Author: Momo Chan

My stepmother was infamous in our small town. Once a glamorous entrepreneur’s wife, she suddenly became a despised mistress that everyone scorned. No one expected that it would be her own son who truly made her notorious, catching her in bed with another man and stabbing her lover in a fit of rage. Afterwards, her photos spread like wildfire in every corner of the town. Gradually, people began to say she had offended someone powerful, which led to both her husband and son ending up in prison. Little did they know, I was the one who orchestrated her downfall. My father wished I was dead. I’ve known this since I was a child. Back then, prejudice against women was still deeply rooted. As the only person in town who had been admitted to a prestigious film school, my mother was renowned. It was said that many men dreamed of marrying her. My father, drunk one night, dragged her into a dead-end alley. No one called the police. Despite my mother’s cries and protests, she was eventually forced to hastily marry my father. My mother didn’t object because she was pregnant with me. In my memories, my mother was incredibly patient. My father was a good-for-nothing who only knew how to drink, gamble, and visit prostitutes. When drunk, he would beat his wife for not giving birth to a son, and me for being a daughter. Everything finally came to an end that year. It was the first time my mother fought back when she was beaten, trying to protect me, who was too young to understand. I watched with my own eyes as my father pushed her down, her head hitting the corner of the table. In my memory, blood stained the furniture. My mother didn’t open her eyes, while my father had already passed out from drinking. I cried until my voice was hoarse. In the end, my father shoved me against the wall. When I woke up, my mother was in the hospital. The doctor said she was already stiff when she arrived.

My mother died. Everyone said she had killed herself by hitting her head. My father finally broke free from the curse of not having a son. Within six months, he married a woman who was pregnant with his son. But life was still not easy for him because he had a burden – me. My maternal grandparents avoided me, after all, my mother and I were a disgrace to their lives. When my stepmother moved in, I smiled and handed her an apple box that I had been reluctant to eat. Heather was pleased, but when she opened it, her face turned pale. It was a rotten apple with worms on it, which made her vomit for a long time. My father slapped me across the face because I had offended the woman he had just married. Although people in our small town weren’t wealthy, they cared a lot about their reputation. Fearing being labeled as a wicked stepmother, Heather chose to persuade my father to calm down for the first time. Even though I had a stepmother, life became a bit better. At least I didn’t have to worry about food and drink. My father had married a wealthy woman this time. However, while other little girls were playing with dolls, I was already standing on a stool cooking at that age. Perhaps due to long-term eating leftovers, I was exceptionally small. Sweeping and mopping the floor felt like a nightmare. I never cried. At least someone gave me food so I wouldn’t starve, and old clothes to wear so I wouldn’t be cold.

I thought everything would go on like this until my brother was born. Only then did I realize that some children are raised with utmost care and love. Caleb had everything I had seen and hadn’t seen. As for me, I went from serving two people to becoming my brother’s nanny. During those years, it was my fault if my brother cried or fell. It was my fault if he got into fights with others or failed his exams. He was actually an unruly bully in his private school, while I was just an unremarkable student in a public school, straining my voice to recite lessons. After being beaten numerous times, I tried screaming desperately. At first, my classmates and teachers would show concern about the bruises on my body. But that woman, who had become a hero by giving birth to a son and helping my father become an entrepreneur, only needed one sentence to turn me into a laughingstock. It was the first time someone attended a parent-teacher conference for me. In front of everyone, Heather said to the teacher, “She’s sick, just like her mother. She’s crazy.” After that, I became an outcast in our small school community. All because my mother had allegedly gone crazy after marrying my father.

What was I like when I truly went crazy? I didn’t cry when everyone pointed and whispered about me, because I knew tears were useless. Otherwise, my mother wouldn’t have died. I could only vent by reading aloud, but after that, they thought I was even crazier. No one pays attention to a crazy person. Finally, I went from being the last in class with no one caring to ranking fifth in the class. The teachers’ eyes looked at me differently. But I never expected that a severe beating would be waiting for me when I got home. Caleb was still at the bottom of his class, no matter how much money my stepmother spent to get him into advanced classes. That day was his birthday. When Heather saw my report card, her face turned pale the next second, and she slapped Caleb across the face, “I’ve spent all the money on you, and you’re still worse than a crazy person!” She couldn’t accept that a crazy person was better than her son. Caleb’s birthday party was ruined. He threw a tantrum at home and angrily ran out. Heather had a fight with my father, mainly complaining about why I, the burden, was smarter than her son. I didn’t expect that man to praise me, but I never imagined that in the dead of night, he would pin me down under the covers and viciously beat me with a belt, over and over again. I was terrified and in pain, screaming frantically. It was the first time I deeply realized that although we were both his children, there was an insurmountable gap between my brother and me. The feeling of suffocation terrified me. I was afraid of him. I had always been afraid of him. I was scared that I would die like my mother. I don’t know if he got tired of beating me or if he was scared by my stillness, He dropped a nasty comment, “Why don’t you just die with your mother?” I didn’t cry. I pinched my skin. It hurt.

I returned to school covered in bruises. Under the teacher’s watchful eyes, I tore up all my books. Someone said, “Aria Collins has really gone crazy.” I bit my lip hard. I wasn’t crazy, I simply wanted to live. Gradually, the teachers stopped caring about me, my classmates avoided me, and later, everyone wanted to bully me. Faced with seemingly ridiculous provocations, they laughed, and I laughed along with them. Then I took out a fruit knife from my bag. I waved the knife in front of them a few times. I clearly saw fear in their eyes. Faced with my crazy behavior, they were all scared. It seemed I really was crazy. I started skipping classes, hiding in the deserted corners of the school. At home, I became even more cautious, but Heather looked at me with increasing disgust. She would encourage Caleb to bully me, let him pour food on me, and then point at my miserable state and laugh, “Aria Collins, you’re not even as good as a dog!” I didn’t argue back. Amidst their mockery, I stuffed the food on my face into my mouth, smiling and telling Caleb to continue. After a few times, Caleb gradually became less happy about it. Later, he would just hit me a few times when he was displeased with me. When things didn’t go his way, he would viciously pinch the inside of my thigh, then laugh like a maniac. Heather pretended not to see, only running out to point at my head when I wandered in the hallway showing my bruises, “Her illness has gotten worse, who knows where all these injuries came from.” To maintain her good reputation, she would wipe her tears and pull me back, but in the corners where no one could see, I smiled even more happily. Only when she called me crazy did the neighbors see me as a polite and well-mannered child. Gradually, the neighbors’ gossip about her increased. I admit, I was crazy, but I didn’t want to let her off easy either.

In sixth grade, those good students would privately discuss that the private middle school was a boarding school, and if you scored above a certain line, you could get free tuition. I excitedly went over to ask. Seeing me, they just treated me like bad luck and dispersed, but I silently took note. I stopped skipping classes and often stayed late at school to study before going home. After this happened many times, Heather waited at the door with a broom, “A girl staying out late and not coming home, don’t learn from your mother, only low-class women seduce men!” Probably afraid that her son would be worse than a crazy person, Heather was very wary of me staying late at school. She looked at me with contempt. I didn’t care, but I still rushed over and bit her hand, saying I was okay, but my mom wasn’t. I bit until blood flowed. “Aria Collins, you crazy girl, let go of me!” Heather struggled desperately, but to no avail. The broom in her hand hit my legs again and again, and gradually my legs went numb. She nearly lost a piece of flesh. I was crazy, and I could be even crazier. “Aunt Heather, don’t hit me! I didn’t mean to do better than my brother on the test!” I shouted desperately, watching Heather’s face gradually distort. Letting go of her hand, I smiled, while Heather slapped me across the face. My ears were ringing, but I could vaguely hear her cursing me, “Crazy girl!” Then she closed the door. She didn’t dare let the neighbors hear too much, after all, her good reputation had already been affected. In the dark hallway, I rubbed my aching legs and counted on my fingers. There were only three months left before I could leave this place. Then, I truly smiled happily. I studied even harder, because I had no other choice to escape. But Caleb knew I had bitten his mother, and he would torment me every day. He laughed as he tore up the test papers I had worked hard to copy, “Aria Collins, don’t think you can have it good.” I didn’t dare hit him, even though he was two years younger and not as tall as me, because I was afraid my father would beat me to death. Thinking of my mother, I endured it all. Fortunately, three months passed quickly. I studied day and night, shamelessly copying my classmates’ extracurricular study materials, counting down the days until the SAT exam. I felt like I woke up smiling every morning. Heather no longer dared to provoke me, she could only glance at me and curse under her breath, “Crazy girl.” I happily took the two pens I had bought with all my money, but before I could pack my bag, I ran into Caleb with a mischievous smile, “Aria Collins, don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. I won’t let you have your way.” Before I could ask more, he rode away on his new mountain bike. I didn’t understand his smugness, but when I was packing my things, I was completely dumbfounded. My admission ticket was missing. After searching the entire house, Heather saw the mess I had made and pointed at my nose, cursing, “Ungrateful thing, are you trying to anger me to death!” I didn’t argue back, just looked in the direction Caleb had left and gritted my teeth as I chased after him. The weather was very hot. I chased aimlessly for three streets, but there was no sign of Caleb anywhere. Despair made my eyes red for the first time. The long run left a taste of rusty iron in my mouth. But I didn’t dare stop. I was afraid the tears would really fall.

Just when I was about to give up hope, I saw Caleb’s mountain bike. It was new, bought by my father just because all his classmates had one, so he had to have one too. At that moment, the shiny new bike was carelessly thrown on the ground. I rushed over, desperately grabbing Caleb’s neck, “Give me my admission ticket!” Out of fear, I even forgot that he was the son my father cherished. Although he was two years younger, he was already taller than me. He knocked me to the ground with one push, “Why should I give you your admission ticket?” His classmates started laughing, laughing at him for having such a sister. With red eyes, I watched how he told others I was not even as good as a dog, how he ridiculed me for being crazy. I didn’t dare to be afraid, because I still had to take the exam. I headbutted Caleb, knocking him down. I straddled him and hit him wildly, “Caleb Collins, crazy people don’t get the death penalty for killing!” Whether it was because I scared him or not, he threw out the torn admission ticket, and ran away with his classmates. I spent half an hour piecing it together, but I still missed the first exam. Having missed the first one, I saw Heather at the last exam. She rushed into the exam room with a black and blue-faced Caleb. I instinctively tried to hide.

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My daughter knelt before me, begging after a hit-and-run accident. “Mom, I just got accepted to Harvard. I have a bright future ahead of me. If I go to jail, my life will be over. Please, save me…” I agreed. During my two years in prison, neither my husband nor daughter visited me once. After being released, I discovered it had all been a scheme by my husband and daughter. They had already transferred all my assets. The daughter who had once cried and begged me to take the blame now cursed me as an ex-con, ugly and old. She kicked me in the chest. I died from cardiac arrest. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day we received the college acceptance letter. “Mom, Dad, I got accepted to Harvard!” My adopted daughter Keira exclaimed excitedly. “That’s my girl! Harvard is one of the top universities in the country. You’ve really made your parents proud. Honey, didn’t you just get a $500,000 year-end bonus? Let’s use all of it to buy our daughter a BMW,” my husband Jack said. This conversation felt so familiar. I suddenly realized I had been reborn. “Dad, I’m still young. Buying a car would be too flashy. Besides, Mom worked hard for that money. I don’t want to spend it,” Keira said sweetly. In my previous life, I always thought she was a considerate, filial, and kind girl. It wasn’t until I went to prison that I realized she was a vicious white lotus flower. “But sweetheart, Daddy promised to reward you with a BMW if you got into Harvard, remember?” Jack looked at me as he spoke. He was a stay-at-home dad, and all our household expenses came from my money. In my previous life, I felt guilty for not giving him a child. “Why are you looking at me? You promised her, not me,” I said coldly. Father and daughter were stunned, their eyes wide with shock. In my previous life, they always acted in concert – one playing the sweet daughter, the other the good father – constantly extracting money from me. And in my previous life, I always thought my adopted daughter was sensible and my husband was generous, treating our adopted daughter like his own. Seeing them act again now made me feel indescribably disgusted. “Have you lost your mind today? Our daughter got into Harvard. That’s great news! You won’t even buy her a car? Are you even fit to be a mother? Or is it that you’ve never truly seen Keira as your own daughter?” Jack shouted at me. “Dad, don’t say that. $500,000 isn’t a small amount. Mom’s company needs working capital too. It’s fine if we don’t buy a car,” Keira continued to act “sensible.” “Well, how about a $300,000 car then? Surely that’s not too much to ask?” Jack yelled at me. “Have you been out of touch with reality for too long? Since when is a $300,000 car considered cheap? Why don’t you buy it for Keira yourself if you’re so capable?” I said mockingly. Jack was dumbfounded that I would say such things. Keira also had a “how could this be happening” expression. In my previous life, this routine worked on me every time. I always fell for it and thought they were good people. “Mom, Dad, I don’t want a car anymore. Please don’t fight because of me. It’s all my fault,” Keira said pitifully, tears welling up on command. In my previous life, I would have hugged her and fulfilled all her desires. But in this life, I knew she was a vicious demon. Seeing her cry made my teeth grind with hatred. Slap! I gave her a hard slap across the face. Father and daughter stood there in shock. Keira looked at me with fear and confusion in her eyes. “Oh, there was a mosquito on your face. I was too hasty and hit too hard,” I said, pretending to be loving as I reached out to caress her red cheek.

The next day at the company, I immediately changed all my bank card PINs and mobile payment passwords. I also began planning to transfer my assets. In this life, I couldn’t let Jack get his hands on my money again. Afterwards, I asked the school for Keira’s candidate number and checked her SAT scores. I was shocked – she only scored 1050. Even with an extra 400 points, she wouldn’t get into Harvard. In my previous life, Keira had shown me several mock test score reports, all above 1450. At the time I believed them completely, but now I realized those mock test scores must have been fake. In the afternoon, I went to a private detective agency and asked them to thoroughly investigate Jack and Keira. I suspected they were actually father and daughter. Twelve years ago, Jack took me to an orphanage. Among dozens of children, he chose Keira. When Keira first met Jack, she showed a natural affinity for him. At the time, I just thought they had a connection, that it was fate. I liked her too. But thinking about it now, the fact that they could work together to deceive me – there could be no other explanation besides a father-daughter relationship. If that was true, it was truly terrifying to think about. They had been playing this long game for twelve years, slowly emptying my assets bit by bit. A week later. At the company, I received a text message from my credit card – the supplementary card had been used to spend $300,000. I had overlooked canceling the supplementary card. To make it convenient for Jack to buy groceries and cover household expenses, I had given him a supplementary card. Without even thinking, I knew the $300,000 must have been for the car. I quickly called the bank and canceled the supplementary card.

In the evening, as I approached our building, I saw a new BMW X2 without license plates in the parking lot. As soon as I entered the house, Keira sweetly brought me slippers. “Welcome home, Mom. You must be tired from work.” Seeing her fake smile, I wanted to slap her, but I couldn’t reveal my hand before the investigation was complete. “Hmm, your dad bought you a car?” I asked casually. “Mom, I kept refusing, but Dad wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t do anything about it,” she said, putting on an innocent and helpless expression. “I’ve canceled your supplementary card. From now on, I’ll give you $10,000 a month for household expenses. If you need to buy anything big, let me know and I’ll handle it,” I said. “What do you mean? Our daughter got into Harvard. Doesn’t she deserve a reward?” Jack angrily demanded. I almost exposed them. With her grades, she’d never get into Harvard in a million years. Fortunately, I held back. “I’m thinking of our daughter too. She’s still young and just got her license. What if there’s a car accident? How could we bear to bury our child?” I said seriously, cursing them. Jack jumped up, slamming the table. “How dare you curse our daughter?” At that moment, I was certain Keira was Jack’s biological daughter. “I’m just worried about her safety. I care about her too,” I said. “Hmph, you’re just stingy,” Jack shouted. “Mom, are you upset that Dad spent your money to buy me a car?” Keira immediately got into character, asking me with tears in her eyes. I stroked her head and said gently, “How could Mom begrudge spending money on you? I’m just worried about your driving skills. What if you had an accident? If something happened to you, how could Mom go on living?” You can act, but so can I! “Mom, I got into Harvard! One of the top universities in the country. If it were someone else’s mother, they’d throw a celebration party and buy expensive gifts. But you haven’t done anything. Don’t you love me anymore?” As she spoke, the tears started flowing. Her acting was truly superb! I continued stroking her head and said, “A party would be too extravagant and wasteful. Besides, we should stay low-key. Being too high-profile will make people jealous. As for gifts, isn’t that BMW a gift?” “Mom, you don’t love me anymore. You know, I didn’t want the car to show off or for my own convenience. I had a dream – Mom, you’ve sacrificed so much for me over the years. I wanted to drive you on a road trip across the country.” “I’m touched that you have such a filial heart, but don’t you think something’s odd?” I asked. “What’s odd?” she asked, puzzled. “You should earn money yourself to buy a car, then take me on a road trip. It’s like saying you’ll treat me to dinner, but I end up paying. Isn’t that strange?” I said seriously. She was stunned, wanting to argue but unable to. “Rachel Johnson, are you even a mother? How can you discourage our daughter’s filial piety?” As Jack spoke, he winked at Keira. “Mom, you’re too much. You don’t love me anymore…” With that, she ran out. “Keira…” Jack chased after her. I suddenly remembered the notice at the entrance to the community: Last night the security cameras were damaged. Property management has contacted repair personnel. Residents are advised to secure their belongings and lock doors and windows. Were they setting me up? I was alone now, and with the security cameras broken, there would be no witnesses if they framed me. Thinking of this, I immediately called Chris, my assistant. Chris lived only a mile from my house. Then I called five other employees, saying there was an urgent meeting and asking them to come to my house as quickly as possible. I said I would reimburse their travel expenses. At 9 PM, I heard the door open and came out of the study. “Have you been home the whole time?” Jack asked. “Yes,” I replied. “I don’t believe you. Didn’t you go out looking for Keira?” “She’s not a child anymore. She can take care of herself.” “Are you even Keira’s mother? How can you say such heartless things?” “We can’t protect her forever. She has to walk her own path in life,” I said calmly. After arguing with him for about 15 minutes, Keira returned in a panic. As soon as she entered, she knelt before me: “Mom, I hit someone and ran away. Can you take the blame for me? Please save me. I don’t want to go to jail. I just got accepted to Harvard. My life is just beginning…” Hearing these familiar words, I was filled with rage. I wanted to strangle her right then and there. In my previous life, I was truly foolish to take the blame for her. “Keira, don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid,” I said, pretending to comfort her as I hugged her. “Mom, will you help me?” she asked pitifully. “Of course I’ll help you. You’re my precious daughter.” “Mom, I knew you wouldn’t abandon me. You still love me. I swear, after you get out of prison, I’ll be extra filial to you.” “What do you mean, get out of prison?” I pushed her away, pretending to be surprised. “Mom, didn’t you say you’d help me? Aren’t you going to take the blame for me?” she asked, confused. “When I said I’d help you, I meant I’d hire a good lawyer for you to seek leniency,” I said. Keira was dumbfounded. “Rachel Johnson, if you hadn’t upset our daughter, she wouldn’t have run out. If she hadn’t run out, this wouldn’t have happened. You should take responsibility and take the blame for our daughter,” Jack argued forcefully. “Why don’t you take the blame for our daughter? Keira, listen to Mom. Your dad is just a stay-at-home dad. It wouldn’t be a big deal for him to go to jail for a few years. But Mom is different. Mom runs a company. We need Mom to earn money. If Mom goes to jail, who will pay for your college?” I said. Jack was speechless, his face turning red as a beet. “Mom, Dad can’t take the blame for me. After I hit that woman, I got out of the car to check on her. The woman suddenly grabbed my ankle. I screamed. The woman who was hit didn’t see me, but she must have heard my voice,” Keira explained. I sighed and put my hands on Keira’s shoulders. “Keira, don’t try to run away when you encounter problems. You need to bravely take responsibility. Go turn yourself in. You’re still young – spending a few years in jail isn’t a big deal. Besides, you still have Mom. When you get out of jail, you can come work at Mom’s company.” Keira’s mouth formed an O shape, unable to believe that the adoptive mother who once loved her like her own had changed so much.

“Rachel Johnson, have you gone mad? Telling our daughter to turn herself in? If you don’t take the blame for her, I’ll report you. I’ll say you were the one who hit and ran,” Jack shouted. “Dad, don’t hurt Mom. Besides, Mom would have been recorded by security cameras when she came home from work and entered the community,” Keira said. “The cameras broke down last night.” “What?” Keira put on a very surprised expression. “Rachel, aren’t parents supposed to sacrifice everything for their children? What’s wrong with sacrificing a bit? Can you really bear to see Keira go to jail?” Jack held my hand, trying to persuade me emotionally. “Oh no…” Keira suddenly cried out, looking at me with fear and guilt. “Mom… I think I dropped your key card at the accident scene. If the woman who was hit finds it, she’ll definitely think you were the one who hit her.” “It’s fate. It’s all fate. Rachel, given the circumstances, you should take the blame for our daughter,” Jack said. I smiled and said, “What if I refuse?” “Then don’t blame me. For our daughter’s sake, I’ll have to frame you,” Jack said with a smug expression. “Feel free to frame me however you like,” I said, turning to go to the study. “Rachel Johnson, you think I won’t dare?” He chased after me. I opened the study door. Inside sat six of my employees. Jack stopped in his tracks, shocked into stillness. Keira followed closely behind, also freezing in place. They never dreamed there would be my employees in the study. “Did you all hear that?” I asked my employees. “Ms. Johnson, we heard the entire conversation clearly. I even recorded it,” Chris said, waving his phone. Jack and Keira broke out in a cold sweat, terrified. “Keira, you’re an adult now. Adults should face the consequences of their mistakes. Will you turn yourself in, or should I call the police?” I asked sternly. “Mom… Mom… don’t call the police,” she said in panic, grabbing my hand and begging. “Why don’t we try to settle with the woman who was hit? We can pay her off.” “Alright,” I said with a smile. I wanted to see what other tricks they had up their sleeves.

Early the next morning, I went to a DNA testing center and got the paternity test results for Jack and Keira. As expected, Jack was Keira’s biological father. As I left the testing center, I received a call from the detective. At the agreed-upon cafe, the detective showed me the investigation report. Jack had an affair in our second year of marriage with a woman named Sharon Wilson who worked at a massage parlor. The following year she gave birth to a daughter who was never registered. After raising the child for 5 years, she suddenly sent her to an orphanage. That daughter was Keira. Over the years, Jack had transferred over $3 million to Sharon Wilson. This money had all been obtained by the father-daughter pair weaving various lies to trick me. For example, they claimed it was for elite tutoring classes, buying study notes, purchasing various learning materials, charitable donations, gifts for teachers, and so on. Sharon Wilson used this money to buy two houses and a car in her hometown. Recently, Sharon Wilson had fallen down the stairs in her hometown and broken her leg, landing her in the hospital. Then she came to the city where I lived. The three of them plotted the hit-and-run to frame me, then steal all my assets. In my previous life, they succeeded! “Sharon Wilson came here three days ago and is staying at a hotel. My colleague obtained a used paper cup of hers, then did a DNA test with the hair sample of Keira you gave me. It confirms Sharon Wilson is Keira’s biological mother. Here’s the DNA test report,” the detective said. “Additionally, we have collected the recording of them plotting the hit-and-run to frame you, video of them scouting locations, and evidence of all the money they’ve swindled from you over the years. With a direct lawsuit, we can ensure Jack loses everything in the divorce and force Sharon Wilson to return all ill-gotten gains.” “Thank you,” I said. The next morning, while I was at work, I received a call from Keira saying they had found the woman who was hit. She was in the hospital. I said I’d meet them at the hospital entrance at 2 PM. At 2 PM, I went with them to a private room in the inpatient department. Sharon Wilson’s left leg was wrapped in bandages and elevated. When she saw me, she wailed, “It hurts so much! My leg is broken. How will I live from now on?” “Your voice sounds pretty strong. You don’t look too bad,” I said mockingly. “Are you blind? Can’t you see my leg is broken?” she snapped. “It’s not like they amputated it. A broken leg will heal,” I said with a smile as I sat down. “Ms. Wilson, we’re so sorry. It’s our fault as parents for not raising our daughter well. We’ve caused you to become disabled,” Jack began his act, dramatically emphasizing the word “disabled.” “Auntie Sharon, it’s all my fault. Please tell me what you want. As long as you don’t call the police, we’ll do anything,” Keira pleaded tearfully. “My demands aren’t high. Give me $1 million and we’ll call it even,” Sharon Wilson said, opening her mouth wide. Jack and Keira both looked at me. “Fine!” I agreed readily. The three of them lit up, barely able to hide their joy. I called the company finance department and transferred $1 million to Sharon Wilson’s account. Soon Sharon Wilson’s phone received a bank deposit notification. “Well, you know what’s good for you. This matter ends here,” Sharon Wilson said smugly, looking at the $1 million deposit. “No, this matter isn’t over yet,” I said with a sly smile. The three of them were stunned. The money had been paid – how was it not over?

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The moment we finalized a high-society marriage, the true daughter showed up, claiming that the richest couple were her real parents. Even my successful fiancé, she said, was supposed to be hers. I just nodded and smiled. Without my “Charm of Fortune,” would they even be the richest? Could my fiancé have become a rising star in business? Content My fiancé and I, childhood sweethearts, were nearing our wedding day when someone unexpected showed up at our home. She claimed to be my mom’s long-lost biological daughter, saying I’d stolen her life as an imposter heiress. After a DNA test, her story checked out. That night at dinner, Delilah Monroe slammed her chopsticks down and pointed at me, shouting, “Get out of my house! You don’t belong here!” My mom frowned, her voice soft as she said, “Delilah, don’t be so rude to your sister. Jojo may not be my biological daughter, but I raised her.” Delilah threw her bowl to the floor and burst into tears, flinging herself into my mom’s arms. She cried about how hard her life had been, growing up on her own. My mom’s eyes grew red as she listened to Delilah’s story of hardship. “But Jojo isn’t our real daughter. She shouldn’t bear our family name or live here,” Delilah insisted. Mom frowned but stayed silent. I finished my last shrimp and stood, “Well, if that’s how it is, I’ll move out for now. That way, you can spend time with Mom.” Delilah gave me a sharp glare. Mom, clearly heartbroken, slipped a debit card into my hand. “The PIN is your birthday.” Delilah saw the whole thing and broke into loud, panicked sobs. I made a call to Delilah’s brother—oh, I guess I should call him my brother now. Supposedly, a nurse had mixed us up at birth. When the call connected, I heard a gentle, refined male voice on the other end. “Yes, who’s this?” “I’m your sister—the one you’ve never met but are definitely related to. Could you come pick me up?” Half an hour later, a car pulled up at the front door. Delilah shoved me toward it. “Hurry up and leave. Don’t come back!” Mom kept reminding me to take care of myself as I left. I turned and saw my new brother, who had thoughtfully packed my luggage. Glancing at Delilah’s smug expression, I gave her a knowing smirk. “Hope you’re ready. Just don’t regret it later.” After that, I got into the car with my brother, who occasionally stole glances at me while he drove. “Our place is a little small. I hope that’s okay,” he said. “Not a problem! We’re siblings now—we’ll support each other!” I replied, beaming. The car stopped outside an apartment building. No elevator, just stairs. My brother carried my suitcase and had barely reached the door when his phone rang. After a few words, he started smiling and thanked the caller repeatedly. “What’s going on?” I asked when he hung up. “One of my coding projects just won an international award—there’s a $100,000 prize!” he said, clearly overjoyed. I congratulated him with a smile. “I never thought I’d win. I knew they’d pretty much picked the winner, so I just submitted it for fun. But it turns out the favorite dropped out, and I actually won.” I wasn’t surprised, really. I’ve had this “Charm of Fortune” since I was little, and it tends to rub off on those around me.

As a kid, I’d ace multiple-choice questions even with my eyes shut. “Get one free” bottle caps? A regular thing. I’d want ice cream, and suddenly, I’d find five dollars on the sidewalk. I even bought a lottery ticket once on a whim and won thirty million dollars. My parents took that windfall and started investing, so I got in on it too and bought a stock. The stock shot up, and we made a small fortune. From that point on, Mom and Dad’s business boomed. My fiancé, Zach, got his own share of the luck, becoming a rising star in the business world. I patted my brother on the shoulder. “You’ll be even richer soon.” He grinned and said he’d treat me to a nice dinner once the prize money came through. When he finally got it, he didn’t waste a moment before taking me out. During dinner, he mentioned how at work, everyone else had been slacking off while he worked hard, and his boss had noticed—he might even be getting a promotion and a raise. “Jojo, what do you think is up with my luck lately?” he asked. We went to a high-end restaurant, and just as we were ordering, in walked two familiar faces: Zach and Delilah. Delilah froze when she saw me, then angrily pointed at my brother. “Matthew Sinclair, what’s the deal? You’ve never taken me anywhere like this.” I grabbed her finger and twisted it upward with a grin, making her wince in pain. “That’s because we’re actual siblings,” I said, finally letting go as her face paled. “Jojo, it’s been a while,” Zach greeted me. Delilah immediately clung to his arm. “You’re my fiancé! Why are you talking to her?” Zach glanced at me, looking a little embarrassed as he pulled his arm free. “Jojo and I were engaged first. Even if you’re Mr. Carter’s biological daughter, our engagement still doesn’t count.” Delilah stiffened, her eyes welling with tears. “Why? She took everything that was supposed to be mine—Mom and Dad, and you too!” I chuckled and sat back down. Delilah found a seat too, sniffling as Zach’s gaze darted between us. “Jojo, did your parents really kick you out?” he asked. I nodded. “Didn’t you notice I’m here eating with my brother?” Looking uncomfortable, Zach made his way over to Delilah’s side. He still needed the Carter family’s help in business, after all. Now that I was no longer the “Carter heiress,” I’d lost that advantage. After we finished eating, I took my brother to check out some lottery tickets. Scanning the prizes, I picked the one with the biggest payout, while he jokingly scolded me. “Jojo, stop trying to make easy money. It’s better to earn it the hard way.” “I know, but in the face of real skill, everything else is just luck,” I teased. Luck is its own kind of strength, after all. I bought a ticket for two dollars. A week later, I hit the jackpot. After taxes and a donation, I pocketed a cool fifteen million. Matthew’s jaw practically dropped. “Are you… reincarnated as some kind of lucky charm?” To be honest, I’d wondered the same. It seemed pretty likely. Without a second thought, I bought a house right across from the Monroe Estate and moved in with glee. Even Delilah’s dog, who’d been in her arms, ran right over to me, wagging its tail like crazy. “What are you doing here? Get out of my house!” Delilah screeched. I pointed to the house across the street. “Funny you should mention it—that’s my place.” Delilah didn’t believe me until I threw the property deed in her face. My parents didn’t seem surprised in the slightest. After all, they’d built their fortune because I once bought a scratch-off ticket on a whim and won. They even invited me over for dinner.

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Four years after our breakup, my ex shows up at the hotel with a woman, and here I am, the unfortunate front desk receptionist stuck checking them in. The guy has these sharp, chiseled features, his dark eyes like black holes, staring with that unmistakably predatory look. His brows arch as he speaks, his voice a low, intimate rumble. “Got any protection in the room?” I hold a polite smile, keeping my tone smooth. “Apologies, sir, but we don’t stock extra-small in this hotel.” Content Hidden behind the counter, I slip off my heels, feeling instant relief as my feet press down on the cool floor. After standing for hours, there are just ten minutes left until the end of my shift. A few minutes of peace, I think—but of course, footsteps sound through the hotel lobby. I instinctively rise to my toes and paste on a smile. He’s wearing a dark shirt, mature and built, his features striking and severe. Draped over his arm is a suit jacket, swinging as he walks my way. As he approaches, I’m caught off guard by a sudden wave of déjà vu. Caleb Hawthorne. My ex from college. Three years together, and nothing since we broke up. Four years and not a single word. His youthful recklessness is gone, his face now edged with a steady, controlled confidence. Time has refined him. Made him look every bit the part. And there beside him stands a woman, pale and delicate, with a gentle look that practically demands sympathy. Ah, life—always serving up these awkward little moments. Ex-boyfriend shows up with a new woman, and I’m here, the front desk minion. Thankfully, I’m one of three people on shift. Come on, don’t notice me. Don’t notice me. But before I can finish the thought, Caleb’s gaze cuts right past the other two receptionists, landing directly on me. Oh, hell. His dark eyes are as deep and intense as ever, staring me down with that familiar hunger, now even sharper. If the old Caleb was like a wolf, then today he’s the king of the pack, here to hunt down some runaway prize. Judging by his expression, you’d think I was the one who’d run off with some rich sugar daddy. As I recall, though, wasn’t it you who asked for a breakup? Seconds tick by as he stares without a word, oblivious to the woman’s curious glance at his side. Finally, Caleb looks away, pulling out a credit card and placing it on the counter, his voice low and steady. “One room with a king bed.” With a professional smile, I check them in, sliding over the key card. Caleb slings his suit jacket over the woman’s shoulders, his movement brisk and practiced. My hands work on autopilot, but my mind drifts—Caleb never used to let anyone near his stuff, had a thing about his personal space that only I got to ignore. That was four years ago, though. People change. In college, Caleb wouldn’t even wear a suit, but there was one time I managed to coax him into it after an entire day of cajoling and bargaining. “Could I see your ID, please?” He hands me his card, and I can’t help brushing my thumb over the back. The scratches and the photo are the same as I remember from college, the one we got together. I pass him the key. “Room 1087. The elevators are to your right. Have a nice stay.” He takes the key and hands it to the woman, who heads for the elevator. But Caleb stays put, brow arching, a smile playing on his lips, his gaze intense. “Got any protection in the room?” I nearly break character trying not to laugh. After four years, I thought he’d changed, but no, he’s still the same charming jerk. Keeping my tone polite, I respond, “Sorry, sir, we don’t stock extra-small in this hotel.” Caleb’s brows draw together slightly, but his smile widens. Oh, so he’s got a little attitude about it, huh? He leans in closer, voice low and heavy. “If there isn’t any, how will I enjoy my stay, Ms. Winters?” I don’t care whether you enjoy it or not. Caleb takes a step away, like he’s about to leave, but turns back, tapping the counter with his finger. “Ms. Winters, as I recall, you used to be quite attached to my ‘extra-small.’” I feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to slap the smirk off his face but remember my job, my paycheck, and manage to hold it in. “Sir, my shift’s over,” I say with a sweet smile and step into the break room.

“What? You ran into Caleb yesterday?” I shut the door behind me and answer with a sigh. “Yeah.” “And? How did it go?” Switching my phone to my other hand, I press the elevator button. “How did it go? He brought a woman to get a room. How do you think it went?” It’s been four years since the breakup. Any remaining thrill or spark has long since faded. Mara tries to say something, but a baby’s wail cuts her off. “Hold on, Bella just woke up. I’ll call you later.” I chuckle, shaking my head as I hang up. It only takes half an hour to get from my place to the hotel, but it takes me all morning to psych myself up for the job. After pasting on a fake smile for wave after wave of guests, I’m ready to quit for the hundredth time. Just as I’m reaching for my water bottle, the front desk phone rings. I pick it up, muttering a few choice words under my breath. “Hello, Crescent Hotel front desk. How can I assist you?” There’s only silence on the other end, but I already know who it is. After a long pause, the voice on the other end finally speaks. “It’s me.” I roll my eyes, staying silent. Go on, Caleb. What now? An invitation to your wedding? Maybe a baby announcement? He waits a beat before asking, his voice playful. “I have a question.” Oh, this should be good. “Your king beds—do you have anything bigger? The last one was so small I couldn’t even move.” Oh, please. I force a customer-service smile he can’t see and adopt a sugary voice. “Sorry, sir. All our bed sizes are fixed. Although…” His breath is close to the phone, and I swear I can almost feel it. “Just five hundred feet to the left of the hotel, there’s a couples’ hotel. The beds there are massive—I’ve tried them myself. You can roll three times with someone in your arms.” I hear his breathing hitch. Satisfied, I hang up with a benevolent smile. As expected, the phone rings again within seconds. I ignore it, but my coworker glances over. “Lena, aren’t you going to pick up?” I give a casual shrug. “Ex.” She nods knowingly, offering a sympathetic glance. When the phone rings a third time, I finally answer. “Hello?” His voice is low, dripping with irritation. “Lena Winters.” Oh, what’s wrong, Caleb? You’re allowed to book a room, but I can’t have some fun too? “Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention, Mr. Hawthorne—I’d strongly recommend the ‘Underwater Paradise Suite.’ Soft water bed and ceiling mirrors…” This time, he’s the one who hangs up. Smirking, I put down the receiver, feeling a little more refreshed.

I met Caleb Hawthorne in the spring of my freshman year. I was at a club event, decked out in a cheerleader’s outfit, dancing with my squad on the basketball court. Caleb strolled by, surrounded by a crowd of guys. Just as he put out his cigarette, he looked up—and his eyes locked on me. The look he gave me was scorching, hotter than any summer sun, searing right through me. When I finished dancing, Caleb had drifted closer, blocking my path. “Caleb Hawthorne.” As I tied up my hair, I glanced at him sideways. “Let’s be friends,” he said, half-lidded eyes glinting in the sunlight, like a wolf stalking its prey, no shame in his gaze. I casually looked away. “The smoke’s suffocating me.” He stubbed out the cigarette with his thumb. “Fine. I’ll quit.” I almost laughed—what a shameless, bold move. But a month later, maybe because of his persistence, or maybe because I found his ‘lone wolf’ act oddly charming, I agreed to be ‘friends.’ The kind who kiss. And we kissed for three years. Until he suddenly broke it off.

On a weekend off, I head to the mall, browsing through everything from snacks to lingerie. Even if I don’t buy, it doesn’t hurt to look. I’m holding up a purple bra when I catch the scent of a faint cologne—familiar in the worst way. A long-fingered hand picks up a black bra, placing it front and center on the rack. “Black suits you,” he murmurs, completely unfazed. Turns out, people are right when they say your ex is like a ghost—never quite gone. I don’t bother turning around. “Thanks, but my boyfriend prefers purple.” Only then do I look over, catching Caleb’s stormy gaze. Caleb’s eyes are intense, his face set in stern lines, almost menacing, but I don’t let it bother me. Smiling sweetly, I wander over to the men’s section and hold up a pair of boxers, beckoning him over with a smile. Caleb’s face darkens as he approaches, looking like he’s ready to kill someone. “These your size?” I ask, holding them up. He raises a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh? Why?” “Just checking. If these are yours, I’ll go a size up—my boyfriend’s a bit bigger.” Watching Caleb’s composure crumble, his mature demeanor slipping, I leave the store, satisfied. As I check out, Caleb appears beside me, pulling out his card. “I’ll pay for these.” I study him, amused. The hot-headed college guy now a cool, collected professional? The contrast is a bit much. But still, something sparks in me, and I glance up with a smirk. “Wow, Mr. Hawthorne, so generous. How about throwing in those boxers for my boyfriend, too?” Caleb’s expression hardens again. “In your dreams.”

Not wanting to make a scene, I didn’t actually push Caleb into buying the boxers. Instead, I had him pay for my two sets, calling it a small “harassment fee” for all his recent antics. But I didn’t expect to see him again the next day at the gym. Seriously. This guy is like bad karma. Part of me wondered if he’d planned it, though he hadn’t crossed any lines and even footed the bill yesterday, so I let it go. Caleb wore a black T-shirt, hair damp with sweat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tipped his head back to drink from his water bottle. His whole look screamed “testosterone overload.” Still black, even after four years. I scanned my card at the entrance and walked in. Caleb wiped his face, the sweat rolling down his chiseled nose, his profile all strong lines and angles. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it off, showing off the contours of his muscles and the rise and fall of his abs as he breathed. Leaning an elbow on one machine, he wiped down with his shirt, revealing a black ink tattoo of bamboo winding down his right shoulder, sleek and snakelike. Beneath the ink, I noticed a twisted scar—a new addition since our breakup. Shirtless in the gym wasn’t exactly classy, but no one complained. A few women cast glances, and a few phones even came out to snap a shot. Was Caleb the kind of guy to strip down for no reason? Definitely not. Snickering to myself, I headed into the locker room. Ever since college, I’ve always been into fitness, but usually stuck with a T-shirt and leggings. Today, though, I pulled my hair up and stepped out in a sports bra and leggings, showing off a trim waist and a well-rounded shape. Caleb had noticed me back in college, and I didn’t get this front desk job after a single interview for no reason. As soon as I walked out, I could feel eyes on me, but only one gaze burned with intensity. Ignoring it, I made my way to the squat rack. With one foot planted on the platform, I lowered myself slowly, my leggings tight, highlighting every curve. I could almost feel the heat of his gaze, my own smirk forming as I sank into another squat. Then suddenly—a shirt landed on my head. Pulling it off, I turned to see Caleb’s tense jaw and his narrowed eyes, muscles flexed. “You win, Lena Winters,” he growled. The shirt smelled clean, with a faint trace of laundry detergent. I raised an eyebrow and slipped it on, unbothered. His gaze dropped to my legs. “Change the pants too,” he said. Caleb’s not the kind of guy who imposes on what people wear. Today, though, he was fuming, a look that only made him more intense. “This is the only pair I have,” I said, lying with the straightest face. Caleb gave me a look, muttering “Wait here” before grabbing his stuff and leaving. Sure, I’d “wait.” I picked up my bag and left too, deciding my perfect body deserved a break.

The next morning, I dragged myself back to work. There was a company dinner that night, one of those events I couldn’t weasel out of. My boss and another slightly sleazy manager sat together, both looking a bit worse for wear. I sat nearby, sipping my wine quietly. The place was lively, but then I heard my name being called. Glancing over, I saw my boss waving me over. With a polite smile, I took my purse and joined them. After a quick toast, the other manager’s hand drifted onto my thigh, edging inward. After two years working in this hotel, I’d dealt with these kinds of things more than once. I wasn’t the same girl who used to panic over this. I debated between slapping him or digging out my pepper spray when suddenly someone yanked me up by the arm. In the dim lighting, Caleb stood there, his gaze hard and expression unreadable, radiating a quiet menace. He lifted a glass of wine and poured it over the manager’s face. The man sputtered, anger flashing in his eyes, as if about to retaliate. Caleb smirked. “Try me.” “Touch her again, and you might not get that hand back.” Then he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. Pulling it closer, I suddenly felt a sense of relief—Caleb had grown in these four years. No more smashing wine bottles over his own head to make a point. Now he knew how to stand his ground without losing his cool. This kind of maturity was… reassuring. I didn’t resist as Caleb led me out of the restaurant and into his car. After a silent moment, he looked at me and muttered, “Wait,” before stepping out and locking the door behind him. Soon, I saw Caleb striding back, swinging open the door and slipping into the driver’s seat. His collar was unbuttoned, his tie loosened, face still set with barely controlled anger. I couldn’t help laughing. “Where’d you go?” His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed forward. “To make sure he remembers next time.” I chuckled. “So after all these years, you really have grown up.” Caleb flashed a wicked grin. “Some parts have grown up. Wanna see?” Bring it on. Fueled by a little too much wine, I felt a sudden spark of mischief. “Sure.” My hand drifted up his thigh, my smile widening as I leaned closer. “Let’s see exactly how grown up you are.” I remembered a college party during my sophomore year. Caleb and I had gone to a karaoke bar with some friends. I was craving iced coffee and demanded he go find me one. The moment he left, though, a few guys dragged me into another room. Nineteen years old, terrified, and too scared to call the cops, I didn’t know what to do. The guys had started pouring drinks down my throat when Caleb burst into the room, knocking the bottle out of one guy’s hand.

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My dad is Graham Merritt, CEO of Merritt Media, the largest media company in the country. My mom, Audrey Taylor-Merritt, is a retired Oscar-winning actress. And my brother, Lucas Merritt, is one of the hottest idols out there. The second I started at Blackwood School of Drama, gossip headlines started popping up about “Merritt Media’s youngest daughter entering her first year.” Naturally, my fame-hungry roommate wasted no time jumping on that: “Thank you all for the attention! I really want to focus on my studies, so I hope I can keep a low profile and avoid affecting others.” But within days, the truth was out: Merritt Media’s true princess was someone else. Content “Thank you, everyone, for the attention! As I’m just starting college, I’d really like to keep things low-key and just focus on my studies. I’d appreciate it if my wonderful fans could respect this and not disturb others,” Talia Owens posted on Twitter. Seeing Talia’s post, I couldn’t help but laugh. Just her luck, she was using her stage training from Horizon Pictures to play this one out right in front of me. This all started on the day we moved in. Somehow, a tabloid that must’ve missed the memo from my dad’s company put out the headline “Merritt Media CEO’s Daughter Begins at Blackwood School of Drama.” Let me tell you, any company that’s been around a minute knows Graham Merritt’s “other daughter” is off-limits—an untouchable topic. So, who dared to grab the tiger by the whiskers? More shocking was seeing someone so desperate for fame cling to my family’s name. The culprit? None other than my brand-new roommate, Talia Owens. To be fair, Talia had some convenient qualifications: we share a last name. She’s “Owens,” my dad’s “Merritt.” She was in a popular web series once, blew up for her “innocent girl-next-door” vibe, and picked up five million fans overnight. By the time she enrolled, she was already Blackwood’s newest “campus beauty” and had shot to the top of Trending News. As soon as people found out she was in my Drama Program, our group chat lit up like a bonfire: “OMG! She’s like a real-life princess!” “Ahhh! Are we gonna get to act with the campus queen?!” Right now, seeing her headline, our roommates turned their starry eyes on Talia, piling on the praise: “Talia, who knew you were the daughter of Merritt Media’s CEO? Oh my god, we’re practically royalty by association!” “Oh wow, Talia, does that mean Lucas Merritt is your real brother?! Can you get me his autograph?!” “Talia, your family must have incredible resources lined up for you! Mind if you bring me along? I’d be thrilled with any role—even a maid!” I couldn’t help but smirk at their comments. What a pipe dream. Lucas Merritt? He’s my brother. The real one. They may get that autograph, but a part in one of our productions? Good luck with that. All these people dreaming of shortcuts—first-year students who haven’t even acted in a real show yet, putting fame ahead of developing any skills. Could they even handle a speaking role? I opened my own account and posted a tweet under the trending hashtag: “Some people… Not exactly famous, but sure do love to jump on it.” Of course, some of Talia’s fans stormed over to my page, yelling: “Why don’t you keep your opinions to yourself?” “Yeah, she’s talking about you! Stop clinging to Talia’s fame!” I ignored them. The truth would come out eventually. The only one who took issue with my attitude was Erika Banks, another classmate hoping for any part she could get. She smirked: “What’s so funny? Not everyone gets a family background like that, let alone has the looks to match. What’s with the snobby attitude?” “Exactly!” someone else chimed in. “What’s with the acting high and mighty?” Oh, please. They’d lose it if they knew. All their so-called idols practically bow down to me. I’ve got exclusive signed merch stacked in our basement. They shower me with well-wishes every holiday, terrified I might just forget them. Talia gave a soft, humble smile. “Look, we’re all here for the same reason. Some classmates may come from humble backgrounds, but we’re all here because of our acting dreams. We can’t let status divide us.” Erika sighed. “Oh, Talia, you’re too kind. But some people… They should at least know their place. I mean, Chloe, I don’t see any designer on you. Maybe your family isn’t all that. You could never compare to Talia. Remember, some people just rank higher.” Talia quickly interrupted, “Let’s not get into comparisons, everyone. It’s really not necessary.” Right then, my dad called. I ignored them all and stepped out to take it on the balcony. “Hey, is my little girl alright? I just saw the trending topics, and I’ve already got someone taking them down. You don’t need to deal with this.” Hearing “little girl” from my dad—a serious, professional guy—was enough to make me shiver. “No, don’t worry about it. Just let it be.” “Really? You sure you’re okay, kiddo?” “Absolutely.” Let’s see what game she tries to play next. “When are you coming home? I miss you so much.” Rolling my eyes, I nearly got a headache. “Dad, it’s only the third day of college.” Seriously. Someone, rein in this “daughter-obsessed” dad, please.

My name’s Chloe Merritt. My dad is Graham Merritt, CEO of the biggest media company in the US. My mom, Audrey Taylor-Merritt, is an Oscar-winning actress who retired from the spotlight, and my brother Lucas is a top-tier idol. Why “Merritt” and not “Taylor?” Well, my mom had this thing when she was pregnant with me; she decided that if I took her last name, it would prove Dad’s love for her. And Dad, being head-over-heels in love and slightly henpecked, of course, said yes. Plus, when I was a kid, I got separated from Mom once at a fan event. One of her more obsessed fans cornered me in a women’s restroom, taking photos non-stop for three hours until my family found me. It left me with a hefty case of crowd anxiety and claustrophobia. For years, I couldn’t be left alone and had to sleep with a nightlight. I spent years in therapy, but finally got through it. That’s why my parents have always gone the extra mile to protect my privacy, letting every major media outlet know they’re to delete any shot of me. Keeping “Taylor” kept me out of the spotlight and let me enjoy a “normal” ten years. The downside? Missing out on the “privilege” of being seen as Graham Merritt’s daughter. I also prefer not to flaunt designer labels—feels tacky. Most of my wardrobe comes from my aunt, who designs clothes in Europe. She makes me unique pieces, and no one else in the world—royalty included—has them. I’ve always kept my family away from school. But the night before college, Dad paced around my room, Mom teared up on my bed, and my brother patiently packed my bags. “Sweetheart, what if Dad drops you off at school tomorrow?” “Absolutely not. If you show up, the school president will practically roll out a red carpet.” “Well, how about Mom? I’m out of the public eye anyway.” “Right. Tell that to Director John Carson, who stopped by last week trying to pull you back for a new movie.” “What if your brother…” “Nope. The whole dorm would get mobbed by his fans.” The thought made me shudder. The hypnotherapy helped block most memories, but I still can’t face crowds comfortably. Best to avoid it when I can. Seeing how adamant I was, they finally backed down. So, on move-in day, our butler, Mr. Benson, drove me to school in the oldest, beat-up SUV we own. He dressed like your average grandpa doing groceries. Totally low-key. Mr. Benson has worked for our family for over twenty years, and I see him as a relative. His style might be plain, but he’s been nothing but dedicated to our family. And trust me, we pay him well. Of course, that’s not what my roommates thought. To them, my “status” looked pretty low. At first, I had no issues with Talia Owens. But when I just barely made the “campus beauty” list, she felt her thunder stolen. Ever since then, she’s been subtly digging at me, throwing shade about my family’s background and mocking my “lack of style.”

Since that vague Twitter post, Talia’s popularity skyrocketed, and our dorm became a VIP shrine for her. Returning from class one day, I found her surrounded by gift bags and fan letters. Erika eagerly grabbed the things and set them on Talia’s bed, picking up some high-end gifts along the way. “Oh wow, a Cartier bracelet! So luxe.” “And this LV bag? I’ve been wanting it for ages!” “Look, Chanel’s collector’s perfume!” “Uh, and what are these… slippers?” “Get a grip,” Talia scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Those are Fendi. Worth over $1,000. I’d expect you to recognize them.” Erika gasped. “Seriously?!” Talia tossed her a Dior perfume, smirking. “Here, it’s yours.” Erika hugged the bottle, asking, “Who sent you all this?” “Who else?” Talia replied, “My fans, of course.” Watching her show off, I hit record on my phone, capturing everything. “Every time, I say I don’t need anything, but the second I hint at it on Twitter, they’re practically throwing gifts at me,” she said, laughing. “Honestly, it’s a waste. One fan even ‘bought’ me a star for my birthday—like, what am I supposed to do with that? I’d rather they send things I can actually enjoy.” “Every letter they send goes right into the trash. As if I have time to read them.” I felt a pang for her fans, for every person who spent hard-earned money, showing her support. Not that she cares. She only sees the dollar signs. Talia held out a lipstick toward me. “Chloe, you look like you could use some decent makeup. Here, this shade would suit you.” I rejected it coolly. “No thanks. Keep the gifts—you seem to value them so much.” Erika scowled, “Ungrateful much? Talia was trying to be generous.” “I don’t think you even deserve it. Stick to your drugstore brands.” “What’s wrong with affordable brands?” I shot back. “Just because something’s expensive doesn’t mean it’s better. Plenty of homegrown brands are fantastic quality.” Our family might be wealthy, but we don’t chase designer labels for everything. My favorite tees are made from American-grown cotton, and our silk pajamas come from a top-notch family-owned workshop that crafts exclusively for us. Erika rolled her eyes, dismissing me, “Country bumpkin mentality. No point talking to you.” While they continued with their gift haul, I watched my phone’s recording, knowing that someday, I’d make sure everyone saw Talia’s true colors.

The next day, in our Acting Workshop, the professor handed out scripts for us to perform. I drew the role of the female lead, partnered with the most popular guy in our class, Ryan Hastings. Ryan’s a campus heartthrob and a former boy-band member turned actor, with over ten million Twitter followers. I never expected Talia to react by biting her lip and looking like she was about to cry. Immediately, everyone gathered around, concerned. “Talia, what’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” “If you’re not up to it, take a break.” Even Ryan and the professor approached her to check on her. Talia looked at me, then carefully unfolded her script. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just… didn’t get the role I wanted. Don’t worry, everyone. I’ll still do my best. I won’t let anyone down.” Wow, a masterclass in manipulation. The Queen of Green Tea herself couldn’t have done it better. Some of my roommates took Talia’s script and walked over to me. “Chloe, why don’t you trade roles with Talia? She’s the campus queen, after all, and has actual acting experience. She’d definitely bring more to the lead role than you.” “Right, Talia’s got the looks for it, too. She’s naturally meant for the lead. Are you sure you could pull it off?” Ever since they thought Talia might be Merritt Media’s “secret princess,” they all started sucking up like crazy. Unmoved, I replied, “Why should I? We all drew randomly. And besides, what makes you think I can’t handle the lead?” Ryan scoffed, “Lack of experience. And last I checked, you don’t share her last name either, right?” With that, he snatched the script from my hand and gently placed it in Talia’s. “Don’t worry,” he said softly to her. “Now we’re partners.” I looked at the professor, hoping she’d set things straight. “Professor, are you really going to let them steal the roles like this?” She sighed impatiently. “A role’s a role. You think you’ll get to pick your parts as a professional actor?” I wasn’t letting this slide. This was clear favoritism. I’d never been treated like this before. “Why don’t you tell her that?” I shot back. “She’s the one asking for a change.” “Teachers are supposed to be fair. If we allow people to swap roles whenever they want, who’ll take on the smaller roles?” “In every production, each part matters. Without supporting roles, the lead wouldn’t shine.” The professor looked irritated. “I say one thing, and you argue ten. You think you should be the teacher? Either take the role or leave.” I smirked. “You’re all letting her switch because she’s ‘Owens,’ right? What if she’s not even Graham Merritt’s daughter?” Talia froze, her face turning pale as she tried to keep her cool. “If she’s not,” she sneered, “then what are you saying? That you are?” “Obviously,” I answered confidently. The room erupted in laughter. “Oh my god, she thinks she’s Graham Merritt’s daughter. Hilarious!” “If she’s a Merritt, then I must be Jeff Bezos’ kid.” Graham Merritt—that’s my dad’s name. Sure, laugh it up while you still can. Soon enough, you won’t be laughing anymore. I don’t just want them to know the truth. I want everyone to know who the real imposter is. A week after school started, my brother Lucas Merritt was set to perform his concert. Ever since he’d won his season’s top spot on The Next Superstar, he’d gone viral nationwide, practically overnight, bringing me millions of sister-in-law “candidates” along the way. From day one, Erika bragged to everyone that she was Lucas’s biggest fan and held a spot on the Lucas Merritt Fan Society’s board. Tickets for his concert went on pre-sale three days ago. As expected, they sold out within seconds.

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My husband’s lover was found dead, brutally murdered. That afternoon, both he and I were brought to the police station. I hadn’t known about his affair; if not for the murder, I might never have found out. The Central Police Station collected our fingerprints and asked us to account for our whereabouts during the time of Melanie Reed’s death. She was 28, an office employee, killed around 11 p.m. on July 30, 2019. The cause of death was blood loss from a severed carotid artery, inflicted by a sharp object. Today marked the third day since Melanie’s death. Content It had only been three days, so I recalled the timeframe clearly. I was certain my husband had been with me that night, sleeping soundly beside me. I told them the truth without hesitation. The officers at the Central Police Station questioned us separately. I was interviewed by a man and a woman. The man, Detective Mark Callahan, was about thirty and the deputy head of the major crimes unit. The woman, Detective Hannah Shaw, appeared to be in her late twenties and was strikingly attractive. Perhaps they saw I was visibly upset, especially as a pregnant woman who’d just learned of her husband’s infidelity, and wanted to tread lightly. Detective Shaw, especially, asked me questions with a gentleness in her gaze. “Mrs. Langston,” she began, “can you try to remember if your husband left the house that night? Could he have possibly gone out while you were asleep?” Caught off guard, I paused before answering, “Detective Shaw, since I’ve been pregnant, I’ve been sleeping very deeply and go to bed early. I can only say that my husband was there both before I fell asleep and after I woke up.” Detective Shaw and Detective Callahan exchanged a look. Curiosity got the better of me, so I asked, “Detective Shaw, can’t DNA be collected from the victim? If you suspect my husband, shouldn’t you test him for it?” Though I said this calmly, I was seething inside. They’d been lovers; why would he have needed to assault her? The killer couldn’t possibly be my husband. Detective Shaw shook her head. “The perpetrator was careful and didn’t leave any viable evidence. It makes this case a bit complicated.” I nodded in understanding. Then she asked me how far along I was, and I told her a little over four months. She glanced at my belly, noting that it looked large and suggesting I might be carrying twins. She reminded me that pregnant women are prone to emotional swings and encouraged me to try to stay calm. I appreciated her words, and after a few more polite exchanges, I left the station. I thought my husband would be coming home with me, but Detective Callahan told me he’d need to stay to assist with the investigation. Unable to do anything else, I went home alone. When I got back to Maplewood Apartments, a neighbor told me the police had shown up in force, checked the security footage, and questioned the neighbors. They’d asked if anyone had heard our door open between 9 p.m. and early morning on July 30. I asked what my neighbor had told them, and she said she hadn’t heard anything. I felt reassured hearing that. Since I assumed my husband would be staying the night at the station, I tried calling him. He didn’t answer, so I ate dinner and went to bed. But just as I started to drift off, he came home. As usual, he was distant. I offered to reheat some food for him, but he waved me off. “Honey,” I asked, “why didn’t you pick up when I called earlier?” He replied that the police had confiscated his phone to copy his text and call logs. Just thinking about his messages with that woman made my stomach turn, but for the sake of our unborn child, I pushed it aside. After all, the woman was dead—what was the point of dwelling on it? But I was wrong. Just because I didn’t care didn’t mean he didn’t. Shortly after I fell asleep, I felt a strong pressure around my throat, jolting me awake. My husband was strangling me with a look of pure rage, his grip tightening as if he intended to kill me.

I struggled, gasping, trying to plead with him, “H-honey… I’m pregnant with your child… do you… do you really want to end two lives?” At those words, he slowly released me, though his hands dug into my shoulders as he leaned in, his bloodshot eyes filled with fury. “Jessica, was it you? Did you hire someone to kill Melanie?” His fury terrified me, and I stammered, “Honey, you… you’ve got it all wrong. I wouldn’t have the nerve.” “Really? You’d better hope it wasn’t you, or I’ll personally see to it that you pay.” With that, he glared at me with a chilling hatred, climbed out of bed, and stormed out of the room. He didn’t come back to our bedroom that night, leaving me lying awake, haunted by the look in his eyes. It wasn’t until dawn that I drifted into a fitful sleep. I woke to the doorbell ringing. After a moment, realizing no one was answering, I groggily went downstairs to open it. But as I came down the stairs, I froze. There, slumped on the couch, was my husband, completely still. A pool of blood lay beneath him, and on the coffee table, a bloodied surgical scalpel. I let out a scream. I couldn’t look a second time—the sight was too horrifying. My body felt weak and I collapsed to the floor, trembling. The doorbell rang on, even more urgently after hearing my scream. I wanted to get up and answer it, but I couldn’t move, paralyzed by shock. All I could do was sit there, sobbing uncontrollably. I didn’t know how much time had passed before the door was forced open. Detective Shaw and Detective Callahan entered, followed by two officers in uniform. When they saw my husband, they were visibly startled. Detective Callahan called for the coroner immediately, while Detective Shaw gently lifted me off the floor as I continued crying. The coroner arrived quickly, concluding that my husband’s death was a suicide, occurring around two in the morning. His expression seemed tortured, as if he’d experienced something terrifying in his final moments. Detective Callahan told me that my husband was the one who’d killed Melanie Reed. I didn’t believe it, but he said the evidence was solid. He explained that the police had reviewed footage from both Maplewood Apartments and Melanie’s complex. While my husband had avoided our building’s security cameras, he’d been unfamiliar with her building, and at 10 p.m. on the night of her murder, he’d been caught on one of their cameras. I was in disbelief, but Detective Callahan went on to explain that they’d found messages between my husband and Melanie on his phone, where they’d arranged to meet up that night. They concluded that my husband had likely killed her and taken his own life out of guilt. I felt numb, slumping to the ground, my body shaking uncontrollably. The police took my husband’s body away for further examination, and my home was marked off as a crime scene. The blood on the floor made me feel sick to my core. After taking my statement, Detective Shaw placed a comforting hand on my shoulder and asked quietly, “Jessica, I see you have bruises on your neck. Did Steven… hurt you?” Her question brought last night’s events rushing back. Wiping away tears, I admitted, “Last night, I confronted him about the affair, and he… lost control.” Detective Shaw looked thoughtful, hesitating before saying, “The neck is a vulnerable area. It seems like he was trying to hurt you badly. Why didn’t you report it?”

Her words took me by surprise. I took a deep breath, clutching my neck. “Detective Shaw, he was my husband. And he was the father of my child.” Seeing my reaction, Detective Shaw didn’t press further. As they were leaving, she suggested I stay at a nearby hotel if I felt unsafe at home and assured me I could reach out to her if I needed anything. I nodded, watching them go. Coming from a small town like Charleston, South Carolina, I had no one nearby—my family was far away. My husband’s family, too, lived a state over. We’d settled here after college, bought this big house, but now it was just me here alone. The thought filled me with a strange sorrow. I packed a few clothes and went to the nearest hotel, The Crescent. After a quick meal, I took out my husband’s bank cards. I called the bank’s hotline, and after checking the balances, I discovered he had over half a million dollars saved. I didn’t know his bank PIN, but recently, I’d gone to the store with him to shop for baby things, and while he paid, I’d memorized his payment code. Guessing he used the same password for all his accounts, I tried it once—and it worked. Since becoming pregnant, I’d had severe morning sickness and had quit my job as a makeup artist. My husband had always been stingy with money, giving me only three thousand a month, which barely covered my living expenses. With the bank cards secured, I felt exhausted and fell asleep on the bed, where I drifted into a nightmare. I dreamt that I was paralyzed, lying in bed as Melanie and my husband, Steven, stared at me with twisted smiles, reaching out to strangle me together. I jolted awake, parched and shaken, reaching for a glass of water. That’s when my phone rang. Seeing it was Detective Shaw, my heart skipped a beat. Taking a deep breath, I answered. She asked which hotel I was staying at, saying there was something more she needed to discuss with me. I gave her the hotel’s name, and she arrived about half an hour later, alone this time. I invited her in, and Detective Shaw smiled as she asked, “Mrs. Langston, although your husband’s death appears to be a suicide, the autopsy showed a high dose of diazepam in his system. Was he using it to treat a condition?” “Diazepam?” I paused, thinking, and replied, “That’s a sleeping aid, right? He had insomnia. Sometimes he’d take a couple of tablets if he couldn’t sleep.” “Is that so? Because the dose in his system was more than two pills—closer to five. What do you make of that?” Detective Shaw’s words made me laugh.

My laugh sounded more like crying. With a sigh, I said, “Detective Shaw, if you were in my husband’s place and your lover suddenly died like that, could you sleep? And if you couldn’t sleep, wouldn’t you take a higher dose than usual?” Detective Shaw was silent for a moment, her gaze intense. Finally, she replied, “Mrs. Langston, with your husband just having passed, I thought you’d be lost in grief. I didn’t expect you to check his account balances so quickly.” Her words caught me off guard, and she continued, “We found that your husband’s parents are still alive, and they’ve just lost their only son. Have you thought about notifying them?” “They’re elderly,” I said, with no attempt to mask my annoyance. “I haven’t figured out what to say yet. I’m expecting a child, and I have to think about the future, Detective. You all seem awfully nosy.” My tone was sharp, surprising her. For a moment, she looked taken aback, as if she hadn’t expected me to have any bite. She forced a slight smile and muttered an apology. Before leaving, she shared one last detail, saying a security camera across the street had recently been realigned due to wiring issues. It now pointed toward my living room, capturing part of what went on inside. She gave me a knowing smile before she left. Her words left me sleepless and anxious that night. As expected, she called the next day, asking me to come down to the police station. They’d uncovered something new in my husband’s death. Heart pounding, I went in, escorted straight to the interrogation room, where Detective Shaw and Detective Callahan awaited me. I sat quietly, waiting for them to start. Detective Callahan turned on a screen, playing a video of a woman in a long dress. The footage was blurry, her face obscured by wild, messy hair. She looked like a ghost as she moved slowly down a staircase, stepped to a window, and pulled the curtain closed. Then the screen went dark. I squinted at the screen, recognizing my living room, but feeling deeply confused. “Detective Shaw, Detective Callahan,” I asked, “Who is that woman? And what was she doing in my house?” The two detectives exchanged a look and smiled. Detective Shaw said, “Mrs. Langston, on the night of your husband’s death, only you and he were at home. Are you saying this wasn’t you?” “It wasn’t me!” I said, feeling my anger rise. Detective Callahan replied calmly, “Couldn’t you have painted your face, done some makeup to look like a ghost?” “I’m pregnant,” I retorted. “There’s no way that was me.” My response left them momentarily speechless. Detective Shaw then added decisively, “The woman in the video certainly resembles Melanie Reed, but we don’t believe in ghosts, Mrs. Langston. Would you mind if I checked your stomach?” Her question made me laugh bitterly. “So, you’re accusing me of faking a pregnancy?”

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I woke up and realized I was in a family-pampering story. A powerhouse CEO big brother, a medical prodigy second brother, and a movie-star third brother. I thought I was the adored heroine. Turns out… I’m just the supporting character? Wait, why do my brothers dote on me so much? And the real heiress… is actually me? Content I landed in a story all about a beloved family member. My adoptive parents were wealthy, doting, and provided everything I could want. I figured I could just sit back and relax. But then, one day, a woman showed up claiming she was the real daughter, pointing a finger at me and insisting I’d stolen her place. She demanded a DNA test. And the thing is, my adoptive parents half-believed her and actually did it! Turns out, yep, I wasn’t their real daughter. Wait, what? It hit me—I’m in that book I barely read because the plot was so over-the-top, Battle for the CEO’s Heart: The Real vs. Fake Heiress! Oh, no way… I’m the “fake heiress”? What kind of plot twist was this… “Mom, Dad, Roni missed you both so much…” I sat on the sidelines as the “real heiress,” Veronica Harper, cried her heart out, clutching her mother and telling her all about her hardships. “Life at Brookfield Children’s Home was so hard! I suffered so much, if only…” She shot me a resentful glance, voice steady but full of misery, “If only you hadn’t taken my place… But I don’t blame you. I’m just happy to have found you, and I’ll be glad to get along with my sister.” They cried and hugged together, with her mother repeating how sorry she was and promising to make it up to her. That was my cue. I shouldn’t be here; I should be under the car, not in it. I slipped out to get some air. When I returned, my adoptive parents’ attitude had completely changed. “Madison, what your real parents did was absolutely selfish! They left my daughter to suffer all those years in an orphanage!” Excuse me? I looked back at Veronica, who was smirking. I could piece together what happened. Clearly, she blamed everything on my biological parents. My adoptive mother clenched her fists, saying, “After all these years, it’s time we move on. I’ll contact your biological parents and have them come pick you up.” I nodded, sincerely thanked them for everything, and volunteered to leave. But my calm acceptance gave Veronica the perfect chance to play the “sweet sister” routine, feeding my adoptive parents all sorts of things about how I was just as ungrateful as my biological parents. Of course, that made my adoptive mother even angrier, and she immediately called my biological parents.

According to Veronica, my biological parents were simple farmers who had switched our bassinets at birth, which led to my being raised in this family while she ended up in an orphanage. I was speechless. I mean, it was so dramatic it felt like something only a novel could pull off. But with my years of reading experience, I figured there had to be more to this story. Maybe a big twist was coming? In any case, I was here now, and maybe going back to the farm life wouldn’t be so bad. I waited, and soon enough, my biological parents arrived. Wasting no time, my adoptive mother quickly packed up my belongings and practically shoved me out. “Your parents are outside. Go to them.” She shut the door without a backward glance. This woman was a completely different person from the warm, gentle mother she’d been just hours ago. I couldn’t help but laugh and headed toward the door with my stuff in tow. Free money, right? I’d take it. Outside, I saw a Bentley parked out front. Standing by it was a bodyguard-looking guy and a well-dressed woman who rushed toward me as soon as she saw me. “Madison! Are you Madison?” I nodded, “And you are…?” “I’m your mother!” She pulled me into a tearful embrace. “Have you been living here this whole time? You must have suffered so much!” I paused and glanced back at the sprawling mansion behind me. Uh… sure. “What are these things you’re carrying? Were they treating you badly, sending you off with junk like this?” My real mom could tell quality, I’ll give her that. On the way to her home, she and my adoptive mother had the same reactions to finding their long-lost daughter. My new mom told me about the chaotic hospital mix-up that led to their losing me and assured me I’d be well taken care of from now on. I was starting to feel like I’d just scored big. When we arrived at the massive estate that looked like a castle, I understood why she’d thought I was suffering. Rows of servants and housekeepers stood at attention, all calling out, “Welcome home, Miss!” My new mom mentioned their farming business was actually a major, high-tech agricultural empire. We’d just sat down when I heard a deep, anxious voice outside, “Where’s my daughter? Where’s my girl?” My dad had aged like fine wine, tall and fit with barely any signs of age. After we reunited, my mom said, “This surprise was so sudden, but your brothers are all on their way home to meet you.”

By dinner, we had a full family reunion. Honestly, I nearly lost my cool when I saw them. Big brother Ashton Lockhart? Six foot two, CEO aura that screamed authority, like the quintessential boss. Second brother Dr. Alexander Lockhart? He was known in the medical world as a “miracle healer.” Gentle and courteous, his smile alone was like a breath of fresh air. Third brother Ethan? I hadn’t seen him yet—apparently, he was still on his flight home. In short, this family had looks, money, and power. If this were a dream, I’d be laughing in my sleep. Wait, don’t let me wake up! This script was heaven-sent, and I was here for it! “Oh, Maddie, aren’t you at Northview University? I’ll arrange a transfer for you to Woodcrest Private Academy,” Dad offered. Big brother pulled out his phone to make the arrangements, but I quickly stopped him. “No need, Dad. I’m almost done here, and I’d rather keep things low-key.” “Our Maddie wants to keep a low profile? Alright, as you wish. We’ll cover all your meals at Northview so you’re well taken care of.” “Thank you, Dad and Mom.” Big brother smiled as he elegantly rolled up his sleeves. “I approved that project Northview submitted last week.” “Thank you, big brother.” Second brother wasn’t about to be outdone. With a raised brow, he said, “In that case, we should make sure the clinic there is well-staffed. I’ll send two of my students to help.” “Thank you, second brother.” I was honestly winning all around. And that wasn’t even the end of it. After dinner, big brother handed me the keys to a limited-edition Rolls-Royce. Second brother gifted me a million-dollar watch, and even third brother, though he wasn’t here yet, had sent ahead a designer gown that A-listers would kill for. Mom and Dad were no exception—they gave me several platinum cards and a pile of property deeds in my name, telling me to ask for anything else I wanted. That night, lying in the princess suite they’d prepared for me, I couldn’t even sleep. Who could understand this?

The next morning, determined to keep a low profile, I left the car big brother had gifted me in the garage and took a less flashy one to school. The watch, though—second brother’s gift was so beautiful, I couldn’t resist wearing it. At the classroom door, I overheard people talking about a new student transfer who’d arrived with great fanfare that morning. I didn’t pay much attention—it’s common at Northview. But someone turned to me, “Hey, Madison, I heard the new transfer is from the Harper family. Could she be your sister or cousin?” With that hint, I wasn’t too surprised to see Veronica Harper in my class. “Hello, everyone, I’m Veronica Harper. Please take care of me.” She quickly blended in with her “sweet girl” act. After class, she came over and greeted me warmly, “Sis!” This school was a mini society, with everyone scrambling to cozy up to those with power. She could easily signal she was from the Harper family, but that “sis” left me slightly stunned. What was her game? It seemed like she wanted to play the “sisters united” role, asking if my studies were tough or if anyone was giving me a hard time. I raised a brow at her. Nearby, someone asked, “Madison, why didn’t you ever mention you had a sister? You two seem close.” Veronica jumped in, “It’s because I just came home recently!” I could guess what she was up to. Right on cue, Veronica looked pained, “Sis, I know… oh, never mind, you’re probably not used to things after leaving the Harpers.” With that, she pulled a credit card from her purse, “Mom and Dad didn’t want me to help, but as your sister, I wanted to give you a little something. I hope it’s not too little for you.” I looked at her, chuckled, and accepted the card with a smile, “How could I mind? It’s the thought that counts, right?” The “sister” routine had me questioning if I’d stepped into a drama. People around us were clearly puzzled, and Veronica took the chance to drop the real bombshell. “Actually, my sister isn’t a real Harper. Her biological parents were just farmers, and years ago, they arranged for her to end up with the Harpers. I’m glad to be home now, and I don’t blame her for what happened.” I toyed with the card in my hand, watching her act with an amused smile. “Madison… is that true?” The people listening were now casting doubtful glances my way. Unfazed, I nodded, “Yes, my biological parents were farmers.”

After my casual confirmation, everyone instinctively huddled closer to Veronica Harper. Seriously? This was supposed to be a heartwarming family story, not some royal court drama where everyone fawned over the wealthy. “Alright, everyone, settle down! We’re holding a quick meeting,” our advisor announced, sweeping into the classroom with a spring in her step. “There’s a major signing event today, important for the university’s future, and we need a student representative to give a speech on stage.” Her gaze swept the room. “Veronica Harper, you’ll do,” she declared. Me: ??? Veronica had barely transferred into Northview, and suddenly she was speaking for the entire university? “Thank you, professor, for trusting me,” Veronica replied smoothly. “I know Madison has always been the one on stage before, but I promise to do even better and not let everyone down.” She rose gracefully and turned to me with a look that made me uneasy. As expected. “I hope everyone can look past my sister’s background. She spent so many years with the Harpers, and to me, she’ll always be a dear sister.” Oh, please! Was she really pulling this “sister act” in front of everyone? My only thought: Get me out of here. Veronica’s act of innocence had me livid. Did she want the spotlight so badly? Fine. I wasn’t about to let her get away with it. “Hey, Ashton.” I called my big brother, Ashton Lockhart. By the afternoon, Northview had set up a grand stage for the signing event. Veronica had her makeup done to perfection and was even in a formal dress, looking more suited for a gala than a university event. “What? Mr. Lockhart, I—?” The university president sounded panicked.

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Lately, my deskmate has been giving me weird looks. Whether we’re in the cafeteria or during PE, she always keeps her distance. Finally, I couldn’t hold back anymore and asked her, “Did I do something to upset you?” She flinched, backing away a few steps, looking around nervously. “No, it’s not you!” But soon after, she asked to change classes. I was puzzled and decided to confront her about it, standing at the door of her new classroom. As I watched, my former deskmate, who had been chatting with others, suddenly started trembling and screamed, “It really has nothing to do with you! Please, just don’t come after me again, I beg you!” … I began to notice that my deskmate Quinn had been looking at me strangely. At first, she just slid her desk a bit further away. Then, she moved her chair over to the window. I tapped her shoulder, trying to remind her to pay attention in class. To my shock, she jumped and fell off her chair. Terrified, she scrambled up and dashed out of the classroom. I was completely baffled, wondering if I had unknowingly upset her. I planned to talk to Quinn the next day to clear things up. But when I arrived the next morning, the seat next to me was empty. The English teacher reluctantly informed me that Quinn had requested a class change on her own. Our class was the top-performing one, and Quinn had mentioned multiple times how hard she worked to get in. For her to switch classes was really strange. I couldn’t help it. After class, I found out where she had transferred to and went there with an expensive gift. Even if I didn’t know the reason, I wanted to apologize sincerely. Quinn was sitting by the window, laughing with her new classmates. As I hesitated by the window, one of her friends nudged her, saying, “Quinn, someone’s here for you.” Quinn’s smile vanished the moment she turned around. Her expression shifted to one of fear, worse than tears, and her body started shaking uncontrollably. “Ah— It really has nothing to do with you! Please don’t come looking for me anymore, I’m begging you!” Seeing her in such a state, the other students quickly urged me to leave. Defeated, I returned to my classroom with the gift. Rachel noticed my gloomy mood and guessed how my attempt at reconciliation had gone. She came over and patted my back. “Just let it go. You shouldn’t force a relationship with someone who doesn’t want it,” “Your seat is at the front, so the teacher will definitely assign you a new deskmate from the back,” “Who knows, maybe your new deskmate will be even better?” I sighed, “I hope so.” Could a new deskmate really get along with me? The new deskmate assigned to me was named Charlotte. She was really outgoing. In just two classes, we went from strangers to friends, passing notes and chatting easily. We hit it off right away. But after lunch, she suddenly went quiet. When the teacher called on her, the usually lively Charlotte froze for a moment before standing up. She told the teacher she had been distracted and didn’t know the answer. The English teacher frowned, “First Quinn, now you. One after another, none of you are focused. What’s going on?” Charlotte’s gaze seemed to flicker briefly in my direction. Though it was quick, I noticed it, feeling especially sensitive lately. I realized Charlotte was also starting to act strangely. She began avoiding me, both on purpose and by accident. Even during nap time, when I half-awoke, I caught her staring at me.

Her mouth was twisted, fingers nervously gnawing on them. Her beautiful nails were now chewed to the quick, white edges crumbling. When she realized I had caught her, she looked uneasy. Her bright eyes were bloodshot as she quickly backed away. She blended into the cherry blossoms outside the window. Then she clutched her chest and turned her head away from me. I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me and rushed forward to grab her hand. “What’s wrong? Did I make you uncomfortable?” “No, it’s not you!” The usually bold Charlotte screamed and violently shook off my hand. As if I was an unapproachable monster. I turned away, tears forming in my eyes. Why? I hadn’t done anything wrong; I had been nice to them. First Quinn, and now Charlotte, both treating me like this. I took out a mirror, checking my reflection from all angles, but nothing seemed off. I may not be beautiful, but surely I wasn’t repulsive enough to make others feel sick? Tears filled my eyes. Charlotte saw and looked a bit guilty, as if wanting to comfort me. Suddenly, she jumped in fright, rubbing her back frantically. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she shouted, before rushing toward the window! I quickly pulled her back, with help from classmates who had woken up. After that, worried about her mental state, I didn’t approach her like I did with Quinn. I just observed her quietly, afraid she might do something drastic. Then, one day during PE, Charlotte was missing. Worried, I searched everywhere. Finally, I found her in the classroom, sitting in my seat and rifling through my desk drawer. I blinked in disbelief. “Charlotte, what are you doing?” She didn’t seem to hear me. When she finally found a piece of paper, she screamed. Looking up and seeing me, her pupils widened in panic. Before PE was even over, she rushed to the teacher’s office to ask for a seat change. The teacher sighed, “That seat is great, right at the front. Why do you want to move?” “I don’t want to be at the front or back. Please, teacher!” As Charlotte spoke, she glanced nervously out the window, catching sight of me. She began pleading, “Teacher, please, I’m begging you!” But the teacher was losing patience. “I have to think about other students too. I can’t cater to all your demands.” Charlotte was left speechless, dropping to her knees in despair. She wanted to escape. But seeing me at the door, she didn’t dare step out. I sighed heavily and turned back to the classroom. My seat remained empty. Charlotte didn’t return. The next day, the teacher announced she was taking a leave of absence. “Charlotte says she’s not feeling well and needs some time off,” The teacher tapped the blackboard firmly, “Even though we’re only sophomores, we need to concentrate. Environmental issues don’t matter; a calm mind is key.” Despite her words, I couldn’t help but wonder why all this was happening. After class, I turned to find my best friend Rachel. We hurried to the corridor to talk. I clenched my fists, saying, “I need to find out what’s going on. Otherwise, I’ll keep overthinking it.” Rachel frowned, “I don’t know, but if you want to investigate, I’ll help.”

Rachel thought of the paper Charlotte had rushed back into the classroom to find in my desk during PE. “There must have been a reason for that.” “Yeah, but I can’t figure it out,” I said, helplessly showing Rachel the paper. “Yeah, but I just can’t figure it out,” I said helplessly, showing Rachel the piece of paper. “It’s just a regular health record showing I’m fine.” I was trying to understand why Charlotte wanted to see my health record. Rachel looked frustrated. “Could she think you have some contagious disease that might spread to her?” I glanced at myself. “I don’t have any skin issues and I look healthy. There’s no way I’m sick.” “I know you’re not sick,” Rachel rolled her eyes. This whole situation felt bizarre. Then I remembered something. A few days ago, I had asked the class president if I seemed off. He had looked me over, confused, and said I seemed perfectly normal. So at least he didn’t think I was strange. Maybe he could help us figure this out. Just as I was about to go find him, I saw him walking towards me. “Haley, have the recent issues with your two deskmates gotten to you?” I sighed. “Yeah, they’re still bothering me. They’re acting like I’m some kind of plague.” The class president tried to reassure me. “It’s not your fault. The teachers were even joking about whether that seat has bad feng shui or something, like the cherry blossom scent is too overpowering and confusing everyone.” I knew he was just trying to make me feel better. “It’s fine, I know this is probably related to me in some way. You don’t have to convince me otherwise.” He asked, “Do you remember when their behavior changed?” I thought hard. Quinn had started acting weird when the cherry blossoms bloomed, just a few days after the semester began. As for Charlotte, she switched from being enthusiastic to cold and panicked during one lunch break. The class president focused on a detail: “When the cherry blossoms bloomed, did you do anything specific?” I recalled, “I took her and Rachel to see the cherry blossoms in the small woods on campus. Does that count?” “The small woods? Isn’t that area off-limits? What were you doing there?” His expression shifted to concern. A moment later, he looked terrified. He shot me a strange look, his legs began to tremble, and he dashed back to the classroom. Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t the school rule about that place just because of bugs? How can such a big guy be scared?” But then it hit me: “So it’s all because of the small woods. We should check it out after school.” Rachel shrugged. “Whatever you want.” After lunch, I returned to the classroom, where no one else was there yet. I stood at the door and saw the class president sitting in my spot, frantically searching for something. His eyes were bloodshot, and sweat dripped from his forehead. Finally, he pulled out a piece of paper. The moment he read it, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. When he looked up and saw me, he practically fell over and screamed. I was startled by his reaction. “Why are you shouting? The teacher asked me to come ask you about a new deskmate.” “Go ask the teacher yourself, I don’t know!” Seeing his panic, I was worried I might scare him further if I went in. I turned and headed to the teacher’s office to find our homeroom teacher. “Teacher, I really don’t understand why this is happening.” She tried to reassure me. “It’s not your fault. High school students deal with a lot of pressure.” But her words hinted that I should reconsider how I interact with my classmates. It frustrated me. “How about this, teacher? Since no one wants to sit next to me anyway, Rachel is my best friend. Why not move her next to me?” At least Rachel wouldn’t mind sitting with me. The homeroom teacher paused, her fingers frozen on the keyboard. With a puzzled expression, she looked at me.

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I never expected that after my sugar daddy went bankrupt, he would shamelessly move into my tiny 450 square foot apartment and demand that I support him instead. One night, he even boldly crawled into my bed after showering. I sat up in shock, pushing away that devastatingly handsome face, and tried to sound nonchalant as I said: “Let’s just sleep, okay? Nothing more.” His hot breath tickled my neck as he turned off the bedside lamp with one hand and untied my robe with the other, whispering: “Let’s do more than sleep. I’m up for anything. Besides, your personal trainer said you need more exercise.” (A story of a soft and vulnerable sugar baby vs a secretly scheming sugar daddy) “Is it hot in the car? Do you want to take off your clothes?” As he asked, the man glanced at my nervous expression in the rearview mirror and lowered the air conditioning temperature. “It’s fine, I’m not hot,” I said, biting my lip and clutching my coat tighter, grateful that the darkness could hide my flushed face. The car slowly drove up towards the villa on the hillside. It was the height of summer, and underneath my coat I was wearing a form-fitting cheongsam dress with a slit that revealed my pale thighs. I had just finished filming a Republican-era drama scene where I played a coquettish and manipulative concubine. I had to keep calling the male lead “my lord” over and over until the director finally yelled cut. My voice was hoarse from all the takes. You see, I’m a D-list actress who can only get bit parts playing villains. And the man driving me to his house now… He’s Alexander Blake, a former A-list actor renowned for his looks and talent, now working behind the scenes as a producer. Two hours ago, he had cornered me backstage after I finished filming, close enough that I could feel his breath. My heart raced – was this the casting couch moment I’d been waiting for? But he spoke without emotion: “I’m living alone here and feeling lonely. I’ll pay you this much per month to move into my villa. What do you say?” The amount he showed me was more than I’d ever seen, even in my wildest dreams. A rich CEO says he’s lonely and needs company. My first thought was that he wanted me as his mistress. I couldn’t do something so unethical, so I cautiously asked: “Are you… married?” “I’m single,” he replied. Hmm. I looked him up and down. This muscular man did seem to have strong hormones and needs. His long lashes lowered, seeming impatient. “Yes or no?” “I accept,” I said quickly. Even a second of hesitation would be disrespectful to such a lucrative offer. Rich, handsome, and muscular – who would refuse such a win-win deal? Inside the villa, Alexander emerged from the shower. His V-neck bathrobe revealed toned abs and defined pecs. Water droplets slid down his forehead, trailing lower. Looking up, that cold, forbidden face was breathtakingly beautiful. I had to close my eyes, it was too dazzling. Good lord, how did I get so lucky to be the sugar baby of such a perfect specimen? If I were a rich woman, I’d have no problem being his sugar mama! Alexander glanced at me expressionlessly and ordered me to go shower. “Make sure to wear the cheongsam hanging in the closet when you’re done.” “Got it, got it.” He seemed to really like women in cheongsams. That’s probably why he chose me today. No problem, I’ll do whatever he wants. When in Rome, right? The sky blue cheongsam hugged my curves in all the right places, oozing sensuality. I vaguely recalled wearing a similar style for a magazine shoot last year. He patted his leg, his tone coaxing. “Come here.” I obediently went over and sat on his lap, barefoot. The cheongsam he gave me fit like it was custom-made, perfectly conforming to my body. The style was quite risqué though. Short where it should be long, missing buttons where there should be buttons… Alexander admired me appreciatively for a while, then swept me up in his arms and carried me to the bed. For the next few hours, I wondered if he had chewed some kind of energy gum. He fully embodied that ad slogan about lasting all night. He gripped my ankles tightly, seeming to hold back anger as he thrust forcefully and said: “Call me ‘my lord’.” I had been covering my face in embarrassment, but hearing this made me confused. Was he getting into character? I could only play along and whimper softly like a mosquito: “My lord.” Alexander narrowed his eyes and scoffed coldly: “TessaBrown, no wonder you can’t get any good roles. Your acting is so amateurish. You were so enthusiastic calling that other guy ‘my lord’ on set earlier today.” I frowned, finding his words strange. But as a proper sugar baby, I summoned all my acting skills and called out in a coy, trembling voice: “My lord~” Unexpectedly, my breathy tone seemed to make him melt. Without another word, he flipped me over. Two hours later when I went to shower, my legs were still trembling. I couldn’t help looking at myself in the mirror. Porcelain skin, a delicate chin, red lips curved slightly upwards, adding a touch of allure to my otherwise sweet features. If I weren’t so desperate, I wouldn’t have resorted to making money this way.

As a drama school graduate, I had been struggling to make it in the entertainment industry on my own merits. Though I was a newcomer, my career had been on the rise. But I couldn’t escape the jealousy of my competitors. One “diva behavior” scandal, even though I was innocent, was enough to tank my reputation and career. Not only did I end up owing a ton in contract breach fees, I could barely afford my $200 monthly rent. Due to a performance clause I had signed with my agency early on, the penalty for failure was astronomical. If I couldn’t pay it off in time, I would go to jail. Alexander was like a godsend, solving my urgent money problems. I secretly rejoiced. To be honest, he was the reason I entered showbiz in the first place. He was my favorite actor. He once insisted on doing his own stunts and got badly injured in a wire accident, which forced him to retire from acting. I never imagined that one day we would become secret lovers like this. The next morning when I woke up, he was already gone. There was just a new message notification on my phone. “Breakfast is in the microwave. Heat it up yourself.” His profile picture was an unopened black umbrella, fitting his cold and aloof image. Though he was anything but cold and aloof on the inside. I shuffled to the kitchen in my slippers, lazily getting up to grab a cold soda from the fridge. Just as I entered the dining room, I ran into an elegant middle-aged woman. With a sandwich in my mouth and dishes in both hands, I didn’t even have time to adjust my loose pajamas to cover the hickeys on my neck. She smiled and said: “I rarely see Alexander smile, but he was this morning. So he finally brought a girl home.” I was so shocked I nearly choked on my soda. So this is… his mother? “I never thought my son liked to keep his girlfriends hidden away. If I hadn’t come to check on him, I would’ve thought he didn’t like girls at all.” The woman chatted with me for a while longer as I awkwardly tried to respond. Finally, she left me with a beautiful little Louis Vuitton suitcase, whispering as she left: “This suitcase is a welcome gift for you. What’s inside is for Alexander. Young people in love should still be careful, you know.” After she left, I nervously opened the suitcase to find box after box of condoms… Ugh, why do I have to experience both incredible luck and incredible embarrassment all at once?

A month later, it seemed my obedience and good behavior had moved my sugar daddy. Alexander specially picked out a script and got me a role – the third female lead. It was the best opportunity I’d had since entering the industry. I smiled and accepted this unearned fruit. After all, only I could put up with such a demanding and eccentric benefactor. As a D-list actress, my agent had abandoned me after my reputation tanked, leaving me to fend for myself and take whatever small jobs I could get. Before this, I was so broke I couldn’t even pay my electricity bill. I had to swallow my pride and film a cheesy commercial holding some sketchy male enhancement product, smiling awkwardly. People online savagely mocked me for “selling out.” But after joining this new production, I faced an even bigger challenge. According to the director’s shooting schedule, the very first scene we were filming was a kissing scene and… a love scene. When I heard the news, I was stunned. Starting off with something so risqué? “It’s just implied, darling. We need to hint at the passion without showing too much. Tessa dear, many starlets became famous overnight by doing nude scenes. This is just simulated, it’s nothing,” the middle-aged female director said, patting my shoulder reassuringly. I don’t know why, but I sensed a hint of an odd smile in her gaze. I bit my lip. This director had won numerous international awards. Getting a supporting role in her film was already the best opportunity of my career. So I reluctantly agreed. However, when we actually started filming, the male actor took off his clothes and the director complained that he didn’t have enough abs to look good on camera. She wanted to use a body double for the close-up shots. “His physique is too poor. Our male lead is supposed to be an avid horseback rider and archer. We need at least an eight-pack,” she said. But where would we find a body double on such short notice? I started to panic. Just as it seemed the scene would fall apart, Alexander, who was there as a producer, quietly stepped forward. “I’ll do it,” he said. He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth curving up slightly. As he moved closer, he whispered in a barely audible voice: “Besides, after all our practice, we’re the most compatible, wouldn’t you say, Tessa?” I had a feeling he planned this on purpose. Because what was supposed to be a two-minute kissing and love scene in the script ended up taking the entire afternoon to film due to his various uncooperative antics. He was playing the body double for the male lead, while I played the concubine having a secret affair with him. Behind red silk curtains, wearing only a short embroidered top, I giggled coquettishly: “My lord, the flowers in the imperial garden bloom easily when watered daily. You’re so much better than that old emperor. I’m sure I’ll be with child soon~” His kisses rained down on my brow, lips, trailing down to my collarbone. He swallowed hard and growled, “Good girl.” Even though we had done this for real countless times, I still felt embarrassed in front of the cameras. My skin broke out in goosebumps. After an entire afternoon of exhausting myself to the point of being drenched in sweat with a flushed face, the female director finally yelled “Cut!” with a huge grin. She went over to show Alexander the playback footage. “Mr. Blake, are you satisfied with this?” she asked with a sly smile. He watched the playback seriously, then calmly glanced at my swollen red lips. “Not bad. I’m very satisfied.” Damn it! What exactly are you satisfied with?! To be honest though, aside from his slightly kinky bedroom preferences, Alexander treated me very well as his sugar baby. In addition to strongly supporting my acting career, he also got me an annual gym membership, telling me to build some muscle. He said I needed better stamina to handle the grueling schedule of a busy actress in the future. “Your core strength is too weak,” he said casually, roughly kneading my waist. “It needs work.” I clutched the thin black and gold membership card in my hand and retorted: “I’m not an action movie actress. Why do I need such strong abs?”

With Alexander’s help, I worked overtime rushing from set to set. Not only did my reputation gradually improve, I even earned the nickname “Iron Woman” for my work ethic. In just three months, I managed to pay off the huge penalty that was about to come due. Being debt-free felt amazing. The day I paid it off, I was so moved I cried tears of joy. That night, I insisted on treating my sugar daddy to drinks. Seeing how happy I was, Alexander didn’t refuse. But he probably regretted it soon after. He frowned as I made him ride in a rickety three-wheeled taxi, winding through narrow alleys. “I just paid off my debt, so I can’t afford to treat you to anything fancy. This is my favorite hole-in-the-wall place from college – they have the best spicy lamb soup. I wanted you to try it,” I said with a grin. On the tiny wooden table, I opened a few bottles of beer and boldly handed him one, chugging straight from the bottle myself. As the alcohol kicked in, I saw Alexander’s fingers tracing the beer bottle, the smile fading from his lips. “Tessa Brown, I’m bankrupt,” he said abruptly. It took me a moment to process his words. “What kind of joke is that? You’re a real-life tycoon. How could you go bankrupt just from helping me pay off my measly debt?” I tugged at his suit sleeve, laughing. But as I laughed, I realized something was off. Alexander downed an entire bottle of beer, then suddenly looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot. He said he lost everything betting on the World Cup. He bet all his liquid assets on Argentina in the match against Saudi Arabia, but it was a huge upset. I was stunned. I never imagined that someone as rational and composed as him would be such a rabid sports fan. “My other assets are either tied up in the stock market or frozen. My father was furious and seized the villas under my name too,” he said flatly. He said that starting today, he could no longer support me. He seemed to say something else after that, but I was too dazed to catch it. I only remember patting his shoulder and brazenly declaring: “Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal. If you have nowhere to live, you can stay at my place. I’ll be your sugar mama.” Afterwards, I even seriously pulled up my home address on my phone to show him! Alexander’s lips curved into a smile, a cunning glint flashing in his eyes. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me, his voice husky as he said: “Alright.” That passionate kiss sobered me up instantly. I quickly scrambled out of his embrace, my face burning. He raised an eyebrow. “We’re so familiar with each other by now. Why are you still shy?” “Bro, I don’t think we’re that close,” I said with a forced smile, pushing him away. He snorted, forcefully wrapping an arm around my waist, and said cryptically:

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I went on a trip with my boyfriend of one year. He treated me exceptionally well, was incredibly attentive, and took care of my every need. Everyone considered him the perfect boyfriend. But what I never expected was that as soon as I got home, I received a text from him: “Welcome to the AIDS club.” (1) Of course, I didn’t believe it. I immediately called him, but all I heard was the mechanical voice prompt: “The number you have dialed is currently switched off…” I didn’t even have the patience to listen to the whole message before hanging up. The text was sent just three minutes ago. It couldn’t be that his phone had died. The only possibility was that he had turned off his phone immediately after sending the message. Because he knew I would definitely try to call him. I started to panic. Although I wasn’t a medical student, I knew enough about AIDS. But… how could this be possible? I couldn’t believe it. I met Jack Thompson during the freshman orientation week. He was handsome and charming, instantly capturing my heart. So, after the orientation ended, I mustered up the courage to ask for his contact information. It was the first time in my nineteen years that I had ever asked a guy for his number. After getting to know each other for a year, we naturally started dating in our sophomore year. He was my first love! During our year together, he was incredibly attentive to me. Even my roommates benefited from his kindness. He would always bring us delicious food and fun things to do. My roommates all said they were looking forward to attending our wedding someday. How did it suddenly… turn out like this? I couldn’t reach Jack, so I took a cab to the hospital by myself. When I told the doctor I wanted to get tested for AIDS, I saw a flash of shock in his eyes. He probably never expected that a young, 21-year-old girl would be infected with such a thing. I nervously followed the doctor to have my blood drawn. Seeing how cautiously they handled everything, fully geared up, my fear deepened even more. After drawing blood, the doctor told me the results would take two weeks and asked me to go home and wait for news. Finally, he asked seriously: “How long has it been since your exposure?” I thought carefully. It had been two days since I went on the trip with Jack, and since we had sex… “Three days.” The doctor’s expression immediately changed, but in the end, he just sighed: “I’ll prescribe you two post-exposure prophylaxis medications. Take them immediately when you get home. We’ll see the results in two weeks and go from there.” When I heard this, tears started falling: “Doctor, is there still hope for me?” He looked at me without saying a word. I understood. The most effective time for drug prevention is within two hours. I was way past that window. I walked out of the doctor’s office in a daze, just in time to overhear the nurses gossiping: “We got an AIDS case today. I heard the girl is only 21 years old.” “21? No way! How can someone so young already have such a messy personal life?” “I know, right? Young girls these days, they just don’t value themselves!” I couldn’t bear to listen anymore. I stumbled out of the hospital, tears streaming down my face uncontrollably. I couldn’t understand – if having my first relationship at 20 meant not valuing myself, then what would it take to be considered self-respecting? I was even more confused about how my boyfriend, who had always treated me so well, could suddenly turn into this kind of person! In that moment, I even thought about dying. If this news got out, I really wouldn’t be able to live anymore! (2) Two weeks later, I was diagnosed with AIDS. When I received the confirmed diagnosis, I felt like my entire world had collapsed. Jack was still unreachable. I went to his dorm to look for him, but his roommates said he hadn’t been back for a month. I was stunned when I heard this news. He had gone on the trip with me just half a month ago. If he hadn’t been back for a month, it meant he had been preparing for this for a long time? He took me on that trip just to infect me with this disease?! At that moment, my entire worldview was shattered. Countless feelings of hatred welled up in my chest. I had to find him, no matter what method I used. At the very least, he owed me an explanation. Why did he do this to me? What had I done to offend him so badly? But I underestimated how shameless Jack could be. He didn’t come back to school. He directly applied for a leave of absence without even setting foot on campus. Since we last parted, I hadn’t even seen him in person. To find him, I asked a friend in the student council for help and managed to get his family information. That’s when I found out that his father was one of our school’s major donors. The library on our campus was built with his donation. I stared at the name “Robert Thompson” in the records, lost in thought. No wonder he could so easily take a leave of absence without even coming to school. But now that I knew his family information, I wasn’t afraid of not being able to find him. Moreover, Robert Thompson was a well-known wealthy businessman in the area. With a quick internet search, I found the address of his company. However… I staked out his company building for three consecutive days but never saw Robert Thompson. So I had to give up. But what I didn’t expect was that at this moment, Jack suddenly called me. It was on a very ordinary night when I received the call. I had just finished getting ready for bed. Recently, everyone had been busy with internship matters, and the once lively dorm was almost empty, with only me left. The call came from an unknown number. At first, I didn’t answer, but it kept ringing, so I finally picked up. As soon as I answered, I heard loud music in the background, sounding like it was coming from a bar. “Hello?” There was no response. I called out again, still no answer. I was about to hang up when the other side finally spoke, “Emily, it’s me.” The tone was condescending, flippant and arrogant. As soon as I heard it, my scalp tingled. This voice, which had woken me up countless times and lulled me to sleep, I recognized almost instantly: “Jack!” He laughed loudly, “I heard you’ve been looking for me.” The emotions I had been suppressing completely erupted at this moment, “Why did you do this!” “Why did you deliberately infect me!” “What did I do to make you hate me so much!” I was almost hysterical, yelling into the phone. Tears fell uncontrollably, and I was shaking with anger. But Jack casually tossed back: “Who told you to be so gullible?” “Emily, don’t tell me you actually thought I loved you. How stupid can you be?” “Why? Don’t you feel any guilt?” “Guilt?” Jack sneered, “What’s conscience worth?” “Emily, let me be honest with you. For someone like me, playing around is no loss. Dragging someone down with me is actually a win. If you really want to blame someone, blame yourself for being too trusting.” “Also, don’t think about going to the police or anything. You slept with me voluntarily, didn’t you?” I couldn’t believe these words were coming from the mouth of the once sunny and cheerful Jack. Had the nearly two years all been an act? Did he feel no remorse towards me at all? I wanted to ask him more, but he heartlessly hung up the phone. When I tried to call back, the number had become inactive. I sat numbly in the corner of my bed, countless emotions tangled together at this moment. In the end, they were distilled into hatred. I had to make him pay, no matter what I had to sacrifice. I was determined to achieve this! But I never imagined that my connection with the Thompson family would run so deep. The next morning, to my surprise, my internship application was accepted by Robert Thompson’s Huachen Technology. I was a junior this year and had been busy looking for internships. Originally, the school was supposed to arrange a job fair, but it happened to coincide with the pandemic. Large gatherings weren’t allowed, so they could only give us the contact information for companies and let us reach out ourselves. Sending out resumes to hundreds of companies wasn’t a small project. Watching my roommates one by one secure their positions, with only me still waiting for news, I was starting to get anxious. I remember when I was busy sending out resumes, Jack was by my side with his arm around my waist, saying nonchalantly: “As the girlfriend of yours truly, you don’t need to frantically job hunt like everyone else.” “I’ll take care of your job for you.” At the time, I thought he was just joking around, so I didn’t take him seriously. Looking back now, I was truly too naive. But what was strange was, given the current situation, why hadn’t Jack removed me from the hiring list? Was it because he didn’t consider me a threat at all? Did he think I couldn’t do anything to him? Or was it because he wanted to tell me that even if he revealed his whereabouts to me, I still couldn’t do anything about it? I didn’t know. But I did know that this might be the last chance I could grasp. He was the typical rich kid, while I was just an ordinary citizen. After leaving school, we wouldn’t even be in the same social circles. There would be no chance of meeting again. And I wasn’t willing to accept that. I wasn’t willing to accept that he could so easily ruin my life and then walk away without consequences. I was even less willing to accept that he could live a good life after hurting me. So, I turned down offers from other companies and chose to work at “Huachen Technology” under Robert Thompson. (3) The gap between ideals and reality isn’t easily bridged. Even though I went to Huachen, I never saw Robert Thompson, who was the chairman of the board. Time flew by, and several months passed in the blink of an eye. Because I had AIDS, I didn’t dare to form close relationships with my colleagues, fearing that I might accidentally infect them. I lost the social circle I should have had. This also made me increasingly obsessed. I started to seek out information about Jack. Thanks to his good looks and rich kid status, which had the young women in the company swooning, my inquiries didn’t seem too obvious. He didn’t particularly try to hide his whereabouts. With just a few questions, I found out that Robert Thompson had sent him to study abroad. Apparently, he went to America and wouldn’t be back for four years. Four years. I didn’t have that much time to wait for him! But going to America? Obviously unrealistic. I didn’t have the financial means to go so far away just to confront him. Just when I didn’t know what to do, my boss Chris suddenly gave me a task. It was just an ordinary Friday, close to the end of the workday, when he suddenly tapped on my desk: “Emily, come with me somewhere after work.” I was a bit surprised. What kind of work required going somewhere after hours? But he didn’t give me any time to react, just turned and left. My colleague Lily kindly warned me: “Be careful of Chris. He definitely doesn’t have good intentions.” “Asking you to go somewhere after work, it can only be for entertaining clients.” She shook her head disapprovingly as she spoke: “In our company, basically any girl with decent looks will be dragged out by him to entertain clients.” “Be careful, don’t get drunk. Otherwise, you might be taken advantage of.” Taken advantage of? I mulled over these words in my mind, then suddenly smiled. Was I still afraid of being taken advantage of? It should be others who are afraid, right? With the mindset of not wanting to cause trouble for others, I originally didn’t want to go. But Chris was always a decisive person. No matter what I said, after work he still took me to a high-end club. I knew this club. Jack had been here before when we were dating. I remembered that even just a sauna and massage here required a significant amount of money. Far beyond what someone of my social class could afford. But what I didn’t expect was that the person he brought me to meet was actually Robert Thompson. I looked at Robert Thompson in surprise as he slowly walked towards me. He looked younger than in photos, without a beer belly or balding head, quite different from the typical successful middle-aged businessman. He wore a well-tailored suit and an obviously expensive watch. As he spoke, two words came to mind – “elegant.” Unlike Jack’s youthful arrogance, and unlike other entrepreneurs’ sleaziness, he carried the composure and grace of a successful person, but without that air of money. It was pleasant to look at. I couldn’t help but wonder, how could such a person have produced a scumbag like Jack? But soon, reality once again gave me a harsh slap in the face. After a few rounds of drinks, Robert Thompson suddenly turned his gaze to me: “Miss Carter, where do you live?” I hadn’t even spoken when Chris, as if suddenly enlightened, fawningly said to Robert Thompson: “Mr. Thompson, she lives in the city center area, quite far away.” Robert Thompson nodded, not saying anything more, but his gaze towards me clearly became inappropriate. I could very clearly feel the flirtatious and teasing look in his eyes. Sitting across from him, I felt as uncomfortable as if I wasn’t wearing clothes. I instinctively avoided his gaze, but still couldn’t escape his stare. I had an ominous feeling, as if I had been targeted by a hunter. Midway through, Chris found an excuse to leave, leaving just Robert Thompson and me. This time, his gaze became even more unrestrained, blatantly looking down my collar. After a while, he finally asked: “How long have you been at Huachen, Miss Carter?” I lowered my head: “Three months.” “What’s your salary?” “After deductions, I take home about $3,000.” “$3,000.” When he heard this answer, he clearly smiled, then rested his chin on his hand and asked: “Would Miss Carter like to earn more?” I didn’t speak. I had already instinctively realized what he wanted to do. “If you’re willing to be with me, you’ll get much more than that.” Scumbag! I had been holding back all night, but finally couldn’t contain myself at this moment. I suddenly stood up from my seat, looking down at him: “Mr. Thompson, thank you for your favor, but I don’t think I’m worthy of your affection.” I apologized for the few minutes of good impression I had of him when we first met. He and Jack were truly father and son, both skilled at using the sweet trap technique – giving you a good impression, then slowly torturing you. How disgusting. When I said this, he didn’t even change his expression, a faint smile still hanging on the corner of his mouth. I really couldn’t take it anymore and turned to leave. But just as I moved, I heard him say: “Miss Carter, I’ve never failed to get what I want.” His tone carried a hint of composure and certainty. (4) At first, I didn’t understand what he meant by that sentence. But the next day, I understood. The life of an intern was already difficult enough, always on edge, treading carefully. But after I rejected Robert Thompson, this situation directly escalated several times over. I became the office’s free laborer, helping people buy coffee, taking out trash, printing documents…

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