “But I just got a girlfriend. I can’t do anything that would make her jealous or insecure. So I think it’s better if we don’t meet tomorrow after all.” “What do you think?” 04 Jonathan wasn’t asking for my opinion. Nor was he suggesting we reschedule. He was simply saving me from total humiliation, preserving the last shred of my dignity. I thought to myself, staring at a phone in the dark really ruins your eyes. A hot, bitter tear slipped down my cheek and splashed onto the glass screen. I typed back: “Haha, yeah. Makes sense.” He sent a huge digital cash gift, with a note: I’m sorry. I tapped refund. “No need for that.” I quickly added: “It’s late. Get some sleep.” He replied: “Yeah.” We tacitly stopped saying goodnight like we used to. Intimate words like that didn’t belong between us anymore. I stared at the timestamp in the corner of the screen: 2026/05/21 01:17:26 AM. The thin thread connecting my life to his, built carefully over eleven years, snapped right here. Easily, absurdly, completely. I lay in bed, tossing and turning in a haze. The next morning, I barely scraped together enough energy to make it through my early lecture. With no afternoon classes, I went straight back to the dorm to sleep off the exhaustion. Voices leaking through my bed curtain woke me up. “When I filmed that video for you, I knew it would go viral, but wow!” “Emma, you are unbelievable! You actually bagged the math department’s unattainable prince!” “By the way, you went looking for him again last night, didn’t you? So? Did you guys kiss?” It was Emma’s friends visiting her room. Emma squeaked in a playful, coy tone, “Oh, stop it, we haven’t gone that far yet…” They giggled for a bit before heading out for dinner. The door clicked shut, leaving the room quiet once more. I opened my video app. Her confession was the very first video on my feed. Golden hour, a romantic speech, and the caption: Second year of loving him. My secret crush is finally over. 05 With the hype of an elite university and two insanely attractive leads, the video had crossed a million likes within twenty-four hours. Emma, who used to have barely two thousand followers, gained a hundred thousand overnight. As the video looped a second time, I hit pause and scrolled to the comments. Top comment: congratulations and heart emojis. Second top comment was a lengthy paragraph: “I rewatched this video a dozen times, and it feels EXACTLY like the confession scene from Sleepless Hours! The author dropped the final chapter at 6 AM today, but this video was posted yesterday. Dare I guess… you’re the author, aren’t you?! Are you bringing the comic’s love story into real life? I’m crying my eyes out T_T” Replies below it were filled with “Great analysis!” and “Keep her identity secret!” That comment had been up for eight hours. Emma hadn’t denied it. The top search tag in the comment section was: Sleepless Hours author successfully confesses. I logged into my author dashboard. My inbox was overflowing: “Author! @LittleEmmaIsTaken is you, right? This is so sweet!” “Begging for a sequel about your daily dating life ORZ” … I picked one comment and replied: “The author has never been in a relationship, so there won’t be a sequel.” I put my phone down. Silence reclaimed the room. In my comic, the female lead was named Aria. She was a ray of sunshine, raised in a loving, wealthy home. She wasn’t the smartest student, but everybody adored her. Optimistic and bright, she grew up blissfully alongside her childhood best friend, the male lead. I realized my mistake. I should never have confused fiction with reality. I tried doing math problems to distract myself. I stared at a complex proof for hours without a single breakthrough. In the past, I would have snapped a picture and sent it to Jonathan. Now… Irritated, I snapped my notebook shut, pulled out my phone, and doom-scrolled to force my brain into a dopamine hit. The next video was tagged at Kingsley University, recorded from a stealthy angle. Two figures were walking side by side down a tree-lined campus path. Even from behind, I recognized Jonathan instantly. In two years at the same college, I rarely bumped into him. Luck was never on my side. Even in large general education lectures, our schedules never overlapped. Except for one semester in Ordinary Differential Equations. Jonathan’s roommate liked to reserve seats in the second-to-last row by the window. So that was the only class where I sat in the very back row. For three hours every week, all I had to do was raise my head, and his back would be right there in my sight. In the video, his back was turned to the camera. The girl beside him, barely reaching his shoulder, reached out and gently brushed his hand. He pulled his hand back in surprise, but his ears flushed a brilliant crimson. 06 The camera zoomed in on his blushing ear. Big bold text flashed on screen: MY SHIP IS SO PURE AND BLUSHING! Caption: Ran into our campus’s newest power couple on their way to dinner! I tapped the creator’s profile. It belonged to one of Emma’s close classmates who frequently hung out in our dorm. I uninstalled the app. Over the next few weeks, I forced myself into my old routine. Studying hard, eating, sleeping. Life went on. Except occasionally, I would overhear classmates gushing during breaks. “I saw Jonathan bringing his girlfriend to class this morning. She’s even prettier in person than in the video!” “Total power couple vibes! So sweet!” “I heard he bought each of her best friends a Bvlgari necklace. Can you please find a boyfriend like that for my sake?” “Good luck finding another Jonathan!” I kept my head down, still wrestling with that unsolved problem. I wasn’t in a rush. I knew every problem had an answer eventually. Class ended, and I packed my bag quickly to leave. “Move, move, I’m starving!” Someone bumped into me from behind. Not hard, but the loose scratch paper tucked inside my notebook scattered across the floor. The guy apologized profusely. His friend waiting at the door stepped over to help pick them up. “Sorry about that, my roommate’s a klutz.” My heart skipped a beat. As I bent down, my hand brushed against his. I snatched my hand back instantly. He picked up the paper, his voice filled with surprise. “You’re working on this proof too?” I forced myself to look up into Jonathan’s eyes. In my original daydreams, our first real meeting would be under the golden sunset on the East Quad. Grand, romantic, and under the open sky. Not this clumsy, awkward mess. Yet the moment Jonathan saw my face, his eyes lit up. “Sadie! It’s you.” “Did you solve it yet?” 07 I froze. “You know who I am?” Jonathan smiled, sunlight filtering through the window and catching in his eyes. “First lecture of Honors Math freshman year. That brutal problem the TA gave us to scare everyone? You were the only one who solved it on the spot. Trust me, half the department knows who you are.” I had no idea his eyes had ever rested on me. “We… had the same math class?” Jonathan gave a helpless chuckle, pointing to the guy next to him. “He’s my roommate. He can never wake up for morning lectures, and my math class was in the afternoon, so… you get the idea.” The roommate rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Until the professor caught us in week three.” “Ah. I see.” “So, Sadie, did you solve this proof? I’ve been stuck on it for days…” Before he could finish, a sharp, piercing voice cut him off from behind. “What are you two doing?!” I didn’t turn around. Jonathan gave me an apologetic look as he handed back my scratch paper. “Sorry, my girlfriend’s here. Might be a misunderstanding.” I took the paper. Emma was already sprinting over like a storm. His roommate quickly chimed in, “Hey, Emma, I swear Jonathan didn’t say a word to any other girl! He was just helping me clean up my mess!” Emma glared between us, suspicious and insecure, before wrapping her arms tightly around Jonathan’s arm. “Let me take you to dinner, come on, let’s go!” Jonathan was dragged forward, turning back to nod apologetically at me. Then he pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket and handed it to Emma. “Eat this first, or your blood sugar will drop again.” His roommate trailed behind them, tossing a quick explanation my way. “Don’t mind her. He spoils her way too much.” As they walked off, Jonathan’s indulgent voice drifted back through the breeze: “You get jealous so easily. What would you do if you weren’t with me…” I took the stairs on the opposite side of the building. I remembered chatting with Jonathan back in high school. He had said he hated chocolate, even though it was the gift he received most often. I had told him I had never even tasted real chocolate before. Much later, he sent me a photo. In the picture were various unwrapped chocolates, each with handwritten notes describing the flavor and texture. He had written: Tasted them all for you for now. You should still try them yourself when you get the chance. Who knows, you might actually like it. So… was chocolate actually sweet? By the time I reached the bottom floor, my phone buzzed. A message from Emma: “I’m begging you, have some self-respect. Stop throwing yourself at him.” The midday sun beat down relentlessly. I shut my eyes tightly. Block. Delete. Then I stepped out into the light. Jonathan. If loving someone means loving everything about them, does hating their choices mean hating them too?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618658”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The first time my online boyfriend asked for a video call, I was having a severe allergic reaction. My face was swollen like a bloated balloon, hideous beyond words. Yet his expression didn’t change. He even crinkled his handsome eyes, comforting me gently: [“It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to explain.”] [“I’m not superficial. I love you no matter what you look like.”] To prove his sincerity, his enthusiasm skyrocketed. Every message was filled with longing to meet in person: [“Baby, I can’t wait to see you.”] Giddy with sweetness, I took an earlier train to surprise him. Until I sat down and came across a viral forum post: [What does sweet revenge feel like?] [Two months ago, to get back at an annoying mage who camped my bush 9 times in a game, I made an alt account to pretend to be her online boyfriend. Now I’m planning to ghost her at the station and break her heart into pieces.] The comments exploded. Some thought he was trolling, others called him an asshole. The OP didn’t care: [You guys have no idea how disgusting she looks.] [We clicked really well, and I almost felt guilty enough to come clean. But the second I saw her ugly face on video, I snapped back to reality. Dodged a bullet. Punishing a monster like her is practically a public service.] [She claimed she was having an allergic reaction during the call, then sent me two staged photos afterward, claiming they were her.] [Picked top-tier celebrity photos too. Fake as hell.] 01 The post continued: [Just thinking about her excitedly taking the train to see me right now makes me laugh out loud.] [Not only ugly, but brainless too.] [Countdown to the breakup revenge trap!] My fingertips trembled as my brain completely short-circuited. When I first clicked on the thread, I tried to stay calm, telling myself not to jump to conclusions. But the details were too specific. I loved playing that fire mage, hiding in the bushes to ambush enemies all day. I met Gavin through that exact game right after graduation. The timing, the IP location… it all matched. He might as well have written my name on it. 02 Gavin’s gaming skills were average at best, but he had an undeniable charm. His voice was smooth and laced with a lazy smile, and he was insanely generous. Within two days of playing together, he showered me with legendary limited skins like they were free. Spending so much time together, my teenage heart couldn’t help fluttering. I naturally said yes when he confessed. My parents were easygoing about most things, but strict about dating. No relationships before college. So this was my very first romance… an online mystery box. Curious, I checked his pinned social media profile and realized I had pulled an ultra-rare SSR card. Luxury sports cars, expensive watches, and a face that could debut in Hollywood tomorrow. He exuded the effortless aura of a wealthy heir. My best friend, Riley, spent half an hour studying his pictures. Her offhand comment ended up being a terrifying prophecy: “Does a rich guy like this really need to online date? Feels kinda like a pig-butchering scam.” She glanced at me, then sighed. “Whatever, a gorgeous girl like you is online dating him too. Strange world.” Riley nudged me, whispering, “So, how far have you guys gotten? Has he seen what you look like?” I thought about it. “He never asked, and I never sent photos.” My profile was set to private, filled with gaming screenshots. My last selfie was from New Year’s Eve. After making it official, Gavin was attentive and sweet, but he never pressed for photos, seemingly unbothered by looks. Riley sat up straight, scrutinizing his selfies again. “What if he’s using fake pictures? Girl, you should do a video call to verify. Better to inspect the goods now than get catfished in person.” I agreed. So I scheduled a video call with Gavin for that evening, and he accepted without hesitation. 03 For our first virtual date, I spent the entire afternoon getting ready, checking my makeup in the mirror again and again, trembling with nerves. To calm down, I ate a slice of peach pastry from the bakery downstairs. I didn’t realize it contained actual peach puree. I was terribly allergic to peaches. Dizzy and flushed, I passed out on my bed. When the ringing woke me up, I groggily picked up the call. On screen was a striking, fair-skinned guy. Exactly like his photos, with a sharp nose and a confident, dimpled smirk. Meanwhile, in the small preview box… My face was swollen like a giant steamed bun. My eyelids were puffed shut into slits, and my lips looked like two overcooked sausages. Hideous didn’t even cover it. I quickly turned the camera away, stammering an apology. “I’m… I’m so sorry! I had an allergic reaction tonight, I look awful.” He paused for half a second. Then his eyes crinkled warmly, his smile deepening. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to explain.” “I don’t care about looks. I love you no matter what you look like.” Those words instantly melted my embarrassment, flooding my chest with warmth. Later, terrified he’d misunderstand, I picked two of my best selfies and sent them over. After a long silence, he sent back a helpless voice note: [Baby, don’t have appearance anxiety. In my heart, you’ll always be the cutest.] I didn’t catch the underlying weirdness back then. I thought I had stumbled upon the ultimate dream boyfriend. Only now did the truth hit me… He thought I stole someone else’s pictures to catfish him. That helpless tone, if I listened closely, was dripping with subtle mockery. 04 The forum post was exploding with comments. Some were egging him on, while others criticized his cruelty. My phone buzzed with a message. Baby: [Are you almost here?] Suppressing the bitter ache in my chest, I took a deep breath. Me: [Yeah.] I was about to forward the thread to confront him when his next messages flew in: [Then congratulations, you made the trip for nothing.] [Remember that match on May 26th at 11:15 PM? I’m the guy you ambushed 9 times in the bush. You ruined my whole night.] [I only dated you to play you for a fool, got it?] [We’re done, ugly.] [Bye-bye.] He blocked and deleted me instantly. The thread that had all but named me directly was deleted shortly after under mounting backlash, and the account was deactivated. The whole sequence was so lightning-fast I didn’t even get a chance to type a single word back. I stared blankly at my phone. To say I wasn’t hurt would be a lie. My first love, given with total sincerity, turned out to be a cruel, calculated game of revenge. 05 When the train pulled into the station, I dragged my suitcase out into the muggy heat. I was wearing a white sundress and heels, uncomfortable clothes I had put on specifically because Gavin promised to pick me up. The blazing sun beat down overhead. Looking up at the clear sky, silent tears spilled over my lashes. If I had known, I would have ambushed his hero nine more times in that game. I checked into a nearby hotel. Unable to contain my emotions, I texted Riley: [I broke up this morning.] Riley: [Wait, in the game? What rank?] [Why didn’t you invite me?] Me: [No… Gavin dumped me. He blocked me everywhere…] A two-second silence followed before her video call rang. Her wide eyes stared at me through the screen. “Is he insane?!” Red-eyed, I summarized it bitterly: “He thinks I’m ugly.” Riley went silent. “Calling YOUR face ugly? Is his brain…” She held up her phone displaying a frog slapping its own forehead. I poured my heart out to her between choked sobs. “I even applied to Summit University just to be in the same city as him. Orientation is in two days! Love really makes people stupid, ugh!” Riley cursed him until her voice cracked, pausing only to chug water. “Don’t waste tears on a trash bag,” she said sympathetically. “I just hit National rank with my jungler this week. I’ll carry you through ranked matches and destroy everyone.” 06 After spending two days locked in the hotel room gaming hard with Riley, the sting of heartbreak slowly faded away. I collected my thoughts, checked out of the hotel, and headed to Summit University for freshman registration. The upperclassmen at the gate were overly enthusiastic, grabbing my heavy suitcase while aggressively pitching campus SIM cards. The September sun was brutal. I pulled down my mask slightly, revealing my flushed cheeks. “Thanks, but I’m good.” The guy’s smooth sales pitch ground to a halt. His face turned redder than mine. “Oh, no need to buy anything! Helping cute freshmen is what upperclassmen are for! What dorm room are you in? I’ll carry it up for you!” I gave him my room number. Someone behind us gasped. “Wait, I’m in that exact dorm! Want to walk together?” I turned to see a girl with blunt bangs, black-rimmed glasses, and a quiet demeanor. I offered her a friendly smile. “Sure!” She blinked, whispering under her breath, “Wow… you’re so pretty.” The four-person dorm had loft beds over desks. Bangs girl and I arrived last, but everyone got along quickly. The girl across from me invited us to join the official freshman group chat, where display names were set to [Name + Major]. I searched the roster, but couldn’t find Gavin’s name anywhere. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Good news: I wouldn’t have to run into my toxic ex. Bad news: He had lied to me again. He probably didn’t even go here, his promise to apply together was just hot air. Fortunately, Summit University was my dream school anyway, so I wasn’t losing out. While I was lost in thought, the freshman chat suddenly erupted. Someone posted: [Looking for a girl near the East Gate today. If anyone knows her, please send me her contact info! Cash reward!] Attached was a photo. It was a candid shot of me. Just as I was about to reply, the sender retracted the picture: [Thanks, found her!] 07 The chat was alive with banter. [Which goddess caught Hunter’s eye at first sight?] [He deleted it so fast I didn’t even get a screenshot!] [Am I the only one wondering who got the cash reward? Hunter’s bounty must be huge.] The poster’s name was Hunter Cross. He replied to the thread: [She claimed it herself.] I blinked in confusion. I double-checked my phone; my message hadn’t even been sent yet. Behind my bed curtain, excited whispers broke out among my roommates. “Hunter Cross is famous! Super handsome and filthy rich,” said Fiona, who had been lurking in the group chat for days and knew all the campus gossip. “You’re so lucky, Sierra! He actually asked for your info!” Sierra was the girl with the bangs. She gave a soft, shy smile. “Yeah, I added him.” I realized then that the photo had caught both of us walking side by side. I was facing the camera, while she was slightly behind me on the left, partially blocked. So he was looking for her? I quietly erased the draft in my message box. Geez, could people at least blur out innocent bystanders? Almost embarrassed myself there. Fiona continued, a trace of doubt in her voice. “Wait, doesn’t he already have a girlfriend? He used to talk in the main chat all the time about playing games with her.” “They probably broke up,” Sierra murmured quietly. Sierra quickly became the first person in our dorm to drop her single status. She started wearing skincare products and learning makeup, cluttering her desk with bottles and brushes. She loved coming over to chat with me about makeup and outfits. Looking at my wardrobe filled with basic tees and jeans, I hesitated. “Are you sure you want advice from me?” Lydia, another roommate, burst out laughing. “What’s the point of asking Tracy? Her fashion style relies entirely on her face. She could wear a potato sack and look stunning.” Sierra looked at my face, a complex flicker of envy crossing her eyes. “Must be nice.” Fiona glanced over curiously. “Sierra, if you and Hunter are dating, why don’t you guys go out on real dates?” Sierra pulled her hands back, her smile fading slightly. “No rush. Military training just ended, and my skin got tanned. I want to brighten my complexion before meeting him in person.” “Makes sense,” Fiona agreed. Since military training had just wrapped up, everyone was a little sunbaked. Except me, because I had an exemption from a minor surgery earlier that year. Fiona added, “So you guys are basically online dating right now? He must really like you, committing after just one glance.” Sierra hesitated. “Well… we actually went to the same high school. But…” She offered a timid, self-conscious smile. “I used to be chubby and introverted back then. He probably didn’t notice me.” “Ah, I see!” Although they had made it official, they kept it private. Hunter showered the freshman group chat with digital cash rain to celebrate his new relationship. Lurking in the chat, my finger slipped, accidentally claiming one. My luck was abysmal. Out of a three-hundred-dollar pool, I scored four cents. A minute later, Hunter tagged me directly in the main group: [@Tracy Brooks: Pay it back.] Me: ??? 08 Tracy Brooks, Economics and Management. Hunter stared at the overly familiar name on his screen, his jaw clenching in annoyance. Just a few days ago, he had dumped this ugly girl. Now here she was, reappearing in his life like a bad penny. How could he have forgotten? Back when they were talking, they really had developed feelings, which was why they agreed to apply to the same university. Her major, her name, she had sent him screenshots of all of it. So he was 100% sure this Tracy Brooks was her. Since he had used the fake name “Gavin” online, she clearly hadn’t made the connection yet. Judging by how clingy she was during their relationship, she was bound to be an annoying, desperate headache. A custom notification chimed. A message from Princess Sierra: [Why did you tag that girl in the group chat?] Hunter’s scowl smoothed out, his eyes crinkled with a natural smile. [Nothing, baby.] He made up a quick excuse, then stared at the screen waiting for her reply. Hunter genuinely felt he and Sierra were fated. Tracy had stolen Sierra’s photos to catfish him, only for him to run into the real girl on campus days later. The real girl was even prettier in person, standing there like a walking breath of fresh air. He had snapped the picture on impulse. Luckily, the moment he posted it, she reached out to him privately. Even luckier, she liked him back. Sierra sent back a cute kitten sticker: [I thought my roommate did something to upset you.] Hunter raised an eyebrow. Who would’ve guessed his ex and current girlfriend ended up in the same dorm? He typed back with a touch of malice: [She’s your roommate? Is she really ugly?] Princess Sierra replied: [By my standards… pretty average.] He chuckled out loud. [Baby, you’re so sweet.] His girlfriend was truly kindhearted. “Average” was a massive understatement. 09 Out of hundreds of people who claimed the cash gift, I was the only one tagged to return four cents. With zero context. I chalked it up to the unpredictable mood swings of rich snobs, annoyed as I transferred the four cents back. You’d think I stole four million from him. To blow off steam, I decided to go buy some iced watermelon downstairs. Sierra seemed in high spirits after chatting on her phone. Seeing me head out, she called after me, “Tracy, are you going to the back street? Could you grab me some fresh peaches?” “Can’t do it. I’m allergic to peaches, my face swells up like a balloon.” “Oh, I see,” she replied thoughtfully, her tone light. “I’ll go get them myself later then.” The noon sun was blinding. I held up my UV umbrella, covering my upper body completely, only closing it once I stepped into the fruit shop. Instantly, I felt several pairs of eyes land on me. I touched my cheek, realizing I had forgotten my sun mask today. On my walk back carrying the watermelon, Fiona sent me a frantically typed message: [Girl! You’re going viral on the campus forum!] She forwarded a post from the campus crush page featuring several candid shots of me. [HELP?! Who is this girl? Is an actress filming a movie on campus or something?!] The comment section was buzzing: [Is she a freshman? Military training just ended, but I never saw her. Her skin is glowing!] [Unbelievable beauty. Must be a freshman! Is she single? Please tell me she likes girls too!] [Even if she’s taken, can I be her side piece? The more the merrier!] Among the flood of comments, one stood out like a sore thumb. Hunter Cross: [She’s taken. Don’t even dream about it.] Fiona, blunt as ever, found it bizarre and replied directly under his comment: [She’s not taken. She’s my roommate and she’s very single.] 10 When I got back to the dorm, Sierra was the only one there. She had her back to me, typing furiously on her phone, seemingly deep in conversation. I put the watermelon away and rested for a bit before checking the forum comments. Hunter’s comment had been deleted. Lurking bystanders were asking: [Why did Hunter delete his comment?] [So is the goddess single or not? Someone answer!] I found the whole thing ridiculous, especially Hunter’s possessive tone. He made it sound like I was his property. And I didn’t even know the guy. I asked Sierra what was up. Without looking up, she murmured softly, “Oh, I asked him about it. He said he mistook you for someone else.” I remained skeptical. I kept feeling a strange vibe from Hunter toward me, hostility mixed with… possessiveness? I couldn’t quite place it. But very soon, everything made sense. My ex-boyfriend pulled me out of his block list, sending a brief verification message: [It’s Hunter.] 11 Hunter Cross… Sierra’s boyfriend… was Gavin? I froze, processing the absurd revelation. So his name had been fake all along. My mind spun in circles. Setting everything else aside… how did he have the nerve to reach out to me first? With a heavy heart, I accepted his friend request and typed out a polite query: [Are you still alive?] Planning a scheme to dump me, trolling me in game, moving seamlessly to another girl… every single offense was unforgivable. I was being incredibly courteous by not using profanity. Then I changed his contact name. Douchebag: [Sierra is my girlfriend.] Me: [I know. Want me to award you a trophy?] Douchebag: [I know exactly what you’re thinking. Heh, leading the room to isolate her, is that fun for you?] Me: [Spell it out clearly. Who am I isolating?] And what on earth was I supposedly thinking? Douchebag: [Tracy, you still can’t let me go.] [You hate me because you still love me, so your head is filled with pitiful delusions.] Me: [I think you’re having psychotic hallucinations.] When he dumped me, I was heartbroken, but once the initial sting passed, all that remained was fury at being played. I’d have to be brain-dead to still pine over him. And in his eyes, my character was so vile that just because of his involvement, I would automatically bully his girlfriend? What kind of delusional fan-fiction was he concocting? Still, I didn’t mind pushing his buttons: [So what do you expect me to do? Whatever you demand, I’ll do the exact opposite, because I owe you zero obedience.] Hunter sent back a voice note, lowering his tone to sound persuasive: “Tracy, I’ll set you up with one of my wealthy friends, and we’ll call it even, okay?” “Stop clinging to me, and stop causing trouble for Sierra.” “Just pretend we never dated.” Immediately following his voice note came a shared contact card. 12 The guy Hunter tried to set me up with was named Asher. I knew who he was. Sophomore year, frequent celebrity on the campus confession wall. Some praised his killer good looks; others envied his top-tier gaming skills. Rumor had it he was notoriously hard to pursue. I had no idea how Hunter convinced him to talk to me. After adding him, Asher got straight to the point: [Want to meet up? I don’t like chatting with strangers online.] I had an ulterior motive for adding him. Before replying to him, I texted Riley: [Bestie, I have something to tell you.] Riley: [Hold on! Don’t tell me it’s about Gavin!] [If you utter words like love, miss, or can’t forget, I will buy a flight ticket and beat you up myself.] I typed hesitantly: [Kind of related.] [He sent me a rebound guy as compensation. Seems like he’s amazing at gaming. It’s the start of the new ranked season, I was wondering if he could carry us.] Riley: [Send me his profile. Let me inspect.] I copied Asher’s gaming ID to her. Two minutes later: Riley: [Profile APPROVED.] [He’s a top-ranking Jungler! Girl, our ranked season is saved!] [I grant him permission to carry us.] So I agreed to meet Asher. 13 I rejected every location he suggested. Too far, too inconvenient. After I shut down his fifth idea, Asher sent a row of dots. In the end, he came down to my dorm building to find me. I had a bit of a procrastination habit, so by the time I walked downstairs, he had been waiting for a few minutes. From a distance, I caught sight of his dark hair and crisp white shirt. Up close, his face was striking, with sharp brows, refined features, and a clean jawline. He glanced at me, quickly looked away, then looked back again. It wasn’t until I stood directly in front of him that he raised an eyebrow, his cold composure melting into an amused smirk. “You’re Hunter’s ex-girlfriend?” “My name is Tracy Brooks.” He was a head taller than me, looking down with a thoughtful gaze. “You’re different from what I imagined.” “He actually let you go… whatever. Let me introduce myself properly.” He extended his hand. “I’m Asher.” Bit formal, I thought, but I shook his hand lightly. “Nice to meet you, Asher.” We exchanged a few polite words before he suddenly shifted the topic: “Tracy, are you sure Hunter won’t try to get back with you?” I found the question utterly baffling. “Of course not.” “He has a girlfriend now, and besides, I don’t like him.” Asher smirked. “Right.”

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On my first day inside this book, I knew the six year old kid standing in front of me was destined to become a ruthless villain. I also knew that my hopelessly romantic mother and I were doomed to be nothing more than collateral damage on his dark descent into evil. To stay alive, I intended to keep my head down and lay low. But the brat practically begged for a beatdown. So I adopted a simple rule: a light thrashing every three days, a heavy beating every five. I hammered at him until he finally learned to bow his head. Nobody is born a villain. If a kid acts out, it just means they haven’t been slapped into line yet. If one beating doesn’t work, make it two. Just when I thought my work was complete, the little jerk turned right around and started wagging his tail at the story’s original female lead. I rolled up my sleeves. It was time to remind him who his true master was. 1 My mom fell in love again. This time, her eyes were set on Big Gus, a burly fishmonger who ran a stall at the local farmers’ market. The moment she dragged me through the front door of his place, an apartment heavy with the sharp reek of raw fish and damp scales, a skinny, sun-darkened boy burst out of the hallway and shoved my mom so hard she stumbled backward. “Get the hell out!” he shrieked, his neck stiffening as his round eyes widened like a feral pup whose bone had just been snatched. “Both of you, get out! This is my house!” My mom had a soft heart. She knelt down, reaching out to comfort him, only for him to spit right at her feet. Gus hurried out from the back room, wiping his wet hands on a stained apron. He brought a heavy palm down on the back of the boy’s head. “You little bastard, where are your manners? This is Sarah. She’s your new mother!” “My mother is dead!” the boy screamed, his voice cracking into a raw rasp. “She’ll never be my mother!” His name was Cole. He was Gus’s son, and in the novel I had transmigrated into, he was the future maniac who would strip my mother and me down to the bone. I watched the spectacle with cold eyes. The book had laid it out in brutal detail. The little creature in front of me would grow up to be paranoid, gloomy, and utterly cold-blooded. He would ruin his own life fighting the male lead for the female lead’s affection, eventually landing himself in a maximum security prison. As for my mom and me, his so-called wicked stepmother and freeloading stepsister, our ends were nothing short of gruesome. Yet there my mom was, blissfully ignorant, pulling out a handful of caramels to bribe her future executioner. Cole slapped the candies straight out of her hand. “Keep your garbage sweets!” he sobbed, his voice trembling with rage. “Get out!” I couldn’t watch this garbage fire anymore. Before transmigrating, I had trained in kickboxing for a few years. Handling a six year old brat was easier than breathing. That night, once the adults were fast asleep, I crept into Cole’s tiny bedroom and yanked him out from under his thin blanket. He was half-asleep when his small body hit the wooden floorboards. Before he could scream, I clamped my palm over his mouth and leaned down close to his ear. “Make one sound,” I whispered, “and I’ll hang you by your ankles from the old oak tree out front.” He glared up at me, terror flickering in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by stubborn fury. He balled his small fists, looking like he wanted to hurl himself at me. With a stubborn mule like him, words were useless. I flipped him over, pinned him to the floor, and gave his rear end a thorough, rhythmic spanking. I targeted only the softest spots. It hurt like hell, but it wouldn’t bruise or break any bones. He bit his lower lip so hard it nearly bled, refusing to cry. He just kept staring at me with those wolfish eyes. The next morning, he bared his teeth at my mother again. I dragged him back into the room and gave him another thrashing. On the third day, he hid my mother’s hairbrush. I hauled him over to the old water well in the yard, holding him upside down by his ankles over the dark opening. “Are you going to keep hiding things?” I asked, dangling him gently. “No!” he cried out, tears finally breaking through. “I won’t!” “Are you going to be disrespectful to my mother again?” “I won’t! I promise!” I pulled him up and set him on his feet. He rubbed his red ankles, sniffling as he scurried away like a frightened rabbit. On the morning of the fourth day, I walked out into the yard and spotted him crouching beneath the gnarled oak tree, systematically poking at an ant nest with a twig. When he heard my footsteps, his entire frame tensed, but he didn’t run. I ignored him, going straight to the outdoor sink to wash up. When I finished splashing cold water on my face, I turned around to find him shuffling awkwardly toward my feet. He looked up, his missing front tooth revealing a tiny gap in his pouty mouth. A muffled, nearly inaudible voice squeezed out of his throat. “You… want one?” He held out a trembling hand. Lying in his palm were two crumpled caramels, their wrappers slightly sticky and squished. They were the exact candies my mom had tried to give him days ago. God knows where he had dug them up. I looked down at him from my full height. His eyes darted around, avoiding my gaze, while the tips of his ears flushed a deep, burning crimson. I took the candies, peeled one open, and popped it into my mouth. I tossed the second one right back at his chest. “Consider it a reward.” He froze, staring at the candy in his palm before looking up at me in disbelief. Then, with desperate speed, he shoved it into his mouth. His cheek puffed out into a tiny, round lump. The sweetness seemed to make him relax a little, though he still watched me like a cautious stray dog. “Don’t you know the rules?” I nudged his rear with the tip of my shoe. “What are you supposed to call me from now on?” He stayed quiet for a long moment, a muffled word struggling to escape his throat. “…Sister.” “Wrong.” I squatted down, pinching his chubby cheek to bring his eyes level with mine. I flashed him a wide, dangerous smile. “You call me Her Majesty.” His small face turned bright red, as if saying those words was worse than eating dirt. I flashed my fist in front of his nose. “Hmm? Got a problem with that?” “Her Majesty,” he whimpered, his voice barely louder than the buzz of a mosquito. “Louder! Did you not eat breakfast?” “Her Majesty!” He leaped up like a startled cat and shouted at the top of his lungs, scaring off a flock of sparrows resting on the oak branches. Satisfied, I nodded and strolled back inside with my hands behind my back. From that day on, I gained a tiny shadow. When I ate strawberries, I got the juicy tops and he got the leafy stems. If I laid down on the couch and barked that I was thirsty, a glass of water was shoved into my hands instantly. If I sneezed while soaking up the sun in the yard, he would tear off his faded undershirt and frantically drape it over my shoulders, shivering in the breeze. Big Gus watched this whole dynamic unfold with his jaw on the floor. He pulled my mom aside one evening, whispering nervously, “Is the boy… possessed?” My mom chewed on a sunflower seed, crossing her legs with a sly grin. “He takes after me. We just have natural charm.” I rolled my eyes and didn’t bother correcting her. Life went on like that, chaotic, loud, and weirdly warm. Outside our house, Cole remained the terror of the neighborhood. The moment he was out of my sight, he transformed back into a fearless little monster. Complaints from neighbors flooded in every other day. Whenever Gus was away, Cole bounced off the walls like an untamed monkey. The only thing in the universe that could make him behave was a swift, firm beating from me. Next door lived a gossipy woman named Mrs. Higgins. One afternoon, right after I finished disciplining Cole, she leaned against her porch rail, cracking sunflower seeds with a greasy smile. She called out to Cole, who was crouching on the ground shelling peanuts for me. “Oh, honey, why are you doing chores for that outsider girl? Shelling peanuts for her? Take it from me, you better keep an eye on your daddy’s money. A stepmother means a stepdad sooner or later. Once she pops out a baby brother for you, your father won’t even remember your name.” Cole’s hands froze. His small face dropped instantly, his lips pressing into a thin, tight line. I strode out of the house, slung an arm around Cole’s neck, and flashed Mrs. Higgins a dazzling smile. “Auntie Higgins,” I called out cheerfully, “I heard Mr. Higgins has been visiting the laundromat downtown quite a bit lately, asking the young widow there to knit him a sweater. It’s barely autumn yet. Isn’t that strange?” Mrs. Higgins turned pale. A sunflower seed shell caught in her throat, sending her into a fit of violent coughing. “You… you little brat! What kind of nonsense are you spouting?” I didn’t back down an inch. I planted my hands on my hips, mimicking her nasal tone. “Just returning the favor! You seem so worried about my family’s business, I thought I’d help you look out for yours. Maybe you should run home right now. Who knows? He might already be trying on that new sweater.” Mrs. Higgins trembled with rage, pointing a finger at me for a long, agonizing moment before dropping her seeds and scurrying away, her wide hips swaying furiously. Soon enough, the sound of her screaming at her husband echoed down the street. Cole looked up at me, his eyes wide and sparkling, filled with tiny, shining stars. I flicked him hard on the forehead. “What are you staring at? Are those peanuts shelled yet? Next time someone tries to talk trash to you, hit them right back where it hurts. Got it?” “Got it!” he chirped, ducking his head to tear into the peanuts with newfound energy. A tiny, unstoppable smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. A month later, my mom and Gus officially registered their marriage. Because I had started school late, I ended up in the same grade as Cole despite being two years older. Every morning at dawn, Gus would kick-start his rusty, ancient pickup truck to drive us to school, the engine rattling so hard it rattled our teeth. Originally, Cole and I agreed to take turns sitting in the passenger seat. But Cole was as stubborn as a mule. He insisted that the bed of the truck gave him a better view, stubbornly clinging to the metal sides every single day. By the time we reached school, he would hop out, rubbing his sore rear end and limping toward the gates like he had just been thrown off a wild horse. I genuinely couldn’t understand it. Were all future villains this committed to torturing their own butts? When I mentioned it to my mom, a thick, padded cushion sewn out of old denim appeared in the truck bed the very next morning. Cole pretended not to care, turning his head away to stare at the sky. But when he climbed into the back, I saw him secretly run his fingers over the soft fabric, a wide grin spreading all the way to his ears. “Pathetic,” I muttered. He huffed at me. “Don’t you dare try to steal my spot.” I turned away and ignored him. During recess, I often saw him sitting alone by the flowerbeds, poking at the dirt with a stick, never bothering to join the other kids. At first, I assumed it was just his natural villainous temperament. Arrogant, lonely, looking down on common mortals. Until one afternoon, during break, I caught a group of older boys cornering him against the brick wall near the gym. They were shoving him around, chanting that he was a dirty stray who had no real mother. Cole stood there with his head down, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists, his face flushed red, but he didn’t say a single word. My brain went cold. This was the plot taking hold. The world was trying to force him to turn evil. I slammed my backpack onto the ground and rolled up my sleeves. “Get your filthy hands off my brother!” The moment Cole saw me, his eyes lit up. He threw himself into the fight without a second thought. The chaos was instant. We rolled around in the dirt, throwing punches and kicking wildly. But we were outnumbered. By the time teachers rushed over to break it up, I had taken a few nasty scratches, though the bullies hadn’t walked away clean either. The school called our parents. When my mom got the news, the woman who usually cared about nothing except romance lost her mind. She grabbed the heavy wooden rolling pin from the kitchen and ran all the way to the school, her hair wild and unkempt. She stormed right into the bullies’ classroom, looking like a total madwoman. She marched straight up to the tallest boy, who towered a full head over her, and jabbed the rolling pin into his chest, spraying spittle right into his face. “You lay another finger on my son and see what happens! I am his mother! Anyone who calls him a motherless child again, I’ll break your legs myself!” The entire school was stunned into silence. The principal and three security guards had to physically hold her back to stop her from tearing the place apart. That evening, my mom walked home holding Cole’s hand tight. He was crying his eyes out, snot bubbles popping at his nose, ruining my mom’s sleeve. But he held onto her hand so hard his knuckles turned white, refusing to let go. At dinner, he did something unheard of. He didn’t try to steal the chicken drumstick from my plate. Instead, he kept his head low, picking at his rice in absolute silence. Finally, he looked up. His nose was bright red, his eyes swollen. He stared at my mom for a long, agonizing moment before whispering, “Mom. Tonight’s sweet poached eggs… were really delicious.” My mom froze. Tears instantly welled up in her eyes. She dropped her chopsticks, pulled him into a fierce hug, and sobbed, “Oh, you silly boy! If you like them, I’ll make them for you every day!” Gus sat beside them, grinning from ear to ear, though the corners of his eyes were glistening. I buried my face in my bowl, wondering why the rice suddenly tasted so salty. Who would have thought? The stubborn brat I had spent weeks beating into submission was completely won over by my mom with a simple bowl of sweet eggs. At seven-thirty that evening, Cole slunk out of the house like a thief, his head tucked low as he crept across the yard. I was sitting on the porch eating a slice of watermelon. Watching his shady behavior, I felt a twinge of suspicion. Why was this kid sneaking out in the middle of the night? Was he going to meet someone for a fight? As his big sister, I couldn’t let him stray into the abyss. I tossed my watermelon rind aside, wiped my mouth, and quietly trailed behind him. He took a series of sharp turns, winding through the narrow alleys until he started heading up the dirt path leading into the hills behind the town. The further I followed, the more uneasy I felt. This path led straight to the old, abandoned cemetery. Even in broad daylight, most adults avoided that place. Yet there he was, trekking up the steep slope for half an hour, panting like a broken engine, never once slowing down. The night wind whipped through the trees, making the shadows dance like reaching hands. I crouched low in the tall grass, shivering. If I didn’t turn back soon, my mom would think I’d been kidnapped. Just as I was about to retreat, I saw him plop down right next to a weathered gravestone. Then, he lay flat on the cold ground. I nearly gasped out loud. Lying next to a grave in the middle of the night? This kid really wasn’t wired like normal people. Then, his voice drifted through the quiet night air. It sounded muffled, like a lonely child whispering secrets to the dirt. “Mom… I came to see you again. I’m… doing pretty well lately. Dad found a new wife, and she brought a daughter with her. That sister is terrifying. She beats me up every single day.” He paused, his voice dropping even lower. “But… she’s not totally evil. And the new mom… she made me sweet poached eggs. She even came to my school and fought the kids who picked on me. Now, nobody at school dares to mess with me. They all dodge me when I walk by. They’re scared of her. They call her a crazy witch.” He fell silent for a moment before choking out, “And… I called her Mom today.” The wind swept through the grass, rustling the weeds around the headstone. “Mom, are you angry with me?” he whispered, his voice trembling with tears. “Because I called someone else Mom… do you think I don’t want you anymore?” Hiding behind a thick pine trunk, my eyes burned, and my nose went sharp with pain. So that was why his bedroom light flickered late into the night. He was crying in the dark every single evening. Underneath that fierce, unyielding exterior, behind the boy who refused to shed a single tear even when I spanked him, lay a massive, bleeding hole in his heart. The original novel had brushed past it with a single, cold line: Mother died young. It hadn’t mentioned what it felt like to watch a six year old curl up inside a shallow, human-shaped depression in the dirt right beside his mother’s grave. The soil in that little trench was worn smooth, stripped entirely of grass. How many times had he climbed up this mountain, lying in that cold dirt just to pretend he was being held in his mother’s arms? He chattered on for a long time. He mentioned that Gus bought him a new backpack, that I stood up to the loud neighbor for him, that his new mom looked like a terrifying warrior when she stormed the school… Gradually, his voice trailed off, followed by a soft yawn. After a few minutes, he dragged himself up, brushed the dirt off his pants, and stroked the smooth surface of the tombstone. Then he turned around and began his trek back down. I stayed hidden until his footsteps faded into the distance. Then I stepped out from behind the tree and walked up to the grave. Under the faint moonlight, the carved name on the stone was hard to read, but the human-shaped dent in the ground was unmistakably clear. I stood before the headstone and bowed deeply. Then, I squatted down and spoke to the cold granite as if chatting over tea. “Auntie, don’t you worry. Cole is under my wing now. I promise I’ll hold back a little when I hit him so I don’t break him. And I won’t let him go down the wrong path. He’s going to grow up to be a good man and take care of Gus. You can rest easy down there. I’ve got his back.” The mountain wind bit through my clothes, making my nose run. I rubbed my bare arms and sprinted down the trail. Halfway down the slope, I spotted Cole’s small frame huddled beneath the yellow glow of the streetlamp outside our gate. He hadn’t gone inside. He was waiting for me. When he saw me running down the path, he froze. “Where… why were you up on the mountain?”

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