Author: Momo Chan

# I did everything I could to take care of him after his accident, hoping he’d regain his memory. When I found out I was pregnant, I thought it might bring him back to me. I showed up at the private lounge with the ultrasound report in hand, ready to tell him. But before I could step inside, I overheard his laughter. “Ethan, you really nailed it with this fake amnesia thing,” one of his friends said, cracking up. “Not only did you shake off Anna, but you’re back with your dream girl.” “Right?” Ethan replied, chuckling. “I had no idea Anna could be so clueless. After the accident, she’s been running herself ragged looking after me. She has no idea I’ve been faking it the whole time.” The group let out a roar of laughter. “Man, I thought she’d get the hint and leave, but nope. Still clinging to me like she always has. She’s been like that since we were kids—impossible to shake off.” … The next day, at a business gala, I met his so-called “dream girl,” Natalie. Ethan introduced me to her as “just a friend’s little sister.” Natalie gave me a condescending smile and quipped, “Ethan, your friend’s sister looks so much like me back in college.” That’s when it hit me. All my clothes, my makeup, even my hobbies—I had unconsciously molded myself into a copy of Natalie. The realization was like a knife to the chest. I stepped out of the gala and called my brother. Afterward, I went straight to the hospital and scheduled the procedure. “Nick,” I said over the phone, my voice trembling, “I’ll come home. I’ll get married.”

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line. Then came Nick’s worried voice. “Anna, what did Ethan do to you?” The ache in my chest grew unbearable. I fought back tears and forced a laugh. “What could he do? He doesn’t have the guts. Besides, there’s nothing between us anymore.” I paused, taking a shaky breath. “I came here to get better, and now that I’m healthy, it’s time to come home.” “And… I miss you, Mom, and Dad,” I added softly. Nick let out a light laugh, trying to sound casual. “Took you long enough. You’ve been away for years, and now you’re suddenly homesick?” I didn’t respond. My breathing grew uneven. Nick quickly changed his tone, coaxing, “Alright, alright. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m glad you’re coming back. We’ve all missed you like crazy.” “Besides,” he added with a teasing lilt, “the White boy’s still willing to marry into our family. Once you’re married, you’ll be back home with us. How perfect is that?” His warm, familiar voice was enough to break me. I hung up quickly, tears streaming down my face. … I was a sickly child, in and out of hospitals all the time. Born with asthma, I was sent to live in Springhill, a city with a mild climate, to recover. Our family had been close with the Hayes family for years, so my parents left me in their care. Ethan was seven years older than me, mischievous and carefree. He had a reputation for being a flirt, and my brother constantly warned me to steer clear of him. “Keep your distance,” Nick would say. “Don’t let him get any ideas.” But as time passed, the boundaries blurred. Ethan’s warmth and charm pulled me in, and I fell hard. When I recovered, I insisted on staying in Springhill to study and work, just to be near him. Ethan said he didn’t want to go public with our relationship yet. He worried my family wouldn’t approve of the age gap and promised he’d explain everything to them when the time was right. That “right time” stretched into six years. And now, after everything, I didn’t even know who to turn to.

When I got off the cold operating table, my body felt hollow—just like my heart. The anesthesia dulled the physical pain, but the ache inside was unbearable. Tears slipped down my face as I shakily ripped the ultrasound report into pieces and tossed it into the trash. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The woman staring back at me looked like a stranger. Straight black hair, a white dress, soft, understated makeup. It wasn’t me. It was her. I used to love staring into Ethan’s eyes, seeing the love and tenderness in them. Now I knew that love had never been for me. He had always been looking at Natalie, even when he looked at me. I swiped on some lipstick to hide my pale lips and walked out of the bathroom. In the hospital hallway, I ran into Ethan and Natalie. They were holding hands, dressed in matching outfits, smiling like they were the happiest couple in the world. Ethan held a piece of paper in his hand. Even from a distance, I recognized it: a pregnancy report. Natalie was pregnant? The thought hit me like a thunderbolt, leaving me frozen in place. “Anna, what are you doing here?” Natalie asked brightly, pulling Ethan toward me. When Ethan saw me, a flash of panic crossed his face. He quickly folded the report in his hand. “Anna, are you feeling unwell again?” he asked, his voice overly casual. Bitterness rose in my throat as I struggled to find the words. Finally, I shook my head. “No, I just ran out of my medicine and came to get more.” “Don’t tell me you’re still taking those vitamins,” Ethan said, smirking. “You know they don’t actually work, right?” I stayed silent. After Ethan’s “amnesia,” I developed severe anxiety. Insomnia plagued me, and I relied on sleeping pills to get through the nights. But I lied to Mrs. Hayes, telling her they were just vitamins—I didn’t want her to worry. I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the wave of emotions threatening to engulf me. “Guess what, Anna?” Natalie said, beaming. “Ethan and I are having a baby!” She placed a hand on her stomach and laughed. “At the gala earlier, I swore I felt the baby kicking. Ethan was so worried he dragged me here to get checked out.” She playfully nudged Ethan, who smiled sheepishly. “You know how it is. The first three months are the most critical, and our baby’s only two months along. Better safe than sorry.” Two months. My baby was two months old, too. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. He had been with me one night, only to crawl into Natalie’s bed the next. How could he so shamelessly have both of us at the same time?

Looking at his guiltless face, at the way his eyes softened with genuine affection for Natalie, I finally understood why everyone said his fake amnesia was so convincing. Because it didn’t require any acting. No lies, no pretense. This was the real Ethan Hayes. When you stripped away the false tenderness he’d shown me, all that remained was the burning devotion he felt for Natalie. Disgust churned in my stomach, and I fled the scene in a daze. The pain was unbearable. Tears spilled uncontrollably the moment I turned away. I went straight to the office and handed in my resignation. I’d always been friendly and well-liked at work, so when my colleagues heard I was leaving, they were reluctant to see me go. They insisted I host a farewell dinner. At the table, I drowned my sorrows in alcohol, drinking until I could barely stand. When I stumbled out of the restaurant, my first instinct was to call Ethan to pick me up, just like I used to. But all I got was a cold, automated voice telling me the number was no longer in service. It sobered me instantly, sending sharp pangs through my chest. How could I have forgotten? I was no longer the person Ethan would drop everything for. I flagged down a cab and returned to the Hayes family home. As soon as I arrived, I saw movers carrying boxes into the house. Curious, I peeked inside. There she was—Natalie, sitting comfortably on the couch, leaning affectionately against Mrs. Hayes while they chatted like old friends. Ethan was sitting beside them, peeling grapes and feeding them to Natalie like some lovesick fool. It was such a picturesque scene. Until I walked in. The moment they noticed me, the warmth in the air dissipated. Mrs. Hayes awkwardly pushed Natalie away and hurried over to me. “Anna, this is Natalie. You must remember her—she’ll be staying here for a few days,” she said, her voice strained. I smiled faintly but didn’t respond. “You’ve been drinking?” Ethan asked, frowning as he stood. His tone was sharp, almost accusatory. I gave a nonchalant hum of acknowledgment. His expression darkened immediately. “How could you drink with your stomach condition? Have you forgotten about your perforated ulcer?” Of course, I hadn’t forgotten. That ulcer had been the result of me drinking excessively to help Ethan close a big business deal. I’d ended up in the hospital, bleeding internally, and Ethan had spent the entire night crying outside the emergency room. I still remembered the way he’d cradled my hands afterward, his eyes full of guilt as he whispered, “Anna, I’ll never let you touch alcohol again.” The memory stung, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. “I forgot,” I lied flatly. Ethan’s shoulders slumped as a flicker of panic crossed his face. He glanced nervously at Natalie before turning back to me. “Natalie’s pregnant,” he said, his tone suddenly stern. “She can’t stand the smell of alcohol. From now on, don’t drink anymore.” I didn’t respond. I simply turned and walked up the stairs. Mrs. Hayes followed me to my room, clearly worried. She sat beside me on the bed, holding my hand tightly, her eyes red-rimmed as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t. I broke the silence for her. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She wiped at her tears and cupped my face gently. “I never thought Ethan would lose his memory and forget everything you two had,” she murmured. “But I heard that sometimes amnesia happens because the love was too deep. Maybe Natalie reminds him of you. Maybe he’s with her because, deep down, he thinks she’s you…” Her voice faltered, but she quickly added, “But no matter what, Natalie is pregnant now. The Hayes family has to take responsibility.” A mother always knows her child. Mrs. Hayes wasn’t fooled by Ethan’s act. She knew he was lying about the amnesia. But she was Ethan’s mother. His happiness—and her future grandchild—mattered more to her than I ever could. Still, Mrs. Hayes had always been genuinely kind to me, even in the years I’d spent here. I couldn’t hold it against her. Swallowing the bitterness in my heart, I squeezed her hand and smiled faintly. “Mrs. Hayes, I’m going home to get married.” “Please don’t tell Ethan.”

Mrs. Hayes froze, her face flushing red as she opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. Finally, she let out a long sigh. “This is all Ethan’s fault… he’s the one who wronged you.” After she left, one of the housekeepers brought in a bowl of ginger soup to help me sober up. The ginger slices were thick and clumsy, clearly cut by Ethan himself. Tears slipped into the bowl as I stared at it. I didn’t take a single sip and poured it all down the toilet. That night, the alcohol and my recent miscarriage left me doubled over in pain. My lower abdomen ached so badly that I could hardly move. With trembling hands, I rummaged through my bedside table for painkillers, but all I found were my sleeping pills—disguised with a label I had written, calling them “vitamins.” From the next room, muffled sounds of passion seeped through the walls. In the darkness, I finally let go of my composure and sobbed into my pillow, my cries echoing through the silence of the night. The next morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of furious knocking. Ethan’s voice shouted from the other side of the door, laced with anger. Confused and half-asleep, I stumbled to open it. Before I could say a word, his hand came down hard across my face. The stinging pain snapped me out of my daze. “Anna! You’re nothing but a selfish, ungrateful brat!” Ethan roared, his eyes blazing with fury. “Why the hell would you send flowers to the house? Don’t you know Natalie is allergic to pollen?!” He threw a bouquet of roses at me, and the sharp thorns scratched my cheek, leaving it burning with pain. The bitterness in my chest bubbled into a swell of anger. I opened my mouth to explain, but Ethan cut me off before I could utter a single word. He shoved me, and I fell to the floor. His eyes were filled with unrestrained hostility. “Pray that nothing happens to Natalie’s baby,” he hissed, “or I swear I’ll make you pay for it.” With that, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Lying on the floor, I let out a hollow laugh as tears rolled down my face. I had asthma. I was allergic to pollen, too. Why would I ever send flowers to the house? My breathing grew shallow, and my chest heaved as I gasped for air. My vision blurred, and I struggled to get up. Unable to stand, I crawled toward the bedside table. “Medicine…” I whispered hoarsely. My hand knocked over the vase on the table, and it shattered, cutting my palm as I reached for the drawer. But it was empty. Panic gripped me as I remembered that Ethan had insisted on keeping my medication with him, saying it would be safer if he carried it in case of emergencies. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by despair. My strength ebbed away, and I collapsed onto the floor. “Anna! Anna!” Mrs. Hayes’s panicked voice broke through the haze as she rushed into the room. When she saw me gasping for air on the floor, she immediately shouted down the stairs, “Ethan! Where’s Anna’s medicine?!” Footsteps pounded closer, and I felt someone kneel beside me. Cool liquid entered my airways, and oxygen slowly flooded my lungs. As I began to breathe again, Ethan’s voice cut through the tension, dripping with disdain. “To force Natalie into a miscarriage, you were even willing to risk triggering your own asthma attack.” He scoffed bitterly. “Anna, I really underestimated how far you would go.” Mrs. Hayes, furious, smacked Ethan hard on the back. “What nonsense are you spouting?!” But Ethan ignored her, grabbing me and tossing me onto the bed like I was nothing. “Natalie just told me that if you agree to be her bridesmaid and hand us the rings at the wedding, she won’t hold this against you.” “Ethan!” Mrs. Hayes cried, horrified, as she tried to push him away. “What are you saying?!” “Fine.” My voice was calm, steady. Both of them froze, clearly not expecting me to agree. My throat was raw, but I forced the words out, one at a time. “I’ll do it.”

Ethan’s expression flickered with disbelief. After a long pause, he finally muttered, “At least you know your place.” I turned away, burying my face in the blanket, letting my tears soak into the pillow. The wedding was set for three days later. During those three days, I busied myself packing and saying goodbye to friends. Ethan, on the other hand, spent all his time accompanying Natalie as she tried on wedding dresses. One by one, my belongings were removed from the house, leaving the space I once called home emptier by the hour. Finally, I came across the photo album filled with pictures of Ethan and me. Without hesitation, I tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled, their light reflected in my eyes. Our memories burned away, turning to ash. “What the hell are you doing?!” I hadn’t even noticed Ethan come back. He lunged toward the fire, reaching into the scorching flames in a futile attempt to save the remnants of the album. But the fire spread too fast. He couldn’t save anything. I watched him coldly. “There’s no point in keeping it.” “What do you mean, no point?!” Ethan’s eyes reddened as he shouted, his voice raw and desperate. “These are our memories!” I let out a bitter laugh. “You must be mistaken. There was never anything between us.” His face fell as he suddenly remembered his supposed “amnesia.” His voice softened, losing all its fury. He reached for my hand, his tone gentle. “I shouldn’t have hit you. Don’t be mad at me, okay?” “It’s fine. Pictures can be retaken,” he added, his voice coaxing. “Even if you’re getting married, you can always stay by my side as my little sister.” He placed a bridesmaid dress on the table. “Natalie asked me to bring this to you. Make sure you look your best tomorrow.” I picked up the bag and nodded. “I will.” The next morning, wedding photos of Ethan and Natalie were displayed on every screen across the city. The dress Natalie wore? It was one I had designed years ago—for myself. I left the bridesmaid dress on the bed, untouched, and wheeled my suitcase to the airport. I didn’t leave a single word behind. As I boarded the plane, I removed my SIM card and tossed it into the trash before turning off my phone for good. As the plane took off, I let out a long breath. Six ridiculous years of my life were finally, completely over.

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## My younger brother, Lucas Harris, had always been jealous of me—jealous of my smart mind, my achievements, and especially my beautiful, capable wife, Emily. Spoiled rotten by our parents since birth, his jealousy eventually drove him to madness. One day, in a fit of rage and desperation, he grabbed me and jumped off the rooftop with me. Little did I know, that wasn’t the end. We were somehow reborn… and swapped bodies. Now, he’s me, and I’ve become him. Lucas used my stellar grades to get into college, stole my identity to woo my wife, and even tried to replicate my business successes from my previous life. He strutted around, smugly showing off his “achievements,” thinking I’d lose my mind in anger. What he didn’t realize was that I couldn’t be happier. My life, which seemed perfect on the surface, was actually a complete mess. Now that he’s taken over, all I can say is: Thank you for jumping into the pit on my behalf! “Do you know how much I’ve envied you?” Lucas slurred, his voice dripping with resentment. “Your brains, your success, your perfect life—and Emily, your gorgeous wife. If I were you, I’d do so much better than you ever could.” I stared at him, feeling a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite name. Lucas had called me out for drinks, setting up a small table on the rooftop with some takeout and beer. It had been years since we’d seen each other, and his sudden invitation caught me off guard. But after just a few drinks, he didn’t even try to hide his bitterness. He went on and on, rambling about petty grievances and ancient history. He thought my life was perfect—flawless, even. What he didn’t know was that beneath the shiny exterior, it was all a façade, held together by duct tape and sheer willpower. I wanted to tell him that happiness isn’t something you can steal; it’s not as simple as taking someone else’s life. But what was the point? Lucas’s bloodshot eyes burned with jealousy, and I could feel his hatred bubbling just beneath the surface. I said nothing, simply downed another drink, letting the bitterness of my life drown in the alcohol. “Do you even understand?” Lucas’s voice cracked as he continued. “I’m at the end of my rope.” “What do you mean?” I asked, my mind hazy from the alcohol. “Everyone looks down on me! I just wanted to prove myself!” His voice grew louder. “I borrowed money to start a business, but it failed. Now I’m drowning in debt. I thought I could gamble my way out of it, but now I owe even more. Loan sharks are after me!” His face twisted with rage as he smashed an empty beer bottle against the table. “It’s not fair! Why do you get everything handed to you on a silver platter while I’m stuck in this endless nightmare? If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!” “What the hell are you talking about? You’re drunk,” I muttered, trying to steady myself. Before I could react, Lucas grabbed me by the arm. That’s when I noticed the needle marks on his arm. This idiot. Was he high?! Before I could pull away, he laughed maniacally and dragged me toward the edge of the rooftop. And then he jumped—taking me with him. The wind roared in my ears as we plummeted. In those final seconds, clarity hit me like a freight train. Regret? Sure. But there was also a strange sense of relief. And then… darkness. I don’t know how much time passed before I heard a familiar voice. “Hey, wake up! The teacher’s coming!” I opened my eyes, blinking against the harsh classroom lights. I was slumped over a desk, surrounded by the all-too-familiar sights and smells of high school. Wait… how did I end up here? I glanced around and realized I was sitting in the back row—right next to the trash can. Before I could process what was happening, I noticed a boy sitting in the front row. He turned around, flashing me a smug grin. It was my face—my high school face. Panicked, I looked down and saw the name written on my textbooks: Lucas Harris. It hit me like a ton of bricks. We hadn’t just been reborn—we’d swapped bodies! Lucas, now wearing my face, looked absolutely thrilled. He grinned like a kid on Christmas morning, clearly basking in the glory of his new identity. But little did he know, the real nightmare was just beginning. “Hey, what’s with the blank stare?” I turned to see the girl sitting beside me. It was Ivy—Lucas’s future wife and my future sister-in-law. Back in high school, Ivy came from a poor family in a small rural town. She couldn’t afford to board at school, so she commuted long distances every day, working part-time jobs to support her family. She barely slept—maybe three or four hours a night—and used her lunch breaks to catch up on homework. Despite her hard work, her grades were always middling at best. Her teachers eventually moved her to the back row, deeming her a lost cause. Ivy was sweet and kind, but Lucas had always looked down on her, calling her plain and boring. He preferred flashy, high-maintenance girls who posted selfies on social media or hung out at nightclubs. But for some reason, Lucas and Ivy eventually ended up together. They even got married. At the time, I was in college, too busy with my own life to pay much attention to theirs. Now, as I sat beside her, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity. “Nothing,” I said, forcing a smile. Lucas’s life might have seemed miserable to him, but in many ways, it was far better than mine. If he didn’t want it, I’d gladly take it off his hands. High school graduation was just around the corner. With my previous knowledge, catching up on material was a breeze. Lucas, on the other hand, was doomed. He’d wasted three years partying and slacking off—and now, with only a month until finals, he was hopelessly behind. This was the turning point.

The last month of senior year is all about review, but I was already behind. To make up for it, I decided to start from scratch—digging into the trickiest problems from freshman and sophomore year, mastering them one by one before moving on to the next topic. During a break, Lucas Harris swaggered over to me, whistling with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His face was plastered with a smug, mocking grin. “Well, well, look who’s hitting the books,” he said, laughing. “Why so serious? Come on, let’s ditch this and have some fun!” I glanced up at him without much expression. “Final exams are around the corner. Shouldn’t you be studying?” The memories of my past life and everything Lucas had done were still fresh in my mind. The moment he dragged me off that rooftop, any warmth I felt for him as a brother had completely vanished. All that remained was cold indifference. “What’s the point? I’ve got early admission; no need to study,” Lucas said with a grin, clearly enjoying himself. His words jogged my memory. Back in senior year, I’d been offered early admission to a decent college too, but I turned it down. I wanted to shoot for a top-tier school. Unfortunately, on the day of the entrance exam, I came down with a mysterious stomach bug and completely bombed the test. In the end, I wound up at the same school I’d originally been offered. No matter. This time around, I was determined to do better. Because everything I’d ever achieved was through my own efforts. That’s where my confidence came from. “Oh, congratulations,” I replied flatly, brushing him off. Lucas clearly expected me to react with jealousy or anger, and when I didn’t, he looked disappointed and wandered off, muttering to himself. I went back to my practice problems, focusing on rebuilding the knowledge I’d lost over the years. I couldn’t help but notice something, though—Lucas’s body was incredible. He’d always been physically strong, the type who never got sick no matter how much he pushed himself. Growing up, he was the kid who excelled at sports and could fight anyone without breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, I’d been practically raised on medication. A slight draft could leave me bedridden for days. Later in life, years of drinking and stress led to liver cancer, something I kept secret from everyone, even my family. This time, I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes. Health is the foundation for everything else. While I was deep in thought, Ivy nudged me with her elbow. “Are you feeling okay? You’re actually studying today,” she said, giving me a skeptical look. Then she paused, her brow furrowing. “And you’re not picking a fight with your brother? Normally, you two would be at each other’s throats by now. What’s going on? You’re acting… different.” I smiled but didn’t explain. Ivy was kindhearted and hardworking—someone I’d always respected. Despite her difficult circumstances, she remained uncomplaining and resilient. After she married Lucas in our previous lives, she still took care of his family without a single complaint. Back then, I couldn’t help but think: What a waste. A good girl like her deserved so much better than Lucas. The homeroom teacher soon handed out an impromptu quiz. We were instructed to swap papers with our desk partners for grading after we finished. I breezed through the test and finished in no time, while Ivy struggled, occasionally nodding off from exhaustion. When we exchanged papers, I scored close to a perfect score, while Ivy’s answers were… well, let’s just say they weren’t great. “You… cheated, didn’t you?” Ivy said, staring at my paper in disbelief. “No, wait, I was watching you the whole time. Have you been secretly studying behind my back?” “These problems aren’t that hard,” I said casually. She glanced at her own paper, her expression falling. “Not hard? Then why can’t I understand a single one? Maybe I really am just stupid.” Her dejected look made me feel a pang of guilt. In all likelihood, once I went off to college, Ivy and I wouldn’t cross paths again. Unless… “What are your plans after graduation?” I asked. Ivy hesitated, lowering her head. “My dad says if I don’t get into college, I should just find someone to marry.” That explained why she was pushing herself so hard. And it also explained why she and Lucas ended up together after graduation. “How about this—I’ll tutor you,” I offered. She gave me a doubtful look, sizing me up. “You?” “Don’t believe me?” “I believe you, alright,” she said with a sigh. “After that score you just got, no one in class could match it. But even if someone helps me study, I don’t have time to sleep, let alone focus.” “That’s easy to fix. Move into the dorms. I’ll cover your room and board,” I said. She narrowed her eyes. “Where are you getting the money? And since when are you so nice to me? Did you hit your head or something?” “Just say yes or no,” I replied bluntly. This was probably Ivy’s only chance to rewrite her future. How could she refuse? She agreed almost immediately, saying she’d tell her parents she’d saved up enough money to afford the dorm fees. I wasn’t entirely sure how much progress we could make in just a month, but I was determined to try my best. As for the money? That wasn’t an issue. Back in my previous life, a friend and I had once bought lottery tickets on a whim after school. He picked my birthday and a few lucky numbers, while I picked random ones. He ended up winning $50,000, and the store even hung up a banner celebrating the win for weeks. I’d always thought, If only I had been the one to win. And now? Well, let’s just say I had a good memory—and a need for cash.

I bought a lottery ticket and waited for the results. Sure enough, I won. The money isn’t a huge amount, but after taxes, it was enough to land in my account quickly. I sent a few hundred dollars to Ivy so she could cover her room and board fees. With proper sleep and less stress, she was much more energetic, though she was still behind on her studies. While helping her catch up, I also reinforced my own knowledge. Before I knew it, a month had flown by. On the day of the college entrance exams, I gave a solid performance. For my college choice, I selected the same school I attended in my previous life. After much consideration, I realized going back had its advantages: I could make the most of my knowledge from my past life, and I missed my old classmates. Ivy, on the other hand, exceeded expectations and scored above the threshold for a second-tier university. When it came time to select her school, she picked one close to mine. To my parents, having both sons go to college was a cause for celebration. They immediately threw a party, inviting family and friends to a graduation feast. That was when I discovered the perks of being the “younger brother.” At the party, my parents completely ignored me. All their attention was on Lucas—no, now he was Gavin Harris. They fawned over him endlessly, showering him with praise and high hopes. In my previous life, this kind of neglect would’ve fueled jealousy and resentment. But now? I leaned back and smiled coldly as I watched Gavin bask in the spotlight. The higher they lift him now, the harder he’ll fall later. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way. Soon, Gavin and I started college at the same time. Ivy also enrolled at a nearby school, and we stayed in touch. She was busy balancing her studies with a part-time job to cover tuition and living expenses. As for Gavin? He was living it up. He skipped classes, stayed out all night, and was constantly on the dormitory’s violation list. His name appeared on every notice for truancy and disciplinary warnings. One day, I stopped by the café where Ivy worked part-time to bring her some food. That’s when I ran into Gavin. He was holding hands with a beautiful girl—stylishly dressed, with flawless makeup that screamed wealth. I recognized her immediately. It was Nancy, my wife from my previous life. “Well, well, if it isn’t my old classmate,” Gavin said with a smug grin, spotting Ivy first. “Wait, no—my old desk partner! What are you doing working here?” Then his eyes landed on me. His expression shifted into one of triumph, as if to say, Look, the stunning, rich wife you once had is now mine. He looked so pleased with himself, it was almost laughable.

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## My best friend and I woke up one day to find ourselves transported into a beast tribe. She was cast as the stand-in for the icy high priest’s unattainable first love. I, on the other hand, was stuck as the pathetic sycophant of a psychotic snake king. Armed with modern knowledge, the two of us worked tirelessly to improve the tribe’s infrastructure—only to be labeled as heretics and brutally executed by the saint of the tribe. Beheaded. Burned. Our souls shattered. When I opened my eyes again, I grabbed my backpack, knocked on my best friend’s door, and asked: “Are you ready to die again?” “Together,” she replied without hesitation. Turns out, after our deaths, our so-called husbands went completely insane. By the time the high priest returned to the tribe, Leila and I were already in the middle of dividing up the last of our stockpiled supplies. She crouched on the floor, meticulously sorting through her stash. From tiny bottles of chili sauce to a collapsible tent, she treated everything like treasure. Thanks to our efforts at modernizing the tribe, we’d accidentally amassed a decent warehouse of goods over the years. She looked so pleased with her finds that I couldn’t help but feel a mix of envy and pride. Suddenly, a frantic shout came from outside: “The high priest has returned!” Leila shot to her feet like a startled cat, her face instantly losing color. Without missing a beat, she shoved me—backpack and all—under the bed. “Stay hidden and don’t make a sound!” she hissed. Then, with surprising ease, she picked up a three-kilogram cast iron pan and handed it to me like it weighed nothing. “If that saintess shows up to cause trouble, smash her in the face with this!” Before I could respond, the door burst open, kicked down by none other than the high priest. Despite his title as a religious figure, the man standing before us was every bit the predator his avian lineage implied. Towering and broad-shouldered, his sheer presence seemed to block out the light from the doorway. His sharp gaze fell on Leila, who was frozen in place, her eyes brimming with tears as though she were seconds away from shattering. “You’re back!” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t you send word ahead? I could’ve prepared a proper welcome…” Her tone was soft, laced with just the right amount of vulnerability, but the high priest didn’t so much as blink. “Where is Suya?” he demanded, his voice cold enough to freeze the air. Leila’s face twisted into a picture of confusion so convincing that I almost believed her myself. “Suya? She’s missing?” “I’ve told you countless times,” he growled, his patience wearing thin. “She is the chosen saint, blessed by the gods. I stripped myself bare and prayed for her empowerment—it is destiny.” His tone dropped even colder, and his gaze darkened. “You met with her in secret. The next moment, she vanished. Do you really expect me to believe that’s a coincidence?” Leila’s lips trembled as she reached out to tug at the hem of his robe, her voice barely above a whisper. “She… she asked to meet with me. She wanted to talk…” Before she could finish, he pulled his robe out of her grasp with such force that her wrist turned red from the friction. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she cowered, clutching her wrist. For a moment, the high priest hesitated, his gaze softening ever so slightly. But just as quickly, he turned and stormed out of the room. “Do not leave this house unless I command it,” he barked over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway. Leila collapsed to the floor with a dramatic wail. “Please don’t go! Stay!” Her mournful cries echoed through the room, but as soon as his footsteps faded, she wiped her face dry and deadpanned: “He’s gone. You can come out now.” I crawled out from under the bed, pan in hand, and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve gotten better at this.” Leila smirked. “The game’s on. Suya’s starting her drama with the high priest. Your snake king is next.” I shivered at the thought. “Yeah, I can feel it. It’s about to get messy.” We exchanged a look, then glanced at the pile of supplies on the floor. “Die again?” I asked, my tone light but my meaning clear. Leila didn’t even hesitate. “Of course. But this time, we’re dying on our own terms.” 2 Leila and I weren’t natives to this world. She’d been brought here as the stand-in for the high priest, Sterling’s, one true love—the saintess Suya. In this brutal world of beast tribes, where people could shift into animals, the high priest held a position of unparalleled power. Sterling was the poster child of perfection: devastatingly handsome and worshipped by all. But no matter how much Leila tried, his heart was forever tied to Suya. Meanwhile, my luck was even worse. When we first arrived in this world, we were presented with a lineup of handsome, half-naked men to choose from. Without thinking, I picked the most dangerous-looking one—a man with piercing, cold eyes and an aura that screamed “stay away.” That man turned out to be the snake king, Lucien, feared by everyone in the tribe for his venom and ruthlessness. It wasn’t long before I realized just how “dangerous” he could be. Let’s just say his… capabilities in certain areas were extreme. To survive, I became his obedient little lapdog. The first time around, Leila and I used our modern knowledge to revolutionize the tribe. We built bridges, dug wells, wove fabrics, and even introduced basic sanitation systems. But none of it mattered. The moment our so-called “husbands” left the tribe, Suya accused us of heresy. We were dragged to the sacrificial altar, tied to posts, and forced to watch as Suya, draped in a pure white robe, smiled angelically while slicing away at me with a dagger. Piece by piece, she carved me apart. Blood soaked the altar as my head was severed from my body. When she was done, she burned what remained of our souls, ensuring we couldn’t even reincarnate properly. “Why did Suya even meet with you?” I asked. Leila scowled. “How should I know? I didn’t go. Do I look that stupid to you?” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Sterling might be cold and distant, but even if Suya stirs up trouble, the worst he’ll do is kick you out.” My voice dropped as I remembered my own situation. “But Lucien…” Leila shuddered. “Yeah, your snake king is way scarier. He’d probably skin you alive.” “Not probably. Definitely.” I couldn’t stop the chill that ran down my spine. The stories about Lucien weren’t just rumors—they were horrifyingly true. He once peeled the skin off a prisoner, layer by layer, just to extract information. The screams were so terrifying that they sent the enemy troops into retreat. And yet, all of his attention—his obsession—was reserved for the same woman who doomed us both: Suya. If I was going to die, I needed to plan my escape carefully. But just as I started packing, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist, yanking me backward. The world spun as my back hit the wall, and a low, dangerous voice whispered against my ear: “Where were you?” 3 Lucien’s voice rumbled low and rough, so close to my ear I could feel the heat of his breath. His hand wrapped around my wrist with ease, pinning me in place. There wasn’t even the smallest gap between us, our bodies pressed together. His collar was slightly open, revealing faint crimson scales etched across his collarbone—sharp, menacing, and impossible to ignore. The glint in his eyes was predatory, like a beast that had just cornered its prey. “I went to see Leila. She helped me make you a gift…” I started, but before I could finish, he ducked his head and tugged a necklace off my neck with his teeth. The necklace was crude, made from river stones I’d polished and strung together with no real skill. Ugly and rough, it was a clumsy attempt at crafting. “This? For me?” he asked, raising a brow. He examined it briefly, his lips curling into a faint smirk of mockery. “It’s hideous,” he said bluntly. Despite his words, he tied the necklace around his neck without hesitation. The mismatched trinket looked ridiculous against his cold, lethal aura, but somehow, he wore it anyway. “Lucien,” I said, my voice softening as I called his name. “Hmm?” His head tilted slightly, gaze fixed on me. “Suya… she’s missing, isn’t she?” He leaned closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I felt his breath against my skin as he inhaled deeply, his voice rasping with satisfaction. “Was it you?” I turned my head away, avoiding his question. Instead, I shoved at his chest, trying to free myself. “You stink. Go take a bath.” I expected him to snap back, but instead, he scooped me up without a word. With a few long strides, he reached the edge of the bathing pool and leapt in, dragging me with him. Water splashed everywhere as he pulled me against him, his grip tightening. Something about him shifted. His breathing grew heavier, his movements rougher. When I glanced down, I saw that half his body had already transformed into a long, sleek serpent’s tail. The dark, iridescent scales shimmered like liquid obsidian, cold to the touch as they pressed against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “Scared?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing, though his eyes burned with something far more dangerous. Before I could answer, his lips curved into a wicked smile, and he claimed me with a kind of madness I’d come to know all too well. Lucien was relentless. Two. Just two, but it was enough to leave me trembling. His tail coiled around me, pinning my wrists, refusing to let me go. Again and again, he pushed me past my limits, his predatory nature shining through. Even when I was too exhausted to move, he didn’t stop. By the time he finally relented, I felt like my entire body had been wrung out. Weak and boneless, I could barely lift my arms. Lucien, however, seemed perfectly at ease. He dipped his head and bit down on my shoulder—a possessive mark—before gently licking the spot he’d bitten. Then, he grabbed a cloth to dry my hair, his movements surprisingly tender. “Stay in the house for the next few days,” he said, his tone far softer now. “There’s trouble in the army. I won’t have time to deal with you.” It was clear he was in a good mood. I lowered my head, feigning sadness. “Lucien… can’t we ever have a real home? A family?” His hand froze mid-motion. He turned to face me, his gaze sharp and cold. That was the line. Lucien could possess me, control me, even indulge me—but he would never entertain the idea of marriage or children. He didn’t answer. Instead, he silently handed me a cup of bitter herbs. “Drink,” he ordered. The taste was awful, spreading across my tongue and down my throat like a punishment. Tears sprang to my eyes as I stared at the bowl in my hands, my tears falling into the dregs at the bottom. Once I finished the last drop, Lucien pulled on his cloak. His tail shifted back into human legs as he stood, his expression as cold and distant as ever. Without so much as a glance back, he strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I stayed where I was, listening to the sound of his footsteps fading away. Then, slowly, a grin spread across my face. Perfect. He wouldn’t be back for at least ten days. Ignoring the ache in my body, I pushed myself to my feet and hobbled over to the stash of supplies hidden in the corner. I opened the chest and carefully selected a few key items. Three days later, in the dead of winter, Leila jumped off a cliff. 4 Sterling received word that someone had spotted Suya deep in the snow forest. Without hesitation, he set off, only to be stopped midway by a breathless teenager from the tribe: “High Priest! It’s bad! Your wife… she’s climbed to the top of the cliff and says she’s going to jump!” That troublesome woman. Every time something related to Suya came up, she pulled some kind of stunt. If it wasn’t pretending to be sick, it was threatening to end her life. And now? Jumping off a cliff? Sterling’s eyes narrowed, his voice icy as he barked, “Let her jump. Don’t stop her.” He didn’t even break stride. Suya was missing, and Leila thought she could distract him with her cheap tricks? Pathetic. Fury simmered in his chest as he stormed off toward the snow forest, determined to find Suya. Leila stood at the top of the cliff, wrapped in a thick fur cloak as snow whipped through the air, stinging her face and making it hard to keep her eyes open. She saw Sterling leave without hesitation and gave a bitter laugh. She had guessed right—he wouldn’t come for her. He never did. She meant nothing to him. The wind howled, colder and sharper by the second. Leila tilted her head back and looked up at the dark, stormy sky. It matched the icy emptiness in her chest. Beside her, a young girl from the tribe tugged at her sleeve, tears streaming down her face. “Leila, please think this through! It’s freezing—if you jump, you’ll turn into an ice cube down there!” Leila only smiled faintly, ignoring the girl’s pleas. She slowly shrugged off her cloak, revealing a pair of worn pendants hanging from her waist. One bore the carving of a bird in flight; the other, the sigil of the high priest. A matching pair. They were the tokens Sterling had given her on the day she accepted his courtship. Her fingers brushed over the carvings, her expression distant, her eyes red-rimmed. But then, in the biting cold, her lips curved into a reckless smile. “Becoming an ice sculpture doesn’t sound so bad, does it?” The snowstorm grew fiercer, the wind howling like a beast. Leila stepped to the edge of the cliff. And, amid the gasps and screams of the onlookers, she jumped. Her heavy cloak spiraled through the air, tumbling into the abyss below. “Damn, it’s freezing!” Leila’s voice echoed softly through the icy cavern. We had planned this for weeks, waiting for the perfect storm to cover our tracks. Leila landed lightly on the snow below, her descent slowed by a rope and the counterweight of supplies I had anchored at the top. Her lips were pale from the cold, but she was calm and collected, brushing off the snow as she glanced up. She gave her cloak one last shake, letting it fall into the ravine to complete the illusion, then turned to me with a grin. “Let’s go.” With that, we slipped into a narrow, hidden ice tunnel, vanishing into the storm. The wind and snow swept over the cliffside, erasing all traces of our escape. By the time Sterling arrived, the base of the cliff was empty. The only thing left behind was half-buried in the snow: the shattered remains of the matching pendants. 5 I knelt near the cliff’s edge, clutching the broken pieces of Leila’s pendant in my trembling hands. Tears streamed down my face, freezing against my cheeks in the biting wind. I stayed perfectly still, as if the storm itself had locked me in place. Sterling approached, his imposing figure looming over me. He looked down, his sharp gaze piercing. “Why are you crying?” “She’s gone…” I whispered, my voice shaking. I forced myself to swallow the lump in my throat, barely holding back the fury that threatened to spill over. “Leila is dead. Are you happy now?!” Sterling’s eyes darkened, his voice cold and cutting like a blade. “Don’t be ridiculous. Leila, come out!” I laughed bitterly, lifting my head to glare at him. “Come out? Are you blind? Everyone saw her jump! What do you expect her to do—climb out of the ice with her bare hands?” Sterling’s hand twitched at his side, a small, almost imperceptible tremor betraying his composure. But his face remained stoic, his expression unreadable. His gaze flicked to the shattered pendant in my hand. “Impossible,” he muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. Tears fell harder down my face, hot against the cold, as I screamed at him: “Impossible? Do you think someone can survive falling into a frozen ravine? What do you want her to do—fly out of there like one of your eagles?!” For the first time, Sterling seemed… shaken. He stood frozen, his usual calm and calculating demeanor cracked. His eyes darted back to the cliff, then to the snow below, as if expecting to see something—anything—out of place. But there was nothing. Just cold, empty silence. “No…” he whispered, almost like he was trying to convince himself. I pushed myself to my feet, anger boiling over. “You never cared about her, not once!” I shouted, my voice raw with emotion. “She waited for you, Sterling. Before she jumped, she sent someone to tell you, to give you a chance to save her. But you didn’t come. You could have turned back, but you didn’t!” Sterling’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. His pupils contracted, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to say something—but no words came. The storm raged around us, snow whipping through the air. Finally, he spun around, his voice a roar against the wind: “Search for her! Now!” With a sweep of his arms, he shifted, his form dissolving into a massive eagle with dark, powerful wings. Without hesitation, he dove off the cliff, disappearing into the storm below. Search for her? I looked down at the broken pendant in my palm, a wry smile tugging at my lips. Leila was long gone. She was probably sitting in a warm cave deep in the snow forest, sipping tea and toasting her feet by the fire. Sterling, meanwhile, was scouring a frozen wasteland for a ghost. Perfect. Now that he was out of the picture, faking my own death would be a piece of cake. 6 Word spread quickly through the tribe: the Snake King, Lucien, had saved the saint, Suya. She sat delicately in his arms, her soft voice barely above a whisper, her frail figure illuminated by the glow of nearby flames, making her look even more pitiable. Lucien stood tall in his black-scaled armor, cradling her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Behind them, the enemy encampment burned in a raging inferno, the path ahead slick with the blood of those he’d slaughtered. The story of Lucien’s rescue spread like wildfire. “I’ve never seen the Snake King so gentle before!” “She must be his salvation, taming the beast!” Those words stung like needles in my ears. Meanwhile, I was at home, trying to surprise Lucien by cooking something for him. It didn’t go as planned. A slip of the hand, a misplaced spark—and the entire snake den went up in flames. The fire raged for three days and nights, devouring everything. By the time it finally burned out, the tribe could only find a handful of ashes where I had been. Not even bones remained. They built a small mound to mark the spot, a symbolic grave for the ashes they could gather. When Lucien returned, the sky was dark and heavy, as if the weight of the snow clouds above would crush everything below. He stood in front of the charred ruins, his boots sinking into the blackened earth. The air around him felt sharp enough to cut. Lucien said nothing, his gaze colder than the frost creeping over the wasteland. His soldiers stood frozen behind him, terrified to speak, their breaths shallow in the oppressive silence. Finally, he raised a hand, his voice low and rough, like iron scraping against ice: “Dig.” The soldiers blinked in confusion. “Dig? Dig what?” Lucien’s eyes narrowed, a deadly glint flashing in his pupils. “I want to see her with my own eyes. Dig.”

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## My husband showed up in a sports car to pick up our daughter, and her teacher was so impressed she added him on social media. She claimed it was to “better communicate about the child’s education.” Soon after, her profile picture changed to a heavily filtered selfie, and her social posts turned into daily updates about being “so ready to find love.” I was blissfully unaware of this little drama—until one day, I caught my husband video-calling her while holding our daughter. “Daddy, I want Miss Taylor to be my new mommy!” my daughter chirped. “Yes, yes, Daddy will get a divorce right away,” my husband replied with a grin. Watching the three of them act like a happy little family, I couldn’t help but laugh coldly. Seriously? Just because he’s driving a fancy car, my husband—who lives off me—thinks he’s a billionaire now? Time to remind him where he came from. He can crawl back to his broke job anytime. For our 10th wedding anniversary, I bought my husband, Mason, a silver sports car to celebrate. The moment he saw it, his eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. It wasn’t just any sports car—it was one of only ten limited editions in the world. Not something money alone could buy. Mason had gushed about this car more than once, so I figured I’d surprise him. After all, our anniversary also happened to be his birthday. During the test drive, Mason couldn’t wait to snap pictures and show off to his friends. But in his excitement, he accidentally posted it in our daughter Angie’s preschool group chat. The quiet group chat immediately exploded. “Oh my gosh, isn’t this one of those global limited-edition cars? I can’t believe the real deal is in our group!” “Angie’s dad, what kind of business are you in? You must be loaded!” I quickly messaged Mason, telling him to delete the post. But it had been over two minutes—too late to retract it. All we could do was watch as the messages poured in. Some parents even started asking if Mason could invest in their business ideas. And Mason? He was eating it up. “Oh, no, no,” he replied humbly. “Just a small investment here and there. Made a bit of money, so I decided to treat myself.” Small investments? Sure. The only thing he “owned” was a failing internet café I paid for, and it had been hemorrhaging money since day one. With his lack of business skills, Mason couldn’t afford a sports car in ten lifetimes. Still, he was my husband, and I wasn’t about to embarrass him in front of everyone. So, I kept quiet. That’s when Angie’s teacher, Miss Taylor, suddenly chimed in. At first, I thought she was going to tell everyone to stop chatting about unrelated topics in a preschool group. But instead, she directly tagged Mason: “@Angie’s Dad, I’ve sent you a friend request. Please accept it—I need to discuss some things about Angie’s behavior at school.” Mason immediately replied, “Is Angie in trouble? Did something happen?” Miss Taylor’s response came quickly: “Let’s discuss this privately.” I started to worry. Had something happened to Angie at school? I sent Miss Taylor a private message asking if everything was okay. She didn’t reply. Instead, she updated her profile picture. Her old photo had been a scenic landscape. Now, it was a close-up selfie—her wearing a white tank top, strategically revealing just enough skin to leave an impression. It gave off serious “pick-me” vibes. I called Mason. “What did Angie’s teacher say?” He sounded casual. “Nothing specific. She just asked me to stop by the school. I’m heading there now.” “Drive safe,” I said, hanging up. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I went back to work, assuming it was just a minor issue. A few moments later, Mrs. Lee, one of the moms from the group chat, sent me a private message. Her family owned a beauty salon I frequented, so we’d gotten to know each other over time. “Angie’s Mom, don’t you think this Miss Taylor messaging your husband is a little… off?” I replied politely, brushing it off with a couple of vague responses.

Mason and I had been married for ten years, and our relationship had always been stable. He came from a modest background but treated me with unwavering care and devotion. Whatever I needed, he made it happen. For me, he willingly stayed home, managing everything in the household with precision. When I came back late and drunk from work events, he’d pick me up and have a steaming bowl of hangover soup waiting for me. So I wasn’t particularly worried about Miss Taylor’s little schemes. Even if she was hellbent on seduction, it would only work if Mason took the bait. What I didn’t expect was for her to target my daughter first. I’ve always been busy with work, but I’ve made sure to maintain a close bond with my daughter, Angie. Lately, though, she had grown distant, and her words had taken on a strangely sharp edge. One day, I picked her up from school, planning to take her to McDonald’s for a treat. But as soon as she saw me waiting, she started crying and whining at the school gate. “Why did you have to come? I don’t want you to pick me up! I hate you!” At first, I thought she was upset because I’d been so busy with work. I took a deep breath, crouched down, and tried to soothe her. After a lot of coaxing, she finally stopped crying long enough to get into the car, her eyes red and puffy. I smiled gently and said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Mommy’s been so busy with work these past few days. That’s my fault. I’ll spend more time with you from now on, okay? How about going to McDonald’s for some ice cream?” But Angie turned her head away, pouting. “I don’t need you to spend time with me. I have Miss Taylor! She’s the best person in the whole world. If I want ice cream, she gives me as many as I want. Not like you, always telling me what I can’t do.” Then she added, her voice trembling with tears, “And Miss Taylor was supposed to take me to the zoo with Daddy today. But now you ruined everything by picking me up!” Her tears started falling again, and she looked like she was about to completely lose it. I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. My voice slipped into a sharper tone. “Angie, that’s no way to talk to your mother!” Angie broke down completely, wailing in the car. “You don’t love me! I hate you! I hate you so much!” Then she added, her voice filled with spite: “Daddy said he’s going to divorce you soon. You won’t be my mommy anymore! I want Miss Taylor to be my new mommy!” I told myself it was just childish nonsense. Angie was too young to understand what she was saying. But someone had clearly been feeding her these words. When we got home, Angie jumped out of the car and ran to the front door. She shoved it open and shouted, “Daddy! Daddy!” Mason emerged from the kitchen, wearing an apron and cleaning gloves. Angie ran up to him, tears streaming down her face. “Daddy, when are you divorcing Mommy? I don’t want to spend another day with her!” “Can you bring Miss Taylor home instead? Please?” At the mention of Miss Taylor’s name, Mason froze for a fraction of a second, his hand instinctively rubbing his nose—a telltale sign he was guilty of something. But he quickly recovered, putting on his “loving dad” face. “Don’t cry, Angie. Daddy’s heart breaks when you cry! Whatever you say, Daddy will do. You want me to divorce Mommy? Okay, Daddy will do that.” He crouched down, wiping her tears. “Now, let’s go try those cookies Daddy made just for you, okay?” Father and daughter both turned to look at me then. Mason’s gaze was full of helplessness, while Angie’s eyes sparkled with triumphant glee. I took a deep breath and asked, “Angie, who’s been teaching you to say such things? Don’t you know how to tell right from wrong anymore?” Angie’s tears started up again. She clung to Mason’s leg like a frightened kitten and whimpered, “Daddy, look at Mommy! She’s so scary, like a wicked witch!” Mason scooped her up into his arms, giving me an annoyed look. “Jenna, she’s just a child. Do you really need to argue with her?” “Can you leave your work persona at the door for once? You’re so strong and commanding at work, but this is your family. Stop bringing that attitude home.” With that, Mason carried Angie to her room, leaving me rooted to the spot in the living room. I could still hear snippets of his soothing voice through the walls. “There, there, Angie. Bad Mommy won’t bother you anymore.” Alone in the silence, I realized my hands were trembling uncontrollably.

I’ve always been busy with work, so Mason has taken on most of the responsibility for our daughter, Angie. Still, whenever I had free time, I made sure to spend it with her. We’ve traveled together, baked cakes, and I’ve spoiled her with pretty little dresses. Whenever she got sick, I’d drop everything to stay by her side, never letting her feel a lack of motherly love. Over the years, we’ve always been close. But lately, Angie had grown distant, and her attitude toward me had turned sharp and cold. I couldn’t help but wonder if Miss Taylor’s meddling had something to do with it. After some thought, I decided to have a heart-to-heart talk with Angie. I carefully pushed open her bedroom door, only to find her sitting in Mason’s lap, video-calling someone. They didn’t notice me come in, as they were seated with their backs to the door. Angie held the phone close to her face, her voice sweet and eager. “Miss Taylor, when are you moving into our house?” “I gave that old witch a hard time today. As soon as Daddy agrees to divorce her, I’ll make her leave! Then you can be my new mommy!” On the other end of the call, Miss Taylor’s voice was filled with undisguised delight. “Angie, you’re such a good girl! But remember, once you pick a new mommy, there’s no going back. Are you sure you won’t regret it?” Angie tilted her head with a little huff. “Of course not! I can’t wait to have a new mommy!” She grinned and added, “Miss Taylor, Daddy already said he’s going to divorce Mommy. When you move in, can you let me have as much ice cream as I want? And can we get a bunch of puppies too? Please?” Mason sat next to her, smiling gently, not saying a word to correct her. The atmosphere between the three of them was warm, cheerful—like a little family planning their future. I stood there, stone-faced, as I pulled out my phone and began recording the entire scene. Miss Taylor wasn’t just overstepping her bounds; she was digging her own grave. At one point, Mason glanced at the screen and caught sight of my skirt in the background. His expression froze immediately. He gently set Angie down and stammered, “Jenna, wait, it’s not what you think! We’re just trying to make Angie happy—” Before he could finish, Angie jumped in front of him like a little guard dog, her tiny fists clenched. “Mommy, you’re just a mean old witch! Don’t you dare bully Daddy!” My anger flared. I snatched the phone from Angie’s hands and addressed Miss Taylor directly. “Miss Taylor, do you think it’s appropriate to poison a child’s mind against her own mother? Don’t you find your tactics a bit… pathetic?” Miss Taylor covered her mouth in fake surprise, her eyes gleaming with smugness. “Oh, Angie’s Mom,” she said sweetly, “we were just trying to make Angie happy. Why do you have to take everything so seriously?” She smirked and added, “No wonder Angie keeps telling me you act like a wicked witch. Growing up in such a tense household must be so hard for her.” Then, as if she hadn’t insulted me enough, she added with a condescending smile, “And I’ve heard you’re out wining and dining for work all the time. A woman should know how to carry herself. Unlike me—I’d devote myself entirely to my family if I had one.” Her smugness made my blood boil. I wanted nothing more than to reach through the screen, grab her by the hair, and drag her off her high horse. But I wasn’t about to stoop to her level. I straightened my back, my face calm and cold. “Miss Taylor, as a teacher, you should be ashamed of yourself for trying to destroy someone else’s family. You’re unworthy of your position, and you’re unworthy of the trust parents put in you.” I paused, then delivered my final warning. “If you keep meddling in my family, you’ll face consequences you won’t be able to handle.” Miss Taylor didn’t seem fazed by my threat. If anything, she doubled down, pretending to look concerned for Angie. “Angie’s Mom,” she said with a sigh, “even if you dislike me, you should think about what’s best for Angie. With your temper, you’re bound to hurt her emotionally.” She shook her head and added, “Sometimes, people should stop blaming others and reflect on their own shortcomings. If your family was truly happy, there’d be no room for anyone to ‘meddle,’ as you put it.” Then, she turned to Angie, her voice soft and pitiful. “Angie, sweetheart, you know I love you like my own daughter. But your mommy really doesn’t like me. If she makes a big fuss about this, I might lose my job. So, from now on, don’t call me when you’re at home, okay? But at school, I’ll still treat you like my real daughter.” With that, she sniffled dramatically, her shoulders shaking as if she were crying, and hung up the call. Angie immediately burst into tears, screaming at me and kicking my legs. “Bad mommy! I hate you! I don’t want to live with you anymore—I want to go live with Miss Taylor!” She stormed out of the room, sobbing. Mason gave me a helpless look before running after her, leaving his phone abandoned on the bed in his rush. I picked it up and unlocked it, scrolling through his messages with Miss Taylor. At first, their chats had seemed innocent enough. Miss Taylor would send pictures of Angie at school, along with comments like: “Mr. Carter, Angie said her hair hurt today, so I fixed it for her. Looks like her mom doesn’t really know much about these things, huh?” “Angie often tells me what a great dad you are, but she doesn’t mention her mom much. Is she not very involved?” “Today, Angie cried because all the other kids had their moms pick them up. Maybe you could remind your wife to spend more time with her?” But as time went on, the tone changed. Miss Taylor started sending pictures of herself with Angie—her holding Angie on her lap, gazing at her with a soft smile. In some of the photos, her low-cut tops revealed far more than necessary. Then there were videos of Angie calling her “Mommy,” and even casual questions about Mason’s job and income. Mason, of course, had exaggerated the truth, claiming he ran a chain of restaurants and a public company—conveniently omitting the fact that it was my hard work that had built everything. Miss Taylor, clearly impressed, began sending him more revealing selfies. I clenched the phone tightly, anger bubbling inside me. I wanted to smash it into pieces and kick Mason out of the house. But no. That would be too easy. If I was going to deal with them, I’d take them both down together. The next day, I met with the director of Angie’s preschool over coffee. After showing him the messages, his face turned pale. “Ms. Carter, I sincerely apologize. Miss Taylor’s behavior has seriously violated our school’s code of conduct. If you’re dissatisfied, we can terminate her immediately.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead and added, “And I can assure you, no reputable preschool will ever hire her again.” I smiled, satisfied. Miss Taylor probably didn’t know that I was a major shareholder in the school. And I wasn’t afraid to use my power. 5 The next evening, the director of Angie’s preschool called me. His voice was filled with exasperation. “Ms. Carter, after we spoke with Miss Taylor today, something seems to have happened between her and your daughter. Now Angie is refusing to let Miss Taylor leave and has even rallied other kids to get their parents involved.”

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## On my birthday, my husband’s childhood friend, Rachel Quinn, posted pictures on social media of the brand-new robot my husband and son had built for her. I casually gave it a thumbs-up. Not long after, my husband called to scold me: “We gave you one too, didn’t we? And Max even made you a cake himself. What else could you possibly want?” But Rachel’s robot was obviously the latest model. Even the cake my son made for her was bigger than mine. They loved me, sure—but they loved Rachel a little bit more. Maybe it was time for me to love them a little less. When my husband and son got home, the clock had just struck midnight. The untouched cake still sat on the table. The card read: “Happy Birthday, Mom!” “Why didn’t you eat the cake? Were you waiting for us to come home and celebrate?” My husband forced a smile as he and Max lit the candles and sang me a birthday song. But instead of feeling touched, I felt suffocated. I waved them off. “I’m not hungry. You two eat.” My husband’s expression immediately darkened. “I know you’re upset about Rachel. But can’t you understand her situation? She doesn’t have any family here. She had a tough day at work today, so Max and I just went to cheer her up. That’s all. Stop overthinking it.” Max chimed in, “Yeah, Mom. Rachel’s all alone. Can’t you be a little more understanding?” Looking at the father and son tag-teaming me, my heart felt colder than an ice cavern. It was my birthday, yet they left me to comfort someone else. Every time I got angry about how they prioritized Rachel over me, they’d trot out this same excuse. It always made me feel like I was the unreasonable one, like I was the villain. And every time, I’d end up crying alone late at night. But the next day, all it took was a kind word, or a small gift, and I’d forgive them. I’d go right back to being the mom and wife they took for granted. This time, though, I was tired of playing along. “You’re right,” I said calmly. “You should go spend time with her. I’ll celebrate with my friends instead.” I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. The two of them were stunned, frozen in place, clearly not expecting this response. When my husband finally realized I was serious, he quickly rushed over to grab my arm. “You’re forty years old. Can you stop acting like a child? I’m busy with work, and Max is swamped with school. We still made time to celebrate with you, but it’s never enough, is it? We’re exhausted, you know?” Exhausted? I stared at them coldly. They weren’t too tired to build Rachel a cutting-edge robot. They weren’t too tired to bake her a cake the size of a serving platter. But for me? They handed me an outdated model and a cake made from scraps, and that was somehow too much effort. “You’re overthinking it,” I said, voice icy. “I’m not upset. I just want to spend my birthday with my friends for a change. I haven’t done that in years.” “Mom! Enough with the drama!” Max suddenly snapped, slamming his hand down on the table. The cake tipped over, and the candles nearly set the tablecloth on fire. Lately, Max had been under a lot of pressure at school, and his temper was always on edge. Every time he lashed out, I’d patiently comfort him, no matter how much it hurt. But this time, I stayed silent. Seeing my lack of reaction, his anger flared even more. He started punching the furniture, kicking over chairs. “What do you want from us? Why can’t you just leave me and Dad alone? You’ve been emotionally manipulating us for years. Is it not enough? Do you want to drive us insane before you’re satisfied?” Watching him scream and destroy the living room, I felt nothing but a deep, hollow sadness. All these years, I’d poured my heart into this family. And now, on my fortieth birthday, just because I wanted a little bit of extra attention, I was branded a control freak. What a failure I’d become. I laughed bitterly, tears stinging my eyes, as my husband rushed to comfort Max. He turned to me with a grim look, his voice cold. “Look at what you’ve done to him. Do you even deserve to be a mother? If you’re so unhappy, why don’t we just get a divorce?” Every time I argued with him, he’d throw that line at me. And every time, I’d back down out of fear. But this time, I didn’t care anymore. “Fine,” I said. Their shocked faces were the last thing I saw before walking out the door.

Even though it was late, my friends agreed to meet me. We gathered at a food truck, drinking beer and eating greasy snacks. They teased me for disappearing after getting married, saying I’d practically forgotten they existed. The alcohol dulled my brain, and for a moment, it felt like we were back in college, laughing in our dorm room. Looking back, I’d sacrificed so much for my husband and son. And for what? After saying goodbye to my friends, I checked my phone. There were dozens of missed calls and messages, most from my husband. I was about to ignore them when one from Rachel caught my eye: “I’m so sorry, Lauren. There’s nothing going on between me and Tom, I swear. I just had a bad day and needed someone to talk to. I completely forgot it was your birthday. Please forgive me!” The alcohol churned in my stomach. I leaned against a streetlamp and vomited until my throat burned. Finally, I replied: “Don’t worry about it. I don’t care.” She started typing a response, but I didn’t bother waiting for it. When I got home, the house was a disaster zone—worse than when I’d left. I ignored it and headed for the bathroom to wash up. My husband emerged from the bedroom, his face scrunched in irritation. “You’re finally back? And drunk, no less. Clean this place up before you go to bed.” “Whoever made the mess can clean it up.” I flopped onto the couch, exhausted. Something hard jabbed into my hip. It was my husband’s phone, unlocked. On the screen was a chat with Rachel. “Tom, I shouldn’t have made Lauren upset. It’s my fault. Let’s not meet up so often anymore.” “Don’t blame yourself. She’s just petty and jealous. It’s just a birthday—it’s not like we can’t celebrate later. She’s so dramatic, acting like a spoiled brat.” “Don’t say that. She has every right to be upset. You should go make up with her.” “Thanks, Rachel. If only Lauren were half as understanding as you.” My husband snatched the phone from my hand, his face red with anger. “Why do you always have to invade my privacy? There’s nothing going on with us!” “Whatever,” I said, too tired to fight. “I’m going to sleep.” He was taken aback by my indifference but quickly recovered. “Oh, by the way,” he said, as if trying to change the subject. “I’ll show you how to use that robot we got you. It’ll make things easier for you.” I opened my eyes and looked at him coldly. “Tom, did you forget? I helped design that model.” He froze, glancing at the robot. Then he let out a sheepish laugh. “Oh, right. Well, never mind then.” Before we got married, we’d both worked as engineers at the same tech company. But after Max was born, I quit my job to stay home and raise him. Now, all I felt was regret for everything I’d given up. The room was silent, except for the faint hum of the robot vacuuming the floor. “I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” I said. “You can go to bed.” “Fine,” he muttered. “Oh, and I’m working late tomorrow. Don’t wait up.” “Got it.” And with that, I closed my eyes.

My husband lingered in the hallway for a moment before retreating to the bedroom. I hadn’t been asleep long when I felt someone shaking me awake. Groggily, I opened my eyes to find Max standing over me, already dressed in his school uniform, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I’m going to be late! And where’s breakfast? You didn’t make anything?” Every morning, without fail, I’d sacrifice my own rest to wake him up on time and prepare a full, warm breakfast. The price of this routine was dark circles under my eyes and skin that had lost its luster. At forty, I looked closer to fifty. But not today. “You can set your own alarm from now on. As for breakfast, grab something on the way. Got money? I’ll send you some if you don’t.” Max stared at me, stunned, as if he couldn’t believe this was coming from me—the mom who used to do everything for him without complaint. “I don’t need your money,” he muttered, his voice heavy with disdain. Then, under his breath, he added, “Rachel would never be this lazy…” Though he mumbled it quietly, I heard every word. But strangely, it didn’t hurt. Max stormed out, slamming the door so hard the shoe rack rattled, and a small object tumbled to the floor. Curious, I walked over and picked it up. It was a toy car—one I’d modified years ago. With the push of a button, it could transform into a robot and even play theme songs from cartoons. When Max was little, he was often sick. Those days, he rarely smiled—until I showed him this car. The way his face lit up, the pure joy in his laughter, had inspired me to submit a proposal at work: a line of toys designed to bring emotional comfort to children. But Tom, my husband, had dismissed the idea outright. He argued that robots should be practical, useful tools—not frivolous “toys” that just transformed and played music. In the end, the proposal was shelved, and Max grew up, leaving behind the little car he once adored. I stared at the toy for a long moment before pressing its button. It still worked. An idea struck me, so I grabbed the car and went to find my neighbor’s child, Danny. Danny was just five, a lonely boy whose parents had divorced and left him in the care of his grandmother. He spent most of his days playing alone in the dirt outside our building. When I handed him the toy, his eyes lit up, and he clutched it tightly, turning it over and over in his small hands. “Wow!” he exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face as he began playing with it. Seeing his joy, I couldn’t help but think of Max as a little boy—and of the proposal I’d given up on all those years ago. Before I realized it, I had my phone in hand and was dialing my old manager’s number. Halfway through the call, I panicked and almost hung up, but it was too late. “Lauren? Wow, it’s been forever! What’s up?” “Oh, um…” I hesitated, nervously rubbing my nose. “I was just wondering… Are you hiring?” It felt absurd. After nearly a decade as a stay-at-home mom, I was trying to reenter a high-tech industry that had undoubtedly moved on without me. But to my surprise, my former manager sounded thrilled. “Are you serious? We’d love to have you back! Honestly, someone with your skills is exactly what my new company needs. That said… you’ve been out of the game for a while. You’d have to start from the ground up.” “I don’t mind!” I said quickly. “I’ll prove myself.” After hanging up, I was so excited I nearly jumped for joy. I ended up spending the rest of the day playing with Danny and his new toy. “You’re the best, Miss Lauren,” Danny said, looking up at me with wide, hopeful eyes. “I wish you were my mom.” I froze, unsure how to respond. All I could do was gently pat his head. Chaos Unfolds Just then, I heard the front door slam open. A man staggered in, reeking of alcohol, his face twisted with anger. “Who the hell are you? Where’s my mom?” he demanded, his voice slurred. Before I could respond, Danny’s grandmother hurried out of the kitchen, panic etched on her face. “What are you doing here?” she shouted, her voice trembling. “I’m not giving you another penny!” “You’re my mother! Your money is my money!” he snapped. “And if you don’t hand it over, I swear I’ll—” His eyes darted to Danny. “I’ll take that little brat with me. Maybe sell him off somewhere!” He pulled out a knife, waving it wildly as he stumbled toward Danny. Time seemed to slow as I threw myself between them, shielding Danny with my body. The blade sliced into me, and pain exploded in my side. Warm blood seeped through my clothes, pooling on the floor beneath me. Danny’s terrified cries echoed in my ears as everything around me faded to black.

The man was subdued by the neighbors and handed over to the police. Meanwhile, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. The knife had cut deep into my shoulder, leaving a gaping wound. The pain was excruciating, and cold sweat soaked my back. Everything had happened so fast that I was still trembling, my body locked in fear. At that moment, I desperately needed comfort—just a little would have been enough. So, I called my husband. “Tom, I’m at the hospital. You need to come right away.” “What’s going on? I’m working overtime right now.” His tone carried an edge of impatience, and the noise in the background didn’t sound like an office; it sounded more like a busy restaurant. “I was attacked. Someone stabbed me. There’s blood everywhere, and it hurts so much. Please, just come.” The moment I heard my own voice, my tears spilled over, cascading down my cheeks and carrying with them all the fear and frustration I’d been holding inside. But his next words threw me into a bottomless abyss. “Lauren, can you stop joking around? You’re at home all day—who would just show up and stab you? You’re forty years old. Can you stop being so childish?” “I’m not joking!” I shouted, my voice cracking with desperation. “I’m in the hospital right now. This is real!” But to him, my panic only sounded like another one of my so-called “tantrums.” “Look, I get it. You’re still mad about your birthday and how we didn’t celebrate with you. But making up a story like this is too much. I’m tired, Lauren. If you keep this up, I don’t think our marriage is going to last.” “Fine,” I whispered, my voice hollow. “Forget it. Pretend I didn’t call. You can go back to work.” And with that, he hung up. I stood there, frozen in place, before shakily dialing my son’s number. “Max, sweetie, it’s Mom. I’m in the hospital. Can you—” Before I could finish, he cut me off, his voice dripping with irritation. “Dad told me you made up some crazy story about getting stabbed. I didn’t believe him, but wow, you really went there. Mom, can you just stop? Please? Just leave us alone!” “What? Wait. You’re with Dad? Isn’t he supposed to be working overtime?” But before I could get an answer, Max hung up. At that moment, I felt like a lone leaf adrift in a vast, merciless ocean. Then, a thought struck me. My hands trembled as I opened Rachel’s social media profile. Sure enough, there it was—a new video. She was all dolled up, pouting playfully at the camera. Behind her was the unmistakable decor of an upscale restaurant. The caption read: “Grateful to have you by my side in this unfamiliar city.” I recognized the restaurant immediately. It was where Tom and I had gone on our first date. I’d wanted to revisit it several times after we got married, but Tom always said it was too expensive. The video only showed Rachel, but I caught a fleeting sound in the background—a voice I knew better than my own. “Mom,” it said. Tears blurred my vision as I set my phone down. There was no mistaking it. That voice belonged to Max. The tears came harder now, falling in heavy drops onto my lap. The husband I had stood by through thick and thin. The son I had raised with endless love and sacrifice. Both of them had turned away from me, only to offer their care and attention to someone else. I wanted to convince myself it didn’t matter, but the ache in my chest was unbearable. Even breathing felt like a monumental effort. “Lauren? Isn’t Tom and Max coming to see you?” Danny’s small, hesitant voice pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts. He had been sitting quietly by my bedside, worry etched across his tiny face. “No,” I said softly. “But it’s okay. Will you stay with me for a while?” He nodded quickly, his little head bobbing like a woodpecker. “Of course! I’ll stay as long as you need me. But…” His voice faltered, and he looked down. “Aren’t you mad? You know, because… it was my dad who hurt you.” Seeing his guilt-stricken expression, my heart ached. I reached out and gently ruffled his hair. “No, Danny. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did I.” I pulled him into a hug, both of us clinging to each other in search of comfort. For years, I had poured my entire heart and soul into loving my husband and son. That love had become the foundation of my world. But now, I realized that love couldn’t sustain me anymore. It was time to let go. There were other people—other things—more deserving of my time and affection. Start

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When my father passed away, his best friend took me in. For over twenty years, the two sons of the Hayes family protected me and treated me like their own sister. Their care and affection for me were the envy of everyone around us. But when I finally wanted to settle down and start my own family, they both turned their backs on me. The older brother, Nathan Hayes, said, “A man has to build his career before thinking about marriage.” The younger brother, Ethan Hayes, laughed and added, “Come on, we were just messing around. You didn’t take it seriously, did you?” But at my graduation party, both of them proposed—not to me, but to Jessa, the adopted daughter of the Hayes family. Worse yet, to make her happy, they forced me, knowing I was allergic to cream, to eat an entire cake. As I gasped for air, suffocating from an asthma attack, they stood beside her, laughing and mocking me for “pretending to be dramatic.” That was the moment I realized I was done. The day I was discharged from the hospital, I sent a text to my mother. “Mom, I’ve made up my mind. I’m ready to move abroad and marry the man from the Cole family.”

Just as I finished my discharge paperwork, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. “Leah, where are you?!” Nathan’s angry voice thundered through the receiver. “You think you can just avoid coming home and pretend nothing happened? If you’ve got the guts to leave, don’t bother coming back—ever!” Before I could respond, Ethan’s voice followed, sharp and accusatory. “This is your fault! You’re the one who made Jessa feel so guilty. She’s already self-conscious because of her status as an adopted daughter, and now, thanks to you, she’s been crying nonstop!” I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My swollen eyes, red and puffy, looked like they’d been punched. I could barely open them. I was always a sensitive child, and after being sent to live with the Hayes family, I’d become even more timid—like a frightened bird. Over the years, the Hayes brothers had done so much to make me feel at home. I remembered the first time I sat at their dinner table. I was too scared to touch the food, so Nathan would pile the best dishes onto my plate, coaxing me to eat. Ethan, too, would share his favorite snacks with me and invite me to play with his toys. For years, wherever I went, they were always nearby, protecting me. But when Jessa entered the picture, everything changed. Suddenly, I wasn’t the one they cared about anymore. I didn’t say a word. I hung up the phone and sent a message to my mother. “Mom, I’ve thought it through. I want to leave. I’ll marry the man from the Cole family.”

A moment later, my phone buzzed with a reply. “Leah, marriage isn’t something to take lightly. Are you sure about this?” My parents divorced when I was very young. My mother moved abroad, while I stayed with my father. When my father passed away, he entrusted me to the Hayes family. My mother returned to take me with her, but by then, I’d already grown attached to Nathan and Ethan. I refused to leave. Heartbroken, she left again but never stopped calling to check on me year after year. This year, she told me she’d found a good match for me—a man from the Cole family, a powerful and influential family abroad. She hoped I’d marry him and join her overseas. But more than her desire to have me close, I knew she truly cared about my happiness. Even though she wanted her only daughter to be by her side, she always left the choice up to me. For so long, I believed Nathan and Ethan truly cared for me, that I could eventually choose one of them to spend my life with. Now I realized their kindness had never been love—it was pity. I should’ve known my place from the start. I opened my phone, ready to book a flight to Atherton—the fictional country my mother now called home. But before I could finish, a message from Jessa popped up. “Leah, I’m not trying to take what’s yours. Nathan and Ethan insisted on giving it to me.” “They said you’re too old for this stuff anyway. Pink’s too youthful for you, don’t you think? At your age, pastel colors don’t suit you anymore.” Attached was a picture of her sitting in my room. She was wearing a pink dress and matching accessories—things Nathan and Ethan had spent a fortune on last year, promising they’d be my graduation gift. On her hand, she wore two pink diamond rings. I stared at the photo, my face expressionless. Then I blocked her and sent another text to my mother. “Mom, I’m serious. I don’t want to stay here anymore.” This hospital stay had forced me to see a therapist. The doctor told me I was showing signs of mild depression. She strongly recommended I leave this toxic environment before things got worse. If I stayed, I would only spiral further, sinking into hopelessness. I was only in my twenties. I had no intention of spending the rest of my life wasting away in the Hayes family’s shadow. My mother replied quickly: “Alright. I respect your decision.” “When you come to Atherton, I promise I’ll make sure my precious girl is happy.” Perhaps sensing my pain, she sent one last message: “Before you leave, make sure to say goodbye to Mr. Hayes.” I stepped out of the hospital. The drizzle outside soaked through my clothes as I stood there, staring at the gray sky. My college diploma wouldn’t arrive for another week. I’d use that time to say goodbye to everything—and everyone—here. It was time to move on.

I took a cab back to the Hayes estate. The moment I stepped into the yard, I was knocked to the ground by a massive dog. “Oh no, Leah! I’m so sorry,” Jessa said, standing nearby with a faint smile. But she made no move to pull the dog away as it tore at my clothes. It wasn’t until I started coughing uncontrollably that she finally called the dog back to her side, feigning innocence. Shaking, I got to my feet. My chest burned as I realized the garden I had lovingly tended for years was utterly destroyed—trampled beyond recognition. A giant dog crate now sat where the flowers used to bloom. Dog hair floated in the air, triggering my allergies. I fumbled through my bag for my medication, swallowed it, and leaned against a wall, gasping for breath. Nathan and Ethan Hayes were standing nearby, watching the entire scene unfold. They exchanged a glance, their expressions filled with disdain. “Leah, I thought you had more pride than this,” Nathan sneered. “Didn’t you say you weren’t coming back? Yet here you are, crawling home.” Ethan laughed, his voice sharp and cruel. “Where else would she go? She’s got no father, no family, no home. This place is the only roof over her head.” Their words cut through me like a blade. I thought back to the first days after my father’s death, when I’d come to live with the Hayes family. I was a scared, lonely child, crying myself to sleep every night. Nathan had been the one to comfort me, sitting beside me and wiping away my tears. “Leah, don’t cry,” he’d said, his voice warm and reassuring. “From now on, my dad is your dad. My home is your home.” Ethan had treated me like a treasure, giving me the best room in the old family house—the one with the perfect view of the garden. He told everyone, without a hint of embarrassment, that I’d one day be the only mistress of the Hayes family. But all of that changed the moment Jessa arrived. Jessa wasn’t just any girl. She was the Hayes family’s foster daughter, sponsored by their father through college. When she moved into the estate during her first year of university, she became the center of attention. She wasn’t content with simply winning over Nathan and Ethan. She went out of her way to make my life miserable. At first, I didn’t take it seriously. I thought of her as a younger sister and brushed off her antics. But then she smashed the porcelain doll my father had given me before he died. Furious, I confronted her. I demanded to know why she’d done it. Before she could answer, Ethan stepped between us and shoved me back. “It’s just a doll. If it’s broken, then it’s broken. Why are you making such a fuss?” he said coldly. “Jessa’s had a hard life. She deserves kindness, not this spoiled behavior from you.” Nathan chimed in, his tone dripping with mockery. “She’s only eighteen, Leah. You’re nearly thirty. Can’t you act your age? You’re embarrassing yourself.” I stared at the shattered pieces of porcelain on the floor, realizing for the first time how distant and unrecognizable they had become. From that moment on, everything changed. I was no longer the girl they cared for. Jessa became their priority, their princess. The household staff followed suit, treating her as though she were the true lady of the house. I was left behind, fading into the background, a shadow of who I used to be. And now, I had nothing left to hold on to. I tried to head upstairs to pack my things, but before I could make it to my room, I saw all my belongings being thrown down from the second floor. Startled, I looked up to see Ethan standing at the balcony, his arm wrapped protectively around Jessa. He smirked, his voice dripping with scorn. “Leah, stop pretending to be something you’re not. You’re just a stray dog we took in out of pity. Jessa’s the only real princess of this house.” “And from now on,” he added, “you’ll move into the storage room. I won’t be giving you a position in the company either. Let’s see how long it takes you to learn your lesson.” Nathan, standing nearby, picked up the porcelain doll I’d painstakingly glued back together and smashed it against the wall again, laughing as the pieces scattered. “Leah,” he said mockingly, “if you ever cause trouble for Jessa again, next time it won’t just be the doll I break.” Looking at the broken pieces on the floor, I felt… nothing. The old me would’ve screamed, cried, and demanded answers. I would’ve fought to make them see how much they were hurting me. But now, I just wanted to let it go. Squatting down, I carefully gathered the shattered fragments into my hands. “You win,” I said softly. “I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

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### My sister, radiant and mesmerizing, never stopped being the center of attention—even when she was pregnant. Our parents worked tirelessly to find men for her, never complaining, never resting. I watched as one scrawny, pale man after another left our house with glowing faces and renewed energy. The villagers called her the luck of the town, the one who brought fortune to anyone who shared her bed. But one day, I followed her to the river in the hills and saw something moving beneath the water where she bathed. My sister, Clara, was the jewel of Pearl Creek Village. She was known far and wide for her beauty, her alluring charm, and the way she did… absolutely nothing all day but lie in bed. Even pregnancy didn’t slow her down. Strange muffled sounds often came from her room—moans, groans, and the occasional gasp. People said Clara was the “Pearl of Fortune.” Sleep with her, they claimed, and your luck would change overnight. Our parents didn’t mind the rumors. In fact, they encouraged it, happily taking the money that inevitably followed. A few days ago, however, Clara had slipped and miscarried. Our parents were devastated. They doted on her even more, cooking meat broth every day to “restore her health.” “Still in bed, you lazy brat? Get up and make soup for your sister!” I barely had time to register the sound of my mother’s broom swishing through the air before it smacked down on my back, sending a sharp sting through me. I bolted upright, all traces of sleep gone, and scrambled to the kitchen under her harsh glare. Unlike Clara, who was pale, flawless, and angelic, I was a walking nightmare. My face was a disaster. A twisted nose, a crooked mouth, and an uneven patch of scars covered my left cheek. The right side was even worse—a dark birthmark stretched across it, thick with coarse black hair. The villagers called me “Toad,” saying I was uglier than the slimiest creature in the swamp. When I was born, my parents had wanted to drown me in a chamber pot, but they’d decided to keep me around because I was healthy enough to work. Now, I stood on a stool, stirring a pot of meat broth until the rich, savory aroma filled the air. My stomach growled loudly—I hadn’t eaten all day. But when I was done, my mother snatched the pot away, not sparing me a single drop. “Take this to your sister,” she barked. When I entered Clara’s room, she was sprawled across the bed, her eyes closed, her body writhing slightly as if she were in a dream. The moment she smelled the broth, her eyes snapped open, and she lunged for the bowl. She drank greedily, swallowing mouthful after mouthful, the oil glistening on her lips as it slid down her chin. Watching her eat, I couldn’t help but gulp, my stomach twisting with hunger. Halfway through the bowl, Clara paused and looked at me with a strange smile. “Want some?” she asked sweetly, a rare show of generosity. I nodded eagerly. “Yes, please!” For once, she handed me the bowl. “Here,” she said, smirking. “You look so pitiful—I’ll let you have a taste.” My hands trembled as I brought the bowl to my lips, taking a deep sip of the broth. And then I froze. The broth, which smelled so rich and delicious, tasted like rot—thick with an overwhelming stench of decay. Before I could even understand what was happening, Clara let out a piercing scream. “Mom! Toad stole my broth! She drank it!” My mother stormed in before I could explain, her hand flying across my face with a force that sent me reeling. “That broth is for your sister! You think you deserve it? Get outside and do your chores!” Clara laughed hysterically, her slender waist twisting as she clutched her stomach in mock pain. “Mom,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet, “when are you bringing me my next man? I’m feeling better, you know.” My mother stroked her hair lovingly. “Don’t worry, dear. Once you’re pregnant again, the men will come flocking back.” I clutched my stinging cheek, tears streaming down my face, and stumbled outside to pull weeds. It was nearly sunset by the time I finished my chores. Exhausted, I dragged myself back to the house, only to find my father squatting in the backyard, gnawing on bones. The bones were leftovers from Clara’s broth. Nearby, my mother was scrubbing clothes, muttering to herself. “Good thing this baby didn’t go to waste,” she sighed. “Clara’s body is recovering so well—she’ll be ready to conceive again in no time.” “Clara’s a blessing,” my father agreed, cracking another bone between his teeth. “Even if she’s just our little fortune pearl, she’s worth her weight in money.” Once they went inside, curiosity got the better of me. I crept toward the pile of discarded bones. At first, I didn’t see anything unusual. But then my eyes landed on something that made my stomach drop. Lying among the scraps was a skull—not fully formed, but unmistakably human. I staggered back, my heart hammering in my chest. It was the remains of Clara’s unborn child. 2 My parents always made me cook the meat, never letting me look too closely at it. But now, the thought of that broth—its nauseating stench—made me shiver. That night, I couldn’t sleep. My parents’ words kept replaying in my mind, and my cheek, still swollen from the slap, throbbed painfully. Unable to bear it, I got up in the dark to find some ointment. That’s when I noticed something strange: my sister, Clara, who never left her bed, was gone. Curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to follow her. I crept through the shadows, watching as Clara made her way to the river behind the hills. She slipped out of her clothes and stepped into the water. Holding my breath, I crouched low and peeked through the bushes. Clara was waist-deep in the river, her bare back partially exposed above the surface. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest rising and falling heavily. She looked… in pain, but there was something else too—a strange, almost blissful expression on her face. My eyes widened in horror. Something thick and eel-like, as large as a man’s arm, was writhing in her lap, coiling and twisting against her body. “Ah!” Clara let out a sharp gasp, her voice breaking through the quiet night. I froze, my mind racing. I knew there were eels in the river. They liked dark, murky places, preferring the shadows and filth. But this—this was something else entirely. A chill ran down my spine as I instinctively rubbed my arms, feeling as though I’d been in that water myself. I couldn’t watch any longer. Shaking, I crouched lower and began to sneak away. But just as I thought I was safe, a hand clamped down hard on my shoulder. I screamed, spinning around, only to find my father standing behind me. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it sent a shiver through me. “Little Lizzy,” he said, his tone eerily calm, “what did you see?” My heart thudded in my chest as I stammered out a lie, saying I’d gone to use the outhouse and noticed Clara’s door was open, so I went to look for her. “She’s at the river,” I added. “She looked like she wasn’t feeling well…” My father’s expression turned strange, his lips curling into a half-smile. “You’re too young to understand,” he said, his voice almost condescending. “What your sister’s going through… it’s just part of growing up. It’s what makes her a woman.” He patted my head, his words heavy with meaning I didn’t understand, and sent me back toward the house. But instead of going inside, I doubled back. Something wasn’t right. Hiding in the shadows once again, I watched as my father crouched in the bushes by the river, his eyes fixed on Clara. His gaze was intense, hungry. That night, I didn’t dare sleep. I lay in bed, feigning rest, my ears straining for any sound. And then I heard it. The soft creak of footsteps, careful and quiet. My father was sneaking into Clara’s room. A month later, Clara started vomiting. She was showing all the signs of pregnancy. My mother wasted no time calling the town’s only healer, Dr. Samuel, to check her. Sure enough, Clara was pregnant again. My parents were overjoyed. “Thank the heavens,” my mother exclaimed, practically glowing with pride. “We’ve got another one on the way!” Clara, too, couldn’t stop smiling. She leaned against the bedpost, her voice saccharine and teasing. “Mom, does that mean I’ll get a man tonight? It’s been over a month, and I’m starving.” “Of course, sweetheart,” my mother cooed. “I’ll let them know right away. The Pearl of Fortune is ready again.” Their laughter filled the house, but I couldn’t stay. My chest felt tight, and I needed to get away from their sickening celebration. Dr. Samuel was the only person in Hollow Creek who had ever been kind to me. He wasn’t like the others. Young, clean-cut, and soft-spoken, he didn’t treat me like a monster. He’d even taught me how to read and write when no one else would bother. As he was leaving, he caught my arm. “Lizzy,” he said in a low, urgent voice, his usual calm replaced with tension. “Let me check something.” He took my wrist and pressed his fingers to it, feeling my pulse. His brow furrowed deeply. “Lizzy,” he said again, his voice more serious this time, “you need to listen to me carefully.” I nodded, my heart pounding. “They’ve been lying to you. All of them,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “When you… when you come of age, when your body changes, don’t tell anyone. Don’t let them know.” My eyes widened, confusion and fear swirling in my chest. “Why?” “Because they’ll give you something to drink. They’ll say it’s medicine, but it’s not. Whatever you do, don’t drink it. If you do, something terrible will happen.” 3 I didn’t understand Dr. Samuel’s warning, but the fear in his voice made me shiver. “What… what do you mean?” I asked, my voice trembling. He opened his mouth to explain, but before he could say another word, my mother’s sharp voice called me from inside the house. Samuel hesitated, then sighed and left quickly. After Clara got pregnant again, she became even lazier, leaving every chore to me. She didn’t lift a finger, not even to pour herself a glass of water. Every morning, I had to cook her meat broth and wash her, while at night, her room filled with those strange, lilting sounds again. But tonight, the noises were different. The usual soft, drawn-out hums turned into something lower, guttural—almost like the whimpering of a wounded animal. The village chief came by that night. He was well past sixty, but when he left, his face was ruddy, his step light, as though years had been lifted from his shoulders. In the yard, I overheard him whispering with a few other men. “That was the last night. I’ll miss her, though. My wife’s never been so… lively.” “True,” another man said with a chuckle. “But we have to think about the future. The entire village depends on her.” Their words sent a chill through me. Something was wrong. What were they planning? Did Clara know? The next morning, when I brought Clara her broth, I finally worked up the courage to warn her. “Clara,” I whispered, my voice trembling, “stop bringing men into your room. They’re going to hurt you. I think—” Before I could finish, she snatched the bowl from my hands and slammed it against my face. The scalding liquid splashed across my skin, and the bowl left a red, swollen mark where it hit me. “You jealous little toad,” she sneered, laughing as I stumbled back, clutching my burning cheek. “What do you know? You don’t even have a man. You just can’t stand that they all want me.” She clapped her hands, laughing so hard she doubled over, her snake-like waist twisting with glee. I swallowed my anger, my voice low and cold. “Fine. I’ll go tell Mom to bring you another man.” For three months, my parents kept collecting money from the men who came to Clara’s room. But instead of looking happy, their expressions grew heavier each day, darkened by something they wouldn’t talk about. And Clara… something wasn’t right with her either. At only four months pregnant, her belly was already as large as if she were full-term. Veins, dark and swollen, twisted under her pale, thin skin, writhing like worms. One morning, I was jolted awake by screams from Clara’s room. She was in labor. It didn’t make sense—normal women carried their babies for nine months, maybe eight at the least. But Clara was only four months in. The entire village had gathered outside our house, their faces tense with anticipation. “God bless her,” someone whispered. “May she bring fortune to us all.” “We’ve waited so long,” another murmured. “This has to be it.” Hours dragged on, and Clara’s screams grew weaker and weaker. Finally, my mother emerged, her face drenched in sweat, her hands covered in blood. She carried a heavy basket in her arms. She looked down at it and spat. “Another useless one.” The villagers craned their necks for a look. But when they saw what was inside, their faces fell, and they quickly dispersed, muttering under their breath. Curiosity got the better of me. Once everyone was gone, I crept closer to the basket. Inside, wrapped in a thin, translucent membrane, was a creature that wasn’t human. It had no arms or legs, just a stubby, misshapen body. Two pitch-black eyes, slitted and unblinking, stared out from its face, with no eyelids to close them. Gills flared on its sides, opening and closing with each shallow breath. I froze, my blood running cold. It wasn’t a baby. It was a monster. Clara bled out later that day. No matter what my mother did, the bleeding wouldn’t stop. She died before sunset. But what shocked me most wasn’t her death—it was the village’s reaction. The same people who once called her their “Pearl of Fortune” now acted as though she’d never existed. They didn’t mourn her. They didn’t even come to pay their respects. The next morning, smoke rose from every chimney, carrying the mouthwatering scent of roasted meat. Only the village chief came to our house. “Such a shame,” he said, standing before Clara’s altar. He even squeezed out a few tears. “She was one of a kind.” As he turned to leave, his gaze landed on me, crouched in the corner, burning paper for the dead. His eyes narrowed, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. “Lizzy’s sixteen now, isn’t she?” I didn’t dare lie. I nodded stiffly. The chief’s smile widened. Later that evening, I saw him talking to my parents in hushed tones. “She’ll do just fine,” I heard him say through the thin wooden door. “Better than the last one. She’ll bring us everything we need.” They talked until dusk. After Clara’s death, my parents’ attitude toward me shifted. They were… kind. For the first time in my life, they treated me with warmth, as though I were something precious. But I didn’t trust it. A few weeks later, I was washing clothes by the river when I felt a sudden heat between my legs. Looking down, I saw a smear of sticky, red liquid staining my underclothes. Panic surged through me. “Mom! Mom, what’s happening to me?” When my mother saw the blood, her face lit up with joy. “Don’t be scared, Lizzy,” she said, beaming. “You’re a woman now.” I felt sick, my stomach cramping as she carried me home on her back. That night, she made me a bowl of thick, bitter-smelling broth and brought it to my bedside. For the first time, she was gentle with me, her voice soft and sweet as she coaxed me to drink. “Be a good girl, Lizzy. Drink this, and the pain will go away.” Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to me like this. I reached for the bowl, my hands trembling. But just as I was about to take a sip, Dr. Samuel’s voice echoed in my mind: “Whatever you do, don’t drink it. If you do, something terrible will happen.” I froze, the bowl inches from my lips. 4 I turned my head away, refusing to drink the bitter concoction. My teeth clenched as I shook my head in defiance. But my mother wasn’t having it. Her expression darkened, and she grabbed my jaw with surprising strength, forcing my mouth open. She poured the hot, thick liquid down my throat, ignoring my muffled protests. “Be a good girl,” she said, her voice sickly sweet. “By tomorrow morning, you’ll be a grown woman.” When she finally left, I scrambled to the corner and tried to gag myself, desperate to throw it all up. But no matter how hard I tried, the medicine refused to come back up. Terror gripped me, and I spent the entire night curled up in my bed, trembling as I waited for the unspeakable horror Dr. Samuel had warned me about. But nothing happened. The next morning, I cautiously approached the mirror—and froze. The scars that had marred my face for as long as I could remember were gone. The dark, hairy birthmark that had covered the right side of my face? Vanished. In its place was smooth, porcelain skin—soft, flawless, and glowing. My cheeks looked so delicate, they seemed like they might bruise if touched too hard. I was… beautiful. Even more beautiful than Clara had been. I stood in stunned silence, pulling off my clothes. The tight, restricting bandages I’d always worn fell to the floor, revealing my figure. My chest, once flattened beneath layers of cloth, was now full, pale, and unrestrained. For the first time in my sixteen years, I saw my true self. When I finally stepped out of my room, my parents were cooking breakfast. The moment my father saw me, he couldn’t help himself—his hand reached out and pinched my arm, as though testing if I was real. I flinched away, but my mother’s reaction was far different. Her face lit up with joy. “See? Didn’t I tell you?” she cried, clapping her hands. “Look at you now—you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole village!” My heart pounded as her words sank in. The most beautiful girl in the village. For the first time, I wouldn’t have to hear people call me “Toad.” With my newfound beauty, everything changed. The villagers, who used to mock and avoid me, treated me with reverence. Even my parents seemed to see me in a new light. “Lizzy’s got that good fortune about her,” someone said. “She’s even better than Clara was!” “She’ll make a fine Pearl of Fortune,” another villager added. “She’ll bring blessings to all of us!” But every time someone said those words, Clara’s screams echoed in my mind. I couldn’t forget the way she’d died, and the thought of following in her footsteps filled me with dread. My mother must have sensed my fear because she pulled me aside one afternoon. “Don’t worry,” she said, her tone soft and reassuring. “Your sister just wasn’t as lucky as you. You’re different. You’re our family’s only hope now.” For three days, my mother personally supervised me as I drank the herbal medicine. By the fourth day, she seemed satisfied that I was obedient and left me alone with the steaming bowl. “Finish it all,” she said, patting my head before heading out to do chores. But this time, I couldn’t bring myself to drink it. I stared at the bowl in my hands, the bitter aroma filling my nose. All my life, I’d dreamed of shedding my ugly skin, of finally being seen as something other than a monster. But now that I had it… Was this really a blessing? That afternoon, Dr. Samuel found me by the river, washing clothes. When he saw me, he froze, his eyes widening in shock. “You…” he whispered. “What have they done to you?” I avoided his gaze, my heart heavy with doubt. Grabbing my bucket, I tried to walk away. “You lied to me!” I shot back over my shoulder. “You said something terrible would happen, but nothing has! I’m fine!” “Lizzy, stop!” he called after me, his voice filled with urgency. I paused, my fists tightening around the bucket handle. “You’re not fine,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “What you’re experiencing… it’s all a lie. A trap to pull you in.” I turned to face him, my chest tight with frustration. “What are you talking about?” Samuel hesitated, his expression pained. “If you drink the medicine for seven days, you’ll lose control of yourself completely. Your mind, your will—it’ll all be gone. You’ll become nothing more than a tool for the men in this village.” His voice dropped lower. “Do you remember the river behind the hills? The thing you saw there? That’s what killed your sister.” The memory hit me like a punch to the gut. Clara, half-submerged in the water. The massive eel-like creature writhing against her body. The strange mix of pain and ecstasy on her face. I shuddered, my skin crawling. But who was telling the truth—Samuel or my parents? That night, I decided to test it for myself. When my mother gave me the fourth bowl of medicine, I pretended to drink it but secretly poured it out. By morning, I noticed something strange: a faint shadow of the birthmark had reappeared on my cheek. That evening, I crept down the hallway, pressing myself against the wall as I approached my parents’ room. The light was still on, and their voices drifted through the thin wooden door. “…The full moon’s almost here,” my father was saying, excitement clear in his tone. “It’s time to offer Lizzy to the River God.”

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## Ever since my wife took over as CEO of the company, she’s been parading around like a boss babe straight out of a Netflix drama. I went along with everything she wanted. She said every boss lady needs a supportive husband, so I quit my job to be a stay-at-home partner. I agreed. She said every CEO needs a right-hand assistant, so she hired her male best friend as her personal secretary. I didn’t object. But then, she decided to take her “boss lady” persona to the next level, playing out those ridiculous tropes from TV dramas—flirting with her male secretary like it was some kind of game. At her birthday party, she even kissed him passionately in front of all her friends. And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, she capped the night with a “loyalty test,” making me catch her cigarette ashes with my bare hands. When I refused to let her sell off company assets for her boy toy’s approval, she called me a leech—living off her success. What she forgot, though, is that the company she’s so proud of? It’s mine. And being CEO? I can do that too.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” At the birthday party I planned for her, my wife, Elena, drew the card for “Truth or Dare.” Her friends immediately started chanting, demanding she French kiss her male secretary. I, her actual husband, was obviously not okay with this. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop messing around,” I said firmly, trying to keep my tone calm. Her secretary, Liam, wore his usual innocent, harmless expression, but his words were sharp enough to cut. “Aw, come on, Ben. Don’t be such a buzzkill. It’s just a game!” “If you’re such a good sport, why don’t you kiss someone else instead? Maybe her!” I snapped, pointing at a muscular girl with acne who’d been sitting quietly in the corner. The air grew tense. The awkward silence was palpable. Sensing the shift, Liam leaned in and whispered to Elena, “Elena, maybe we should drop it. I don’t want to come between you two.” The moment he said that, my stomach dropped. Ever since she became CEO, Elena couldn’t stand being told she was too soft or easily influenced. Sure enough, in the next moment, she grabbed Liam by the collar and pulled him into a full-on French kiss. For five excruciating minutes. “Woo-hoo!” Her friends cheered, circling them with their phones out, snapping pictures and posting videos to social media. “Look at them! A power couple—beauty and brains!” They didn’t even give me a chance to step in. When Elena and Liam finally pulled apart, their faces were flushed, their lips red and swollen. A string of saliva glistened between them. I shouldered my way through the crowd, grabbed Elena’s arm, and yanked her away. “I told you not to do it! Do you even care about what this looks like for me? What am I to you?” My voice cracked, and I could feel my hands trembling. “Oh, come on, babe. It’s just a silly party game. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” Elena said dismissively, her tone dripping with condescension. “I’m the CEO. If I listen to my ‘little husband’ all the time, where’s my authority?” She patted my cheek, trying to placate me like I was some sulking child. Then, she went right back to Liam, her face lighting up as they huddled together to play another round of games. I wanted to scream. But in front of all her friends, I swallowed my pride and stayed silent. Someone called out, “Elena, we’ve all heard how good you are at keeping your husband in line. Show us a demonstration!” “Yeah, let’s see the famous ‘CEO husband-management skills!’” I desperately tried to signal to her with my eyes, begging her to stop, but she was way too drunk to notice—or care. “Not to brag,” Elena slurred, “but my Ben always does exactly what I say. If I tell him to go east, he wouldn’t dare go west.” She turned to me, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ben, kneel down and be Liam’s ashtray!” The room erupted in laughter. “Elena,” I whispered, mortified. “Please, don’t do this.” “Come on, babe. You’re not going to embarrass me in front of everyone, are you?” Her pleading eyes were my undoing. I could never say no to her, no matter how cruel she was. So, I knelt. Liam flicked his ashes into my hands, and everyone howled with delight. But Elena wasn’t done. She swirled wine in her mouth, then leaned down and spit it directly into mine. “Drink it, babe,” she commanded. The crowd roared with laughter, some filming, others clapping drunkenly. I swallowed my humiliation along with the wine. After the party, an old friend pulled me aside. “Ben, what happened to you? You used to have some self-respect. Why do you let her treat you like this?” I smiled bitterly. “Because she promised me she only loves me. Everything else is just an act.” I guess, as the husband of a CEO, I need to learn how to be… generous.

The birthday party had finally ended, and Elena was completely wasted, barely able to sit upright. I drove her home, but the entire ride was filled with her slurring Liam’s name, calling him her “sweet little baby.” Watching her flushed, drunken face in the rearview mirror, I couldn’t help but think back to how things used to be. Once upon a time, it was Elena who had chased after me. I’d never believed in love. How could I? My parents were the perfect cautionary tale. They’d claimed to “love each other to death,” but when either of them found their so-called true love, they divorced faster than anyone could blink. I, their so-called “love child,” became nothing more than a mistake they were desperate to leave behind. After dumping me with the housekeeper, they fled overseas, as if I were some kind of burden holding them back. Ironically, they ended up on the same flight, which tragically crashed en route. They were consumed by fire together, finally achieving their “till death do us part” fantasy. And me? The unwanted stain of their love story? I inherited their billion-dollar fortune. Suddenly, I became the target of every gold digger imaginable. Women swarmed me, hoping to climb their way up to my level. When Elena confessed her feelings to me back then, I didn’t even spare her a glance. She must’ve been out of her mind because, despite my complete indifference, she wouldn’t give up on me. While I wasted my days smoking, drinking, skipping class, and partying, she was always chasing after me, saying she’d save me. When I pretended to be broke, she worked multiple part-time jobs to buy me clothes and cook me meals. When I lied about being sick, she wouldn’t even let me touch cold water, scrubbing my shoes and washing my clothes by hand in the freezing winter. For four years of college, she stood outside my dorm every morning with breakfast, insisting it was for my “sensitive stomach.” After graduation, she saved three months’ worth of wages to buy flowers and a diamond ring, then got down on one knee to propose to me. Little by little, the ice inside me melted. I started to believe in happiness. For the first time, I felt like I could have a family of my own. I thought Elena was my reward from the universe—a gift to heal the scars of my childhood. I told myself that as long as I loved her with all my heart, we’d build a beautiful life together. But reality has a cruel way of pulling the rug out from under you. The moment I transferred the smallest of my companies into her name, she changed. I don’t know when it started, but the diamond necklace I’d given her was replaced by a cheap red heart-shaped pendant. I didn’t think much of it until one day, I noticed Liam wearing the exact same pendant. When I confronted her, she laughed it off, calling me jealous and childish. “Why are you making such a big deal out of nothing?” she’d said. A soft groan pulled me back to the present. Elena had woken up, rubbing her temples and whining about her headache. I shook off my thoughts and immediately got up to make her some hangover soup. I even blew on it to cool it down before handing it to her, worried it might burn her. Instead of gratitude, she spat it right in my face. “Ugh! Are you trying to poison me with this bitter crap?” “Babe, it’s supposed to be bitter—it’s a family recipe. Just one sip, and you’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.” I tried coaxing her, but she pushed the bowl away, sending it flying. The soup splattered all over me, soaking my chest. “Ugh, you’re so useless! Can’t even make a decent bowl of soup. Liam would never do something so pathetic!” Her words cut deep, but I didn’t argue. Fighting with a drunk person never ends well. I cleaned up the mess and watched as she walked out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed and her skin glowing from the steam. For a moment, I forgot everything—her insults, her indifference, even Liam. All I could think about was how much I wanted us to start a family. I walked over and reached for her, but she shoved me so hard I stumbled back. “Get lost, Ben. Go sleep on the couch.” Defeated, I grabbed a blanket and headed for the living room. Just as I was about to leave, her phone slipped out from under the covers and hit the floor with a soft thud. I bent down to pick it up, and that’s when I saw it. The screen was still lit, open to a text from Liam: “Baby, promise me you’ll stay pure for me, okay?” Before I could say a word, Elena snatched the phone out of my hand, her face pale and panicked. She shoved me out of the bedroom, slamming the door in my face. I stood there in the dark, gripping the blanket tightly, my mind racing.

When I went to confront Elena, I found the bedroom door had been locked from the inside. Frustrated, I banged on the door repeatedly, but all I got in return was her yelling, “It’s the middle of the night! Go to bed already, will you?” No matter how long I stood there, she refused to open the door. I gave up eventually, dragging myself to the couch. Wrapping the blanket over my head, I stared at the ceiling, wondering how my life had ended up like this. Ever since Liam joined the company, Elena had been looking down on me more and more. She mocked me for being weak, for being slow, for not being as handsome as Liam. I tossed and turned for hours before I finally passed out. Before the sun even rose, I was jolted awake by Elena’s piercing scream. “Liam’s been kidnapped! Get up! We need to rescue him!” I sat up on the couch, still groggy, my brain struggling to keep up. Seeing me sitting there like an idiot, Elena grabbed a glass of water and threw it in my face. “Useless! Why did I even marry you?” she snapped before storming off to grab her phone. “Hey, Jane,” she barked at her accountant. “I need you to pull together the company’s finances—how much cash do we have on hand? Wire me $2 million immediately.” I crossed my arms and didn’t bother reminding her that the company definitely didn’t have $2 million. Ever since Elena took over, she’d been playing the role of a “boss lady” straight out of a TV drama. She’d driven out most of the company’s top talent, calling them ugly, outdated, or just plain incompetent. She’d rejected deals because they were “too risky,” “too small,” or “too far away.” One by one, the company’s major projects fell apart, and its reputation in the industry was in shambles. Sure enough, it didn’t take long before Jane called back to report the company’s dire financial situation. Elena flew into a rage. “Where the hell has all the money gone? What am I even paying you people for?!” After chewing out Jane, she immediately started selling off luxury cars, designer watches, even her own stocks. Something about all this didn’t sit right with me. Liam’s family wasn’t poor—if he really had been kidnapped, why weren’t they calling his father instead of Elena? I quietly sent a message to my butler, asking him to investigate. At first, Elena seemed guilty about selling off pieces of my collection, promising to buy me something even better later. But the moment I suggested she think twice before selling the stocks, her expression darkened. “You just want Liam to die, don’t you? What did he ever do to you? Why do you hate him so much?” Her voice was shrill, almost hysterical. She refused to listen to reason. Fine, I thought. Let her do whatever she wants. After all, this company was just a minor piece of my portfolio. While she scrambled to gather the money, I secretly had my people buy back the stocks at half their value. I couldn’t let Elena go alone with that much cash, so despite her glares and protests, I followed her. As soon as I started my car, my phone buzzed. It was the butler, calling to report his findings.

“Liam wasn’t kidnapped,” he said bluntly. “He’s setting her up to scam her out of her money. It’s all a ploy.” I felt a wave of cold anger wash over me. I tried calling Elena, but she wasn’t picking up. I sent a message instead, then floored the gas pedal to catch up to her. When I arrived at the casino, Elena was about to hand over the money. “Wait!” I shouted, running toward her. “Elena, he’s lying to you! Liam was never kidnapped!” I yelled, trying to stop her. The fake kidnappers froze, unsure of what to do. I quickly added, “I’ve already called the police. If you idiots try anything, none of you are getting out of here.” Liam’s expression shifted, but only for a moment. Then, with a smirk, he signaled the “kidnappers” to untie him. “Well, looks like the jig is up,” he said casually, brushing off his clothes like nothing had happened. Turning to Elena, he grinned. “Elena, I wasn’t really kidnapped. Last night, during a game of Truth or Dare, my dare was to stage this whole thing and see if you’d be willing to raise $2 million to save me.” He spread his arms wide, gesturing around the room as the “kidnappers” pulled down the curtains to reveal balloons, flowers, and a giant banner. “Elena, you’ve proven how much you care about me. Now it’s my turn.” Liam dropped to one knee, pulling out a diamond ring the size of a golf ball. “Elena, will you marry me? I promise to love you forever.”

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### In a world devastated by extreme heatwaves, my best friend, Olivia, was thrown out of her husband’s house at 12:30 in the dead of night. Dressed in nothing but her pajamas, she stood sobbing on the side of the road, begging me to take her in. I drove 120 miles to pick her up, brought her home, fed her, and bought her new clothes. I even encouraged her to leave her abusive husband. But three months later, when her life didn’t improve, she tore off my protective heat suit and left me to die under the searing 120°F sun. Her reasoning? “If you hadn’t told me to divorce him, I wouldn’t be living such a miserable life!” “Claire, can you come pick me up?” The familiar voice on the other end of the phone sent a chill down my spine, freezing me in place. It was Olivia. It felt like déjà vu. This was exactly how it happened in my previous life: Olivia’s husband, Nathan Zhang, had thrown her out of the house late at night, and she’d called me, desperate for help. Without hesitation, I had driven 120 miles to bring her to safety. I treated her like family, offering her food, shelter, and support. I had even told my parents, “Olivia is like a sister to me. She’s the family that life gave me, and I’ll always look out for her.” To me, she was more than a friend—she was my closest confidante. Her problems were my problems, and I treated her with the utmost care. From the beginning, though, I had a bad feeling about Nathan. He was controlling and manipulative, and I urged Olivia to leave him, but she wouldn’t listen. Instead, she chose to marry him and move far away. After the wedding, Olivia often called to vent about how Nathan was abusive and unfaithful. I lost count of the number of times I told her to leave him. Every time she swore she’d come to me and file for divorce, but the next day, she’d reconcile with him. In my past life, I was a fool. When Nathan threw her out, I brought her home and spent weeks convincing her to leave him. After all, who wouldn’t side with her? Being kicked out in the middle of the night, forced to wander the streets—it was unforgivable. But Olivia was nothing more than a snake in disguise. Three months later, after living comfortably in my home, she snapped. In a fit of rage, she tore off my protective heat suit and threw me outside into the blistering sun. I begged her from the other side of the door, pleading for my life, but she glared at me with resentment. “Why do you get to live happily with your perfect husband while I’m left a divorced nobody?” Under the relentless heat, I collapsed in the middle of the street. My body was found days later, scorched and unrecognizable. As for Olivia? She went after my husband. I had once told him, “Ethan, Olivia is my best friend. Treat her as well as you treat me.” And he did. He trusted her when she told him there were roses growing outside that he should pick to honor my memory. Wearing a compromised heat suit she had prepared, Ethan ventured out into the deadly heat. He suffocated in the sweltering air, his body baking under the sun until he was nothing but dried remains. But now, somehow, I had been given a second chance. I found myself standing in the same moment as before, Olivia’s voice trembling on the other end of the line.

“Claire? Did you hear me?” she asked again, her tone pitiful. I smirked coldly. Oh, I heard her just fine. This was my chance to rewrite my fate. “Olivia,” I said, my voice calm but distant, “Nathan probably didn’t mean it. He loves you too much to actually kick you out. You should go back and talk to him.” There was silence on the line. Then, Olivia stammered, “W-what? Claire, are you mad at me? Is this because I didn’t listen to you before? Please, you’re the only person I can turn to. You’ve always been there for me. You’re my best friend!” She began showering me with compliments, recounting all the ways I had helped her in the past. But with every word she spoke, my heart only grew colder. If she truly knew how much I had cared for her, why had she betrayed me so cruelly in my last life? Why had she called me a “fake friend” and destroyed my family out of jealousy? I remembered telling Ethan, “Honey, Olivia is like a sister to me. Treat her the same way you treat me.” How naive I had been. She was no sister—she was a monster. And because of my blind trust, Ethan had died a horrific death, suffocating in the heat while searching for roses she had lied about. This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistake.

The moment I hung up the call with Olivia, regret surged through me, sharp and bitter. “Claire?” Ethan, my husband, stirred awake and walked out of the bedroom, his voice groggy with sleep. He glanced at the phone in my hand, and when he saw Olivia’s name on the screen, his brow furrowed. “Another fight with her husband?” he asked softly. I nodded, then turned my attention back to the phone. “Olivia,” I said calmly, “go back home. Nathan won’t leave you out there. Trust me.” Before she could respond, I ended the call. But I wasn’t done. I immediately dialed Nathan. In my past life, Olivia had blamed me for convincing her to leave him. This time, I’d make sure they stayed together. “Nathan,” I started when he answered, “Olivia’s at the grocery store on the corner. She says you don’t love her, but I know that’s not true. You two have been through so much together—she’s lucky to have someone like you.” “Claire?” Nathan asked, his voice dripping with suspicion. “It’s me,” I confirmed. He scoffed, his tone turning cold. “If it weren’t for you meddling last time, Olivia wouldn’t have left in the first place. And now you’re trying to play the hero?” Meddling? Oh, Olivia. How much had you lied to me in our past life? She’d claimed I encouraged her to leave him, but it was clear now that she had twisted the narrative to suit her self-pity. “Nathan,” I said, my voice firm, “you can’t just throw accusations like that. I’ve always told Olivia to work things out with you. Marriage isn’t something you give up on lightly. You two belong together.” There was silence, then a begrudging, “Fine. I’ll go get her.” As I hung up, I smirked. Olivia, I hope you’re ready to explain yourself when Nathan shows up. Don’t forget to throw your so-called ‘best friend’ under the bus to save your own skin. With those two out of the way, I still couldn’t relax. In three days, global temperatures were predicted to rise above 120°F, and chaos would soon follow. Even though utilities like water and electricity would still function, the unbearable heat would make it nearly impossible to go outside. Protective suits could help for short trips, but even a small tear could lead to burns, dehydration, or worse. Fear and despair would take over. Supplies would dwindle. And then the true horror would begin—crime would skyrocket. I’d seen it all in my past life. The memory of those days haunted me, pushing me to act immediately. I called my boss and requested a leave of absence. Then I did the same for Ethan. Next, I called my parents. “Mom, Dad,” I said urgently, “the heatwave is coming. You need to tell everyone in the village to start preparing the fallout shelter in the back hills.” My parents lived in a small village founded by my family generations ago. Fewer than ten households remained, all of them relatives. The fallout shelter, built into the hillside behind our orchards, had been abandoned for years. But I remembered stumbling across it as a child during one blazing summer. The outside temperature had been in the high 90s, but inside the shelter, it was a cool, comfortable 68°F. I’d even fallen asleep there, only to be scolded by my parents when they found me hours later. After that, my dad started using the shelter to cool off while working in the orchard. He even set up a small space for me to rest whenever I tagged along. In this life, the memory of that cool, safe haven was all I could think about. In my previous life, when the heatwave hit, my parents had rushed to the shelter and confirmed that it still maintained a livable temperature. Ethan and I had planned to join them, but Olivia refused to leave the city. “It’s so inconvenient to pack up and move,” she complained. “Besides, the government will take care of us. Things will settle down soon enough.” When I insisted on leaving, she burst into tears. “You’re abandoning me, aren’t you? I thought I was your best friend!” Her sobs wore me down, and I foolishly stayed. But staying was a death sentence. Ethan and I both perished—him from dehydration when Olivia sabotaged his protective suit, and me from heat exposure after she locked me outside. And Olivia? She and Nathan took over the shelter, leaving my parents and the villagers to die under the scorching sun. The thought of it still made my blood boil.

“Mom, Dad, listen carefully. Tell everyone in the village—those who can return home should do so immediately, and those who can’t must stock up on essential supplies and stay put. And one more thing: don’t tell anyone outside the village about our location or that we’re preparing. Not a word about the supplies, either.” “This is about survival.” “Claire, what’s going on?” My mom’s voice was filled with alarm, her nervousness radiating through the phone. “Mom, a scientist I know says the temperature will hit 120°F in three days.” “120°F?” My mom gasped, nearly dropping the phone in shock. Time was running out, so I quickly emphasized the gravity of the situation. Hearing the urgency in my voice, my parents finally began to understand the seriousness. They swore they would follow my instructions to the letter. “Mom, there’s no time to waste. You and Dad need to start preparing immediately. The fallout shelter hasn’t been used in years—it’ll need a lot of repairs. Get to work, fast.” “Got it.” I reminded them to send me daily progress updates and to assign tasks to the other villagers. Only by working together could they speed up the preparations. Once I was certain my parents would take action, I heaved a long sigh of relief and finally allowed myself to drift into a deep sleep. The next morning, I had Ethan take his parents to my parents’ village. “Claire, are you okay?” Ethan asked, concern etched into his face. His worry made my chest tighten. Memories of his death in my past life flashed through my mind, and I couldn’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around him. “I’m fine,” I said softly. “But according to the expert, the heatwave will hit in a few days. We need to prepare now. Take your parents to my mom and dad’s place, and help them get the fallout shelter fixed. Most importantly, make sure they have enough supplies.” “What about you?” Ethan frowned. “You’re staying behind?” I shook my head. “There are some supplies the village can’t get. I’ll handle them here. Once you get there, ask my parents to gather a few trucks and have them wait for me at the cemetery on the edge of the village.” “Alright.” I shared the rest of my plan with him. Although he looked a little confused, he didn’t question me. Ethan could sense how serious this was, and though he didn’t fully understand, he trusted me. “Ethan,” I said firmly, “don’t tell anyone about the fallout shelter or why we’re stocking up. If anyone asks, say it’s for renovating the family shrine and preparing for a memorial gathering.” Ethan, quick on the uptake, nodded without hesitation. He left right away, driving our SUV, stopping along the way to pick up tools for electricity and water systems. Meanwhile, I headed straight to the farmers’ markets, buying supplies in bulk. I divided everything into categories—meat, rice, vegetables—all meticulously planned. At the same time, I instructed my parents to buy large freezers, but to do so discreetly. “Don’t buy them all from one place,” I told them. “Spread it out so it doesn’t attract attention.” Once the freezers arrived at the house, they moved them to the fallout shelter. From the videos my mom sent me, the shelter was shaping up beautifully. With the help of the aunts in the village, the once-abandoned space was now almost unrecognizable. I remembered the shelter being large, but I hadn’t realized just how massive it was. After cleaning and organizing, they’d even divided it into sections: living quarters, a recreation area, a kitchen, and, surprisingly, an open-air section where sunlight streamed in. The deeper they went into the shelter, the more impressive it became. At the very back, the shelter connected to a cliffside with a natural ventilation system. The breeze made it perfect for planting crops. “Claire,” my mom said in one of her updates, “we’ve cleaned out all the rooms and installed water and electricity. We even left space for the freezers.” With the shelter coming together so well, I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders. Now, I could focus on the rest of the supplies without distraction.

Three full trucks packed with supplies. The truck driver chuckled as he glanced at me. “Miss, are you opening a grocery store or something?” I smiled back, playing along. “Big celebration in the village—lots of guests and a banquet to prepare. You’d be surprised how fast all this will disappear.” “Ah, that makes sense. For a second, I thought you were stocking up for the apocalypse!” I didn’t bother explaining further; sometimes, less was more. I sent the three trucks to three separate drop-off points near different cemeteries, where Ethan and some of the guys from the village were waiting. Once the supplies were unloaded, we carefully transferred them to the trucks my family had brought. I’d reminded everyone repeatedly to avoid being seen. The supplies were discreetly delivered to the fallout shelter in ten separate trips. By the time we finished, the shelter was packed wall-to-wall with food, water, and essentials. The sight of it all made me feel like a deflated balloon, and I collapsed onto the sofa with a long sigh. For the first time since my rebirth, I felt safe. This time, the heat wouldn’t kill me. It had been so long since I’d seen my parents. When I finally did, I couldn’t hold back my emotions. I threw myself into their arms and cried like a child. Startled by my outburst, they tried to comfort me, their voices full of worry. “What’s wrong, Claire? Why are you crying so much?” I shook my head, brushing it off with a weak excuse. “It’s just… the heat. It’s overwhelming, and I couldn’t hold it in.” My mom chuckled and teased, “You’re acting like a little kid again.” I smiled through my tears and leaned into their warmth, letting myself be a daughter for just a moment longer. Once I’d calmed down, I started asking detailed questions about the shelter. When I arrived earlier, my uncle had been overseeing the installation of reinforced fencing around the perimeter. Honestly, if my mom hadn’t guided me inside, I never would’ve found the entrance. They’d done an incredible job hiding it. Forget Olivia—no one, not even the locals, would be able to locate this place. That night, my mom and a few of the aunts prepared a feast to welcome us. After dinner, Ethan took me on a little tour of the shelter. Holding hands, we explored every nook and cranny. “I didn’t have time to fix everything,” Ethan said, gesturing toward some unfinished sections. “We don’t know how long this heatwave will last, but your dad and I figured we could improve things bit by bit as we go.” “There’s plenty of time,” I reassured him, squeezing his hand. Knowing how much I loved watching movies, Ethan had even set up a small room with a projector. Seeing his thoughtfulness made me smile. The next day, the heatwave hit. The temperature soared to 122°F, and the world outside descended into chaos. People who dared step outdoors without proper protection were immediately burned. And unlike regular burns, these heat injuries were slow to heal. Experts and government officials issued warnings, urging citizens to stay indoors and avoid unnecessary travel. Community workers began distributing protective suits, based on the number of residents in each neighborhood. When our building’s property manager called to check on us, I told them, “Oh, my family’s traveling out of town, so you don’t need to include us in the headcount.” Meanwhile, Olivia sent me a picture of my house.

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### ”Three years into my marriage to Nathan White, a “Divorce Compensation System” appeared in my life. The premise was simple: if Nathan and I divorced within thirty days, I’d receive a $5 million payout. It wasn’t that I needed the money—but who would turn down $5 million? Especially when this hollow, joyless marriage was as good as worthless. So I drafted the divorce papers and handed them to Nathan. He glared at me, his teeth clenched. “Claire, what kind of game are you playing now?” I was ready to snap back at him, but before I could, strange floating messages appeared in my vision: [Noooo! Mr. White hasn’t even confessed yet, and he’s already about to be dumped!] [Don’t do it! Mr. White loves you! If you leave now, his heart will shatter into a million pieces!] A compensation system and now… mysterious floating messages? Which one was I supposed to believe? Nathan barely glanced at the divorce papers before grabbing his coat and storming out of the house. The messages didn’t stop, though. They hovered in the air, taunting me. I waved my hand at them, trying to swat them away, but of course, I grabbed nothing but air. [He’s heartbroken! Did you see his red-rimmed eyes?] [Poor Mr. White. Three years and not a single word about his feelings. Give him another chance, Claire!] Nathan and I had been married for three years, but it wasn’t a real marriage. We were like roommates, living under the same roof but with separate rooms and lives. The marriage had been arranged. My parents’ company was in crisis, and they needed the White family’s financial support. Nathan’s mother adored me, so our families decided we should marry. Nathan and I were rivals growing up—we fought about everything. But as reluctant partners in this arranged marriage, we’d settled into a sort of truce. We didn’t interfere in each other’s lives. I thought we’d continue this way forever—until the divorce compensation system appeared. The thought of walking away from this charade of a marriage with $5 million was too tempting to resist. That money could help ease my family’s financial burden, and Nathan and I could finally stop pretending to be a happy couple in front of everyone. But Nathan didn’t take my divorce proposal seriously. He assumed it was some kind of prank. What a joke. I was nothing but sincere! No matter. For $5 million, I’d figure out a way to convince him. As I mulled over my next move, the floating messages kept distracting me. Compared to the ridiculous idea that Nathan might have feelings for me, the system’s promise of a payout seemed far more believable. Besides, Nathan’s first love, Ivy, had just returned to town. With her around, getting him to agree to a divorce should be a piece of cake. After three years of putting up with this sham marriage, my freedom was finally within reach. To celebrate, I called my best friend, Kelly, and invited her out to a bar. “Wow, Claire,” Kelly teased over the deafening music, leaning in close so I could hear her. “Is this your way of saying you’re finally letting loose? Aren’t you worried Nathan will flip out?” I smirked, glancing at the male model Kelly had brought along for the night. His physique was… impressive. I wondered if those chiseled abs were real. “What’s there to worry about?” I said. “If all goes well, Nathan will set me free soon enough.” Kelly’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Wait, are you saying Nathan actually agreed to a divorce?” “Agree? What’s there to agree to?” I downed the drink handed to me by the model, the burning sensation making my eyes water. “There’s no love between us. This marriage was never real.” Kelly looked like she was about to launch into one of her romantic fantasy rants, but I waved her off. And then, once again, the floating messages appeared: [You’re so wrong, Claire. Nathan doesn’t just care—he’s obsessed. He’d rather die than let you go.] [You think you’re getting freedom? Think again. Divorce will hurt him more than death.] [Wait, what?! You brought a male model to drink with? Nathan’s already on his way, knife in hand!] I snorted. How ridiculous. As if Nathan cared. He was probably spending the evening with Ivy, reliving their glory days. Everyone thought our marriage was perfect—that we were childhood sweethearts who’d grown into a love story for the ages. Even Kelly, who devoured romance novels like they were candy, believed Nathan was secretly the cold, brooding type who loved me in his own twisted way. But I knew better. Nathan and I were oil and water, forced together by circumstance. Nothing more. In three years of marriage, the closest we’d come to physical affection was the occasional accidental brush of hands. As the night wore on, the drinks kept coming, and my notoriously low alcohol tolerance caught up with me. Three drinks in, and the male model was spinning around me like a carousel. “Hey, handsome,” I slurred, reaching out with a drunken grin. “Come here and let me feel those abs.” The alcohol had made me bold, and honestly, who could blame me? Resisting temptation was hard when it came in six-foot-tall, eight-pack glory. But just as my hand was about to land, someone grabbed my wrist. “Claire,” a deep, familiar voice growled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I blinked, trying to focus on the figure in front of me. Through my drunken haze, I saw a face that looked alarmingly like Nathan’s. “Kelly,” I giggled, turning to my friend. “Why does this guy look so much like Nathan? Did you hire a Nathan lookalike for me? Ha! Maybe I’ll take him home tonight…”

When I woke up, my head was pounding and my throat felt like it had been set on fire. I struggled to sit up, reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, and drained it in one go. The cool liquid soothed my throat, and I felt marginally better. Looking around the familiar bedroom and noticing my neatly changed pajamas, I couldn’t help but marvel at myself. I must have gotten better at handling alcohol because, despite being completely wasted last night, I’d somehow made it home. Though, admittedly, I had zero recollection of how I’d done so. As I silently celebrated my newfound “tolerance,” the door swung open. Nathan White walked in, his face as cold as a glacier. “Awake? Get up and eat,” he ordered, his tone clipped. The sight of him instantly soured my mood. “Mind your own business,” I snapped, pulling the blanket over my head. “I’m sleeping in.” Just as I was preparing to drift back into a blissful nap, the floating messages appeared again, hovering obnoxiously in my line of sight. [It’s over! Mr. White’s jealousy is about to explode, and the heroine is completely oblivious!] [He’s on the verge of losing it! Why can’t he just express his feelings like a normal person?!] Jealousy? Nathan? What did he have to be jealous about? Before I could make sense of what the messages were saying, Nathan yanked the blanket off me. “Get up and eat some porridge. You threw up everywhere last night—your stomach’s probably a mess.” He signaled for the housekeeper to bring in breakfast, and soon a tray of warm congee and light, refreshing side dishes appeared before me. I stared at the food, then back at him. How did he know I’d thrown up? I didn’t even remember doing that. “You knew I was drunk last night?” I asked cautiously, my voice tinged with unease. “Mm-hmm.” Nathan didn’t even look up from his meal, his face as unreadable as ever. “And… did I say or do anything?” My stomach churned—not from the hangover, but from sheer dread. Alcohol had a way of making me do stupid things, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d made an absolute fool of myself. Nathan’s response was as devastating as it was deadpan. “You mistook me for a male model, tried to grope my abs, and demanded that I spend the night with you.” [LOL! Only the heroine would dare mistake her husband for a male model and then grope him in public!] [She even promised him a tip if he “performed” well! How much is Mr. White worth, anyway?] I froze mid-sip and immediately spat out the porridge in shock. My aim, unfortunately, was spot-on—all of it landed squarely on Nathan’s pristine shirt. Before I could fully process the colossal stupidity of my actions, I was hit with the mortifying sight of him slowly looking down at the mess I’d made. “You just threw up on me again,” he said flatly, his tone a mix of irritation and resignation. Without another word, he stood up and walked off to change, leaving me alone with my panic and a growing sense of doom. Still in a daze, I frantically grabbed my phone and called Kelly. “Wow, you’re up early,” she teased, her voice lazy and amused. “I guess Nathan didn’t punish you too badly last night, huh?” “What does Nathan have to do with anything?” I stammered, my voice trembling with anxiety. Kelly burst into laughter. “What do you mean? He came to pick you up from the bar last night! You were yelling about wanting to see his abs and insisting that he stay with you all night. Honestly, I didn’t know you had it in you to harass your own husband in public!” My heart sank as her words confirmed my worst fears. “Oh, and,” she added mischievously, “you were basically clinging to him like a koala. It was hilarious! Did he finally confess his undying love when he carried you home?” Kelly’s laughter echoed in my ears, but I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was the fact that Nathan had caught me red-handed. Calling over male models, getting drunk, and then mistaking him for one? It didn’t matter that nothing had actually happened—morally, I was already in the wrong. This was bad. Really bad. Fine. If I was already guilty in his eyes, I might as well use this as an opportunity. My goal was divorce, after all. Taking a deep breath, I marched to Nathan’s room and knocked on the door. When he opened it, I kept my gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “We need to get divorced,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute.

“What did you just say?” Nathan White’s cold voice echoed above me, sharp and unforgiving. “You heard me,” I retorted, forcing myself to sound calm. “I called over a male model last night. Who knows? Maybe I’ll actually cheat one of these days.” I took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage I had. “If we divorce now, at least we’ll save our reputations.” I looked up at Nathan, meeting his intense gaze. Fresh from his shower, he stood in front of me in a loose robe, the fabric barely clinging to his shoulders. The open collar revealed his toned chest, water droplets trickling down towards the edge of the robe. I couldn’t help but stare. Did he have abs? My mouth went dry as I unconsciously bit my lip, watching the water trail disappear into the folds of his robe. Sure, Nathan had been insufferable growing up, but I couldn’t deny that adulthood had done wonders for his physique. [Heroine, you nearly turned the screen into a mosaic last night with your wandering hands, and now you seriously can’t remember if Mr. White has abs?] [Poor Mr. White! He almost got “used” last night, and yet he didn’t even make it into the heroine’s memory.] [Mr. White’s too restrained. If he’d gone all in, there wouldn’t even be a divorce discussion right now.] The barrage of floating comments made my face burn. My hands turned clammy. Oh God, what exactly had I done last night? Did Nathan think I was using reverse psychology with this divorce talk? “Claire,” he said, his voice lower than usual, “are you divorcing me because of some male model?” His tone was flat, but the intensity in his eyes made my heart race. “What does that even mean?” I shot back, trying to regain control of the situation. “We’ve never been in love. This marriage was just a business deal. What, are we supposed to stay tied to each other forever?” Nathan and I had been fighting since we were kids, and that dynamic hadn’t changed. Sure, I was technically in the wrong about the male model thing, but that didn’t mean I’d back down. If anything, the comments floating in the air suggested I’d done something truly embarrassing. So what? Let Nathan think I was the villain here—the cold-hearted wife who used him and tossed him aside. After all, $5 million was calling my name. I couldn’t afford to get distracted by whatever nonsense this so-called “system” was throwing at me. Nathan didn’t love me, no matter what the comments claimed. They were just trying to mess with my head. Nathan stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tightening. Finally, he turned his face away, his voice rough. “Are you sure you want a divorce?” I opened my mouth to respond, but the floating comments exploded in front of me: [Heroine, don’t be so cruel! Please!] [I’m sobbing. Mr. White loves you so much. Don’t leave him!] [Forget $5 million—if you stay, he’d give you $1 billion and his life if he had to!] [Mr. White’s on the verge of tears. Stop breaking his heart, heroine!] Wait, $1 billion? Sure, I knew the White family was richer than mine, but I didn’t know it was that much. Not that it mattered. Nathan wasn’t going to hand over a fortune just because I stayed married to him. I glanced at his profile. His expression was unreadable, but… were his eyes a little red? No. That couldn’t be right. Nathan and I had always been at each other’s throats. When we were younger, he always managed to rile me up until I cried. After we got married, things had cooled into a sort of distant politeness. We didn’t fight anymore, but we didn’t joke around either. So why did he look so… fragile now? Impulsively, I reached out and turned his face to look at me. The moment my fingers brushed his skin, I felt him stiffen. His cheeks turned an unmistakable shade of red. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice unsteady. His eyes darted away, refusing to meet mine. I cupped his face, forcing him to look at me. “Did you know Ivy’s back?” “What does that have to do with anything?” “She’s your first love. If we get divorced, you can pick things up where you left off.” The words had barely left my mouth when Nathan grabbed my wrists and pulled my hands away from his face. “Who said I want to get back together with her?” he snapped, glaring at me. “Claire, is your brain full of garbage?” There it was—that familiar, infuriating tone. My hackles immediately rose. “Oh, so now you’re insulting me?” I shot back. “Well, news flash, Nathan White: my brain is full of you!” The words flew out before I could stop them. We both froze. Nathan stared at me, stunned, while I stood there, mortified. What the hell was wrong with me? Every time we argued, I somehow managed to fall into the traps he set. It was like he had a sixth sense for making me say the dumbest possible things. Before I could recover, a glint of amusement appeared in his eyes. He leaned in close, his voice low and teasing. “If I’m all you can think about,” he murmured, “then stop asking for a divorce.” I stared at him, completely thrown off balance. How had this conversation gone so off the rails? Wasn’t I supposed to be the one pushing for divorce? The floating comments weren’t helping. [OMG, Nathan’s killing it! That comeback was perfect!] [I’m swooning. This is peak romance.] [Keep going, Nathan! You’re finally getting through to her!] I swallowed hard as Nathan’s face hovered dangerously close to mine. No. I couldn’t let this happen. “If we’re not getting divorced,” I said, forcing myself to sound calm, “then we’ll have to open the marriage.” Nathan’s expression darkened immediately. “Open the marriage?” “Yeah,” I said, my voice gaining strength. “You can go be with Ivy, and I’ll find myself a male model. Win-win, right?”

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