Author: Momo Chan

I had a stomach ache and went to St. Thomas’ Hospital alone for an IV drip. While I was there, I caught my boyfriend, Alexander, tending to his first love, Isabella. He was feeding her the chicken soup I had made myself, spooning it into her mouth one bite at a time. In that moment, I recalled a conversation he’d had with his friend James. “Alexander, what do you like about Scarlett?” “She’s easy to coax and deceive.” In the hospital ward, Alexander lowered his eyes, blew gently on the spoon, and handed it over. “Have another bite,” he said. Isabella’s pale face flushed slightly as she obediently opened her mouth. I stood at the door, watching this scene unfold, my heart aching as if it were being pierced by a knife. Just last night, Alexander had suddenly expressed a craving for chicken soup. I woke up early this morning, went to Borough Market, then spent hours simmering the soup on the stove. At noon, I proudly carried the thermos to his office in the City of London. To my shock, I was merely playing the role of someone else’s caregiver. “Your girlfriend is quite the homemaker,” Isabella remarked, a hint of mockery in her voice as she smirked. “Yeah. What would you like to eat tomorrow?” Alexander replied, his expression as indifferent as ever. He set down the bowl and casually pulled out a tissue to wipe the corner of Isabella’s mouth. “Eat you,” Isabella teased. “Stop joking,” Alexander said with a nonchalant tone. His indifference only made Isabella laugh harder. My throat tightened, and I found it hard to breathe. The haze in front of my eyes thickened. When my vision finally cleared, I realized I was making eye contact with them. A flash of surprise crossed Alexander’s face, followed by a frown. “So you’re Scarlett? You’re quite pretty, and your cooking skills are impressive too,” Isabella said, her innocent smile belied by her scrutinizing gaze. She wore a rose gold necklace that was both beautiful and painfully striking to me. Suddenly, I felt a rush of blood to my head, and my stomach began to ache again. I forced myself to respond, “I don’t deserve the compliment. I’m just young.” Isabella’s smile faltered. Alexander’s frown deepened as he noticed the white tape on my right hand, hesitating for a moment. “Do you need me to take you back?” he asked. It was already quite late. The fact that he asked meant he didn’t genuinely want to. I forced a smile. “Yes.” Alexander paused, glancing at Isabella, who was clinging to his sleeve, then back at me. But he didn’t move. My heart grew even heavier. I shook my head and turned to leave. He didn’t follow. In a daze, I recalled the harassing phone call I received a few days ago. “Alexander’s girlfriend? You? He loved me so deeply back then. No one can replace me. Just wait and see!” The caller didn’t give me a chance to respond before hanging up, leaving me feeling taunted. Lost in thought, I received a multimedia message. It was a selfie. She was strikingly beautiful—bold and flamboyant. I was baffled. What was wrong with this person? At that moment, Alexander was beside me. I showed him my phone. “She’s Isabella, your first love, right?” Alexander quickly glanced at the image, nodded, and deleted the message. “Scarlett, she’s mentally unstable due to some trauma. Just ignore her,” he said. I wasn’t angry; I just thought it was childish and ridiculous. I pressed on, “Did she contact you?” He didn’t deny it, simply replying coldly, “Annoying.” At that moment, I realized the childish and ridiculous one was me. And I was the one being annoyed. Suddenly, all the details I had previously overlooked came flooding back like a tidal wave. Alexander had been working late frequently, sometimes not coming home at all. He would go out to the balcony to take calls, lowering his voice, and the conversations would stretch on for a long time. I had found a receipt for an expensive ladies’ necklace in his suit pocket, which he claimed was for a client. … And I had never suspected a thing. When we first got together, I had accidentally overheard a conversation between him and James. “What do you like about Scarlett?” “As long as I can coax and deceive her.” Later, Alexander casually dismissed it as a joke. He navigated this relationship with such ease, controlling me perfectly with just a few words. In reality, the signs had always been there. I had just been too naive and self-righteous to see them. After three years of dating, I, like a small stove providing warmth in the snow, couldn’t compete with the moonlight that enhanced his life. 2 The first time I met Alexander was quite remarkable. After graduating from university, I had a big argument with my family over work and decided to move out to rent a cheap old house. It was late after my farewell dinner. When I returned, I found a drunk man sprawled in the hallway of the London residence. He had thin lips, a high nose, and slightly flushed cheeks. His long eyelashes cast shadows across his face. He looked quiet and haggard, evoking a sense of sympathy. I carefully patted him on the shoulder. He opened his eyes, and the bright lights of the hallway reflected in his dark gaze like a full moon. “Sorry to scare you,” he said, his hoarse voice somehow more charming in the stillness of the night. He stood up, irritably tugging at his tie, then turned to open the door. I instinctively said, “It’s okay. You should drink less in the future; it’s not good for your health.” The sound of the key turning in the lock paused. He turned back, squinting at me, his expression inscrutable. After a moment of silence, he replied, “Yeah.” “Um, well… I’m Scarlett, and I live opposite you.” “Alexander.” The sound insulation in the hallway was poor, and I could hear every time Alexander opened or closed his door. Gradually, I figured out his routine. He usually left at seven in the morning, and his return time was unpredictable, often late at night. But no matter when he came home, I always prepared a cup of honey water and waited for him. “Why are you waiting for me?” he asked one day. That time, Alexander didn’t take the cup. He stood in front of me, looking down from above. My cheeks flushed, and my breathing became unsteady. “Because I like you.” “Why?” “…I don’t know.” Alexander tilted his head, and his deep black eyes sparkled slightly. His voice was hesitant. “I didn’t drink tonight. Go back to your room. Don’t stay up late.” At first, I didn’t understand if this was a rejection or an acceptance. I looked up and asked quietly, “What about you?” Alexander raised an eyebrow, looked at me meaningfully, and flashed a mischievous smile. “Of course, I’ll go back to my own room.” I suddenly woke up and stammered in my explanation, “No! I meant you… you’re staying up late as well…” “I’ll make an effort to come back earlier in the days to come.” His tone was nonchalant, yet it still managed to stir ripples within my heart. Not long after that, Alexander moved away. He gave me the address of his new place – Alexander’s Flat in London, along with a spare key. Whenever I had no painting orders, I would head over to his place to tidy up the house, do the laundry, and cook for him. Charlotte got wind of it and was exasperated. “I’ve never seen anyone like you, so eager to be a free maid! What on earth do you like about Alexander? Is it because he’s good – looking?” I’d never contemplated this question before. I simply felt that every single moment I spent with Alexander was filled with joy. His responses to my messages evolved from “Yeah” to “Okay”, and the way he addressed me shifted from “You” to “Scarlett”. When he returned from a business trip, he’d bring me little presents. On weekends when he wasn’t occupied, he’d take me out for a meal. And from time to time, he’d remind me to take my stomach medicine… Whenever I thought about how Alexander was gradually changing for me, my heart would brim with happiness, making me believe that all the efforts were worthwhile. Finally, on Valentine’s Day, Alexander came to me carrying a bouquet of roses. The moonlight shone into his eyes, making it difficult to decipher his original emotions. “Scarlett, be my girlfriend.” “Okay.” Later, I discovered that on that very day, Isabella had announced her engagement in a high – profile manner. She’s Alexander’s first love, and they used to have a great relationship. But later, Alexander’s father’s company nearly went bankrupt, and Isabella also proposed to break up, seamlessly getting together with a rich second – generation heir. Then, when Alexander was at his lowest ebb, he met me. He once said that I was his winter stove, warm and cozy. But a woman’s intuition is a strange thing. I couldn’t help but wonder if Alexander’s acceptance of me had something to do with Isabella. Once this thought emerged, it grew stronger and stronger, refusing to go away… I plucked up the courage and asked casually, looking him in the eye. I looked up, choosing my words carefully before asking, “Why did you suddenly accept me?” His eyes were dark and inscrutable. “Because I like you.” “The past is in the past. Scarlett, you are my present and my future.” I engraved these words deep in my mind. 3 As soon as I entered the house, my phone rang. “Did you get home?” “Yeah.” “Why didn’t you tell me your stomach hurt?” “Would you have cared if I had?” There was a momentary silence on the other end of the phone. I could hear Alexander’s deep and slightly ragged breathing. “Scarlett, Isabella slit her wrists and attempted suicide. Fortunately, she was found in time. Although she’s out of danger, she’s still very weak.” So what? Just because I’m stronger than her, should I be her maid and give up my boyfriend? However, there was an even more crucial question. “Who found her in time?” Alexander was silent for a moment, then he gave an answer that didn’t really address the issue: “Her parents passed away and she was cheated on. Her mental state has become abnormal. After all, we’ve known each other for so many years. I just can’t help but worry about her.” My heart suddenly lurched, and my nose stung. Sure enough, only those who cry get the comfort. “Alexander, your girlfriend went home alone in the middle of the night. Aren’t you worried about her?” “Are you worried about her or still in love with her?” There was silence on the other end. I tried my best to steady my emotions, but my voice still quivered slightly. “I’m not the clingy type. If you—” “Wait for me to come home.” Alexander interrupted me and hung up the phone straight away. It would take him about half an hour to drive back. I curled up on the couch in the dark, with no lights on. All I could hear in the darkness was the ticking of the clock hands. Half an hour… One hour… Two hours passed… Before I knew it, I sat there until dawn. Alexander returned at six in the morning. “Why are you up so early?” He looked tired. He casually tossed his coat aside, leaned back on the couch, closed his eyes to rest, with no intention of explaining at all. Suddenly, Alexander opened his eyes and looked at me with a hint of surprise. “You didn’t sleep all night, did you?” I remained silent.

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In our tenth year as secret lovers, Charles still treats me like a bitch. He only stayed with me for the night and hurried back to his and his wife’s home at daybreak. I thought he was pretending to be in love, until I smashed a bottle of wine on his wife’s head and he went crazy. That slap in the face wiped out the last bit of my conscience. Charles, are you ready for our revenge? Charles slapped me. He hit me so hard that my head tilted to the side, my ears were buzzing, and my head was spinning. I slowly squatted down holding on to the wall, and there was gold falling from the corners of my eyes. They were the earrings I bought yesterday. But the person who put it on me was now holding Zoe with a nervous look on his face, checking her wound. I almost laughed out loud at Charles’ sickening hypocrisy. He and Zoe have been married for ten years. I was also his secret lover for ten years. For ten years, he has been responsive to my requests and doted on me, with his only request being that I not disturb his wife Zoe. Not only did I not listen to him, I also provocatively smashed a bottle of wine on Zoe’s head. The scarlet wine gushed out. Zoe is not pretty and is a bit dull. Even after I bullied her in the face, she just stood there at a loss. It was not until Charles rushed in and hugged her that she spoke timidly. “Charles, who is she?” Charles followed her and saw me in the corner with an unpleasant expression. “A mad woman.” The side of my face that was hit started to feel hot, and I watched silently as he embraced Zoe and walked out the door. The gentleness he showed when he lowered his head really made him look like a good husband. I felt so lowly that I waited until they were far away before I patted my butt and got up. But as soon as I went out, I saw a figure standing at the corner. Charles is good-looking, tall and handsome. He has always been the focus of the crowd since he was a child. It’s no wonder that Zoe and I are so fascinated by him. He walked over, his outline gradually becoming clearer in the dim corridor, looming in front of me, and bent down to kiss me. His kiss was filled with the scent of roses, Zoe’s favorite perfume, and I suddenly felt nauseous and pushed him away. How did he do it? He was comforting his shivering wife just now, but he turned around and kissed his lover with lust. “Stop it.” He said. Charles doesn’t know how to coax people. Countless times when I had quarrels with him, he would just say this in a light tone. “Sia, stop it.” But I am not his obedient wife, I am a goblin who throws himself at his expense. At first, I was really desperate, so I jumped into his car on a cold rainy night and seduced him. I know that he just got engaged to the daughter of the Miller family and that he is worth over 100 million. While I was lying on the cold ground, I was still calculating how much money I could extort when I heard someone opening the car door. The leather shoes stepped on the rain, and the splashes looked like little crowns. I laughed for no apparent reason, and it took me a long time to look up and see Charles holding an umbrella. After that day I had two jobs, ostensibly as Charles’ assistant but actually as his lover. Charles is a good man and very generous. In the past, I could earn less than 5,000 dollars after working for three months, but now Charles can make hundreds of thousands of dollars with just a wave of his hand. But I have been his lover for ten years, and he still treats me like a bitch. Charles only stayed at my place overnight. He dressed and got out of bed before daybreak, hurrying back to his and Zoe’s home. He said he was going back to make breakfast for Zoe, but the auntie at home didn’t cook her breakfast, so she refused to eat and became so hungry that she had a stomachache. Without exception. Even though I know that Charles might have to pretend to be nice to Zoe because he is concerned about the business cooperation with the Miller family. But until Charles completely took over the Miller family’s business, he still insisted on making breakfast for Zoe. I can’t lie to myself anymore.

I’ve gone crazy, pretended to be sick, and thrown a tantrum, but nothing could stop him from going back to Zoe. He would just say to me, Sia, stop it. Then he lowered his head and kissed me, passing by like a gust of wind. When I got home, there was still the wine I hadn’t finished on the table. The slightly sweet aroma of wine filled the air. Charles took off his coat and went to the kitchen to get some ice cubes to put on my face. “Aren’t you going to coax your wife?” I stared at his drooping long eyelashes and said casually. “She is much more obedient than you.” The words I wanted to say were stuck in my throat. The warm yellow light cast a shadow on us. I listened to his breathing and suddenly felt bored. Ten years. I have spent ten years of my time and energy on Charles. I thought he would become softer than before, but I didn’t expect his heart to be still cold and hard. “Let’s separate,” I said. His hand against my cheek paused for a moment, and his calm eyes looked straight at me. I hate this expression of his the most. He is so arrogant, cold and heartless. In an instant, it brings me back to that rainy night thirteen years ago. My whole body began to tremble uncontrollably. I shook off his hand and turned my head away, hiding my embarrassment in the shadows. Charles just thought I was going crazy. He was used to me threatening to break up with him whenever I was unhappy, but in the end he would just give me some money to get rid of it. Very easy to coax. Charles still stayed at my place at night. He held me in his arms and slept soundly, with the moonlight flowing through his hair like the tide. I have been looking at his eyebrows and his eyes for a full ten years, and every time I describe them, I feel hatred deep in my bones. A slight vibration interrupted my thoughts. Charles’s cell phone was on, with only one word “read” on the screen. “– Hello?” I picked up the phone. The hurried tone of voice on the other end suddenly died down, and after a long while, Zoe’s trembling voice was heard. “You, you are… Sia?” I hummed softly. “…Is Charles there with you? Can you ask him to answer the phone? I, I think I’m having a miscarriage…” I looked back helplessly with the phone in my hand and met Charles’s gaze, who still looked a little confused. After hearing what Zoe said, his expression changed. He snatched the phone away, his voice filled with suppressed anger, but he was talking to me. “Why are you answering the phone? Don’t you think it’s not exciting enough for her?” He gripped my wrist so hard that it almost broke my bones. I was shivering, little by little, and even the blood in my heart was running cold. I saw him quickly put on his clothes and rush out, the anxiety on his face was like a flame burning my vision. I collapsed on the ground, smiled bitterly, and looked down to see the hideous red mark on my wrist. I remember that when I had my first miscarriage, I also made a phone call and called Charles back from the villa where he was cooking for Zoe. At that time, I was even more cruel. I sat on the sofa and watched indifferently a pool of blood gushing out. Only when he was sure that the child could not be saved did he call Charles. The anxiety on his face when he arrived was exactly the same as before. It was as if he divided his love equally between me and Zoe. But how can one heart love two people? He is hypocritical and pretentious. He can’t let go of Zoe, nor can he let go of me. I was sleepy and cold, so I curled up on the carpet and fell asleep. When the sky started to grow light, there was still no sound outside the door. Charles won’t be coming back. I sat in the huge house and looked around, only to find that there were so many traces of Charles in this house. The cups on the island were the couple cups we picked out together. Charles scoffed at such childish things, but he still drank from the childish Rogue Rabbit porcelain cup. In the refrigerator, half is filled with his wine and the other half is filled with my calcium milk. He laughed at my behavior, but he would silently replenish it every time after drinking the milk. There is also a whole wall of perfumes he collected for me, and a ring design he drew for me personally… The phone lit up, and the message I had been waiting for finally arrived. It’s a photo sent by Zoe. Charles’ handsome profile was buried in the snow-like blanket, one hand tightly holding her pale and slender hand. The smile on her face was gentle and peaceful, and she looked straight at me through the screen. “I told Charles that you scared me into having a miscarriage.”

Children have always been Charles’ concern. He found it troublesome, but he had no choice but to do without it. After all, his business empire still needed a legitimate heir. Charles is a typical rich second generation. He was spoiled by his family since he was young, and is good at smoking, fighting, and racing. It was not until something went wrong and his family settled the matter that he turned over a new leaf and took over the family business. But Charles also has a younger brother born to his stepmother, who is ten years younger than him and will soon be able to stand on his own. That’s right, the two of them are like water and fire, and they are bound to fight to the death. Charles’ father favors his youngest son and is always strict with his eldest son. As luck would have it, several major partners withdrew their investments at this time. Charles was so overwhelmed that he was busy until late at night and could only come back occasionally. When Charles’ father saw that his career was in trouble, he intended to let his youngest son gradually take over the company. He argued for this for a long time before his father finally gave in. He can have the company, but Charles must have an heir first. After all, he is already in his thirties and still has no successor, which makes people wonder if Charles has some hidden illness. If this is true, the company will naturally be inherited by the younger brother. After Charles dies, the younger brother will inherit it anyway. I had a miscarriage a year ago. And Zoe, who had just been hit on the head by a wine bottle by me, had a miscarriage out of fright. God is not on Charles’ side. I almost applauded. I thought Charles would have to stay with Zoe in the hospital for a long time, but he called me soon. “Come to the hospital.” His tone was so cold that it seemed to be spilling out of the other end of the line. I put on my makeup carefully and went to the ward in high heels, but the heavy medical record book that hit me in the face made me go black. “Apologize.” Charles stood tall in front of the bed, his eyes frighteningly cold. Zoe, whose face was so pale that it looked transparent, was leaning against the bed, a bright smile shining in her eyes. This isn’t the first time I’ve met Zoe. Before I smashed her bottle, and after I knew Charles had a wife, I hid in the corner many times and watched her like a voyeur. She liked to wear off-white sweaters and gently took Charles’ suit jacket. She likes rose-scented perfume, which is light and elegant. When Charles holds me in his arms at night, the rich rose scent surrounds me. She likes to do some handicrafts, and Charles wears a red rope she weaved on his wrist. There are traces of her everywhere on Charles, and this woman reveals her edge without making a sound. I tried to ignore it, but it got worse. Especially when Charles was standing beside her as well. I covered my stomach which was hit by the medical record book and met Charles’ warning eyes. …can’t resist. I’m not sure I can break up with Charles right now, so I can only swallow my anger and apologize to Zoe. “I’m sorry, Miss Zoe. I was wrong.” Hearing that I gave in, Charles breathed a sigh of relief. He turned around and held Zoe’s hand, his face full of cautious tenderness. “I was wrong. You should take good care of yourself. I will end things with her and we will live a good life from now on.” A very faint smile forced itself onto Zoe’s pale face. Like a small white flower swaying in the wind. I rolled my eyes, but she caught it immediately. “Charles, can you let her out?” Charles obeyed her every word, and he didn’t know where her charm came from. “Go out… Take care of the company’s business. Don’t bother me unless it’s important.” Charles’ cell phone was thrown into my arms. I rubbed my stomach, stood up, and limped out of the ward. The moment I left, I turned back and waved my phone at Zoe. She raised her head from Charles’ arms, her eyes narrowed. He quietly glanced at me. The corners of my mouth curled up. ——The plan was successful.

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The day Isabelle “Belle” Knight, Weston Carrington’s first love, returned to the U.S., I set fire to The Carrington Estate. With my twins in tow, I disappeared without a trace. I had once charged into a burning building to save him, losing my sight in the process. But to him, I was just a schemer who used any means necessary to marry him and ruin his future with Belle. Now that my vision was restored, it was time for me to leave. ### Chapter 1 The kids begged Weston for days before he finally agreed to celebrate their birthday with them. The food on the table grew cold, and the twins sat by their cake, refusing to go to bed. Weston never showed up. But I knew where he was. Grabbing my cane, I felt my way out of the house. Every bump and stumble on the way added new cuts to my shins. At the door of the private lounge, I was about to step inside when I overheard the conversation from within. “Belle’s coming back. So, what are you going to do about that blind woman and the twins?” one of Weston’s friends asked. “Divorce,” Weston replied without a moment’s hesitation. Of course. If the Carringtons hadn’t forced Weston to marry a blind woman like me, Belle would have never left. On our wedding day, Weston rebelled by disappearing, leaving me to complete the entire ceremony alone, becoming the laughingstock of the town. For a year, we lived apart. Then, one impulsive night changed everything, leading to the birth of our twins. The day Ethan and Lillian were born, he didn’t spare them a glance. To him, they were the embodiment of betrayal. When he agreed to celebrate their birthday, I foolishly believed that his heart might finally be thawing. In the silence, one of his friends spoke. “To be honest, your wife’s been good to you, and she’s given you kids who are already so grown.” “Does it matter?” another friend retorted immediately. “If she hadn’t orchestrated blinding herself to trap Weston into marriage, he wouldn’t have missed out on years with Belle.” “A blind, fallen socialite being able to marry into the Carrington family was already a miracle. Now that Belle’s back, the real lovers can finally reunite.” A lump formed in my throat as Weston’s cold voice cut through the room. “Talking about her ruins the mood. Let’s drink.” The disgust in his tone was unmistakable. ### Chapter 2 I often felt like my life was perpetually derailed, heading straight into every storm it could find. When I first met Weston, I was the adored Manhattan socialite, Celeste Monroe, and he was the rising star of the financial world. At my art gala, while the powerful circled around me with empty praise, he was the only one studying my painting in silence. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, he looked like he belonged in my self-portrait, “Portrait of a Countryside Girl,” that hung just behind him. When our eyes met, he offered a small smile. “Miss Monroe, you’re as beautiful as these works of art.” The imagined breeze of the painted fields brushed my heart, and it raced wildly. From that moment, I fell in love, enduring six years of one-sided longing. Weston always maintained a polite distance but never explicitly rejected me. I believed I was worthy of him and clung to the hope of winning his heart. Then, tragedy struck. The Monroe legacy crumbled, leaving me the only survivor. I was alive, but only in body. Later, I ran into a burning building to save an unconscious Weston, losing my sight in the process. I lost my home and could no longer paint. The Carringtons, not wanting public scrutiny, forced Weston to marry me. That’s when I learned his heart belonged to someone else: Isabelle Knight. He resented me. One Harvest Moon Festival, a drunk Weston came home for the first time. Before I could say a word, he embraced me, reeking of alcohol. I couldn’t break free. As he tore my clothes like a wild animal, the image of the boy who once smiled at me filled my mind. “Miss Monroe, you’re as beautiful as a piece of art,” he had said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. When I awoke, pain shot through me. And then, he slapped me hard. “Celeste, there’s no end to your scheming to stay as Mrs. Carrington, is there?” I realized then that it had always been a mistake. I should have left long ago. ### Chapter 3 I returned to Carrington Manor, the cage built for me after our marriage. The twins were still awake, running to cling to my legs as soon as I stepped inside. “Mom, did Dad come back too?” Ethan asked. I heard their little feet run toward the door, only to return, their disappointment palpable. “Did Dad not want us?” Ethan asked, tears welling up. My heart clenched, a crushing pain stealing my breath. I knelt and held them close. “Mom wants you. Will you come with me if we leave?” Life might be tougher, but it would be better than living in the shadows here. Lillian’s small hand brushed the tears from my cheeks. “Mom, don’t cry. We’ll go wherever you go.” After putting them to bed, I broke down, unable to hold back my sobs. Being my children had brought them nothing but hardship. Carrying them for ten months had been difficult, even more so because I was blind. Weston knew the challenges I faced but never accompanied me to a single prenatal appointment. When he first saw them, his only comment was, “Disgusting.” Publicly, he refused to acknowledge them as his own. Even when they called him “Dad,” he scolded them. They were legitimate children, yet they were treated worse than outsiders. When they asked me if their father would come home, I would make excuse after excuse until even they stopped believing me. Leaving would free everyone. Perhaps Weston suddenly remembered his promise to the kids. Late that night, he came back. As I was packing, his cold hand grabbed my arm. His voice, sharp and void of emotion, pierced the air. “What are you doing?” The scent of alcohol brought back the memory of that night, making my body stiffen. I kept my voice steady. “The house is a mess. I’m tidying up.” The silence stretched, broken only by the chill of the wind that made me shiver. Then Weston pulled me into his arms, his tone almost pleading. “Don’t go, Belle.” He was drunk and had mistaken me for her. Before I could push him away, he kissed me, invading with the taste of whiskey. His hand trailed from my collarbone down, claiming me in his intoxicated haze. ### Chapter 4 The shame and pain crashed over me like a wave, suffocating and all-consuming. I pushed him away with all the strength I had, screaming desperately, “If you love Belle so much, why did you marry me? Why trap me here and ignore me?” There was no response. Though I couldn’t see him, I felt the rage emanating from him. Realizing my legs were cut, his tone turned harsh. “You went looking for me? What did you hear?” I didn’t care anymore. The words spilled out. “Do you really think Belle left because of our marriage? She left for her own ambitions.” “How dare you mention her!” He shoved me, and I fell back, my head hitting the ground with a painful thud, sending a sharp ache through my skull. Suddenly, a sliver of light broke through, fading the darkness into a mist. Slowly, my vision cleared. I thought I saw Weston reaching for me, but his hand retreated. He stood there, expression cold as ice. “You wanted me back. I’m here. That’s enough.” Then he disappeared into the night. I could see. I could finally see. Rushing to the bedroom, I touched Ethan and Lillian’s warm little hands to make sure it was real. Tears of joy streamed down my face. Now, I was more determined than ever to leave. The next day, Weston, sobered up, had his secretary send birthday gifts for the twins. They dumped them at the front door. Ethan scowled. “It’s not even my birthday today. Why send this now?” Lillian, equally upset, added, “We wanted Dad home so he could be with Mom. But if Mom doesn’t want Dad, we don’t either.” They were too young to have such heavy burdens, only two years old but far too mature. Lillian’s small voice asked, “Mom, where will we go?” Smiling, I replied, “Back to Mom’s old home.” The Monroe estate was long gone, sold off. Now, only Grandma Lucille’s Homestead remained—the place she had never left until her last breath, her little paradise. “There’s no amusement park, no tall buildings, but there are birds, flowers, and streams.” Their little arms wrapped around me tightly, stifling the rest of my words. “With you, Mom, anywhere is the best place.” ### Chapter 5 Lately, both Weston Carrington and I had been busy. He was preparing for Isabelle “Belle” Knight’s return to the States, while I was making plans to take the children and leave. If I wanted to slip away from the ever-watchful Carrington family, timing had to be perfect. Though the kids said they didn’t care about their father, the day before we were set to leave, they sat staring wistfully at a picture of Weston. After much hesitation, I finally dialed Weston’s number. The line connected, but his voice was as impatient as ever. “What is it?” “The kids want to see you. Would you come by one last time?” Would he come for one final goodbye? “Weston, I finally made it back, and you’re not even paying attention to me. I’m going to be upset!” Isabelle’s voice chimed in the background. He was with her. Without a second’s hesitation, he hung up. When fate has run its course, even a final meeting becomes too much to hope for. On the bedside table, my Portrait of a Countryside Girl still hung, as if the fragrance of the fields could seep out at any moment. I flicked the lighter and set it ablaze. The fire licked eagerly at everything in the room, spreading rapidly through the manor. Our marriage, which began with fire, would end in fire. As the flames roared around us, I held Ethan and Lillian’s hands and walked away, not once looking back. Weston, I’ve returned your freedom to you. The fire raged on, consuming everything, even what should have been permanent. I returned to Grandma Lucille’s Homestead. Since her passing, the house had remained untouched, blanketed in layers of dust. Brushing it away, I could almost see her offering me a big, ripe watermelon, urging me to eat. She would slice it in half, and if that wasn’t enough, she’d let me scoop it out with a spoon. Her eyes crinkled with joy as she laughed at the mess I’d make. Now, I lived quietly with the kids, emulating the simple, serene life she had once led. We tilled the weed-choked garden with small hoes, reclaiming the land inch by inch. News reports buzzed with stories of the fire that destroyed Carrington Manor, suggesting that Weston’s wife and their twin children were lost in the blaze. As the inferno devoured everything, Weston was in a hotel with Isabelle. She excused herself, claiming she needed to freshen up, leaving Weston waiting. He knew exactly what her invitation implied. ### Chapter 6 When Isabelle emerged, wrapped in a towel and looking every bit the vision she intended, Weston felt… nothing. As she leaned in eagerly, he recoiled, almost reflexively pushing her away. “I’m sorry, something came up at work. I have to go.” He left as if fleeing a fire, bewildered by his own reaction. Not even in bed with Celeste Monroe had he felt this disinterest. The news of the fire at Carrington Manor stunned him into a rare moment of silence. A pang of regret stealthily claimed space in his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder, if he had been there, would it have changed anything? Yet part of him clung to the belief that this was just another one of Celeste’s manipulations for attention. “She’s always up to some scheme,” he muttered with disdain. Until Margaret Carrington placed the charred remains on his desk. There lay a blackened wedding ring and two half-burned birthday gifts. The ring was their sole connection, one Celeste had never taken off, cherishing it as a lifeline. The gifts were the ones he had sent for the twins, their wrappings untouched, now scorched and ruined. “The fire started in the bedroom. It looks like she set it herself and locked the door from the inside. No one could have survived that.” Weston’s breath caught in his throat. “Are you saying she chose not to escape, that she stayed to die with the children in our home?”

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The day Vanessa Carter’s first love, Marcus Delaney, returned to the States, I set fire to our Wedding Manor. Apart from the twins she bore me, I took nothing else. Years ago, when she was gravely ill and in desperate need of a kidney transplant, I unhesitatingly donated mine. But she always believed I schemed to marry her by any means necessary, ruining her relationship with Marcus. Now, I’ve given up and faked my death to leave. Yet when she learned of my supposed death, it shattered her. ### Chapter 1 Thanksgiving is a time for family reunions, and it also marks the twins’ birthday. After much pleading from Noah and Ava, Vanessa finally agreed to come home for the celebration. When she offhandedly mentioned she wanted homemade food, I pushed through the fever gnawing at me and made a table full of dishes. Now, the food sat cold, and the twins refused to leave the table, clutching their birthday cake, eyes wide and hopeful. Vanessa never came. Dizzy and with my head pounding, I forced down a handful of fever-reducing pills before heading out. I knew where she was. Whenever she felt unsettled, she sought solace in conversations with her closest friends. The courtyard of The Carter Estate was lit by soft garden lights, and I spotted Vanessa drinking and laughing with her friends. “Marcus is coming back, Vanessa. What about that man you married, Liam Westfield, and the twins? How do you plan to deal with them?” My hand froze mid-knock, suspended between decision and regret. Vanessa’s flawless features, caught between light and shadow, looked tense. “Divorce. He’ll take the kids. Marcus doesn’t need the complication.” Her response was cold and definitive, though I’d expected it. If it hadn’t been for her grandfather’s deathbed demand that she marry me, Marcus would never have disappeared overseas. Vanessa protested our wedding by vanishing herself. An unwelcome son-in-law and a bride who fled on her wedding day—overnight, I became the town’s laughingstock. We spent a year after that apart. Then, a reckless night led to the birth of our twins. The moment they were born, Vanessa rejected them, snapping at the nurse to take them away without so much as a glance. They were, after all, reminders of her betrayal of Marcus, her true love. When she agreed to come home for the twins’ birthday, I foolishly thought that the icy exterior might finally be thawing. Amid the silence, one of her friends spoke up. “Your husband’s been good to you, Vanessa. Even after his family’s downfall, he used his connections to secure resources for you. He hasn’t even fully recovered from his health issues and still drank with clients until he bled internally to help build your company.” That was quickly countered by another voice. “Please. Vanessa could have done just as well without him. If that spineless man hadn’t pushed his kidney on her out of some misguided sense of heroism, her grandfather wouldn’t have forced her into marrying him. She and Marcus lost years over it.” “A kept man acting like he’s still the elite heir he once was—she should’ve ditched him ages ago.” A sharp pain twisted in my chest as Vanessa’s cool voice cut through. “Enough about him. More drinks.” Another friend smirked and spoke in a teasing tone. “Liam was quite the catch back then. Since you’re not keeping him, why not share with the rest of us? Like hiring a model for a night?” Laughter followed. Vanessa said nothing, only tipping back her glass of champagne until it was empty. ### Chapter 2 My life has always felt like a series of wrong turns, veering wildly off course, always headed into a blizzard. I first met Vanessa at the Annual Philanthropy Gala hosted at my family’s estate. Back then, I was the heir of the powerful Westfield family, and Vanessa was just a small start-up owner who had tagged along on a friend’s invitation. Among the items up for auction were my own paintings. Wealthy attendees bid fiercely, eager for a chance to align themselves with my family. But only one young woman stood in the corner, captivated by the artwork itself. The painting was titled “Mother,” my most cherished piece. When I caught her teary-eyed gaze, Vanessa stepped back, her expression vulnerable. “Mr. Westfield, your work is beautiful, but I can’t afford it.” A spark fluttered in my chest and roared into a wildfire. I later learned that Vanessa’s parents had died young, leaving her to be raised by her grandfather. That painting struck a chord with her, so I gifted it to her, beginning a six-year infatuation. Despite her aloofness, Vanessa never outright refused me, letting my hopes linger. I believed I could win her over with sincerity. I connected her with top industry opportunities, watching her company thrive. But when my family collapsed, I was the sole survivor, left only with my living body. Ignoring Aunt Helen’s desperate pleas, I donated my kidney to Vanessa. The complications nearly cost me my life, forcing me to abandon my art. Mr. Carter, aware of how indebted their family was to me, coerced Vanessa into marrying me as his final wish. She couldn’t refuse, but only on the condition that I marry into her family. I discovered after our marriage that the husband she longed for was always Marcus. Her heart’s only allegiance was to him. That Thanksgiving, Vanessa returned home drunk for the first time. I only meant to help her to bed, but she pulled me close, her grip tightening like a serpent. “Kiss me,” she whispered. In that moment of weakness, I made a mistake. When dawn broke, she slapped me, eyes wet with rage. “Was marrying me not enough for you? You had to stoop to this? Pathetic.” From the start, it had always been wrong. I should have left then. ### Chapter 3 I dragged myself back to The Carter Estate, the prison that bound me and Vanessa together. The twins were awake, clinging to my legs. “Dad, did Mom come back?” They dashed to the front door, their faces falling when they saw it was empty. Noah’s cheeks flushed as he burst into tears. “Does Mom not want us anymore?” My heart clenched in unbearable pain as I knelt to hold them. “Dad wants you. Would you come with me?” I couldn’t tell them that their mother didn’t want them, that we were obstacles to her happiness. Ava, wise beyond her years, patted my shoulder. “Don’t be sad, Dad. Wherever you go, we go.” Once I finally got them to sleep, I stumbled into the bathroom and let the cold water wash over my face, masking the relentless tears. The sound of the water drowned out my sobs, preserving the last shred of my dignity. They had never known a moment of joy as my children. Vanessa had tried to terminate the pregnancy repeatedly until the doctor warned that it would render her infertile. She relented only because she wanted to have Marcus’s child one day. When the twins were born, she turned away in disgust, demanding the nurse take them away. I played the roles of both father and mother, raising them alone. In public, she denied their existence. When they called her “Mom,” they were met with reprimands. They were her children, yet she treated them worse than strangers. Each time they asked when she would return, I conjured up another flimsy excuse until even they lost faith and said, “Dad, you’re always lying.” Leaving would be our salvation. That night, as if remembering a forgotten promise, Vanessa returned. I was packing when her voice, cool and laced with alcohol, cut through the silence. “What are you doing?” I turned to face her, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Couldn’t sleep. Just tidying up.” The alcohol lingered on the air, and the chill from the open window sent a shiver down my feverish body. Suddenly, she leaned in, her voice soft, almost pleading. “Stay with me, Marcus.” She was so drunk she mistook me for him. Before I could react, she pressed her lips to mine, her taste sweet with the tang of champagne. Her hands fumbled at my shirt buttons with an urgency that betrayed her restraint. I recalled her friend’s derisive words echoing in my ears. “Like hiring a male model for a night.” ### Chapter 4 Humiliation and pain crashed over me like a tidal wave. Unable to hold back, I pushed her away. “If you wanted Marcus, you should have never agreed to marry me. Why put us both through this torment and resentment?” “I’m still a man, and no amount of love can take away my dignity.” Vanessa’s eyes cleared, now tinged with anger and something unreadable. I ignored her and resumed packing. She grabbed my wrist, her touch faltering when she felt my skin burning. “You’re running a fever? What kind of man are you, unable to even care for yourself?” When she tried to check my temperature, I recoiled. A click of her tongue, exasperated. “So you went looking for me. What did you hear?” It didn’t matter anymore. Everything came pouring out. “You think Marcus left the country because you married me? He left because he was afraid you’d make him donate his kidney!” “How dare you speak of him that way!” Vanessa grabbed a glass from the table and hurled it at me. I didn’t flinch, letting it shatter against my forehead. Shards fell to the floor, mingling with my blood. To her, I was like that glass—a vessel for her fury, disposable when shattered. Blood blurred my vision, but I thought I saw her hesitate, reaching out before pulling back, expression as cold as ever. “You wanted me home, and now I am. That’s all there is to it.” Her heels clicked as she walked away, fading into the night along with whatever remained of my heart. The next morning, after she sobered up, Vanessa sent her assistant to deliver birthday gifts for the twins. The packages sat untouched by the door. Noah scowled. “It’s not even my birthday anymore. What’s the point?” Ava, indignant, chimed in. “We used to want Mom to come home so she could be with Dad. But now, if Dad doesn’t want her, neither do we.” They were so young yet so careful, burdened with a maturity that broke my heart. “Dad, where will we go?” Ava’s tiny voice asked as I stroked her head. “To Grandma Eileen’s old home in Vermont,” I replied. The once-grand Westfield Estate had been sold long ago. The only place left was my grandmother’s house in the rural town. My mother had often begged Grandma Eileen to move to the city, but she always refused, too attached to her home. So we would spend our summers there, surrounded by the chirping of birds and the gentle murmur of a nearby stream. “There are no amusement parks or skyscrapers, but there’s the sound of birds and a little brook.” The twins wrapped their small arms around me, silencing the rest of my words. “With you, Dad, anywhere is perfect.” ### Chapter 5 Lately, Vanessa and I have both been busy. She’s been preparing for Marcus Delaney’s return, while I’ve been making plans to take the twins and leave. Vanessa was always the one in control, so if I wanted to leave, I had to prepare carefully. Even though Noah and Ava said they didn’t need their mother, the night before we were set to leave, I found them staring longingly at a photo of Vanessa. After hesitating, I dialed her number. When she answered, her voice was as cold and impatient as always. “What is it?” “The kids want to see you one last time. Will you come home?” Would she come back for a final goodbye? “Vanessa, if you’re too busy, I’ll head back overseas. I guess I wasn’t that important after all.” Marcus’s voice interrupted from the background. “Vanessa, if you’re busy, I’ll just head back. Seems like I’m not that important.” Vanessa’s tone shifted to reassurance. “You are important. He’s nothing.” The call ended abruptly. Even a final farewell was too much to ask when fate had run its course. The painting I gave her still hung by the bed, a reminder of the day she’d shed a single tear over it. I struck a match and set it aflame. The fire raced over the room’s flammable surfaces, spreading until it devoured the entire Wedding Manor. Our marriage, which began with that painting, ended with it. The flames roared behind me as I led the twins out, not looking back. Vanessa, I’m giving you the freedom you always wanted. The fire was fierce enough to turn anything, even memories, to ash. I took Noah and Ava to Grandma Eileen’s old home in the quiet tourist town where travelers often passed by. Since her passing, the house remained untouched, layered in dust. Wiping it away, I could almost see her smile, holding a watermelon in her lap, urging me to eat with a grin that deepened the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. I tried to live like Grandma Eileen did, with a peaceful simplicity, teaching the twins how to pull weeds and make the yard our own. I planned to turn this place into a small DIY craft shop, selling handmade items to the town’s visitors. The news reported a fire at The Carter Estate, with Vanessa Carter’s husband and their twins suspected dead in the blaze. As the flames swallowed the mansion whole, Vanessa was at The Magnolia Grand Hotel with Marcus. Marcus, back from abroad and not fully prepared, grinned slyly as he announced a run to the pharmacy for their night’s supplies. Vanessa knew exactly what he meant. ### Chapter 6 After Marcus left, Vanessa pressed her hand to her chest, testing her heartbeat. Oddly, there was no thrill, no rush. Her pulse was calm and steady. When Marcus returned and tried to pull her into a kiss, she instinctively pushed him away. “Sorry, something came up at work. I have to go.” She left quickly, not fully understanding why she felt that way. The truth was, on that night with Liam Westfield, she hadn’t been drunk enough to mistake him for Marcus. The alcohol had only dulled her inhibitions, making her crave his presence, wanting to be so close they were indistinguishable. The regret the next morning drove her to put the blame on him, knowing he would accept it as he always did. When Vanessa first heard about the fire, she was stunned. A flicker of remorse crept in, unbidden. She wondered if this might not have happened if she’d gone home that night. But she brushed the thought aside, convinced it was just another of Liam’s desperate ploys. The man had always been pitiful, willing to do anything to win her back. “What trick is he trying to pull now?” she muttered with disdain. Her doubts shattered when her assistant brought in items recovered from the scene. One was a charred wedding band—Liam’s. He treated it as sacred and never took it off. The other items were two half-burned gifts, the ones she had sent for the twins’ birthdays. Unopened, now ruined by flames. “The fire started in the bedroom, and it looks like he set it himself. The door was locked from the inside; no one could have escaped.” Vanessa’s legs wobbled. “You’re saying he chose not to escape, that he stayed inside with the children to die in our home?”

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Because I challenged my wife’s untouchable “white knight,” she sent me to the Crawford Research Institute as an experimental subject. She said I was too consumed by jealousy and needed a small punishment. I was injected with unknown substances, force-fed drugs, given spoiled food, and beaten. After a year of inhuman torment, as she wished, I became obedient. She came as scheduled to pick me up, standing high above, staring at me coldly: “Have you learned your lesson?” A shudder rippled through me as I hastily dropped to my knees, admitting fault: “Master, I’ll be an obedient dog.” But she broke down. ###The harsh sting of slaps yanked me out of unconsciousness, the beeping of monitors a constant background noise. I curled up, my body pulling at the festering wounds, stinking of infection, each movement igniting a pain so intense that even a moan refused to escape my lips. I knew it was time for another injection. Needle marks covered my arms so densely that I couldn’t feel them anymore. I was too weakened by the pain to resist. “Not dead yet? If not, wake up—it’s time for your shot.” The man withdrew his hand, a mocking grin stretching across his face. A pair of sharp pincers dug into one of my open wounds, twisting mercilessly. I screamed, raw and primal. Another set of pincers stabbed into a different gash, silencing me instantly. I choked back the scream that had barely left my mouth. These monsters once told me that the louder I yelled, the more eager they’d be to torment me, pushing until I nearly died. Once, after being injected with an unknown serum, the pain felt like my insides were being torn apart. I screamed uncontrollably. Seeing my frenzied reaction, they grew more excited, injecting me with multiple substances until I passed out from the agony. They’d throw water on me to wake me up and then douse my back repeatedly with boiling water, calling it “artistic expression.” My back would blister, seeping thick, yellow pus. My teeth were knocked out long ago during slaps, and my hearing had been nearly destroyed. After that, I never dared scream again. No matter how excruciating, I swallowed my cries, praying silently, “Pass out soon. If I pass out, I won’t feel the pain.” “Look at you, clinging to life like a pathetic rat!” The man scoffed and kicked me hard in the wound, causing my breath to hitch and my face to go pale. Laughter erupted around me. “Still not dead? Just as we thought—worthless!” “Yes, yes, I’m nothing, just a lowly creature at your mercy,” I knelt and pleaded, echoing their words. Only when I played along did their mood improve, sparing me worse torment. After a year in this place, I’d grown used to such humiliation. When I first arrived, I was proud, defiant. I fought back, clashing with them. But a few enforcers pinned me down, tying me to the experimental table, injecting me with all manner of concoctions. I was force-fed drugs and even live insects. My stomach wrenched with pain every day. Over time, the relentless torture broke my spirit, turning me into an obedient tool. I knew these men were sent by Vanessa Hale, who watched over me through them. It was all her doing. She called me unruly and said I needed to be taught a lesson for challenging Marcus Sterling. So, she sent me here for “discipline.” And so, I endured inhuman abuse. ###

But this time was different. One of the guards pulled out a phone—I recognized it as mine, confiscated when I first arrived. “Your time’s almost up. You finally turned into the obedient dog Vanessa wanted. She said you could talk to her. She’ll be here soon.” The call connected quickly, her voice coming through, cold and void of emotion. “Zachary Monroe, after all this time, do you look forward to coming home?” Tears of relief ran down my face as I dropped to my knees. “Yes, yes, I can’t wait! If you tell me to go east, I won’t go west…” “I’m finally going to escape this place!” Vanessa seemed satisfied with my response and ended the call. The guards, knowing I was about to leave, seemed disappointed that their entertainment was over. They cracked their knuckles and spoke of a send-off. I was stripped and hung upside down at the entrance of the Crawford Research Institute. Every employee who passed by marked their arrival by lashing me with a whip laced with salt and chili powder. The deeper the welt, the bigger the bonus they received. They etched designs into my skin with surgical blades, calling it borderless art. When I passed out from the pain, they revived me with electric shocks, starting the torture all over again. I became nothing more than their toy. The day Vanessa Hale came to get me, they dressed me in the same clothes I wore when I arrived, wrapping my wounds in thick bandages to prevent blood from soaking through. After a year, I finally saw daylight again. I stumbled out of the building. Vanessa stood by her car, dressed impeccably, smoking a cigarette. When she saw me, her expression turned cold. “It’s been a year, Zachary. Have you learned your lesson?” The moment I heard her, I fell to my knees instinctively, knocking my forehead on the ground. “I was wrong, I’ll never go against you again, or Marcus. I’ll do anything you say.” I was terrified she’d send me back here. A fleeting look of surprise crossed her face before a smile appeared. She nodded approvingly. “Not bad. It seems this year wasn’t wasted. You’re obedient now.” “Keep it that way, or back here you go.” At those words, I hit my head on the ground harder, the impact splitting the skin, blood trickling down my face. Vanessa’s eyes showed a hint of disgust. “Get up. Don’t you care that the ground is filthy?” I didn’t. In this place, they’d force me to drink vile black serum, swallow live rats, and choke down concoctions teeming with bacteria and viruses. The mere memory made me retch. Unable to help it, I vomited in front of Vanessa, yellow-green bile mixed with blood spilling onto the ground. Eating those things had left my stomach writhing with pain daily. My body was now just a vessel of poison, ready to burst beyond repair. I sat by the car window, ashamed and distancing myself from her, afraid that my stench would offend her. Her expression softened. “What’s wrong? Stomach bothering you?” ###

Stomach pain was an understatement; my stomach had been corroded and ruined by what they had fed me. I knew all too well the number of times I had vomited blood. “You’ve changed a lot. Looks like sending you there was worth it,” Vanessa Hale remarked as she sat nearby, observing my compliant behavior. My body trembled instinctively. At the Crawford Research Institute, daily beatings were routine. They locked me in with pythons, just to see how much a human could endure before being devoured. If my reactions weren’t up to their expectations, they would escalate to electric shocks, rinse my eyes with pepper spray, burn my chest with searing irons, or let flesh-eating bees sting me until I passed out and needed resuscitation. The mere thought made me shudder, leaving me too scared to even consider disobedience. Perhaps noticing my fearful demeanor and the blood still clinging to my lips, Vanessa’s gaze softened. Her voice lost its harsh edge, turning into a gentle reprimand. “I sent you there to learn discipline, not to destroy yourself. Look at you now, your stomach is in shambles.” She reached out to cradle my face. To me, the gesture was as terrifying as a death sentence. I flinched, nearly losing control, and dropped to the floor, pleading. “Please, don’t hit me! I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll do whatever you say—just don’t hurt me again.” I was like a pitiful dog, desperately begging for her mercy. I wouldn’t dare desire my master anymore. When I was first sent to the institute, they warned me: never look at Vanessa Hale that way again—she belonged to Marcus Sterling. Back then, I was defiant, taking pride in the bond we shared, refusing to bow to anyone. The first round of beatings didn’t break me, nor did the second. But when Robert Lang, her trusted bodyguard, injected me with that vile black serum, my spirit shattered. Under their creative and unending torture, I became an object—a thing to be used and discarded. What right did someone like me have to get close to Vanessa Hale? Her outstretched hand froze midair, her eyes glimmering with anger and confusion. She stared at me, searching for answers in my face. I could only lower my head, unable to meet her eyes. A dog has no right to make eye contact with its master. I understood that well. Yet, Vanessa seemed even more infuriated. Why? Isn’t this what she wanted? To my surprise, instead of taking me back to Hale Estate, she drove me to Sterling Enterprises. Throughout the five years we had been together, she had never allowed me to set foot in that place. Even when I offered to visit, wanting to show support and deliver lunch to assert my position over Marcus, she had shut me down with cold finality. But now, she was taking me there willingly. The company was hosting a product launch, and the employees lined the halls, clapping as we arrived. Marcus Sterling stood front and center. He handed me a bouquet, his smile warm and welcoming. “Welcome back, brother.” That smile sent an icy wave down my spine, my legs trembling uncontrollably. I had seen that face too many times at Crawford Research Institute. Each time, he brought new, creative ways to torment me. The staff at the institute replicated his ideas, filming my screams and delirium as entertainment. “Hmm, not brutal enough.” “What about roasting his back until it oozes, then sprinkling chili powder on it?” “Dead rats are good, too. Should taste interesting.” They’d openly discuss the next method of torture, with no hint of remorse. ###

Vanessa Hale sending me to the Crawford Research Institute as an experimental subject was all because of him. I was her latest fascination, but Marcus Sterling was her “white knight,” holding a permanent place in her heart. So, she believed every word he said. Marcus narrowly escaped a car accident that almost disfigured him. He accused me, claiming I had cut his brake lines simply because his car was parked at the Hale Estate for a couple of days. Important documents went missing from his office, derailing a crucial business deal. The next day, those same documents mysteriously appeared in my room. A few days later, Marcus, with a noticeable limp, approached Vanessa and claimed it was all my doing. He said I had even hired people to beat him up, leaving him near death, almost taking him away from her forever. Vanessa didn’t hesitate; she believed him without question. She froze all my bank accounts and confined me to a room under round-the-clock surveillance. I couldn’t step outside, not even for the bathroom, without being watched. I was furious. It felt like a violation of my basic dignity. When Marcus showed up, gloating and smug, I grabbed a vase and threw it at him without thinking. I never expected him to stay rooted, making no move to dodge. The vase hit him squarely on the forehead. Blood trickled down slowly. The surveillance cameras captured everything in perfect clarity. For the first time, Vanessa Hale lost her composure. Her face was a storm of rage, but her hands were gentle as she touched Marcus’ bleeding head, before rushing him to Mercy Hill Medical Center. This time, there was no defense I could make. Vanessa listened to Marcus’ suggestion and sent me to Crawford for “training.” “You’ve really let me down this time, Zachary. I hope that when you come back, you’ll understand your mistakes,” she said, disappointment written all over her face. In the lab, I endured two brutal beatings before Marcus himself showed up. He ordered the guards to inject me with that black serum and forced a three-day-old dead rat into my mouth, making me swallow it. Then he lifted the mask off one of the guards. I knew that face well. It was Robert Lang, Vanessa’s personal bodyguard—and once mine. So, Vanessa had known all along. I felt my resolve disintegrate, my spirit crushed, leaving me an empty shell. My brokenness drew stares, and Vanessa’s expression grew displeased. She leaned in, whispering in my ear, “Zachary Monroe, I thought you’d changed, but you’re still the same. Do you want to go back to ‘training’?” Fear gripped me, and I almost dropped to my knees. But I realized we were standing at the entrance of Sterling Enterprises—I couldn’t embarrass her here. I swallowed my instinct and stayed upright. To Marcus, the whisper appeared intimate, and a shadow of jealousy darkened his face. He walked up quickly, pulling me into a strong embrace. But it wasn’t just an embrace. He squeezed my wounds with enough pressure to make my teeth clench, cold sweat trickling down my back. I didn’t dare react. Screaming meant punishment—it was instinctual now. Years of torment had hardwired that into me. “It’s all in the past now. Let’s make amends,” Marcus said, extending his hand. I hesitated, and Vanessa slapped my shoulder hard. “What’s wrong with you? He’s offering peace, and you’re standing there like a fool?” Her slap landed right on a painful spot. I felt the blood seeping slowly under my shirt, concealed only by the black fabric. The stumble didn’t go unnoticed by Marcus. He stepped closer, a sly smirk on his face, and punched me in the chest. “Looks like your training paid off, brother. Your chest is as solid as steel—it even hurt my hand,” he said, pretending to massage his knuckles. A muffled groan escaped my lips as I suppressed the pain. My chest, wrapped tightly in bandages, still bore the remnants of four broken ribs from the institute. Vanessa noticed my slight reaction and shot me a sharp glance. “Enough with the act. Get in, now,” she commanded. I followed her unsteadily. This was Sterling Enterprises’ luxury swimwear launch. Models in swimsuits strutted down the runway, showcasing the latest designs. A mischievous coworker called out, “Hey, I heard Mr. Monroe’s been training for a year. I bet he’d look better in a swimsuit than those models! Why not have him show off?” The crowd erupted with cheers. The playful culture of the company often saw employees and even executives participating in shows like this. Panic surged through me. Taking off my shirt meant exposing the network of scars covering my body. Would Vanessa really go that far? To my horror, after a moment’s contemplation, Vanessa agreed. Seeing my reluctance, she cast me a look of disdain before leading me backstage. Marcus, now visibly rattled, stepped in to intervene. “Vanessa, he doesn’t seem too eager. Why not let it go? You know my physique isn’t bad either!” he added, throwing in a wink. But Vanessa wasn’t swayed this time. “Marcus, stay out of this. He trained for a year; I need to see if it made a difference. He’ll be taking over eventually.” With that, she led me back toward the stage. No one saw the fleeting look of jealousy and worry that crossed Marcus’ face. Vanessa’s hand was as soft as I remembered from our early days, back when she confessed her feelings and gave me the hope I had clung to. But now, the warmth only felt suffocating. The memories of a year of torment stripped any comfort they once held. I clenched my fists, yanking my hand from hers. Her expression darkened with irritation. “Zachary, what’s your problem?” “This isn’t for you; it’s to pave the way for the future. Didn’t you once say we should face everything together?” For a moment, a touch of tenderness returned to her eyes. But I was trapped, whispering, “Shouldn’t it be Marcus standing with you for that?” Vanessa’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I would never—” Before she could finish, I dropped to my knees, bowing my head. “Please, Ms. Hale, I’m just a lowly dog. I’m not worthy of you. Let me go.” “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have crossed Marcus. My jealousy was my downfall. I’ve paid for it. Treat me like the garbage I am and throw me away!” Vanessa’s eyes flared with anger. “Zachary Monroe, I didn’t send you to that place to come back as a broken man. Looks like you’re hopeless.” Her words struck a strange note. Was she saying that sending me there was supposed to be for my good? How absurd. Suppressing the bitter taste rising in my throat, I continued my act. “Yes, yes, I’m worthless. Marcus Sterling is the one worthy of you.” Before I could finish— “Enough, Zachary! You’re insufferable!” I staggered behind them, trying to keep up. This was Sterling Enterprises’ launch event for their new luxury swimwear line. The runway was full of models clad in sleek, high-end swimwear, showcasing the latest collection. Suddenly, one of the more mischievous colleagues shouted, “I heard Mr. Monroe’s been through a year of intense training. From the looks of it, his chest muscles put the models’ to shame. How about Mr. Monroe tries on a swimsuit and gives us a show?” The room erupted in laughter and chatter. Marcus Sterling’s confident expression faltered for the first time, his smile fading. Terror gripped me. Stripping down would mean exposing the web of scars that crisscrossed my body. Would Vanessa Hale really push me to that point, tearing away even this final shroud of dignity?

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Two cars collided, and I, along with another pregnant woman, was rushed into the maternity ward. “This patient’s water has broken, she needs emergency care! Quick, get a family member to sign!” Just as I was about to be wheeled into the operating room, I quickly said, “My husband is busy, I can sign myself!” Before I could finish, the other pregnant woman’s husband rushed up, covered in blood and panic-stricken. “Save her first, she’s in worse condition; she has a heart condition!” Despite his blood-streaked face, I recognized him immediately. Dr. Samuel Hartley. My husband. “I’m Dr. Samuel Hartley from Midtown Medical Center. Trust my professional judgment,” he announced confidently. I reached out to him, only for him to push my hand away sharply. “But this patient’s water has already broken,” someone argued. Samuel cast a brief glance my way. “She won’t die. I’m her husband; I can sign the waiver.” The car accident had happened so suddenly, leaving the hospital staff overwhelmed and short-handed. The surgery slot, initially set for me, was quickly redirected because my husband, the highly regarded OB-GYN at Midtown Medical Center, had made the call. Trusting his judgment, they postponed my surgery. As my gurney was pushed aside, Samuel didn’t spare me even a glance. His focus was entirely on Lila Whitmore, his expression a mix of concern and devotion. “Don’t worry, I’ll personally handle your surgery once the paperwork clears,” he whispered to her, his voice laced with a tenderness that stung my heart. Lacking an available bed, I was left in the hallway, forced to watch as he lavished care on someone else. The other patients around me were surrounded by anxious loved ones, arms offering support. But my source of support had been granted permission to help someone else—his ‘goddess.’ He passed by me, pausing for a moment but never turning back. His words echoed coldly as he walked away: “You’re not going to die. Trust my professional judgment.” I didn’t know how long that surgery took. Exhaustion overcame me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep. When I was woken up, a flurry of medical staff surrounded me. “The patient is experiencing acute amniotic fluid embolism! Contact the blood bank immediately!” “Where’s Dr. Hartley? He’s the only one in the city who’s handled this before! We’re not equipped for this!” The rush of footsteps and urgent voices filled the corridor as male nurses wheeled my bed at a breakneck pace, offering reassurance. “Don’t worry. Your husband is the most renowned OB-GYN in the city. He’s handled amniotic fluid embolisms with a 99% success rate. You’re young and strong; you’ll make it.” Bright white lights flooded my vision as I was wheeled into the operating room. Amid the chaos, I heard data about my vitals being read aloud. “No! Her oxygen levels are dropping too fast; she won’t last much longer! Where is Dr. Hartley?” My attending physician’s hand was icy as he gripped mine. “Dr. Hartley finished Lila Whitmore’s surgery and left… said she wanted soup, and he was going to make it for her himself,” a nurse stammered. “Call him!” “No answer…” “The baby! There’s no heartbeat! The mother’s losing consciousness—she won’t hold on!” My attending doctor squeezed my hand with conviction. “As long as I’m responsible for you, I won’t give up. You need to fight, too. Notify Pediatrics—we’re saving both mother and child.” I blinked weakly. If someone in this world wanted me to live, I had to try. Trainee doctors scrambled to reach Samuel, while my attending physician led a team of specialists in a race against time. Bags of blood were brought in, used up, and replaced, as beads of sweat gathered on the doctors’ foreheads. The weight in my chest felt unbearable. Suddenly, one of the interns held up my phone triumphantly. “Dr. Hartley’s calling back!” The speaker was activated, and the whole room heard his voice, sharp and impatient. “Morgan! Where’s your delivery bag? You won’t need it anytime soon, so I’m taking it to Lila.”

I saw my attending doctor’s frown deepen as he handed his tools to the senior physician beside him. He approached the intern and took the sanitized phone. “Dr. Hartley, your wife is experiencing an acute amniotic fluid embolism. We need your expertise immediately to help save her,” he said firmly. The call disconnected with a cold series of beeps. “What’s wrong with him? Ignoring his wife to cater to someone else?” an angry voice burst out. “Some ‘expert’—he’s just a total jerk!” I couldn’t help but smile faintly at the truth in his words. Realizing the potential effect of his outburst, my attending doctor looked apologetic. Through the fog of anesthesia, I managed a silent glance that said it was okay. Because he was right. But that fleeting understanding gave way to a deep, gnawing despair that swallowed the last remnants of my resolve. “Patient’s oxygen is plummeting! Request more blood from the bank!” Riverside Community Hospital began urgently requesting blood from across the city, and news of the embolism spread quickly. Just then, a doctor from Midtown Medical Center entered the room, a familiar face who had handled such cases with Samuel. “Can you believe it? Dr. Hartley’s wife is giving birth here too. I happened to come by and rushed over to help.” Dr. Hartley’s wife? My attending physician instinctively looked at me. Samuel’s colleague, already experienced from assisting him before, took charge smoothly. The tension began to ease, and a light conversation ensued. “I saw Pediatrics bring the newborn back earlier—a chubby little boy,” he remarked. “Strange, though, no dad came to see him. Is she a single mom or something?” The attending doctor cleared his throat. The oblivious doctor continued. “Odd, considering Dr. Hartley’s wife is just down the hall. Why isn’t he here? You’d think he’d prioritize helping his own wife deliver.” Before anyone could respond, an intern snapped, “Dr. Lee, the woman in front of you is Dr. Hartley’s actual wife, Morgan Bennett.” Dr. Lee chuckled dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worked with Samuel for years. His wife is Lila Whitmore—not this Morgan person.” “Great,” the attending doctor muttered as my previously stable vitals began to nosedive. “We’re not joking; this is Dr. Hartley’s wife. Your careless words just drained whatever willpower she had left.” Dr. Lee smacked his forehead. “I thought you were all kidding!” Just then, the faint cry of a baby echoed in the room. “Bring the baby to the mother,” my attending doctor directed Pediatrics. I strained to open my eyes and saw a tiny, purple-tinged baby. Despite everything, a smile tugged at my lips. He was so ugly, resembling Samuel in every way. But I couldn’t help loving him—a visceral, uncontrollable kind of maternal affection. After a grueling, day-long battle and over 500 units of blood, I survived. Once out of the ICU and transferred to a regular room, the postpartum nurse, Mrs. Evelyn Carter, arrived looking uncomfortable, holding a used diaper. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. Dr. Hartley insisted I help Ms. Whitmore first. I couldn’t refuse…”

I was about to respond to Mrs. Thompson when I heard Samuel Hartley’s voice from the hallway. “Mrs. Thompson, hurry up! The baby spit up again, and Lila’s too weak to hold him.” The door to my room swung open, and Samuel stood there, momentarily taken aback. Our eyes met, and he spoke with a nonchalant tone. “Our son is still in the incubator, so we don’t need Mrs. Thompson for now. I’m letting Lila use her. I assume you don’t mind.” “Oh, and I called your parents to come take care of you. I’m too exhausted from looking after Lila to take care of you too. I hope you understand.” As he finished speaking, a few of his colleagues arrived, their arms full of gifts. “What are you doing here? Lila needs you!” one of them said. “What’s wrong with Lila?” he asked instinctively, already moving toward her room. His colleagues followed, leaving Mrs. Thompson in the room with a confused look on her face. “You’re really Dr. Hartley’s wife, right? Isn’t Lila just a friend? Why does everyone call her ‘Mrs. Hartley’?” she asked, puzzled. I chuckled. “It’s probably just a misunderstanding.” Mrs. Thompson threw her cloth onto a chair in frustration. “He can’t correct them? He just lets people believe it? Seems to me Dr. Hartley wants everyone to think Lila is his wife.” Anyone unfamiliar with Samuel would see his intentions clearly. Lila Whitmore had been his unattainable college crush. He never dared to confess, but everyone knew he was infatuated. If it weren’t for that alumni gathering, I wouldn’t have realized that even someone as proud as Samuel could act so humbly. When faced with Lila, he would always look down, unable to meet her gaze. His old college friends would joke with the newly divorced Lila, saying, “If you’d accepted Sam’s confession back then, you’d be the wife of Midtown’s top OB-GYN now, not someone else.” And I, that “someone else,” would sit quietly at the table, cutting my steak. Samuel’s college friends never liked me. They saw me as the obstacle between him and Lila, the reason their “goddess” was alone. Samuel seemed to agree. After the reunion, he became distant, using work as an excuse. He would come home once a week at most and even stopped attending my prenatal appointments. But he appeared regularly in Lila’s Instagram Stories, painted as her “good friend.” Lila never denied the assumption that she and Samuel were together; she’d just smile and let it pass. Samuel was the same way. He seemed to enjoy people believing that the beautiful and charismatic Lila was his wife. We had argued about this once. He said, “The truth speaks for itself. I don’t need to prove anything. Respect my right to have friends.” Whenever Lila showed even a small hint of affection, he would leap forward eagerly, like an obedient dog. But with me, he assumed he was my best option. He believed that before the baby, I needed him, and now with the baby, I needed him even more. It made him increasingly audacious. What he failed to understand was that I wasn’t like him. I wasn’t going to be a loyal dog that would always come back for scraps. Lila’s room was right next to mine, and a steady stream of visitors, including Samuel’s colleagues and Dr. Mason Wright, who’d helped with my emergency, went in and out. “Samuel! What you’re doing is disgusting! Your wife isn’t Lila, and yet you don’t correct anyone. We’ve all been calling her ‘Mrs. Hartley’ for so long, and it was humiliating when I realized that we got it wrong while saving your actual wife,” Dr. Wright’s voice boomed through the thin walls. Samuel was silent for a while before replying, “I never told you to call her that. You chose to.”

“Can’t you just say she’s your classmate? Your wife just survived an amniotic embolism and barely made it, yet you’re here taking care of Lila Whitmore without even checking on her? Aren’t you afraid she’ll leave you?” Dr. Mason Wright’s voice was sharp as he tried to push Samuel Hartley toward my room. Samuel slammed the door shut, his face cold. “Afraid? I’d be relieved if she left. She chased me relentlessly for years, holding on like I was her last hope. Now that she’s finally married to me and has a kid, she won’t go anywhere,” he said with a mocking laugh. “She’s not like Lila. Lila has heart problems, she’s frail. Morgan’s an athlete; an amniotic embolism is serious for most, but to her, it’s nothing.” “Are you serious? You’re supposed to be an expert in obstetrics! Don’t you know how high the mortality rate for an amniotic embolism is?” “Remember the athlete who died last year during surgery? She was in perfect health. But she still died from an embolism in under half an hour. Morgan’s just lucky. Maybe fate took pity on her because she married someone like me,” Samuel sneered. Dr. Wright’s frustration was palpable. Samuel didn’t even step inside the room. Instead, he sent me a transfer of $20,000 with a curt message to take care of myself. I blocked him and deleted every way to contact him. Later that night, my attending physician visited to let me know that a local news station wanted to interview me. Surviving an amniotic embolism was rare, with a survival rate of only 1%. “Don’t worry, it’ll be a brief interview. Executives from Midtown Medical Center and other major hospitals will be present. It’ll be good for you.” “Okay.” I agreed readily. On the day of the interview, Samuel showed up, dressed in a tailored suit, mingling with the crowd as he recounted how challenging the surgery had been. Dr. Wright stood to the side, looking drained and silent, while several hospital executives looked at Samuel with admiration and dropped words of praise. “Operating on your own family is something no doctor should have to do. But Samuel here had to choose between his wife and unborn son. It takes a strong heart to face such pressure and achieve a perfect outcome,” one executive praised, glancing approvingly at Samuel. Samuel walked up to me. “You know this is a big chance for my promotion. It’s all set up because of this. Don’t mess it up. Just say I performed the surgery, and don’t mention anyone else,” he said, ruffling my hair like he used to. But he quickly wiped his hand, as if noticing for the first time that I hadn’t washed my hair since giving birth. The interview began, but my attending physician was blocked from entering by the hospital staff. A reporter handed me a microphone. “Ms. Bennett, surviving such a life-threatening condition must have been an incredible ordeal. What would you like to say about it?” I paused, holding the microphone firmly. “I want to thank the doctors who never gave up on me, even when I was ready to give up on myself.” The reporter’s eyes lit up, glancing between Samuel and me. “Which doctor would you say you’re most grateful to?” they asked. I saw Dr. Wright turning to leave and quickly pointed to the door. “My attending doctor and the team at Midtown Medical Center…” All the cameras turned to Samuel, who stood ready with a prepared speech. But I continued, looking elsewhere. “…and especially Dr. Mason Wright.” The room erupted in whispers. Samuel’s eyes widened as he looked at me, fumbling with his phone to text me, only for his face to darken when the message wouldn’t send. Dr. Wright looked stunned, almost on the verge of tears. “Anyone else?” the reporter pressed, looking uncertain. I smiled. “Yes. I also want to thank my husband.”

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“Eliza, would you come with me?” The wedding hall fell into complete silence as I stood there, stunned, with the ring halfway onto Eliza Monroe’s finger. Her long-lost love, Julian Hart, stood up yet again, shouting across the room at her. “Eliza, I’m here to take you away. Will you come with me?” Without a moment’s hesitation, Eliza pulled her hand away from mine, lifted her dress, and walked gracefully toward Julian. Tears glistened in her eyes, filled with an emotion I hadn’t seen before, as if Julian were the one she was meant to marry today. And there I stood, the actual groom, under the glaring spotlight, reduced to nothing more than a clown in a suit. With conviction, Eliza extended her hand to Julian, her voice ringing loud and clear for everyone to hear. “Julian, I will!” ###It couldn’t be more evident. Eliza Monroe, the woman I loved, had been swept away by her long-lost love, Julian Hart. But I didn’t feel angry. Instead, there was a strange sense of inevitability. After all, this was the third time in a month that my wedding had been interrupted by Julian. I let the ring fall from my hand, its imprint digging sharply into my palm. No one moved to stop them—not even Douglas and Vivian Monroe, who sat unmoving at the head table. I just stood there, watching their little drama unfold. The first time Julian crashed our wedding, I was furious. I shouted at him with every ounce of rage I had. This was supposed to be Eliza’s and my day. I had planned it meticulously, and I couldn’t let him ruin it. Red-eyed, I rushed to tackle Julian, intent on stopping him from stealing the woman who’d promised to be my wife. But our relatives blocked my path. Julian, standing protectively beside Eliza, smirked and said: “See? He flies off the handle at the smallest thing. He’s bound to hurt you one day.” “Be glad I’m testing this for you. Otherwise, think of how much you’d suffer in the future!” In that moment, the crowd turned against me. Their whispers painted me not as the groom but as the villain. The voices surrounding me scolded me, saying it was just a test, and I had overreacted. It ended with me handing out a few hefty checks, and Eliza reluctantly agreeing to marry me again. The second time, I didn’t shout. I didn’t lose my temper. I fell to my knees, holding Eliza’s dress, pleading with her not to leave. I loved her, and I recounted every single reason why. Julian pointed at me, disdainful. “Pathetic. You think you can manipulate Eliza with this show of weakness? You’re just a coward. What do you bring to the table besides clinging to her?” Once again, I was judged and condemned. Everyone there was one of Eliza’s friends or relatives. I had no family—no one to stand by me. The verbal onslaught came from every side, and Eliza simply nestled into Julian’s embrace, a sweet smile on her lips. Anger wasn’t enough. Begging wasn’t enough. Everything I did was wrong. So, I chose to do nothing. I stood in silence, watching. Julian’s voice cut through the room once more. “See? Blake Carrington doesn’t even care enough to fight for you. How could you marry a man like that?” “He’s failed all three tests. He’s not worth marrying.” Anger failed. Pleading failed. Indifference failed. What do you want me to do? Eliza’s eyes flicked back to me, and she threw the bouquet at my chest. “Blake! What are you doing just standing there? I’m being taken from you!” “You don’t care at all, do you? You never loved me!” Her expression was a mixture of rage and frustration. But I merely brushed off the flowers clinging to my suit, straightened my tie, and walked toward the emcee, taking the microphone from him. “Eliza, go. This wedding is over.” ###

When I finished speaking, the entire wedding venue fell into silence. Everyone assumed Eliza Monroe had me completely under her control—that no matter what she did, I wouldn’t end things. Eliza snapped out of her shock quickly, her eyes narrowing in rage. She grabbed a champagne glass and threw it at me, soaking my custom suit, one I had bought specifically for this day. “Blake Carrington, have you lost your mind?” she shouted. “How dare you say the wedding is off? You’ve got some nerve!” “You didn’t even pass a single test, and now you say something like that?” Tests? A single wedding costing tens of thousands of dollars. Dresses, photography, the emcee, flowers, venues. Three weddings, costing millions in total. I laughed bitterly. Every cent came from me. “Oh, so they were tests, not real weddings? Fine.” “All three weddings came to four hundred fifty thousand. Pay it back—can you do that?” Eliza’s face fell. She couldn’t possibly pay it back. Every dress, every piece of jewelry she owned—I paid for. The house her parents lived in, the car they drove, even their jobs at my company—they all came from me. She wouldn’t be able to come up with that money, no matter what. The luxurious life Eliza enjoyed was funded solely by me, but none of that mattered to her. Instead, she doubled down, eyes blazing as she grabbed another glass and hurled it at me. “Spending money on me is a privilege!” “What do you have besides a pile of cash? You think that will tie me down? And now you dare to demand it back? I’ll make you regret it!” With that, she stormed out, wedding gown trailing behind her, and Julian Hart followed close, casting a triumphant smirk my way as they exited. I watched them go, a hollow feeling taking root in my chest. Five years of love, and this was who she really was. I glanced down at the wedding band still pressed into my palm, its outline sharp against my skin, and finally, the tears fell. Eliza and Julian had been together before. When her family fell from wealth, Julian had walked away. That’s when I came in, loving her fiercely, supporting her through everything. When she accepted me as her partner, I thought my love had won. Then Julian came back from overseas, ruining everything in an instant. Eliza fell for him again without a second thought. She stopped caring about me, my objections—everything except my money. She only cared about Julian. She used my love as a pawn for his gain, trampling over my feelings and dignity. The relationship had been decaying for a long time. I’d just been too naive to see it. I reclaimed the money I had given to her parents as a bride price and told the emcee to clear the guests from the hall. I changed out of my soaked suit, grabbed my car keys, and prepared to head home when one of Eliza’s relatives grabbed my arm, sneering. “Blake, so when’s the next wedding?” he said, laughing at my expense. They thought it was a joke—that I would never truly leave her. I said nothing, walking straight to my car. There wouldn’t be another wedding. ###

I drove back to my house, determined to remove every trace of Eliza Monroe from my life. The house was filled with memories—proof that at one point, there had been love between us. As I looked around, my mind drifted back to my childhood. I was an orphan, with no family to care for me, scavenging for food on the streets. One day, I found a scrap of meat and held it up, triumphant. Suddenly, a starving dog lunged, grabbing it from me. Desperate, I fought it, wrestling the animal with everything I had. I sat against a dumpster, bruised and bleeding, chewing on what was left of that meat while watching children pass by, holding their parents’ hands and laughing with candy in their grasp. I wished I knew what that tasted like. A little girl in a princess dress noticed me. She let go of her mother’s hand and came over, holding out a piece of candy. “Here, this will make the pain go away,” she said, her smile radiant, angelic. That smile and that moment stayed with me, etched deeply into my heart. Years later, in college, I saw a woman who looked like the grown-up version of that little girl. Her name was Eliza Monroe, but she was already with Julian Hart. I buried my feelings, never daring to hope. When her family lost everything and Julian left, I stepped in. My company, Carrington Holdings, was just taking off, and I used every dollar I had to help her family. Her parents invited me to dinner, and that night, they sent Eliza into my arms. I knew they were after my money, but I had enough to spend a lifetime, and I was willing to use it for the woman I believed to be my angel. No matter what they wanted, I complied. I believed that if I loved her enough, I could take Julian’s place in her heart. I saw her as my sun, blinding myself to reality. But today, reality burned me to the core. I looked around the room, filled with remnants of our time together. Tears fell once more. I remembered the day we bought this house. Eliza had stood next to me, wearing a mask, her wide eyes sparkling as she gazed up at it and talked excitedly about the future. I had thought I’d won her heart completely. But she had probably been thinking of Julian even then. My phone buzzed with an alert—a hotel charge. Eliza didn’t have her own card; every expense went through mine. I knew exactly where she was: at The Grand Union Hotel, still in her wedding gown with Julian. Just hours earlier, I had been holding her hand, asking her if she’d marry me. How could the angel I once adored have turned into this? I sank onto the sofa, hands over my face, as tears came once more. Three days later, after packing up all the reminders of our relationship, I sat in the now-bare living room, waiting for the moving truck. The front door opened unexpectedly. Eliza walked in, laughing with Julian, their happiness like a knife in my heart. ###

Eliza froze when she saw the empty room. She pulled away from Julian, storming up to me. “Blake Carrington, what do you think you’re doing? Haven’t you caused enough trouble at the wedding?” she snapped. “How dare you turn our house into this? Are you out of your mind?” Julian, ever the actor, chimed in with mock regret. “Eliza told you, those weddings were just tests. I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been so concerned for her.” He shifted the blame neatly onto me, painting me as the unreasonable one. I stared at them, the smirk barely hidden on Julian’s face and the superiority in Eliza’s eyes, and I laughed. “Let me guess, I’m supposed to beg for your forgiveness?” “Should I apologize for being humiliated and then apologize again for the inconvenience?” Eliza didn’t catch the sarcasm, nodding as if satisfied. “If you’d just apologize properly, we might be able to work this out,” she said, looking me up and down before adding, “But like this? Never.” “Blake Carrington, we’re going to file for divorce tomorrow.” Eliza had used the threat of divorce before, and each time, I’d caved for the sake of love. Not this time. Julian, sensing my silence, egged me on. “See? He’s too proud, too weak. Can’t even apologize for his wife.” I chuckled, the absurdity of it all finally sinking in. If Eliza had been my wife in the true sense, I would have apologized for anything. I’d fought stray dogs for scraps; there was no humiliation I couldn’t endure. But she wasn’t my wife. She had just come from a hotel room with Julian, her face still flushed from whatever they’d done. And they expected me to apologize. “Fine, you want an apology?” I said, eyes locked on hers. “Tell me, Eliza, where were you these past two days?” Her face paled, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on her brow. She knew that without me, she was nothing. She tried to sound fierce. “I was at my parents’. What, I can’t visit them when I’m upset? At least Julian cares enough to check on me. Have you ever done that?” Even now, she was trying to manipulate me, turning my love against me. I pulled out my phone and held it up for her to see. “Look closely. The hotel room charge is right here. Still want to lie to me?” She slapped the phone out of my hand, shouting, “Hotel? I don’t know anything about that!” “Blake, if you’d just come to your senses, maybe I’d forgive you! Even if you leave, you’re leaving the house and the dowry. That’s my compensation for wasted years.” Compensation? For what? Since we started dating, she hadn’t spent a single cent of her own. Now, millions in wedding expenses down the drain because of Julian’s provocations, and she dared to demand money from me? I reached into my bag, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted, and tossed them at her feet. “Here’s your compensation.” “Trash belongs with trash. I hope you both have a long, miserable life together.”

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Patrick Monroe took me to a party hosted by a beautiful lady named Caroline Bishop. While eating a piece of cake, I bit into a cherry hidden in the filling and immediately spit it out. I had once nearly died from breaking out in hives after eating cherries, so even at my young age, I knew that taste too well. Caroline looked disappointed and said, “Just like finding a coin in a New Year’s pastry for good luck, I hid a cherry in the mini cake as a special treat. I didn’t think Charlie would be so ungrateful.” Before I could explain, Dad shoved me outside into the yard as punishment. Mom always told me that with the temperature over 100 degrees, I should stay indoors and not run around. So this is what hot weather feels like. My skin felt itchy, and it was getting hard to breathe. I wanted to find Dad, but no matter how much I knocked, he wouldn’t open the door. Through the glass patio doors, I saw him glance coldly at me before looking away, refusing to let me back inside. When Mom found me using the GPS on her smartwatch, I was lying on the ground, my skin covered in red, itchy hives. Dad was nearby, still muttering, “Your son is just spoiled by you! No manners at all, spitting food on the table when there’s a trash can right there. Can’t even accept a simple gesture. He’s just like you…” Mom, furious, slapped Dad and then scooped me up and ran to the hospital. I hovered above, watching everything unfold quietly. I hated Dad. He never cared about Mom or me. Yes, I was dead. So this is what death feels like. Was old Mr. Thompson next door floating like this when he passed last year? I didn’t see him then, so could it be that Mom and Dad can’t see me now? But I could see them. I watched Mom holding me, crying desperately as she waited for an ambulance. Then she pleaded with the doctor to save me. The doctor stared at a screen and sighed. Three flat lines, perfectly still. Mom rushed around, doing everything by herself, as I watched “me” being wheeled into a small chamber. Later, a man handed Mom a small urn. She sat on the curb, clutching that urn and staring blankly at the traffic until night fell and she finally went home. In bed, she would sob into her pillow or stare at the ceiling in silence. I lay beside her, trying to pat her like she used to do when she put me to bed. But I could only watch as my hand passed right through her. I screamed, startled, but Mom didn’t react. She lay there, unmoving, so I got up and walked to the half-finished building blocks we’d been playing with. I tried to finish building it, but my hand went right through the pieces. I tried turning on the TV to watch cartoons, but that didn’t work either. So I went back to the bed to lie next to Mom. At least being there in silence wasn’t so bad. But wasn’t Mom hungry? She didn’t get up to eat. I missed Mom’s honey-glazed chicken wings! But I was dead, which meant I’d never have them again. I counted to the third day, and Mom finally got up. She looked at her phone. No messages. I was dead, and despite Mom’s sadness, Dad hadn’t called even once. Do other dads act like this too? I watched as Mom took a stack of papers from her nightstand. I recognized the big words at the top: Divorce Agreement. That document had been in her nightstand for as long as I could remember. She’d often glance at it, then look at me, and put it back. Finally, Dad came home. He stormed into the living room and began yelling, “Your son is so rude! Caroline put so much thought into hiding that cherry in the cake—it was a sign of good luck—and he just spit it out! Then he learned to complain to you when I made him stand outside!” “And you! That was Caroline’s house! She asked why you were there, and you didn’t even answer before barging in and pushing her!” “Can’t you act civil? Did you know Caroline fell and cut her hand because of you?” Mom listened, expressionless, maybe because his words couldn’t hurt her anymore. Ever since Caroline had reappeared in our lives, Dad had grown increasingly impatient with Mom, saying things that hurt her deeply. I wanted to tell him, “I’m already dead. Isn’t that enough of an apology to Caroline? Can you stop blaming Mom now?”

When Mom didn’t respond, Dad’s voice rose again, “I’m talking to you! Are you deaf?” “Do you know how embarrassed I was when you slapped me in front of everyone?” “Your son’s awful behavior comes straight from you! He’s nothing like Caroline’s daughter!” He got up and started towards my room. “I’ll raise him myself from now on. I won’t let you turn him into a spoiled brat!” Mom stepped in front of him, smirking sarcastically. “You remember Charlie is your son? You always call him ‘my son, my son,’ and I thought he was just mine. Fine then, let’s get a divorce.” Dad scoffed at the papers in front of him. “You’ve got to be kidding. This marriage was something you begged for. Now you want to end it just like that?” Mom sighed, exhaustion written all over her face. “Yes. You don’t love me or Charlie. Let’s stop torturing each other. Sign it, and you can be with your ‘one true love.’ What’s stopping you?” Dad shoved her hand away, making her stumble. “You’re crazy! You barged into her home, and Caroline was kind enough not to press charges. Otherwise, that would’ve been breaking and entering! Your son learned from you—no manners at all. I made him stand outside, and he acts like he’s dying.” “And you indulge him, then come at me with this divorce nonsense. What’s in your head?” Mom’s voice shook with rage. “What’s in mine? What’s in yours? Did you know Charlie is allergic to cherries?” “The first time he ate one, he broke out in hives and couldn’t breathe. There was a cherry in that cake—why wouldn’t he spit it out?” “I had to save my son—why wouldn’t I burst in? If Caroline hadn’t stopped me… maybe Charlie…” Tears started streaming down Mom’s face again, and I wanted to hug her, to comfort her like she always did for me. Dad just scoffed, even chuckling dryly. “Oh, please. A cherry? That’s nothing. An allergy? Next, you’ll tell me he’s allergic to air.” “How would I not know if that happened before? You’re always using him as a way to control me. You think you wouldn’t have told me if that had happened? You’ve got quite an imagination.” “Other kids aren’t allergic. Why is our son the fragile one? Today, I’m going to fix this.” “All he does is cry and whine. Anyone would think he was dead already!” With that, Dad went to the kitchen, grabbed the cherries he had brought home a few days ago, and headed for my room. Mom watched him, shaking her head, and sat back down on the couch, silent. Caroline loved cherries. Every time Dad came back from her place, he brought a bag of them “for us to share.” They would sit until they rotted, and Mom would throw them out. If Dad caught her, he would scold us for wasting a thoughtful gift. Every time, Mom reminded him that I was allergic, but he never believed it. Once, when Mom wasn’t home, Dad had ordered a cherry smoothie and tried to force me to drink it. He muttered, “Your mother keeps saying you’re allergic to cherries. I don’t buy it. She’s just refusing Caroline’s goodwill.” In desperation, I bit him, and he let me go, shoving me to the floor and kicking me a few times before leaving. Cherry juice was everywhere—on the floor, on my clothes.

I didn’t want Mom to worry, so I mimicked what I’d seen her do and put my clothes in the washer, then mopped up the mess. When she came back and saw I’d changed, she asked why. I blushed and lied, saying I’d had an accident. She laughed at me for days over that. Dad, of course, wouldn’t find me in my room now, because “I” was already in a little urn. He glared at Mom. “Helen, you’re crafty, aren’t you? Hiding the kid before bringing up divorce.” “You have no money, no job, no background, and you know you wouldn’t win custody. You’re trying to hold on to him to keep me close, huh? Want money, is that it? How sly can you get?” “Fine, we can divorce, and I might even give you a little something. But Charlie stays with me.” Mom listened to his cruel words without saying a word. Then she stood up, grabbed her packed bags and my urn, and walked out without looking back. Dad shouted after her, “Go! Get as far away as you can! If it weren’t for my parents, I’d never have married you. Don’t come crawling back!” Even though I knew Dad couldn’t hear me, I shouted at him, “I don’t want to go with you. I want Mom! You’re a bad dad!” I then ran to catch up with Mom, leaving that hateful place behind. Mom used to tell me stories before bed, including how she and Dad met. She probably thought I was too young to understand, but I remembered every detail clearly. Mom and Dad had known each other since childhood. Their families were close friends, and they had been engaged from a young age. Later, Mom’s family suffered financial ruin. Grandma and Grandpa, unable to bear the blow, passed away one after the other. Patrick’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, took in my mom, who was still in middle school, and insisted that the engagement be honored. At first, they were too young to grasp the concept of marriage, so they just went about their days eating, laughing, and playing together as close friends. But when they reached college, Dad fell for Caroline Bishop. Caroline, however, didn’t feel the same way. She was in love with her professor, a married man in his forties. She even followed him abroad. Dad wanted to follow her. Mr. and Mrs. Monroe were furious and confined him to the house, forcing him to marry Mom. Mom said she never really loved Dad. She had been cherished and protected by her parents and later by Patrick’s parents, never facing hardship—a flower in a greenhouse. If she didn’t marry him, she wouldn’t have known where to go or what to do. Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe had raised her with the sole hope of her marrying Patrick. She couldn’t turn her back on that. Mom thought that, at the very least, their childhood bond would allow them to live as respectful partners. But Dad grew to resent her for it. He thought Mom had been after the family’s wealth and feared that if he married someone else, she would no longer benefit from the title of fiancée or Mrs. Monroe. He was convinced she had tattled on him and begged Mr. and Mrs. Monroe to push the marriage. To him, she was the one who had stopped him from pursuing his love, separating him from his true happiness. From what I could remember, Dad hardly ever came home. Especially after Caroline reentered his life, every visit ended in a bitter argument. Mom and I moved into an apartment that Mr. and Mrs. Monroe had signed over to her before their deaths. Maybe they foresaw this day and wanted her to have a place of refuge. The small apartment was cozy. Mom placed “me” in a corner on a low cabinet. I heard her speaking to me, “Charlie, I’m sorry I couldn’t take better care of you these past few days. I’ve been so overwhelmed. I’ll find you a resting place soon, okay?” I nodded, but remembering she couldn’t see me, I felt a wave of sadness. Mom would never see me again. We’d never bake cookies, build towers with blocks, or share bedtime stories… I followed her as she searched for a cemetery. Mom picked a spot high up on a hill where we could see the amusement park in the distance, with its giant Ferris wheel turning slowly. Just as she was about to sign some papers handed over by a manager, her phone rang. It was the property manager at Maplewood Apartments, telling her someone had forced their way inside. Mom rushed to grab a cab back. Mark Sanders, the property manager, and James Turner, the security guard, were held back by a few large men. Inside, Dad’s voice roared, “How hard is it to search a few rooms? Where is he?” Mom hurried into the room. “What do you think you’re doing?” Patrick Monroe stood with his hands in his pockets, glaring at her. “Good, you’re here. Hand over Charlie. I’m taking him to apologize to Caroline.”

Mom stared at him in disbelief. “Patrick, all this because Charlie spit out a cherry he’s allergic to? You won’t let it go? He’s your son!” Dad waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t have a son like that. A kid who’d endanger someone’s life! When I find him, he’s getting the punishment of a lifetime!” I shouted, “I didn’t do anything wrong!” Even though I was young, I knew bad people hurt others, and I wasn’t a bad person! But Dad couldn’t hear me. Mom was so angry, she wanted to strike him. “What nonsense are you talking about? Charlie’s too young to hurt anyone!” Dad, as if struck by a sudden thought, pointed at her. “That’s right! You must have put him up to it. A kid like Charlie couldn’t get acid on his own. It had to be you who told him to throw it at Caroline!” Mom, furious, grabbed a decorative vase by the door. “Throw acid? When? Where? Do you have proof? If you dare accuse my son, I swear we’ll go down together!” “Yesterday morning. Caroline was at Riverside Mall when a kid fitting Charlie’s description splashed acid on her. The security footage caught the whole thing!” Dad pulled out his phone, opened a video, and tossed it to Mom. I stood on tiptoe to look with her. The footage matched Dad’s claims. But I had died days ago—how could it have been me? Dad saw Mom’s silence as confirmation that she recognized me in the video. He crossed his arms, speaking with a condescending tone. “It’s undeniable, right? Charlie is my son. I wouldn’t mistake him. Hand him over, and I’ll take him to apologize to Caroline. With my relationship with her, she’ll forgive him. That way, the Central Police Department can close the case quietly. If the police come, it’ll be a whole different story.” “It’s not me! That’s not me, bad Dad! My shirt had a tear on the pocket, and Mom patched it with a pink pig sticker. The kid in the video doesn’t have that.” I reached out to hit Dad, but my fist just passed through him, hitting nothing but air. Mom, however, smiled coldly, eyes full of mockery. “Fine. Let’s wait for the police.” Dad’s face darkened. “Helen, don’t push your luck.”

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One day, I heard some strange noises coming from my mother-in-law’s room. I thought my father-in-law had come home. Little did I know, my mother-in-law was actually having an affair! My mother-in-law was confident I wouldn’t dare reveal this, and continued to treat me rudely! But a few days later, my mother-in-law was suddenly diagnosed with AIDS! And her affair partner had died… It was the height of summer, and the cicadas were chirping loudly outside. I rolled over groggily in bed, but was jolted awake by a stinging pain in my fingertip. Feeling irritated, I finally woke up fully. Today had been such an unlucky day. In the afternoon when I went grocery shopping, some mischievous kid had apparently stuck a needle in the seat of the shared bike I used. I got pricked when I sat down. Then when I got home, my mother-in-law criticized me for not buying the right groceries. In my flustered state, I accidentally cut my hand while cooking. The cicadas outside were getting louder and louder. Having lost all desire to sleep, I decided to get up and use the bathroom. As soon as I stepped out of my room, I heard intense female moaning coming from my mother-in-law’s bedroom. I could even faintly make out the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. I was startled. Looking more closely, I saw an old pair of men’s leather shoes in the entryway. The shoes were quite worn, with traces of dirt still on them. It must be my father-in-law who had come home. My father-in-law was often away on business trips. Even though my mother-in-law lived alone, she always kept up her appearance. She even had a more complete collection of makeup than I did. It was understandable that my father-in-law couldn’t resist her charms. Not wanting to linger, I quickly ducked into the bathroom. When I came out, my mother-in-law’s voice hadn’t quieted down at all. In fact, it had become even more uninhibited. Too embarrassed to stay outside any longer, I hurried back to my room without even getting a drink of water. Looking at the pitch-black room, listening to the moans that even the closed door couldn’t fully muffle, I suddenly felt a strange emptiness inside. I also couldn’t help but wonder – Daniel and my father-in-law both worked at the same research institute. They usually came home together from work trips. Why had only my father-in-law returned this time? The warmth on the other side of our double bed was long gone. Outside, the cicadas gradually quieted down. I drifted back to sleep. The next morning, I purposely woke up extra early. Sometimes my father-in-law had to leave in a hurry for work. Worried he might have another urgent assignment, I specifically got up early to make breakfast. Although my mother-in-law and I didn’t get along well, my father-in-law had always been kind to me. The relationship between my mother-in-law and me was largely mediated by my father-in-law and Daniel. I was very grateful to my father-in-law. After I had set all the breakfast dishes on the table and turned to get my mother-in-law’s soy milk, I heard her start yelling from outside again. “Other people’s daughters-in-law are frugal homemakers. But look at you, making such an extravagant breakfast! People from the countryside really have no sense!” My anger instantly flared up. I was abandoned at an orphanage as a baby and adopted by a kind couple in the countryside when I was 10. After graduating college, I came to work in the city and married my husband Daniel. After marriage, Daniel and my father-in-law were often away on business trips. My mother-in-law used the excuse of poor health to force me to quit my job and be a full-time housewife. I gave in to her wishes, but her criticisms didn’t stop there. In the years since, things were okay when Daniel was home. But whenever he went away for work, my mother-in-law would find endless faults with me at home, saying I just ate without doing any real work no matter what I did. I walked out of the kitchen and set down the milk forcefully, about to argue back. But then I caught sight of my wedding ring, and the anger slowly dissipated. Although my mother-in-law had always looked down on me, I could see how much Daniel cared for and loved me over the years. Moreover, before he left last time, he told me to wait just one more month. Once he finished his current work, he would take me to move out and live on our own. I took a deep breath and patiently explained: “I didn’t mean to make so much food. I just heard Father-in-law come home last night, so this extra portion of breakfast…” Before I could finish speaking, my mother-in-law suddenly stood up, grabbed the glass of milk I had just set on the table, and splashed it in my face. “You little hussy! You haven’t even given our family a child yet, and you’re already trying to manipulate me? Let me tell you, you’d better behave yourself. Otherwise, I’ll make Daniel kick you out of this house sooner or later!” Over the years, my mother-in-law had inexplicably given me a hard time before, but she had rarely been this directly aggressive. I stood there stunned for a moment. My mother-in-law sat back down smugly, picking at the breakfast as if she had just won a victory. I gritted my teeth and swallowed my anger. Forget it. In just one more month, Daniel would take me to move out. There was no point in burning bridges with my mother-in-law now. I suppressed my anger and went back to my room to change clothes. Behind me, I heard my mother-in-law let out a cold snort, as if she was certain I wouldn’t dare do anything to her.

By the time I changed and came back out, my mother-in-law had already left. The breakfast table looked like it had been hit by a bomb. I kept telling myself there was only one month left before we could move out. After cleaning up the table, I went to tidy up Daniel’s clothes. The weather had turned colder lately. Daniel had only packed seasonal clothes when he left last time. I was worried he might catch a cold. After a busy morning, I had just finished making lunch when my mother-in-law called. “Have you made lunch yet? Hurry up and bring it to the club.” Before I could say anything, she had already hung up. My mother-in-law had been treating me like the family’s maid for years. But for Daniel’s sake, I still packed up lunch for her. I barely had two bites myself before rushing off to the club. “You’re so slow even just delivering food. What else can you do?” My mother-in-law glared at me as she took the lunchbox. The aunties next to her couldn’t help speaking up for me. “Margaret, your daughter-in-law is already very good. She even brings you lunch every day.” My mother-in-law ate big mouthfuls while glancing at me sideways with a cold smile. “She’s just a country bumpkin from some village. She’s living off my son’s money. Bringing me lunch after eating her fill first – that’s nothing special!” By this point, I was no longer listening to what my mother-in-law was saying about me. Because I had spotted those familiar old men’s leather shoes with traces of dirt – the ones I saw in our entryway last night. They were now on the feet of Mr. Johnson standing next to my mother-in-law! The person in my mother-in-law’s bedroom last night wasn’t my father-in-law at all, but Mr. Johnson who often played at the club with her! My mother-in-law was brazenly having an affair at home! “What are you staring at? Didn’t you hear what I said?” My mother-in-law slammed down the lunchbox. Her tone was fierce, but her eyes couldn’t quite meet mine. My mother-in-law shoved the lunchbox at me. “Forget it! I’m sick of looking at your face! Hurry up and get out of here!” I took the lunchbox and stumbled home in a daze. I never imagined that my mother-in-law, with her strong traditional values, would actually have an affair! This was Daniel’s mother after all. It wasn’t my place to deal with this. But Daniel’s greatest wish was for family harmony. If I told him about this, who knows what kind of storm it would stir up in the family. I don’t know how long I sat lost in thought. The sky outside had already grown dark when my phone suddenly rang. It was a video call from Daniel. I answered the call and saw his handsome but clearly exhausted face on the screen. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. “Honey, I got the clothes you sent me this morning. I hadn’t even noticed the weather changing. You’re always so thoughtful.” I managed a weak smile, but Daniel sensed something was off. “Honey, did something happen at home? Or did Mom say something to you again? You look so troubled.” Once Daniel said that, I felt even more guilty. But I still forced myself to deny it: “No, everything’s fine. Don’t worry about things here, just focus on your work.” I had barely finished speaking when I heard the sound of the front door – my mother-in-law was back. Afraid she might say something unpleasant that would distract Daniel, I quickly hung up the call. My mother-in-law seemed to be in a good mood. She came in humming a little tune. After thinking it over, I decided I should still say something to warn her. “Mother, Father will be retiring and coming home in a few months. Daniel will be transferring back then too. We should all try to live together harmoniously.” I had meant to remind her not to keep messing around with Mr. Johnson. But as soon as I said this, my mother-in-law glared at me with her hands on her hips and started cursing. “Live harmoniously? You dare talk to me about living harmoniously? Our family took in a freeloader like you, and you think we can live harmoniously? Fat chance!” “I saw you acting all sneaky earlier. Don’t tell me you can’t stand the loneliness and you’ve been flirting with some guy online?” My mother-in-law was the one having an affair, yet she had the nerve to accuse me of impropriety? “Daniel has been living at work for so long. If I could get pregnant now, it would most likely be from cheating with another man!” As soon as she heard the word “cheating”, my mother-in-law’s expression changed. She glared at me fiercely before turning and stomping back to her room, slamming the door shut.

I don’t know if it was because my words had struck a nerve, or if she felt guilty knowing I had discovered her affair with Mr. Johnson. But I actually enjoyed a peaceful month after that. My mother-in-law would leave right after breakfast every day. She no longer asked me to bring her lunch. When she came home, she would just lock herself in her room. We barely even crossed paths. On my birthday, Daniel called early in the morning to apologize for not being able to come back due to work. In the afternoon, I received flowers he had sent. The card on the flowers had our favorite poem from college. Reading it brought back all the sweet memories from those days. “You shameless woman! Daniel’s not home, don’t tell me these flowers are from some lover of yours!” My mother-in-law was looking for trouble again, but I wasn’t worried at all this time. “Mom, Daniel had these delivered to me.” Margaret sneered, “Hmph, making my son waste money buying you flowers!” I couldn’t be bothered to argue with her. I picked up the flowers, intending to go back to my room, when she called out again: “You ungrateful girl, you don’t even care that I’ve been made sick from all your nonsense! Hurry up and take me to the hospital!” I immediately became concerned. She had seemed fine earlier – how could she suddenly say she was sick and needed to go to the hospital? “Mom, are you okay? Where are you feeling unwell? I’ll go get the car keys right away!” “What car? Gas is so expensive these days. The hospital’s not far anyway, just push me there in the wheelchair!” My mother-in-law insisted, so I had no choice but to take her in the wheelchair. On the way, she said she had diarrhea and an on-and-off fever. The symptoms sounded like the flu to me, but I didn’t dare take any chances. Elderly people have weaker immune systems after all. If it developed into something more serious, Daniel would be so worried. At the hospital, after hearing about the symptoms, the doctor had an odd expression. He told me to take my mother-in-law for a blood test first. A few hours later, when I saw the test results, I was shocked. It was AIDS.

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The Night I Accidentally Slept with the School Hunk: He Offered Me $30,000 to Do It Again The day before school started, I slept with the school hunk . Morning sunlight spilled across his chiseled abs as he propped himself up, looking at me with an unsatisfied expression. I panicked and stammered, “I’ll give you $20,000, but please don’t tell anyone about this.” He smirked and wrapped his arm around my waist possessively. “How about I give you $200,000 and we do it again?” Chapter 1 You took the initiative last night I threw a party at home and got so drunk that I found myself crying in my best friend’s arms. “You know, my dad secretly picked a fiancé for me,” I wailed. “That means I’m going to marry a man I’ve never even met! What if he’s ugly? Woohoo…” My best friend, equally tipsy, patted my shoulder with sympathy. I felt utterly depressed and kept drinking until two in the morning. After the party, my high school classmates trickled out one by one. As I made my way back to my room, I stumbled and felt someone catch me as I swayed. I looked up to see a handsome, muscular face, his brow slightly furrowed in concern. So… incredibly handsome. At that moment, a sentence popped into my mind: Instead of living an ordinary life with a man you have never even met, it is better to choose a handsome guy, at least he is handsome. So, under the influence of alcohol, I put my arms around his neck and said, ” It’s you , handsome boy, come with me. ” He was stunned for a moment and narrowed his eyes: “Where to?” I hooked my arms around his neck and used all the methods I had seen in my life to seduce men, and tried my best to lead him into the room . I pretended to be casual and said , ” Just come back to my room and chat for a while .” He smiled and followed me obediently. He even supported my waist when we went upstairs. With a bang, the door closed behind me. I shuddered, looked at the chocolate-colored abdominal muscles exposed in front of me , and hesitated. I was drunk just now and my mind was full of thoughts like “I want to rebel against fate.” But now a man and a woman are alone in a room… He took off his clothes completely and put his big hands on my face : ” Why, are you scared?” I have always been a boss lady since I was a child , and I hate it most when people say that I am “scared”. So I stretched my neck to pull his belt: “Who is afraid?” However, my hands slipped, and I accidentally brushed against some parts of his body. He groaned, his eyes darkened, and he grabbed my moving hands: ” Jessica , are you serious?” I was struggling with his belt, sweating and feeling a bit anxious. “What’s the big deal? There’s nothing I can’t handle, including men!” I’m the best at making threats. It’s so easy. Unexpectedly, he suddenly stopped moving and lowered his head dangerously: “You know a lot?” I puffed out my chest: “That’s it.” The next second, the world was spinning. He hugged my waist and threw me on the bed: “Then don’t regret it.” Halfway through , I started to cry out in pain. His whole body was burning, and his voice was hoarse and broken: “I didn’t expect…” I bit his arm. “Shut up!” What are you doing when the sound is so nice? He lowered his head and looked at me lovingly, but his little white teeth were exposed—— I covered my chest and said, “What the hell are you doing?” The man’s eyes were dark as if he wanted to drag me in . A drop of sweat dripped onto my body : ” Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” …The morning sunlight came in, I held my waist and sat up, meeting his deep gaze. His clean, tan skin was in stark contrast to the horrible state of mine. I dressed listlessly. A strong smell of hormones came from behind, but he licked his lips in satisfaction and pretended to wrap his arms around my waist: “Do you need my help?” I jumped away like a frightened bird: “Stay away from me.” He leaned against the bed with his arms around his chest and smiled: “That’s not what you said yesterday.” I blushed at his smile. It was the first time I saw such a handsome man. No wonder I lost control of myself last night due to the alcohol. but– I touched my coat and took out a bank card: “I’ll give you 15,000 dollars. Don’t tell anyone about what happened last night.” The smile on his lips froze for a moment as he squinted his eyes . I stared at him for a moment, and he suddenly sneered, ” Who do you think I am ?” I glanced around and said, “Of course not. This is just hush money.” had paid for it anyway , so I closed my eyes and said: ” It’s not easy for a student to make money. You can get 15,000 dollars just by sleeping. Don’t take advantage of me.” His expression became visibly ugly. Just when I thought he was going to hit me, he suddenly laughed. But this smile looks so gloomy … The boy stood up, approached me, pushed me against the wall, took the bank card from my hand and threw it on the ground. Then he came close to me and said in a very oppressive tone: “I’ll give you two hundred thousand dollars in exchange for sleeping with you again.” Sounds tempting though. But I reluctantly refused: ” You… don’t come over, I’m only doing this to reject the fiancé my dad found for me .” He crossed his arms and glanced at me lazily, emphasizing, ” You were the one who took the initiative last night.” Talking about this brings tears to my eyes. I just wanted to talk a little, but I didn’t expect him to put it into practice. I have already made a big mistake, I can’t make it again. Chapter 2 The freshman representative is him What saved me was a phone call from my dad: ” Jessica , did you forget that school starts today?” I walked to the balcony trembling: “No.” “I’m at the gate of your school,” my dad said, “I want to see you in fifteen minutes.” After saying that, he decisively hung up the phone. When I returned to the room, I found that he was also on the phone. He frowned and looked impatient: “Got it, I’ll be there right away.” After hanging up the phone, he looked at me meaningfully again. I walked over and said, “Um…” The man picked up his coat and said, “Not today, save it for next time.” I:? What is he talking about? “What’s your phone number?” The man walked up to me and fiddled with his phone: “I’ll save it.” I laughed dryly and changed the subject : ” Don’t you have something else to do? I’ll be leaving first. Bye.” “Don’t want to sleep with me?” The man raised his eyebrows and smiled again: “Okay, sooner or later, you will beg me.” … My father’s Rolls-Royce was parked in front of my school, catching the attention of many female college students. I reluctantly opened the car door and got in. My dad glanced at his watch: “Fifteen minutes late.” I answered him expressionlessly, “I had breakfast . You complained that it smelled bad, so I came here after I finished eating.” He frowned and said, “You are late. Your Uncle John and his son just left.” Uncle John is the father of the fiancé my dad found for me . “You don’t want to meet?” I shook my head. My father looked at me and his face began to look unhappy. ” Say that again?! ” He held my credit card in his left hand and a pair of scissors appeared out of nowhere in his right hand… “You don’t want next month’s living expenses?” “Absolutely not!” For a student, living expenses are very important. After a while, I sighed and said in a half-compromising manner , “You decide.” ……. After the busy start of school, there is the freshman party . We were taken to the venue early in the morning . The school leaders spoke passionately on the microphone. I looked at the bright makeup on the girls’ faces and sighed with my roommate, “They are so exquisite.” My roommate lowered his voice and said, “Because this year’s freshman class includes Alan .” I muttered, ” Who is Alan ?” As soon as the voice fell, the host’s voice, raised several degrees, sounded from the radio: “Now, please welcome the freshman representative, Alan, to give a speech.” With thunderous applause, a tall and slender young man walked up to the podium. Even wearing the most ordinary black suit , it is difficult to conceal his masculine temperament and handsome looks, and he stands out from thousands of people. “What the hell?!” I looked at that handsome face and my eyes widened. My roommate said excitedly, “He is Alan , the first handsome guy in the history of our school who was named the school idol because of a photo before he even entered the school. How handsome, isn’t he?” He is handsome. Especially the way he was sweating last night. But now I just want to shout for help. After morning lecture , my best friend came to me from other faculty to have dinner. In the cafeteria, Chloe was stunned when she heard what I said: “You slept with Alan ? He’s the new school idol! ” I quickly covered her mouth and said, “Keep your voice down.” Chloe nodded in understanding and lowered her voice to ask, ” What about the fiancé your dad found for you ?” “What else can I do? He should take care of himself . How can he control me?” “That’s true. I heard you say last night that your fiancé is ugly and weak . It’s not a loss to give your first time to Alan .” I ate my meal in silence. My mind automatically began to recall the scenes of last night. Chloe suddenly poked my arm, ” How was Alan last night ?” I blamed myself for not being naive. I understood what she meant in a second and blushed as I stammered, “Not bad.” “What does ‘not bad’ mean? I heard that tall and broad-shouldered boys are all very capable. Are you kidding me?” I recalled. A face that was almost red: “It’s quite impressive.” “What’s so impressive?” A sexy male voice suddenly came from above my head . In the hot weather, the sound was like a bottle of ice cola . I shivered from the cold . Alan was holding a plate with two boys beside him. The three of them seemed to be passing by. He stared at me with his proud and sexy eyes , with a teasing smile on his lips. I don’t know how much he took Chloe and I into account. I immediately got scared and hid away like a kitten . A boy asked curiously, ” Alan , do you know each other?” I subconsciously retorted: “I don’t know him!” Alan nodded and said, “She said she didn’t know him.” “…” The two of them instantly looked like they understood, then talked and laughed while encouraging Alan to sit down next to me. I lowered my head and ate my meal. ” Are you free this weekend? ” Alan ‘s voice suddenly sounded. I looked up blankly, and the next second, he put two concert tickets in my hands . Chloe covered her heart with her hands, looking as if she had been hurt. Two boys were cheering on the side. My hands holding the chopsticks were unsteady, and I asked Alan , “What are you doing?” Alan said as a matter of course: ” A girl just confessed to me and gave me two concert tickets. I don’t like watching concerts , so you can accompany me .” After that, he narrowed his eyes and asked me, ” You owe me something , so you definitely won’t refuse me, right?” I:…… I think I have to talk to him. Chapter 3 Put on your clothes and let’s talk But before I could invite him, my dad called again. He got straight to the point and said, “The house your uncle John bought for his son near the school hasn’t been renovated yet, so he’ll be staying at your place for a while.” I widened my eyes: “Why?” My dad’s voice was louder than mine: “You two are going to get married anyway , so this is a good opportunity to cultivate your relationship.” He hung up without hesitation after he said that. After a few seconds, my dad pushed the other party’s phone number and social account to me. And the message is: friendly communication. I reluctantly sent the add. The other party passed it in seconds. Without thinking, I sent a message: “Are you there? Look at your face. Send me a photo ? ” After all, I’m a bit of a face-control freak, so if you’re not good-looking, keep your distance. After a few seconds, the other party replied to me: “…” Come on, his reaction clearly shows he must not be good-looking. I didn’t have classes in the evening, so I went back to the apartment early. After heating up the cold pizza from last night and cutting a plate of watermelon, I crossed my legs and comfortably curled up on the sofa to play with my phone . The mobile page is a chat box between me and my fiancée . The message stayed at the address I shared with him. At this time, the doorbell rang.

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