Author: Momo Chan

After discovering that I had a Lucky Charm personality, my adoptive parents sent me back to my biological parents, the Fosters, who are the richest family around. That same day, I was shut out at the door. Rich Foster pointed at my nose, denying that I was his country girl daughter. Becky Foster wasn’t backing down either, claiming I was harboring unrealistic dreams. My brother, Luke, went even further, dragging along a fake heiress to stage a deep sibling bond. I laughed. Looks like the richest man is about to lose his title. The fortune teller said I was a Lucky Charm and also the daughter of the richest man in town. Well, the Lucky Charm part wasn’t wrong, but honestly, I didn’t think my parents had anything to do with Rich Foster. Still, we went ahead and got a paternity test. The results confirmed that I wasn’t biologically related to my parents. My parents—oh, no, my adoptive parents. They acted swiftly, going to the hospital where I was born to question the delivery doctor. After several turns and twists, we finally confirmed—I was indeed switched at birth. This news was as shocking to me as the U.S. men’s soccer team winning the World Cup. So, our family gathered seriously to discuss how to resolve the situation. My adoptive parents meant that, after all, those on the other side were my biological parents, and if I wanted to go back, they wouldn’t stop me. Personally, I didn’t really want to be separated from my adoptive parents. But I did want to meet my biological parents. After much deliberation, I took the hospital’s proof and prepared to meet them. True to their status as the richest family, Rich and Becky Foster lived in the famous Beverly Hills, Los Angeles. I found them and politely explained what had happened, showing them the hospital certificate. Rich and Becky glanced at it and then looked at me with full suspicion. “Miss, forging a hospital seal is illegal. You must be pretty bold to try to climb into a wealthy family like this.” I had anticipated that they wouldn’t easily believe me. So I suggested a prepared solution, maintaining my dignity, “I’m not lying to you. This is the genuine hospital certificate.” “If you still don’t trust me, we can get another paternity test right now. If it proves that I’m not your biological daughter, I can take all the consequences.” Rich and Becky exchanged a glance and finally agreed to take me for another paternity test. On the day the results came out, their two children were also there. Lisa Lawson, the girl suspected of being switched at birth, and my supposed brother, Luke Martin. The scientific results confirmed that I was indeed their child. Upon hearing the results, Lisa immediately covered her mouth and started crying. Rich and Becky immediately went to comfort her, looking heartbroken. Luke stepped forward, blocking her, and looked at me with hostility. “Even if you were switched at birth, so what? We only have my sister, Lisa, as our daughter. You should go back.” Luke looked down at me from the steps, his eyes full of disgust. I opened my mouth to respond, but Lisa had already shouted out with a tearful voice. “I’ve been Lawson’s daughter since I was little, always staying by our parents’ side all these years. How dare you try to replace everything I have with just a piece of paper!” Me: “……” Wait a minute, when did I say I wanted to replace her? “Sophie, whatever you want, I’ll give you, but please don’t take my family away.” She curled up in my mom’s arms, crying pitifully. “I didn’t…” “Sophie!” Rich suddenly interrupted me, “If you came here for money, just name the amount, and we’ll give it to you.” “But it’s impossible for you to accept me back. Our family will always have only Lisa as a daughter!” “I’m not here to ask for money.” I argued weakly. My mom sneered nearby. “You’re not here to ask for money. You’re here to be a wealthy heiress.” She held Lisa in her arms, looking coldly at me. “Sophie, you’re too cruel. You were switched at birth, but our family is doing just fine. Why come back here and disgust us?” I stared at her, unable to believe these words were coming from my biological mother’s mouth. “I’m telling you, Sophie, we will never abandon Lisa to accept you back. Don’t harbor unrealistic dreams!” My father, mother, and brother stood there protectively, shielding Lisa, their eyes towards me like I was an invading enemy. I stood silently across from them, calmly feeling their hostility towards me. After a long moment, I suddenly let out a soft laugh. My adoptive parents became even more guarded, but I took a step back, and politely bowed to them. “First of all, I’m very grateful that you gave me life. After all, without you, I wouldn’t exist.” “Secondly, I want to explain that I didn’t come here to become a wealthy heiress or anything like that. I simply wanted to see what my biological parents are like.” I tilted my eyes, the spark in them gradually turning cold. “Finally, thank you for showing your disdain without even listening to my explanation.” “I won’t recognize you anymore in the future. I hope you won’t regret it.” After I finished speaking, I thought about thanking them for giving me life with a bow, and then ruthlessly turned to leave. Only after I left the gated community did I stop. I turned around, looking towards the Foster mansion with a mocking smile. “Just you wait.” This richest man is about to lose his title soon.

Back home, my adoptive father was tinkering with jade stones, while my adoptive mother was cooking in the kitchen. The rich aroma of the food filled our not-so-spacious house, but compared to the Fosters’ luxurious mansion, it felt much more homely. “Sophie, you’re back.” My adoptive father put down his magnifying glass, smiling at me, “How do you feel?” My adoptive mother peeked out from the kitchen. I looked at them and suddenly knelt down before them, kowtowing three times loudly, “From now on, I’m your biological daughter. No one else can replace me.” Originally, I only wanted to meet the person who gave me life, but now, it was even better. I didn’t need any reason to meet them anymore. I could peacefully stay with my adoptive parents who raised me. The two elders looked puzzled, “Did we bully you?” “They already have a daughter on their side.” I briefly explained the situation with the Fosters, which made my adoptive parents angry, “We’re going to hold them accountable!” I stopped my adoptive parents. “Each family has their own lives; as long as everyone is okay, that’s all that matters.” The Fosters’ disdain for me was already ingrained deep in their bones. I didn’t want my adoptive parents to suffer from their self-righteous, condescending disdain. “Then you…” My adoptive mother, holding a spatula, had a face full of uncontainable pain and worry. I smiled and winked at her, “Unless you and Rich Foster don’t want me anymore, otherwise I’ll stay with you forever.” “You silly child.” My adoptive mother choked up, and my adoptive father nodded contentedly, his eyes also slightly moist. “We will always love you, and you don’t lack their love.” “Yeah, our Sullivan daughter was also spoiled growing up. If the Fosters don’t want her, we certainly cherish her.” They both vied to comfort me, afraid I was upset. But I was fine. I had never had any illusions about the Fosters, so being rejected by them felt just a bit laughable. “Sophie, look at this.” My adoptive father excitedly pulled a box out of the house, pushing it towards me, “Look, look.” Under his urging, I opened the box, inside was a jade appraisal certificate. I was quite confused. My adoptive father dealt with stones, so he had settled our family in the Colorado Mining District. Thanks to his good eye, our home wasn’t lavish, but it was prosperous and comfortable. However, the mining district’s environment wasn’t great, and I loved to follow my father tinkering with stones, so I was always dusty and earthy. Probably why the Fosters called me a country girl. But my father had plenty of such certificates; what was so different about this one? “You remember the big stone I asked you to buy the other day, what do you think is inside?” My father, seeing my confusion, began giving me hints. Thinking back, I remembered that stone was quite large and cost him $200. We had bought it by chance on the way back from the paternity test. With so many things happening, I had forgotten about it. “Emerald?” “Or maybe a diamond?” I guessed a few, and my father nodded and shook his head, confusing me even more. My adoptive mother laughed and scolded him, “You just like to tease Sophie on purpose. Hurry up and tell her already.” “It’s a high-quality ice jade, spring-tinted purple.” My father stopped teasing, his eyes crinkling as he smiled widely, “Sophie, you’re my lucky charm. If you hadn’t insisted on buying that stone, I wouldn’t have.” “There’s plenty of value inside.” Talking about the back, my father was already laughing like a child, “Honey, cook a few more dishes tonight, I want to drink some wine!” My adoptive mother chuckled, giving him a playful look, but still went back to the kitchen to get busy. I was stunned. Could it be that I was truly a Lucky Charm? “Sophie, Dad showing you this is to tell you that our family can also have money.” My father suddenly looked at me solemnly, with a hint of sadness and apology, “I originally thought of letting you live a more affluent life, but the Fosters bullied you. From now on, if other girls have it, our girl will too. We’re not any different from them.” “Dad…” My throat caught, tears welled up. I had never disliked my parents, nor thought our family was any worse than others. On the contrary, I felt very happy. Because my adoptive parents truly loved me. The Fosters, no matter how good they were, lacked familial affection. The people around me had been caring for me meticulously since I was born. Although not blood-related, the bond was deeply rooted in my veins and bones. Besides, I believed our family would definitely surpass the Fosters in the future. It definitely would.

I got into my dream university. During the summer break, I fully utilized my Lucky Charm personality, spending every day with my dad at the mining site, touching every stone I could. Hard work paid off. With my Lucky Charm and my father’s keen eye, none of the stones we sold were a loss. In just one summer, we had already made a fortune. It also attracted a lot of attention. I told my father to take the credit, saying the stones were all his discoveries. He panicked, waving his hands, saying that since I was going to university, he couldn’t find good stones anymore and would be criticized to death. I thought it made sense, letting him be vague was fine, and if not, push it onto me. I am a Lucky Charm, not afraid of determined people messing with me. And I had already decided. I would major in Gemstone Appraisal and Design. With a degree in hand, the Lucky Charm personality wouldn’t be too obvious. When dropping me off at school, my parents had tears in their eyes, looking reluctant to let me go. I hugged them, then smiled at my dad, “When I’m on break, let’s go touch stones together again.” “Okay, okay.” My dad’s eyes were red, and he quickly turned away to wipe his face. My mom choked up, “If you need money, just say so, understand?” “Mom, we have plenty of money now.” The mining site was in the southern region, while I was heading north to Harvard, too far from them. My mom wished she could just hand me all the family’s money. My mom didn’t say anything else, hugged me tightly for a long time, then let go, “We’re watching you go in.” I knew they were worried, so I forced a smile, waved, and dragged my suitcase into the campus. Halfway, I looked back to see them still standing there. I waved, and they smiled and waved back. But both of us couldn’t hold back our tears. Afraid they would worry if they saw me crying, I deliberately sped up my steps, hid behind a tree after a turn, watched them stand outside the main gate for a long time before leaving, and only then dragged my suitcase away. This place was too far from home. No spring-tinted purple, no high-quality ice jade, no year-round warmth, and no loving family. But parting is for a better reunion. After I finish my studies, I will definitely make my parents prosperous and successful!

But I didn’t expect to run into Lisa Lawson in the dormitory. She had already claimed the best bed early on, with cherry-pink curtains and sheets that gave off a celestial vibe. The Fosters were helping her with everything. When she caught sight of me, the Fosters looked surprised, and then their eyes filled with disgust. I was annoyed. I knew how narrow-minded enemies could be, but there was no need for me and Lisa Lawson to cross paths like this. “You really are like a ghost that won’t leave.” Lisa’s mother mocked, “I’ve told you before, the Fosters only recognize Lisa. What’s the point of you following her?” “You want money, right? Thirty thousand is enough? I’ll give it to you.” Richie Foster also spoke up. He frowned as he examined me, then looked away. Disgust was written all over his face. Luke sneered, “Dad, look at how country girl she looks, thirty thousand won’t be enough for her. At least thirty-eight thousand.” Before the sound faded, Lisa covered her mouth and let out a low laugh. I knew Luke was mocking me. Looking at the loving Foster family, I felt a chill in my eyes, “Do I even know you guys?” “Bringing drama wherever you go, who are you trying to annoy?” “Move aside!” I shoved Lisa out of the way, went to her bed, and sneered, “Good dog, don’t block the way, don’t get it?” Since they wanted to compete with me, why should I be afraid of her? “Dad, Mom…” Lisa stopped laughing and started crying and showing her distress. Lisa’s mother quickly grabbed some tissues to wipe her tears and comfort her gently, while Richie Foster glared at me with a stern face, yelling, “Sophie, apologize to Lisa right now!” I laughed at him. Looking coldly at him, “Who are you?” Richie’s face stiffened, and I sneered, “What do you have to do with me, being a stranger?” The Fosters panicked. Lisa’s mother, with a hateful look as if she wanted to tear me apart, “We gave you life, and you dare to be so rebellious!” “I’m sorry, I’m not admitting it!” I glanced at Lisa, who was hiding pitifully in her mother’s arms, “The person who gave you life is hiding in your arms acting pitifully. Don’t try to use your connections to seek a relationship with us, then go back and say I wanted to take advantage of your Foster family.” Lisa’s mother had a fierce look, probably wanting to rip me apart. Realizing this, Richie Foster was furious, “Enough! Really, enough is enough!” He spun around twice on the spot, then glared at me with a harsh expression, as if he could refuse to recognize me, but I had to obey his commands, “If you don’t apologize to Lisa, don’t blame me for teaching you a lesson!” “Why, do you want to hit me?” I stepped back two steps cautiously, and as I said, Luke grabbed his sleeves and rushed at me, “What’s the big deal about hitting you!” “Smack!” The crisp sound like popping a bubble echoed through the small space. The Fosters were stunned. I shook my hand, smiling sarcastically, looking at the red bruises on Luke’s face, “I’ve been handling stones for years, how strong are these hands?” I’m not a delicate girl; seeing someone try to hit me would just scare me into crying on the spot. If they dare to hit me, they should first see if they can beat me. Luke went mad and tried to pounce on me again, but I kicked him in the stomach, sending him back into Rich’s arms. “If you make another move, I’ll call someone.” I coldly glanced at the Fosters, pretending to raise my phone to call the police, but the Fosters reluctantly backed down. However, their resentful looks lingered like shadows. While I was packing my things, if their eyes had any substance, they could have hurt me deeply. “Mom, I’m scared…” Lisa hid in her mother’s arms, sniffling pitifully, tears like pear blossoms in the rain. Seeing her, I felt a pang of sympathy, and Lisa’s mother gently comforted her. Richie and Luke also chimed in to support. I rolled my eyes and suddenly felt incredibly glad that my adoptive parents hadn’t sent me to the dormitory. Otherwise, seeing the Fosters would have made me uncomfortable. After setting up my bed, the Fosters decided to rent a place near the school to live and accompany Lisa. The reason was simple: they feared I would harm Lisa. I just laughed at their plan. With our family’s joint effort, our assets had already started to double. Who would care about the Fosters’ meager holdings?

The Fosters had all rented places outside the campus, and I thought Lisa would move out too, but she stayed behind. However, I didn’t bother to pay her any attention. I came to Harvard for a better future and had no time to argue with her. But evidently, Lisa didn’t think so. I shared a room with her; we could lock our curtains and glare at each other. She had changed her demeanor in front of the Fosters, now being provocative and mocking towards me. But her words were limited to a few phrases, like saying I was country-bred and questioning why I was wearing such clothes to a prestigious university. I really didn’t understand her twisted morals. What does intelligence have to do with clothing? She dressed beautifully, flaunting her style every day, but every time a teacher picked her to scold someone, she was the one being reprimanded. Moreover, flaunting wealth in Harvard wasn’t her forte. “The fall sports meet is being organized. Please sign up enthusiastically and showcase our class’s spirit.” Time flew by, and it had been a while since I entered the university. On stage, the teacher passionately talked about the sports meet plans. I was eager to participate; I was good at sprints, hurdles, high jump, long jump, and even threw the shot put a bit. I also knew a bit about basketball. I had always been the star participant in sports meets since I was young. “Teacher, I nominate Sophie Sullivan.” But I hadn’t even signed up myself, and the meddlesome Lisa had already jumped in first. With her pretty face and innocent expression, she seemed harmless, saying, “She grew up handling stones, so her physical strength must be excellent.” Before she finished, the group of little followers who always played with Lisa burst out laughing, not hiding their mockery. The teacher frowned. I looked around the class; most of the students had stern, cold expressions, clearly not following Lisa’s lead. It seemed that the students in this prestigious university had different standards and mindsets. So I calmly said, “Teacher, I do want to sign up for the sports meet, but I really don’t like Lisa Lawson’s personal conduct.” With a sarcastic tone, as if I couldn’t even speak up against her. The teacher looked at me in surprise. I stood up confidently and calmly said, “As the old saying goes, heroes are not judged by their origins. Does she care if I handle stones or pick up trash? The fact that I’m sitting here shows that I have extraordinary talent.” “On the contrary, Lisa often fails her quizzes, making people wonder if her wealthy lifestyle has turned her into a single-celled organism.” “Moreover, she openly mocks me. I demand that she apologize.” I have a sharp tongue. Even though Lisa was treated generously by my biological parents and was materially wealthier than me from a young age, I wasn’t lacking in love. My parents loved me, and I firmly loved them in return. With equal spiritual treatment, I asked her, what makes Lisa Lawson more noble than me, Sophie Sullivan? It’s her shallow and despicable mindset. I just wanted to seek justice for myself, vent my anger, but the teachers and classmates all gave me enthusiastic applause. “Sophie Sullivan’s spiritual world is rich and strong. I agree with her words.” The teacher gave me an approving look and gestured for me to sit down. Then, turning sternly towards Lisa, the teacher said, “I thought all of you students here understood that education is meant to cultivate virtue, but clearly, some of you only read books superficially.” “High academic achievements do not equate to high quality, nor do they represent personal cultivation. They only mean you possess knowledge.” “Your words and actions will quietly tell everyone what kind of person you are.” “So, Lisa Lawson, you must apologize to Sophie Sullivan.” The teacher spoke sternly, and the classmates all looked towards Lisa. In an instant, Lisa’s pretty face turned a bright red with embarrassment. She stubbornly glared at me but couldn’t withstand the teacher’s authority. Eventually, she reluctantly opened her mouth, “Sophie, I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, I forgive you.” I smiled, giving her a cold glance before looking away. To me, she was just like a fleeting cloud.

I signed up for the sports events I was good at and joined the basketball club. The teacher said there weren’t many girls signing up and hoped I could help attract more participants. I fully embraced the role, contributing wherever needed. After all, the sports meet was still a while away, so I could start training now. The club members were very enthusiastic, and I quickly became familiar with those sisters. The women’s basketball team often played friendly matches with the men’s team. I brought out my sports star spirit and soon became a main player on the women’s team. A beautiful three-pointer effortlessly turned the game around. The team sisters hugged me, screaming and cheering. I casually accepted their hugs and provocatively winked at the men’s team, “Again!” There were quite a few spectators; the laughter and cheering filled the gymnasium. I didn’t even notice the shiny eyes watching me. But troubles soon followed. There were so many people sending me flowers, water, and love letters, making me extremely annoyed. Lisa’s look at me became increasingly unsettling, as if I had stolen her spotlight, always appearing gloomy. I didn’t bother to pay her any attention. However, when I refused a certain senior’s flower and was about to return to the dormitory, Lisa was waiting for me under the shadow of a nearby tree, shouting, “Sophie, come here, I have something to tell you.” “Is it you who has something to say to me? Don’t you want to come here yourself?” At night, in the dark, she stood again in the tree shadow. I knew with my intuition that bad things were coming. Lisa’s eyes sparkled in the darkness, filled with anger. I smirked and turned my head to walk away. Back in the dormitory, my two roommates were still at the library. I planned to take a shower and then head to the library to study, but Lisa stormed in angrily, “Sophie, you’re still acting so crazy, aren’t you!” “If your brain is sick, hurry up and go to the hospital.” I was genuinely annoyed with Lisa for constantly staring at me like a persistent ghost, more annoying than those who were sending me things. In high school, I studied hard just to get into this prestigious university. Now that I was finally here, I naturally wanted to enjoy my college life without any time to argue with her. But she clearly didn’t think so. When I grabbed my clothes to take a shower, she screamed like a madwoman, “You don’t even consider your social status! How dare you get the attention of Senior Song!” “So what if you can play basketball? You’re sweaty every day, you don’t even look like a woman!” “Don’t think that because you’re a true heiress, you can suppress me. No matter how much you fuss, the heiress from the richest family is still me, Lisa Lawson!” “If you keep harassing Senior Song, I’ll show you my power!” Tsk. I looked at the crazed Lisa like she was mentally disabled, “Who is Senior Song?” I hadn’t paid attention to anyone named Song at all. Seeing the anger burning in her eyes, as if she wanted to eat me alive, I just thought she was sick, and very sick. I sneered, “Lisa, did you know that the fingerprints you slapped yourself with are different from the ones you slapped me with? Are you stupid?” Lisa didn’t believe it, and I was too lazy to explain further, “If you want to report me, go ahead. Don’t interfere with my rest.” Talking to idiots for so long, I feared their low intelligence might infect me. I grabbed my clothes and went into the bathroom. When I came out to grab some body wash, I saw her waving her palms as if gesturing, and when she met my eyes, her face instantly turned fierce again. I just gave her a big, unimpressed eye roll. These people are dangerous and need to be guarded against. After showering, I went to the library to peacefully study for several hours. When I returned, it was already late at night. Lisa was huddled on her bed, gaming online with someone, not mentioning anything about wanting to report me to the teacher. My two roommates and I exchanged glances, all seeing the suspicion in each other’s eyes. With such behavior, how did she get into this prestigious university?

Just as I was focused on training, my parents showed up at school. Dad pulled up in a new car with a fancy gold emblem, and then took me shopping at the mall, buying everything in sight. He said it was for my birthday, so I should be happy. I was happy. “Dad, did you make another great deal on gemstones?” “Absolutely. Top-quality jade.” Dad gave me a wink. “It’s all good business. Sophie, buy whatever you want.” Oh? I looked at Dad and gave him a knowing smile, the kind only we understood. So, even though I’m in college now, Dad’s still benefiting from that lucky streak at home? “The fortune teller was right, you’re our lucky charm.” Mom joined in, pulling me to shop more with a huge smile. “You’re the star of this family. Don’t worry about the money!” “You guys are the real stars.” Even though they said it was for me, I ended up picking out a lot of nice things for them instead. Without them, I wouldn’t be who I am today. In the end, I didn’t buy much for myself, but I got a lot for them. Mom looked at me with concern. “Why didn’t you get more?” “There’s plenty of clothes at school, and I don’t really like these expensive and impractical things. They just get in the way when I’m helping Dad move stones.” All that flashy stuff is only useful for showing off. Mom laughed and sighed. “You’re just like your dad, always thinking about those stones.” “Sophie’s just perfect like this.” Dad defended me, but still slipped a credit card into my hand. “There’s plenty of money in here. Buy whatever you want. You’re at the age where girls like to dress up, so don’t be stingy with yourself.” “Dad, Mom, I got it.” I knew they were worried about me being far away, afraid I wouldn’t have enough to eat or wear, so they made the long trip here for my birthday. After spending two days with me, they reluctantly dropped me off at the school gate and left. I dragged all the shopping bags they got me back to my dorm room. Just as I was about to give my roommates their gifts, Lisa stormed in, furious. The dorm supervisor followed her in. “Sophie, Lisa’s bracelet is missing, and you’re the suspect.”

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On the day of the proposal, I finally met my boyfriend’s brother. At that moment, my entire body froze, muscles numb, and a loud ringing filled my ears. I knew it—my PTSD was acting up again. He acted like a perfect gentleman, but in my mind, all I could see was his other face—his terrifying face. He had once crouched in front of me, his cold gaze piercing as he sneered, “You’re just a cheap slut, Rose. Who are you trying to fool?” And with that, he’d pressed a lit cigarette into my hand, the sizzle of it burning into my skin. “Hey, sis. I’m Ethan, David’s brother,” Ethan Landon’s voice cut through the noisy atmosphere, hitting me with precise clarity. A violent shiver ran down my spine, my whole body convulsing. “Rose… Rose…” David noticed my distress immediately, gripping my cold, pale hand tightly. Without missing a beat, he covered for me, “She’s a bit shy around strangers. Why don’t you sit down for now? Don’t startle her.” Ethan looked at me with slight surprise. I had changed my name, changed my appearance. It seemed like he didn’t recognize me. He just smiled and said, “Alright. I haven’t been back in years. I’ll go catch up with some old friends.” As soon as Ethan walked away, David’s face fell. He gently wrapped his coat around me and pulled me into a quiet corner, holding me close, full of concern. “Rose, what happened? Why are you having an attack now? I’m sorry, was it the crowd? Did it overwhelm you?” His voice was filled with guilt. David knew about my PTSD. I had a few episodes in front of him when we first got together, and it scared him senseless. But over the past three years, he’d been incredibly good to me—kind and gentle—helping me heal my trauma, little by little. I hadn’t had an episode in a long time, and even the doctors thought I had a chance at recovery. But after seeing Ethan again, I knew. I knew I wasn’t getting better. I’d never get better. Not in this lifetime.

“David…” I finally managed to regain some sense of calm. Still trapped in his arms, too stiff to push him away, I could only press my weak fists against his chest. “Sorry, did I scare your brother?” David kissed my forehead gently, soothing me in his soft voice, “It’s fine. I know you don’t like strangers. But after we’re married, Ethan will be family, just like me. He’ll protect you too.” Protect me? Family? I almost laughed out loud at his words. If only he knew that the reason for my lifelong illness—the very source of my trauma—was his dear brother. Would he still be able to say so casually that we’d all be family? That Ethan would protect me? My eyes felt dry, but I couldn’t cry. I’d cried all my tears back in high school when Ethan Landon was tormenting me. That’s when I learned tears are the most useless thing in the world. “Rose, I just remembered—didn’t Ethan go to the same high school as you? Did you ever hear any stories about the trouble he got into?” David chuckled, his voice light, as if trying to calm me down. “He was just a dumb kid back then, causing trouble at school. But don’t worry, he’s grown a lot over the years. He’s not that reckless boy anymore.” “And, you know, he cares about family… just like I do.” Yeah, I knew what David was saying, but it wasn’t the whole truth. No one knew better than me—Ethan Landon was rotten to the core. How bad, you ask? Bad enough to see me for the first time and immediately decide, along with his rich-kid friends, that I was his new plaything.

Why? I thought about it. Probably because I didn’t look the other way when he and his gang of rich bullies were harassing everyone at Lincoln High School. Ethan was the ringleader back then. They didn’t care about right or wrong. They just enjoyed tormenting people for fun. Once, I saw him forcing my deskmate to kneel and lick his shoes while his friends laughed. I couldn’t take it anymore and stormed over to confront him. That’s when I caught his eye, standing out from the silent crowd. I still remember the gasps from the students around us, and the mocking look on Ethan’s face as he pushed my bangs back, sneering at me. “What, trying to stand up for your little boyfriend?” The way I shielded my deskmate with my body amused him. From that moment on, Ethan decided I was his next conquest. Ethan and his gang of trust fund kids started hovering around me more and more. They bullied my poor deskmate and tried to sweet-talk me at every opportunity, making my life increasingly unbearable. “Rose, what’s so great about that country boy? All he has is good grades.” “Why don’t you be with me instead?” At first, he was all talk. But one day, in the school cafeteria, he slid his hand onto my leg. That’s when I finally snapped. I screamed at him, right in front of everyone, “Jacob’s smart, good-looking, and a hundred times better than you!” “Ethan Landon, I hate you! Leave me alone and stay away from me!” Ethan, who had been adored and spoiled his whole life, was humiliated in front of the entire cafeteria. As soon as I finished shouting, I realized how dangerous it was, especially when I saw the murderous look on his face. He let out a sinister laugh, and I knew his patience was gone. Then, a bowl of scalding soup was dumped over my head. The hot liquid ran down my hair, burning my skin, and I couldn’t even open my eyes. And that was just the beginning. I had touched Ethan’s sore spot, and from that day on, he made it his mission to make my life a living hell. He had his lackeys take inappropriate pictures of me from humiliating angles and posted them on the school blog. Then, he spread vicious rumors, calling me a manipulative slut who’d sleep with anyone. Soon enough, I became the laughingstock of the school, the subject of endless gossip. The girls looked at me with mocking eyes, some full of jealousy, while the boys’ stares were downright filthy. Walking down the hall, I couldn’t escape the constant whispers: “Hey, that’s Rose Evans. Gotta admit, she’s pretty hot…” “You might have a shot with her. I heard she’s not that picky.” “Ugh, what a bitch.”

Ethan got his lackeys to take compromising photos of me and post them all over the school forum. He spread lies about me, calling me a slut, saying I’d sleep with anyone. In no time, I became a laughingstock, the subject of endless gossip. The girls gave me dirty looks, full of mockery and jealousy. The boys? They looked at me like I was a piece of meat. I couldn’t walk down the hall without hearing: “That’s Rose, right? Gotta admit, she’s hot…” “Maybe you have a shot. I heard she’s not picky.” “Ugh, what a slut.” It didn’t stop there. I was cornered in alleys by groups of girls, pushed around, cursed at, and beaten. Every time, after the crowd dispersed, Ethan and his friends would show up to watch me struggle. “How’s it going, Rose? Regretting your choices yet? If you kneel and apologize, maybe I’ll reconsider.” He stood over me, looking down with that same disgusting grin. I was scared—terrified, even—but I had never been taught to submit to evil. So I bit my lip and stayed silent. His smile faded. Then, he took his cigarette and pressed it hard into the back of my hand. “You think you’re so pure, don’t you? You’re nothing but a dirty slut, Rose.” I could hear the sizzle of my skin burning, the smell of charred flesh filling the air. That was the mark Ethan left on me—his trophy, my shame. The scar remained, a pink, jagged reminder of what he did. Years later, I tried to cover it up with a tattoo—a pink whale. But the ink couldn’t erase my past, just like it couldn’t fool David when he saw the scar beneath. When David asked about it, I brushed it off, saying it was just a burn. He knew I had stories I wasn’t telling, but he never pushed me for answers. He just held me close, whispering, “I wish I had met you sooner. Then I could’ve protected you, before you had to go through all of this…” I almost cried when he said that. David thought I was touched, and he kissed me gently. But only I knew the truth: I had met David a long time ago. And every scar on my body—he and his brother were the ones who gave them to me.

That day, after Ethan left, I lay in the alley, feeling like a dying fish washed ashore. The alley was right next to the school. Students walked by, but they all hurried away, not daring to help me. My vision blurred from the pain, and I didn’t know how long it had been until a pair of worn-out sneakers appeared in front of me. Then, someone draped a big, familiar hoodie over me, the scent of laundry detergent filling my senses. It was Jacob. He didn’t have much money, but he went to the pharmacy, bought some medicine, and brought me back to the classroom. Without a word, Jacob cleaned the burn on my hand. His eyes were red, and finally, in a hoarse voice, he said, “Rose, I’m sorry…” That was only the second time Jacob had spoken to me since he transferred to Lincoln High.

From the moment Ethan had started targeting me, I noticed Jacob distancing himself. I knew he didn’t want to drag me into his mess, but in the end, I couldn’t escape Ethan’s torment. When the disinfectant stung my wound, I couldn’t hold back my tears. I looked at Jacob and said, “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” The ones at fault weren’t him—or me. It was those who had started this whole mess and the bystanders who did nothing to stop it. “Rose, why aren’t you saying anything? Are you feeling unwell?” David’s voice broke through my thoughts. His grip on my hand tightened, and for once, I heard a trace of uncertainty. He remembered how we used to talk about bullying cases, how deeply I despised it. He knew about Ethan’s notorious reputation at Lincoln High, how it had caused such a scandal that even the police got involved. The Landon family had covered it up, but the school had never quite forgotten. Now I understood why David had waited until today to introduce me to Ethan. He had been scared—scared that I would be disappointed in him, in the Landon family, because of the sins of the past. So I gave him no answer, no relief. I just closed my eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry, David. I’m tired. Can I go home now?” It was supposed to be the day he proposed to me. But seeing my state, David relented, nodding, “Okay, Rose. I’ll take you home.” On the way back, David tried to make small talk, but I kept my lips sealed, not offering him a single word. When we reached my apartment and he followed me to the door, assuming he’d come in like usual, I stopped him. “David, maybe you should go spend time with your brother. He just got back.” David froze, his face showing clear confusion. We had been living together for a long time now, and he hadn’t expected me to shut him out on such an important day. My sudden coldness was impossible to ignore. When I went to close the door, he slammed his hand against it, hard enough to make it shake. The warmth in his eyes was replaced by panic. “Rose, what’s going on? If it was wrong for me to invite so many people today, I’m sorry. We can talk about it. Didn’t we agree to be honest with each other, no matter what?” He said a lot, but I remained cold and distant. Finally, he lost his composure. “Is this about Ethan?” Every time I heard that name, it felt like I was suffocating. I turned pale, but I answered stiffly, “Yes, David. I knew you had a brother, but I didn’t know he was Ethan.” “Do you know why I became a lawyer? Why I hate bullying so much?” One question after another, my words hit David like punches. I could see the shock and struggle in his eyes, the emotions swirling inside him. “You know your brother got into a lot of trouble back then. But what if I told you I was one of the people he bullied?” David froze, like a machine malfunctioning. Disbelief and pain filled his expression. “Rose… how? He never—he never mentioned you…” I let out a bitter laugh. Ethan and his friends were so cruel back then, they didn’t even keep track of the people they tormented. “You think Ethan remembers every person he’s hurt?” My words left David speechless.

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My husband, Ryan Thompson, is a well-known celebrity hairstylist in the industry. His clients? All wealthy, high-society women. Late at night, he comes home, strips off his clothes, and falls straight into bed. But tonight, I found a receipt in his jacket pocket. Only one item was listed—condoms. It was purchased at 8:16 p.m. tonight. I froze. Ryan and I hadn’t been intimate in months. So who was he planning to use them with? My name is Melissa Thompson, 26 years old. After graduating, I started working at a bank, mostly dealing with investments and financial planning. My parents are both teachers, and they were always strict with me growing up. They never imagined I’d marry someone from a completely different background than mine. Ryan was the kind of guy any woman would fall for at first glance—handsome, charming, with an easy smile. At the time, he worked as a stylist at a high-end salon near my office. I would often stop by for a haircut after work. Over time, we got to know each other. Ryan’s good looks and sharp sense of humor stood out. He was mature and composed, totally different from the loud, immature guys I knew in college. I fell for him, and soon we started dating. When my father found out, he was furious. He yelled at me for hours. I cried so hard, and my mother, seeing how much pain I was in, finally stepped in to mediate between us. In the end, my father gave in reluctantly. I thought being with the man I loved would be like living in a fairytale, but after we got married, the stress started to pile up. I couldn’t sleep, had nightmares, my hair started falling out, and I looked more and more exhausted every day. Every time I looked in the mirror, it was like staring at a ghost. I’d glance over at Ryan, sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone, his toned abs peeking out from under his shirt. Next to him, I felt worse than ever. My parents were heartbroken when they saw how I looked. After our wedding, they spent most of their savings to buy us a house in a good school district. They even gave Ryan money to help him attend a hairdressing course. The training paid off. Ryan quickly became the star of the salon, eventually being promoted to Lead Stylist. But once he became Lead Stylist, he only got busier. He was out early, back late, and I rarely saw him anymore. When he did come home late, he reeked of alcohol and perfume, too tired to even take off his clothes before passing out in bed. That night was no different. Ryan came home in the middle of the night, collapsed onto the bed without taking off his jacket, and was snoring almost immediately. I felt bad for him, so I reached out to take off his jacket. As I shook it loose, a few strands of long, red, curly hair fell to the floor. I didn’t think much of it at the time—after all, Ryan worked as a stylist and was always covered in different women’s hair. I was used to it by now. I picked up the strands and tossed them in the trash, then hung his jacket over a chair. But then something fell out of his pocket—a crumpled piece of paper. Curious, I unfolded it and saw it was a receipt from the supermarket. Only one item was listed: condoms. It was purchased at 8:16 p.m. that evening. I froze. Ryan and I hadn’t been intimate in ages, so who were the condoms for? Once the thought crossed my mind, it started to take root. I grabbed his jacket and began searching through it more carefully. Finally, I spotted a deep red lipstick stain on the collar. Ryan had always told me how many women were around him at work—flirty receptionists, young clients, and charming female stylists. But his most frequent clients? Wealthy, married women.

From the day we got married, I chose to trust him. I never questioned his work or what he did. But seeing that lipstick stain and the condoms… I couldn’t help it. My mind was racing, spinning out of control. It started affecting my work, so I took a day off and headed straight for Westside Hair Salon. I’d never visited Ryan at work since we got married, and he never invited me to any of his social events. Over time, I realized I didn’t know any of his friends or coworkers. After some asking around, I found the salon at Westfield Century City, taking up a large space on the fifth floor with clear glass walls. As soon as I stepped off the elevator, I saw the huge “Westside Hair Salon” sign. Through the glass doors, I could see a girl with short green hair leaning over the front desk, laughing with Ryan. Ryan had a mischievous grin on his face as he ran his fingers through her hair, making her smile even wider. His eyes trailed over her body, and then he playfully pinched her waist. The girl didn’t pull away. In fact, she leaned into his hand, pressing closer. The chemistry between them was unmistakable. I was frozen in place. Is this what my husband does at work? It felt like my legs were filled with lead. I couldn’t move. Ryan whispered something in the girl’s ear, then turned and walked deeper into the salon. I quickly walked inside, my eyes following him as he disappeared into the VIP suite. The girl at the front desk glanced at me, her face twisting in disdain. “Are you here for a cut or color? Do you have a regular stylist?” I shook my head. “No, just find me whoever’s available.” She called out loudly, “Kevin! A client’s here. Wash her hair.” A slim guy with dyed blonde hair came out from the back. His features were delicate, almost feminine. He smiled at me. “Hey, beautiful. Come with me.” As I followed him, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a mess, and hearing him call me “beautiful” felt like a cruel joke. How could anyone in this business lie so easily? Kevin quickly washed my hair and seated me in a chair tucked away in a corner. He placed a white towel over my face and asked, “How do you want your hair cut?” “Whatever,” I muttered. He let my hair down and started cutting, making small talk as he worked. I took the opportunity to get some information. “How’d you hear about us?” he asked. “A friend recommended this place. She’s one of Ryan’s clients. But I didn’t see him out front,” I said, trying to sound casual. Kevin scoffed, clearly irritated. “Ryan? Oh, he’s busy. You need this,” he rubbed his fingers together, implying money. “Oh?” I feigned curiosity. “How much are we talking?” Kevin studied my face for a moment before lowering his voice and leaning in. “Look, you seem nice. You don’t want to get involved in this.”

It was clear Kevin knew a lot. I looked at his face in the mirror and said, “Tell me what you know about Ryan, and I’ll sign up for a VIP membership right here.” Kevin’s eyes lit up, and he grinned. “You got a thing for Ryan too? Trust me, you’re not the only one. His clients are all over him. They drive the nicest cars.” He kept talking as he cut my hair, telling me everything. Apparently, Ryan only handled VIP clients, and to get into the VIP suite, you had to have spent over $100,000 at the salon. “That much?” I asked, surprised. Kevin shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Ryan’s worth it. He’s got a way with those rich women. They just hand him their money.” His voice dripped with jealousy. I looked at Kevin. He was younger and not bad-looking. “You’re good-looking too. I bet those women like your type.” Kevin paused, then burst out laughing. “You’re funny.” He set down the scissors and leaned closer to me. “Ryan has a way of making those women fall for him. They give him whatever he wants.” I raised my eyebrows. “How does he manage that?” Kevin sighed and shook his head, clearly exasperated. “It’s his game. He doesn’t do emotions. If a woman’s hot, he uses her for sex. If she’s rich, he uses her for money.” Just then, we heard a voice from the front. “I want Ryan! I know he’s here. No one else will do.” A young woman was standing at the front desk, arms crossed, shouting. No one seemed to care, continuing with their work. I was shocked. “Aren’t you going to do something?” Kevin hushed me. “This happens all the time. Just wait—someone will always show up looking for Ryan.” I glanced at the girl, her face flushed with anger. No matter how much she yelled, no one paid her any attention. Finally, the green-haired receptionist snapped at her, “If you really want Ryan, I can book you an appointment.” The girl exploded. “Book an appointment? Are you serious? Do you even know what we are to each other?” She waved her finger in the air. “Let me tell you, I slept with him last night. And now he won’t even acknowledge me!” Kevin snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. But I couldn’t laugh. My mind was reeling—my husband, Ryan, was cheating on me. I sat there, staring at the scene, too numb to process it. While I was still in shock, Ryan came out of the VIP suite. The girl immediately dropped her attitude and rushed over to him, her voice dripping with sweetness. “Baby, I’ve been looking for you all day. Why didn’t you come out sooner?” Ryan scowled at her. “This is my workplace. Don’t make a scene.”

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Just as I was about to divorce Sarah and get back with Jessica, BAM, I died! Now, anyone who comes to my grave has to spit on it and say, “Jerk! Got what he deserved!” At my funeral, I sat next to my own body, trying to figure out how exactly I died. My wife, Sarah, was calm and composed, greeting the guests, bowing to each of them, and politely sending them off. She had said she loved me for seven years, but not a single tear had fallen. Turns out, love really can fade away. That’s when my ex, Jessica, arrived. She threw herself onto my casket, sobbing uncontrollably. Her tears were like a waterfall, and the guests around her were moved to tears too. Even I couldn’t help but cry. “Jessica, it’s over for us in this life. Maybe in the next one, we’ll reunite. I’ll be waiting for you in the afterlife.” Sarah wasn’t having any of it, though. “Jessica’s acting is really over the top, huh? Who exactly is she putting on a show for? He’s dead.” Sarah’s icy stare was fixed on Jessica, full of contempt, as if she were looking at an enemy. Jessica wiped her tears, still looking as delicate as ever. “I know you hate me. You think I stole Chris from you. But I was with him first—you’re the one who came later.” Sarah smirked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And yet, here you are, and there he lies. If your love was so strong, why didn’t it last?” Damn, Sarah was harsh. Was she really cursing Jessica to die too? Sure enough, Jessica, heartbroken, collapsed on my casket, crying as if the world had ended. “I want to go with him, but I still have my parents to take care of. Chris, wait for me. I’ll come to you in a few decades.” She was crying so miserably, yet her assistant, Rachel, just stood there scrolling through her phone without a care in the world. I had always said that Rachel should be fired. Unable to bear Sarah’s mockery, Jessica quickly left. I really didn’t want to leave her, and Sarah’s cold face wasn’t helping, so I followed Jessica out. But by the time I caught up, Jessica had already dried her tears and was checking her makeup in a mirror. She was even giving instructions. “Did you get the photos and videos? Make sure I look good—delete the ugly ones.” Rachel was busy flipping through her phone, deleting the bad shots one by one. All the pictures were of Jessica sobbing over my casket, looking utterly heartbroken. “Don’t worry, Jess. I’ve captured your best angles. We’ll release a video about your tragic love story. It’ll blow up for sure.” Jessica smiled. “Good. This is what they call ‘tragic love.’ Kids these days love a good, sad love story. So what if Sarah married him? After all these years, dead or alive, I’m the only one he truly loved.” Rachel chuckled, “Exactly. Sarah was the third wheel in this relationship.” Jessica wasn’t sad anymore; she was beaming. “Chris was useless when he was alive, but at least in death, he can serve one final purpose. He should be grateful to me for that.” “Absolutely, Chris would totally thank you,” Rachel added. Me: … Thank you? Are you kidding me? Jessica continued rambling, “So what if Sarah loved Chris for seven years? She’s still got nothing to show for it. Some men are just like that. They always think someone else’s trash is treasure.”

After Jessica’s car drove off, I was still floating there, staring dumbfounded in the direction she left. Just a month ago, Jessica swore she couldn’t live without me. I’ve only been dead for a short while—how has the world turned upside down? Lost in thought for who knows how long, I suddenly found myself back in the house I shared with Sarah. She had set up a small memorial for me, with a smiling picture of me at the center. Sarah was wiping the dust off my photo, her smile full of mockery. “It took me forever to find a photo of you smiling. You always had that serious look, but when you were with Jessica, you smiled all the time.” I remembered now. In the seven years I’d known Sarah, she always wanted a nice photo of us together. But every picture we took, I had a stern expression. I told her I didn’t like smiling. If she didn’t like it, tough luck. But the truth was, I just couldn’t smile around her. Even after seven years apart, the one I loved was always Jessica. I waited for her for a year, and when I found out she was seeing someone else, I quickly accepted Sarah’s confession. It was like I was competing with Jessica. I moved in with Sarah and married her in a flash. “You’ve regretted marrying me every second, haven’t you?” Sarah was talking to my photo now, her face still calm, not a single tear. I used to think she wasn’t upset, but looking at her now, I started feeling guilty. It was like she was questioning me, and after seeing Jessica’s true colors, I started to reflect on my past. “No, we had good times together. Don’t you remember…” I tried to say. I wanted to give her examples, but for the life of me, I couldn’t recall any happy moments. Sarah kept talking to herself, “The first month with you was wonderful. It felt like a dream.” “You’d come home late, but you’d always bring me flowers. They weren’t lilies, which I love, but I was happy all the same.” Was she really happy back then? I couldn’t remember, because during that time, Jessica was constantly flaunting her new relationship on Instagram, and I was seething with jealousy. Every night, I’d buy a bouquet of roses, hoping to see Jessica and tell her that she belonged with me, that her new guy didn’t deserve her. But I never had the courage. I’d just wait outside their apartment until late, then go home feeling crushed. Every time I came home, Sarah was waiting for me. I’d lie, saying I had to work overtime. I’d apologize, hand her the roses, and tell her it was the last bunch from the florist, which was why they didn’t look as fresh. In a daze, I remembered that Sarah had been so happy then, smiling like a little girl. But the truth was, I had been lying to her all along. She never knew. If she had known, she wouldn’t have said those were happy times. “I always knew you were lying.”

I couldn’t understand. If Sarah had known I was lying, why didn’t she ever confront me or get angry? Why would she still say those times were happy? “I knew you were lying, but I didn’t say anything because I thought, as long as you were willing to put in the effort to lie, it meant you still cared. You still wanted to keep our relationship alive.” “You kept going back to Jessica because you couldn’t let go. I thought you’d figure it out and come back to me eventually.” Sarah sat on the couch, quietly staring out the window. On all those nights I came home late, this was how she waited for me—full of hope and disappointment. God, I was such a jerk. Sarah sat there all day, not eating or drinking, saying nothing. Watching her lose her spark, I grew anxious. I circled her, trying to wake her up. “Sarah, I’m not worth it. Please, get some rest. Eat something. Don’t do this to yourself.” But I was already dead. No matter what I said, she couldn’t hear me. I regretted it so much—why didn’t I cherish her love when I was alive? The day after the funeral, Sarah finally moved. Michael came over. I knew Michael had always liked Sarah. I wasn’t sure if she knew. Michael was her colleague. They stayed in touch a lot after she joined the company. I remember going to pick Sarah up from a company dinner once. Michael’s look and body language made it clear—he liked her. After that, I didn’t let Sarah spend much time with Michael. I even suggested she switch departments to avoid him. Sarah was my wife. Even if I didn’t love her, she was still mine, in name at least. No other man had the right to touch her. But now I was dead, and Michael couldn’t wait to swoop in? Even though Sarah knew I didn’t love her, she wouldn’t stay faithful to a dead man. I was in pain. I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to stick around and watch her get close to another man. Michael brought a thermos and looked at Sarah with concern. “I knew you hadn’t eaten. Sarah, don’t do this to yourself. You’ll only make yourself sick, and he wouldn’t care.” “He’s probably waiting for his next romantic soulmate right now.” He laid out the food, and I peered in, scoffing. None of it was what Sarah liked. She didn’t eat spicy food, didn’t like sweet stuff, and hated fish. For years, there hadn’t been a single pepper or fish in our house. The only exception was when crabs were in season. Michael claimed to like her, but he didn’t even know what she enjoyed eating. What a joke. I felt smug. No way he’d win her over with this. He wasted his time coming. But Sarah sat down, picked up the chopsticks, and smiled. “This is all my favorite food. Thank you, Michael.”

Sarah ate the Buffalo wings, sweet and sour pork, and the steamed salmon. “You haven’t eaten all day, and now you’re having so much meat and fish. Aren’t you worried you’ll upset your stomach?” I was pacing around, getting more and more irritated the happier she seemed as she ate. “We’ve been together for years, and you never told me you liked this kind of food. Every time we ate together, you said you didn’t like spicy, sweet, or fish dishes. Were you lying to me? Or is it just that it tastes better because Michael brought it? My urn is still sitting right there, and you’re already moving on this fast?” Sarah finished her meal, leaned back, and gave a contented sigh. “It’s been years since I’ve enjoyed food like this. Thank you, Michael.” Michael sighed too. “You changed your entire diet for him. Was it really worth it?” I was dumbstruck. “For me?” Memories started flooding back. I remembered when Sarah and I first met—back then, she was full of life, always laughing, and she loved food. She ate spicy food, sweet things, and fish. She even had a bit of a sweet tooth, and every time we went out, she’d grab a bunch of snacks.

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If I hadn’t accidentally seen my husband’s phone, I would never have discovered his secret. It turns out that my meticulous husband, Jacob, was living a whole other life on his second Instagram account, posing as some kind of player. They even had a group where they competed to see whose affair was the most thrilling. Wow, I was in for a real eye-opener. When Jacob “Jake” Rivers pursued me back in the day, he put in a lot of effort. Even after we got married, he never changed—always so caring and loving. He would wake up early to make me breakfast and then drop me off at work. One morning, I woke up with an urgent need to use the bathroom. I rushed to the restroom, and I heard the shower running—Jake must have been in the bathroom. I didn’t pay much attention to it and went about my business. Suddenly, I heard a notification chime. I looked over and saw Jake’s phone lying on the bathroom counter, screen lighting up. It seemed like a message had come in. Curious, I picked it up. The screen was flashing, showing an Instagram account I had never seen before. The profile picture was of a shirtless guy flaunting his six-pack abs—definitely not the Instagram Jake normally used. I froze for a second and instinctively tried to unlock it. But something unexpected happened. The password was incorrect. My heart skipped a beat. Jake had always used my birthday as his password, and it had never changed. How could it have changed overnight? There was only one explanation: Jake must have changed it while I was asleep. I tried entering his own birthday, but that didn’t work either. Not wanting to try again and risk locking the phone, I placed it back on the counter and walked out. A few minutes later, Jake finished his shower and came out. He noticed I was awake and came over to kiss me on the cheek, saying he’d make me breakfast. I watched as he busied himself in the kitchen. Something felt off, so I casually asked him for his phone, saying I needed to look something up. Jake handed it to me without hesitation, just like he usually would. I sat down on the couch and unlocked the phone with ease this time. To my surprise, the password was once again my birthday. My instincts told me something was up, so I started scanning through his phone. Everything seemed normal—his apps were all still there. I opened his Instagram, and the first pinned chat was with me, with the note “Your beloved wife.” His profile picture was still the one of the two of us together. Nothing seemed to have changed. Had I imagined the other Instagram account? A little doubt crept into my mind. Jake came out of the kitchen with breakfast and called me over to eat. I got up and handed his phone back, my mind distracted as I ate. Just like always, Jake kept putting food on my plate, encouraging me to eat more. I looked up at his face, and his eyes reflected nothing but love for me. Could I have been overthinking? Doubts continued to swirl in my head.

After breakfast, Jake handed me a handful of prenatal vitamins, which had become part of my daily routine. If there’s one thing I regret in life, it’s that despite being married to Jake for years, we never had a child of our own. We’d tried everything—doctors, treatments, and all kinds of medications, but nothing worked. Then one day, Jake brought home some vitamins from who knows where. He told me that many people at his company had tried them and, sure enough, they had soon gotten pregnant afterward. I believed him, so I took them dutifully every morning. After I swallowed the pills, Jake smiled, ran his hand through my hair, and called me a “good girl” before dropping me off at work. The whole day at the office, I couldn’t concentrate. Something didn’t sit right. I opened my computer and searched: “Can you have two Instagram accounts on the same phone?” I was shocked by what I found. Phones could, indeed, support multiple Instagram accounts. I remembered Jake had just upgraded his phone, and it was capable of running two accounts. That night, when I got home, I grabbed Jake’s phone again. This time, I went straight to Instagram, into settings, and found the dual-app function. I switched accounts, and sure enough—there was a second Instagram account. The profile picture? That same shirtless guy with abs I had seen earlier that morning. I opened the account. Messages flooded the screen, the unread number glowing red. The group chat was titled, “The Best Affairs Start Here.” I clicked into it. Jake was one of the most active members, constantly posting photos of himself with different women. Looking at the pictures, I felt a wave of defeat and heartbreak like I’d never known before. It was as if I had never really known the man I married. From the kitchen, I heard Jake calling me to dinner. I quickly noted the group name, switched back to the original account, and returned the phone to its place. That night, I locked myself in the home office. I created a fake account and spent a little money to join the group chat. As soon as I entered, I saw Jake bragging about his affairs. He had just posted a picture of himself on top of some woman, her face hidden but her body was curvy. After that post, the group chat exploded with excitement. Reading those messages and seeing the pictures felt like a dagger twisting inside me. I could barely breathe. The group buzzed with more activity because of Jake’s post. Someone even suggested a competition to see who could have the most affairs. Without hesitation, Jake was the first to agree. He even said he’d share the time and hotel details for his next affair. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was this really Jacob “Jake” Rivers—the man who claimed to love and care for me?

Jake and I met in college. He was a year ahead of me and sort of like my mentor. When we were both looking for internships right before graduation, one of my professors suggested I apply to the same firm where Jake was working. When I joined, I didn’t know much, and Jake patiently guided me through everything. That’s when I started feeling something for him. One night, I stayed late at the office to finish some work. I was so busy I didn’t even have time for dinner. When I finally finished, I stood up, feeling dizzy and sick. Before I knew it, I collapsed. The last thing I remembered before passing out was hearing Jake’s voice and seeing him running toward me. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Jake was sitting beside me, fast asleep. Sensing I had woken up, he opened his eyes, smiled, and said, “You’re awake. The doctor said it was just a bad case of gastritis, but you’re going to be fine.” I looked at the clock; it was nearly 5 a.m. He had stayed with me all night. I was touched. The doctor released me after a night of observation, and Jake even took me out for breakfast afterward. That incident brought us closer, and soon after, we started dating. Jake was incredibly attentive, and with his care, my stomach issues never bothered me again. After graduation, I was offered a permanent position at the firm because of my excellent performance. But shortly after, Jake resigned, and I was shocked. I went down to the parking garage to confront him, asking why he quit. He just stared at me without answering. I was so anxious that I started crying and grabbed his hand, begging to know why he was leaving. He sighed, pulled me into his arms, and whispered in my ear, “Silly girl, the company doesn’t allow office relationships. I had to quit so I could date you.” I blushed like a tomato. After he left the company, we officially started dating. It was like being wrapped in sweetness every day. Not long after, Jake proposed, and I didn’t hesitate for a second—I said yes immediately. I took him to meet my parents, expecting them to love him as much as I did. But they were adamantly opposed. They thought Jake was too complicated, and I was too naive, that I would end up getting hurt. I didn’t listen. I fought with them for a long time before they finally gave in. To prove himself, Jake continued being the perfect husband after we got married, and my parents eventually warmed up to him. My father even pulled some strings to get Jake a job as CFO at a major international firm. Meanwhile, my career was thriving. Within a few years, I became the head of overseas business for our firm. I thought life would stay perfect forever, but then Jake slapped me in the face with reality. Not only had he cheated, but he was bragging about it in a group chat. I was furious and didn’t sleep all night. The next morning, I went to work with two huge bags under my eyes. I sat at my desk, trying to figure out who the other woman could be. I took out my phone and started scrolling through Jake’s Instagram. Most of the pictures were of us, smiling happily together in every shot.

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Three days before the wedding, I received a friend request on Instagram. The profile picture was of a cute cat — the British Shorthair my fiancé used to have. The message attached read: “He loves you, but he raised a cat with me.” This message came in while Daniel was in the shower, and his phone was right there on the nightstand. I always prided myself on being calm and rational, but when I picked up his phone to check the cat in that profile picture, a cold shiver ran down my spine. Her Instagram Stories were public, and they were filled with vague, melancholic posts and endless pictures of the cat. Occasionally, there’d be a hand in the frame — not a woman’s hand, but one I recognized. I had held that hand for five years. When Daniel came out of the shower and saw me wrapped tightly in the comforter, he looked puzzled. “Is the AC too cold?” No, it wasn’t. It was set to 77 degrees, but I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t calm myself. Once a seed of doubt is planted, it grows like a weed. I suddenly remembered the time when Daniel left me at the bridal shop to take a call. He had said it was urgent work, but it was a Sunday. He’s a product manager. There are no suppliers working on Sundays. And then there were the nights he’d come home late from “working overtime,” his clothes covered in cat fur. He said he’d gone to a cat café to de-stress. I hate cats. That British Shorthair was given away because of me. Clutching the blanket around me, I forced myself to be calm. “I feel like having some spicy chili bowl, can you go get it for me?” Daniel sighed, a bit exasperated, “I just got out of the shower, and you’re already sending me out again.” But he grabbed the keys and left, as he always did when I asked for something, patient and kind. But inside, I felt like my heart was being torn apart. I accepted the friend request and immediately sent a message: “How far have you two gone?” Her reply came almost instantly, as if she had anticipated my question. “Don’t worry, we’ve never slept together. But I kissed him, and he didn’t stop me.” I laughed bitterly at her response, but the chill in my heart only deepened. “When did it start?” I asked. She dodged the question with another cryptic reply. “My cat is cute, isn’t it?” A wave of pain hit me, and I gasped for breath. I coughed violently, my chest burning from the effort. By the time the coughing fit subsided, I knew. The cat was the beginning. It was a year ago when Daniel’s heart wandered.

I met Daniel during a college Student Government Association event. He was a year ahead of me, already on the executive committee when we met. By junior year, the SGA starts handing responsibilities over to the younger students. That’s when Daniel finally asked me out. Because he didn’t want any gossip, he spent a long time pursuing me in secret, which, to be honest, was pretty thrilling at the time. We flirted for two years. Two blissful years where I felt like I was living in a bubble of happiness. So, when he officially asked me out, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. Now that I think about it, maybe with her, it was the same thrill of secrecy. Maybe back then, Daniel wasn’t just worried about gossip — maybe he just liked the thrill of the chase. The thought made me sick. He’s good-looking by most people’s standards. Patient, too. Comes from a decent family, the type that can afford to pay for a small house in full. Over the years, he’s had his fair share of admirers. But he never gave anyone else a chance. For the seven years we dated, his friends mocked him for being the “perfect boyfriend.” We fit well together, likely because of the long, slow build of our relationship, so our feelings for each other stayed fresh longer than most couples’. Everyone envied our relationship. If there was one major difference between us, it was that he loved cats, and I hated them. Last spring, he found a tiny British Shorthair at a park. The poor thing looked abandoned or lost. It was filthy, its eyes crusted shut, barely making a sound. Daniel had always wanted a cat but held off because of me. The minute he brought that one home, he fell in love with it. He took it to the vet, got it cleaned up, and begged me to let him keep it. I was exasperated and told him he could keep it somewhere else, just not in our home. A few days later, after I didn’t budge, he gave the cat away. We were cold toward each other for a few days, but then things went back to normal. I thought it was just a minor bump in our relationship. I had no idea it was the start of something much bigger. He had started to develop feelings for someone else, and I was clueless. He still wove this perfect narrative of love and happiness with me, proposing and planning our future together, even preparing our new home. I glanced at the clock. The place that makes my favorite spicy chili bowl is a ten-minute walk from here. It’s on a narrow street, packed with pedestrians, so walking is faster than driving. Daniel would definitely walk. Between ordering and walking back, he’d be gone for about thirty minutes. I had already wasted a few minutes. That left me with about twenty minutes to make a decision. Should I pretend nothing happened? Or should I burst the bubble of this perfect love everyone envied? I wiped my red, trembling eyes, took half a minute to decide, and shoved my credit cards, bank cards, and important documents into my bag. The rest didn’t matter. But as I grabbed my keys, I couldn’t hold it together anymore. The keychain was one we’d bought together after Daniel asked me out. It was a cute cartoon couple, a boy and a girl. I had the boy, and he had the girl. We kept them for five years, and even when the paint chipped, we didn’t replace them. I thought it symbolized happiness. Now I see it as a joke. Frustrated, I tried ripping off the charm, but the harder I tried, the harder it was to pull apart. I broke down, sobbing, before finally grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting the charm in half. The house we were about to move into after the wedding was partly his — he’d paid the down payment, but I had paid for the renovations. Our wedding funds were split between two bank accounts, both of which I had with me now. I’m not stupid. I’d wasted nine years of my life on this relationship; I wasn’t going to leave empty-handed. His car was fully paid for, so I didn’t touch it. I slipped out through the back of the building and headed to the Holiday Inn across the street. I checked into a room, dropped off my things, and then my phone rang. It was Daniel, asking me where I was. I looked out the window at the familiar neighborhood, my heart aching. “We’re breaking up.” He was furious. “Sarah, what the hell are you talking about? We’re getting married in three days! Do you even care about my feelings?” I didn’t answer directly. Instead, I asked, “That cat I told you to give away last year… it must weigh about twenty pounds by now, right?” He didn’t say a word. Suddenly, everything felt meaningless. My youth had been a foolish dream, and now my passion had turned cold. “I’ll tell our families I’m sick. The wedding’s off. Dan, let’s end this with some dignity. I want to hold onto at least a little bit of good memory.” Before he could respond, I hung up the phone. Twenty minutes. That’s all it took to destroy the love story I thought would last forever. Like crashing off a cliff, I hit rock bottom, shattering into pieces.

I don’t know how long I cried, but when I woke up, it was already the next afternoon. My eyes were so swollen they looked like walnuts, and I could barely speak. My whole body felt weak. I didn’t even feel hungry. My head was a mess, thoughts tangled up. I kept thinking about that cat, the wedding two days away, the house we were supposed to live in, and the seven years I had wasted on him. I felt so disgusted I had to run to the trash can and throw up. There was nothing in my stomach, so I just dry-heaved bile. Exhausted, I called room service and forced myself to eat something. Once I had some strength back, I turned my phone on. The notifications came pouring in — missed calls, texts, Instagram messages, everything. I knew I couldn’t avoid this. No matter how awful it all felt, I had to deal with it. I called my dad first. As expected, the moment he picked up, he asked, “Where are you?” “You need to stop acting out. The wedding is in two days! What were you thinking, running off like this? Daniel came over last night, said he screwed up and made you mad. Fine, be angry, but don’t joke around with the wedding!” That confirmed it for me. Dan hadn’t told my parents about the other woman. Of course not. The invitations had been sent, the hotel and catering booked, the guest list finalized. Canceling now would be humiliating for both families. But who in their right mind would let this all go on as if nothing happened? When I got home that evening, my parents were both there. So was Daniel. The moment he saw me, Daniel dropped to his knees. My parents were shocked, and I could feel the lump forming in my throat as I asked, “What are you doing?” His eyes were bloodshot, and stubble had started to grow along his jawline. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He grabbed my hands, his voice trembling with desperation as he apologized. “Sarah, I’m sorry. I’m a horrible person. I messed up. Please don’t cancel the wedding. I can’t lose you. We’re about to get married. You can’t just leave me now.” “Oh, so you remember we’re about to get married?” The hurt and bitterness welled up in me, replacing the sadness. I picked up a mug from the coffee table and hurled it at him. “When you were out there walking her cat, holding her hand, kissing her, did you remember that we were getting married?” I slapped him, not once, but twice, as hard as I could. But even that didn’t bring any satisfaction. I was out of control, pulling at his hair, kicking him. Everything was chaos. My parents tried to pull me away, panicking at my wild outburst. Daniel sat on the floor, taking the beating without defending himself, apologizing over and over again. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit me, and I doubled over in pain, my hand instinctively going to my stomach. My breathing became ragged, and I slumped down onto the floor, gasping. “I’m pregnant.” The room fell into complete silence. Daniel stared at me, eyes wide with a mix of shock and hope. I looked down, and we all saw it at the same time—the dark red stain slowly spreading beneath me. Daniel’s face turned ghostly white as he rushed toward me, arms shaking as he held me close. “I was going to surprise you on our wedding day,” I said, my voice cold and distant. “Are you happy now?”

The baby was gone. When the doctor confirmed it, it felt like my soul left my body. The pain was so sharp that it numbed me entirely. Daniel collapsed to the floor in the hospital, sobbing uncontrollably, screaming at me for not telling him about the pregnancy earlier. I glared at him, every ounce of hatred I’d been holding back now rising to the surface. I wanted to rip him apart. “What right do you have to question me?” I spat, yanking out the IV from my arm and kicking him in the shoulder. “We’re done. Get out of my life.” But he didn’t leave. He wrapped his arms around my legs, weeping loudly. “We’ve been together for seven years! Seven years! I can’t lose you now! I was an idiot! I never slept with her! Please, give me another chance!” I wanted to vomit. If he really cared about me, if he cared about our child, why did he let another woman slip into our life? The baby was gone now, and all those years of love had turned into nothing. It was only now, when everything had fallen apart, that he wanted to beg for forgiveness. “I swear, I never crossed that line with her. We just talked about cats! If I’m lying, may I be struck by lightning!” He was truly desperate now. He even handed me his phone. The messages he showed me were from someone he had saved as ‘Kelly.’ The chats were innocent — mostly about cats and work, nothing incriminating. “She’s new at my company. We only talked a few times outside of work, and it was just about the cat,” he pleaded. “How did it start?” I asked calmly, though I already knew the answer. I wasn’t stupid. If he was showing me these, it was because he had already hidden the real evidence. While I pretended to interrogate him, I quietly navigated his phone. I opened his battery usage log and found a suspiciously high amount of activity on an unfamiliar Instagram account. It wasn’t his main account. The moment he was distracted, I wrote down the handle. His phone had a dual-account feature, and I knew exactly how to access it. I switched to the other account, where the battery log had revealed his secret. There it was—messages and photos with her. She was the woman who had messaged me, telling me she had kissed him. And there were even more messages. Flirty, explicit ones, with private photos of her. My heart felt like it was being torn apart again, but I forced myself to remain calm. I quickly silenced the phone and acted like I was still angry, throwing a pillow at him. “If you really had nothing going on with her, why didn’t you ever tell me about her? You must like her!” As expected, Daniel panicked and began explaining. While he was flustered, I changed the settings on his Instagram account, linking his backup account to my own phone. Then, I returned his phone, pretending to be exhausted from my outburst. “Just go. Let me think about this.” Thinking I had finally calmed down, he reluctantly left. But I was far from calm. My body was shaking, not just from the physical pain of losing the baby but from the overwhelming emotional devastation. I lay in bed, too drained to cry, my soul feeling crushed. My parents checked in on me later, but they could see how bad my state was. They decided to give me some space, promising to bring me soup later. Once they were gone, I sat up, my mind clouded. I opened Daniel’s secret Instagram account and began reading through the disgusting messages between him and her. I had to think about my next move, but my head was pounding, and my ears were ringing.

The next morning, Daniel showed up at the hospital with his parents. His mother was crying, apologizing for her son’s mistakes. Daniel’s father gave him a few slaps on the back to “make up” for what he had done. It was all for show. They apologized, said how much they regretted everything, but soon enough, they shifted the conversation to the wedding. They couldn’t bear the idea of canceling it. The embarrassment would be too much for both families. I felt sick, my stomach turning at the mere thought of continuing with the wedding. “Don’t worry, we’ll punish him for what he did. We’ll make him delete all contact with that woman. If he ever does anything like this again, his father and I will deal with him ourselves!” Daniel’s mom was crying, clutching my hand dramatically. If this had happened five or six years ago, I might have been naïve enough to forgive him right then and there. But I wasn’t that gullible anymore. They thought they could sweep everything under the rug, that I would swallow my pride and continue life as if nothing had happened. But what about my baby? Was that little life just supposed to disappear without consequence? I couldn’t accept that. Anger pounded in my ears. My head felt like it was going to explode. I shoved Daniel’s mother away from me and ran to the trash can to throw up. She gasped. “Are you still pregnant? Could the baby still be alive?” Her words stabbed at my already raw heart. What was she implying—that I had lied about losing the baby? But I knew it wasn’t the time to lose control. I lifted my head and stared straight at Daniel. “The wedding doesn’t have to be canceled.” I told him that I had just gone through a miscarriage, so there was no way I could leave the hospital anytime soon. Besides, his relationship with that woman made me sick. But if he could promise never to make the same mistake again, I would agree to postpone the wedding. However, I demanded that I be the one to hold the keys to the house. Daniel’s mother beamed. “Of course, of course! Postponing is fine! As long as we’re not canceling, everything will be alright.” Daniel, on the other hand, looked uneasy. He asked if I didn’t trust him. My anger surged again, and my ears buzzed. “You caused me to lose my child because you were off playing games with another woman, and now you expect me to trust you? Either agree to my terms or get out!” My parents started shouting at him too. The whole hospital room erupted into chaos again, and I pressed the nurse’s call button. “I can’t hear. I feel like I’m going to be sick.” Two doctors arrived quickly and asked everyone to leave the room. They checked my symptoms and seemed concerned. After a brief consultation, one of them led me to the ear, nose, and throat department for further testing. After running through my medical history and looking at my symptoms, the doctor finally pulled down his mask. His face lit up with recognition as he said, “Sarah Williams, from Class 3 at Lincoln High? Do you remember me? I’m Michael Freed, from Class 2. We danced together for the school anniversary celebration.”

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Three months into being bullied, I jumped off the rooftop. My tattered school uniform, hair that looked like it had been chewed by a dog, and the dull ache from my bruises all reminded me how worthless I had become. Insulting words were scribbled all over the school rooftop. Madison Pierce grabbed my head and slapped me relentlessly. I shoved Madison away with all my strength and leapt into the air. Like a butterfly with broken wings, I plummeted toward the ground. Let it end. Let it all end… 1． When I opened my eyes again, I was in an unfamiliar room—bright, cozy, and comfortable. Standing in front of a mirror, it didn’t take me long to understand: I had been reborn in a new body. My head was spinning, and nausea swept over me. I ran to the bathroom and threw up before I felt a bit better. I had no memory of her life. Searching through her room, I found a diagnosis of depression, a diary, and a half-empty bottle of sleeping pills. “Claire Harper.” I muttered her name as I traced her picture with my fingers. “She’s so beautiful.” I opened her diary and began reading about her past. September 1st. The first day of school. I was so happy. During my introduction, I didn’t reveal my true identity. I just mentioned I got in as one of the top ten students from the entrance exam. September 2nd. I moved into the dorm today. There’s a girl in my room pretending to be me, claiming she’s the daughter of America’s wealthiest family, with countless companies under her family’s name. I glanced at her cheap makeup and knockoff designer clothes, but I didn’t call her out. I responded politely to her questions, but I wasn’t as friendly with her as I was with the other two girls in the room. She noticed the genuine designer brands in my luggage and couldn’t hide the jealousy in her eyes. September 3rd. Half of my skincare and makeup products were missing. When I asked who had taken them, she said she gave permission for the other two roommates to use them. She told me not to be so stingy, but she hadn’t asked for my permission. I reported it to the teacher, but she wasn’t punished. The teacher only advised me to get along with my classmates. September 10th. It felt like she started to hate me even more. She banded together with the others to isolate me, but I didn’t really care. I stayed in the library until it closed at 10 PM, but when I returned to the dorm, the door was locked. I knocked for what felt like hours, but no one opened it. I had no choice but to stay at my family’s hotel for the night. September 11th. When I got back to the dorm, no one was there. I lay down on my bed to read. They came back later, and when I asked why they locked me out, she covered her mouth in mock surprise, claiming she hadn’t heard me knocking. Was that really possible? September 15th. The photos of me staying at the hotel were posted on the Riverdale Academy Instagram page. The hotel manager came out to greet me, but the caption suggested I was living a shady life, implying I was being “kept.” I explained, but no one believed me. Soon, the whole campus was gossiping about me. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Over the next few days, the insults continued—both directly and indirectly. I put on my headphones to drown them out, but that only made them worse. They trashed my belongings, scattering them all over my bed. I ended up renting an apartment near the school. September 20th. When I walked into the classroom, a smelly trash can was dumped over my head, and I heard laughter all around me. I was shoved onto the teacher’s desk, dirty water dripping down my school uniform. Someone pulled the trash can off my head. I stood there, filthy and humiliated, while they looked pristine and perfect. I ran back to my seat in tears. The word “slut” was carved into my desk, the sight of it searing my eyes. The class president came to my rescue, draping his jacket over my shoulders and guiding me out of the room. I glanced back and caught Madison’s hateful glare. A shiver ran down my spine. He was the one light in this school—the only reason I stayed. I didn’t transfer because I was afraid I’d lose sight of him if I did. October 23rd. My parents and brother, who were abroad, sent me loads of gifts to celebrate my new school year. My brother sent me a designer bag, saying it matched my style. I unwrapped it on the way back to class. As soon as I sat down, Madison was crying, and everyone rushed to comfort her. Then someone snatched my bag, accusing me of stealing. I told them it was a birthday gift from my brother, but no one believed me. One of Madison’s cronies shoved a video in my face. It showed me suspiciously unwrapping a package by the trash can. Within half an hour, word spread that I was a thief. I shoved the receipt in Madison’s face. She didn’t say a word, but she ripped the bag apart in front of me and handed me the pieces. I almost called the police, but she begged for my forgiveness. I forgave her, and she promised it would never happen again. November 16th. The class president invited me to his birthday party. I was thrilled and spent hours trying on different outfits. But when I entered the karaoke room, he had his arm around Madison. Several other girls, dressed in wild outfits, stood by her side. Madison slapped me hard across the face, calling me a pathetic loser and instructing the others to beat me up. She assured them she’d take the blame if anything went wrong. Slaps rained down on me. I fought back, but it only made them hit harder. December 1st. I dragged my aching body back to the apartment. The blade of a knife slid across my arm, and blood trickled down. I hid in the corner of the dark room, sobbing. The deep abyss of the night and the blood spilling from my arm felt like my only salvation. December 10th. Let an accident happen to me! I wanted to forget those people and everything that had happened. The pain was suffocating, and I couldn’t stop crying, barely able to make a sound. I felt abandoned, hated. The world was a lie, deadlier than poison, more crushing than falling off a cliff. There was no empathy left in this world. I bought a bottle of sleeping pills. I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep… The diary ended there. I closed it, overwhelmed by how much I could relate to her. She was just like me—a victim. I hugged her diary and cried. 2. But I didn’t understand. Claire Harper came from an incredibly wealthy family, with powerful brothers and rich parents. She never had to face any consequences. There were always people ready to clean up her messes. Why would a rich girl go to a school like Riverdale Academy pretending to be a normal student? Was it for the beatings? The humiliation? Now that I was Claire Harper, I would make sure her enemies paid. In my previous life, my family was poor, powerless, and subject to endless bullying. But now? Now I was a wealthy heiress. Let’s see who dares mess with me. The next morning, I walked into school with $5,000 in cash. I went straight to the senior bully’s classroom and called him out. I shoved the cash into his hands. “Here’s five grand. Teach someone a lesson for me.” His eyes lit up, weighing the money in his hands. He smirked. “Consider it done. Just give me the time, place, and name. How do you want it handled?” I handed him a note with a carefully thought-out plan. That evening after school, the bully and his crew dragged the girl who had tormented Claire to the rooftop. I followed them up there. “Each of you guys,” I instructed, “give her five hard slaps. My hearing’s a bit bad, so make sure it’s loud enough.” The sound of slaps echoed across the rooftop. Slap! Slap! Slap! After what seemed like an eternity, her face was swollen like a pig’s head, and she could barely speak. She collapsed at my feet, begging for mercy, promising to be my dog if I spared her. I stood above her, towering, holding up my phone, recording every second of it. “Apologize. And tell me exactly how you bullied me.” Half an hour later, I patted her swollen cheek. “If you ever breathe a word about what happened today, I’ll post this video. Let everyone see how you grovel like a dog.” For the next two weeks, she fetched me coffee, did my chores, and cleaned the blackboard. Everyone at school was baffled. They had no idea what had changed. If anyone came for me, she stood in their way first. It was fun! I had finally avenged Claire. Now it was time to get revenge for myself. 3． “This is our new transfer student, Claire Harper.” “Hi, everyone. My name is Claire Harper.” Facing the 39 familiar faces, I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. After taking a deep breath, I scanned the room, one face at a time. The boy with the biggest smile had cut my hair. The one clapping the loudest had poured glue all over my clothes. When I accidentally bumped into the guy in front of me, he would jump back and curse at me, as if I were something filthy. They hadn’t physically hit me, but the isolation, the insults, and the taunts had hurt just as much. The echo of their mocking laughter still lingered in my mind, sending a cold sweat down my back. Words don’t break bones, but they can destroy souls. “Excuse me.” That sweet voice felt like nails on a chalkboard. Madison Pierce walked in, looking every bit the princess she always pretended to be. “Madison, no more being late,” the teacher said, still coddling her like always. Madison stuck her tongue out playfully. “Got it, Miss Wilson. Is this the new student? Wow, she’s so pretty!” In my previous life, I had been assigned to sit next to her. She had tortured me just because a boy she liked had glanced my way. I remember her stabbing me repeatedly with the sharp end of a compass, making the entire class unbearable. My timid reaction had only encouraged her. The moment the bell rang, she dragged me into the bathroom and beat me senseless. That was the day the bullying began. “Megan, you’re just a poor girl from the countryside, and you still think you can win over Jackson? Scratch her face up for me!” Madison’s words dragged me back to the present. She was holding out her hand—the same hand that had slapped me countless times. I stared at her, speechless for a moment. As much as I hated to admit it, Madison Pierce was beautiful, with her perfectly symmetrical face and dimples that appeared whenever she smiled. An angelic face, but the heart of a devil. I fought against the tremor in my arm as I shook her hand, forcing a smile. “Sure.” Madison Pierce was my seatmate once again. 4. Sitting beside Madison made every class feel like torture. “So, Claire Harper, what does your family do?” Madison asked, her voice dripping with the same curiosity from my past life. She was deciding whether I would be her friend or her servant, depending on my answer. Her father was the City Mayor, after all, with enormous power. She didn’t suffer any consequences after she drove me to my death in my previous life. She had just continued living her charmed life. “My family owns a business. We’re doing okay.” “Everyone here’s family owns a business,” she scoffed, giving me a disdainful once-over. I glanced at her but didn’t respond. Suddenly, another girl chimed in. “You look so familiar! You’re the daughter of the Harper Corporation, aren’t you? We met at the gala last summer.” I turned toward the girl and gave a cold, indifferent nod. She was the one who had once stuck gum in my hair. Most of the students at Riverdale Academy were children of Hartford’s elite. It wasn’t unusual for someone to recognize Claire Harper. “The Harpers!” Madison’s eyes lit up. “Isn’t your brother the new department head here?” I didn’t answer, pretending to focus on the teacher’s lecture instead. Madison leaned closer. “Hey, Claire, could you grab something for me after class?” I tilted my head, giving her an innocent smile. “Do you deserve my help?” “Oh wow, the ‘Harper Princess’ sure doesn’t like to play nice, huh?” “Looks like Madison finally met her match!” “Madison’s the Mayor’s daughter! How dare Claire talk back?” The whispers grew louder, drowning out the teacher’s voice. Madison’s face turned bright red with anger. She jumped to her feet and shouted, “Shut up! Can’t you see the teacher is talking?” The classroom fell silent. “Claire Harper, you think you’re untouchable?” Madison asked, her voice as calm as if she were discussing the weather. “Mayor’s daughter, huh?” I chuckled. “Madison, you’ve had things too easy for far too long, haven’t you?” Madison’s face flushed with rage, and she raised her arm, ready to slap me. But I caught her wrist mid-swing and slapped her across the face. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. I lost count. Every strike was payback for the times she had humiliated me in my past life. “Stop this at once!” Ms. Wilson’s voice cut through the chaos, putting an end to my ‘attack.’ “You two, come with me to the Principal’s Office. The rest of you, study quietly.” I massaged my hand, which was stinging from the force of the slaps, while looking down at Madison. Her face was swollen, and she looked like a beaten pig. One word came to mind: satisfaction. “Sorry if I hit you too hard. Does it hurt?” I asked sarcastically, throwing her own words back at her. Leaving her fuming behind, I followed Ms. Wilson to Mr. Matthews’ office. As I walked away, I could hear applause from the classroom and Madison’s angry screams. 5. Standing in the Principal’s Office, I watched as Mr. Matthews calmly sipped his coffee. He was holding my enrollment file in his hand. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. “Claire Harper, why did you hit Madison Pierce?” “She deserved it.” He didn’t seem phased. “Do you know who her father is?” Ah, here it comes. “The Mayor.” “Claire, you should know that Madison’s family isn’t one you can mess with. I strongly advise you to leave this school before she returns. Riverdale Academy isn’t for people like you.” Did he really just call the Harper family “small-time”? Without a word, I pulled out my phone and dialed my father. Before I could finish, Ms. Wilson, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly snatched the phone out of my hand and smashed it onto the ground. “Claire Harper, I am your teacher! Do you even understand what respect is?” I glared at her. “Who are you calling disrespectful?” Ms. Wilson flinched, clearly not expecting my defiance. She fumed, “You’re out of control! No wonder you come from such a lowly family. You have no class at all!” “I bet your father’s no better! A man with no manners raises a daughter with none!” She pointed her finger at me, hurling insult after insult—ones I had heard before in my past life. Furious, I shoved her back. “Say that again, I dare you!” I was Claire Harper now. This family—her family—was mine to protect, and no one would insult them in front of me. Just then, Madison stormed into the office, tears streaming down her face. She shoved me aside. “Claire Harper, how dare you push the teacher!” Ms. Wilson pointed at me, her voice shaking with rage. “This girl is out of control! I’m calling the Principal to have her expelled!” As she patted Madison on the back, the Principal walked by. Without hesitation, Madison grabbed his arm, pulling him into the office. Now it was just me and Madison. She crossed her arms, her voice cold. “Claire Harper, if you get down on your knees and beg, I’ll let you stay at Riverdale Academy.” Beg so she could keep torturing me? No way. “Madison, if I don’t get expelled, how about you get on your knees and apologize to me?” I challenged, staring her down. “Who do you think you are to make a bet with me?” Madison sneered. “You’ll be begging before the day’s over, whether you like it or not.” Madison was sure of her victory. In my past life, Madison’s favorite thing was making us kneel and apologize to her, even when we had done nothing wrong. “Who are you making kneel?” “What’s it to you?” she spat back. At that moment, Madison’s expression changed from venomous to fake innocence as she spotted someone entering the room. “Oh, Mr. Harper, I didn’t mean it like that. Claire hit me first. I just lost my temper and said some things I shouldn’t have. Saying that, Madison was about to fall towards that teacher. 6. Mr. Harper ignored Madison’s theatrics and strode over to me. Grabbing my shoulders, he shook me hard. “Little sis, are you okay?” He was shaking me so hard I felt like I might throw up. This must be Claire’s older brother, Ryan Harper, the one Madison had mentioned. “Ryan?” He looked at me, panic in his eyes. “Has this crazy girl hit you so hard that you can’t even recognize your own brother? Let me check for bruises.” I let him turn me around and check me for injuries. “I’m fine, Ryan.” I turned and shot Madison a smirk. “I’m the one who hit her.” The moment Madison realized he really was my brother, she scrambled to her feet, fixing her disheveled hair. “I must’ve done something wrong to upset Claire. That’s why she hit me, right? Ryan, please don’t be mad at her.” Ryan and I spoke in unison: “Who said I’m your brother?” Madison’s face flushed red, swelling further as the bruises began to show. Her pig-like face was almost comical. It would’ve been funny if she looked like that forever. I watched her standing there, dumbstruck and humiliated, like a dirty ragdoll—just as I had been in my previous life. “Claire Harper, are you alright?” Mr. Matthews, the principal, rushed into the room, with Ms. Wilson trailing behind him, looking like a frightened bird. “I’m fine.” I shrugged, gesturing toward the shocked and swollen-faced Madison Pierce. Mr. Matthews put a hand on Madison’s shoulder, speaking in a low, hushed tone. But Madison suddenly exploded, jumping up and shouting, “I’m not apologizing! She hit me first!” She covered her face dramatically and cried, “Uncle, she hit me! You have to expel her! Look at my face! When my dad comes—” “When your dad comes, what?” Mr. Matthews slammed his hand on the desk, cutting her off. “Even if your father himself showed up right now, it wouldn’t change the fact that you were in the wrong!” Madison stared at him, unable to comprehend what she was hearing. “You’re going to hit me, too? You’ve forgotten how you even got this job, haven’t you? If you want to keep it, you better expel this piece of trash right now!” SLAP! The sound of Mr. Matthews’ hand connecting with her cheek echoed through the room. “Enough of your tantrums! You think it’s no big deal to bully someone to the point of death?” Madison clutched her face in disbelief, tears streaming down her cheeks. To them, in my past life, pushing me to my death had been nothing more than “childish antics,” hadn’t it? “Uncle, you actually hit me for this… this nobody?” “Who did you just call a nobody?” Ryan Harper casually cleaned his ear with a finger. “I think I must’ve misheard.” Mr. Matthews, ignoring Madison’s cries, turned to Ryan. “Mr. Harper? When did you arrive?” Ryan stepped forward, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Just in time to see my little sister get treated like this.” Mr. Matthews visibly paled, bowing his head. “My deepest apologies for the misunderstanding, Mr. Harper. This… This was all a mistake.” 7. The principal pulled out his phone and made a call. I could hear the sound of someone shouting obscenities and the clatter of poker chips through the speaker. “Mr. Harper, please give me just a moment to explain the situation to Madison’s family,” Mr. Matthews said nervously. I leaned over to Ryan, whispering, “Ryan, didn’t you buy your college degree?” “Hey! I worked hard for that!” Ryan tried to hide his embarrassment, his good looks now tinged with a little awkwardness. “You think I wanted to be here? The family made me enroll just to keep an eye on you.” “Oh, I’ll make sure David hears about how much you hate it.” Ryan nearly dropped to his knees in panic. “No, please! I’m loving it. Best job ever!” “Claire Harper!” Madison suddenly shrieked, interrupting our conversation. Her face was a blotchy mess from tears and smeared makeup. “Just wait until my dad gets here! When he does, you’ll be expelled!” God, she really was thick-headed. I’d already told her she couldn’t mess with the Harper family. Let her keep going, she’ll destroy her own life. “Fine,” I said, folding my arms. “I’ll wait to see if I get expelled.” Ten minutes later, Mr. Matthews returned, his face pale. “Claire Harper, Madison’s family says they will leave the matter entirely in your hands. They trust your judgment.” “I don’t believe it! You’re lying!” Madison grabbed the phone from him and dialed her father. Mr. Matthews didn’t even bother to stop her. He knew there was nothing left for him to do. I nodded toward Ryan, and he quickly dialed our older brother, David. I passed the phone to Mr. Matthews. “Here. It’s my brother.” Mr. Matthews, trembling, took the phone with both hands. “Mr. Harper, sir! No need for that, really. Yes… Yes, of course, sir. No, no, it’s no trouble at all for you to take time out of your busy schedule. Everything will be handled, sir. Thank you for your guidance!” He nearly looked ready to cry by the time David hung up. Then he handed the phone back to me. “Big brother,” I spoke softly into the phone. David’s voice was tired but warm. “Don’t worry, little sis. I’ve got your back, no matter what. Just don’t break any laws.” He didn’t ask for details. Our family always looked out for each other. “Thank you, David.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I hung up. I had never known this kind of love and protection in my past life. “Put it on speaker, Claire,” David said before I hung up. “Let them all hear this.” I clicked on speakerphone, and Madison, seeing this, did the same with her own call. “This matter is entirely in Claire’s hands,” David’s voice boomed over the speaker. “And tell the Mayor—if his daughter dares to harass my little sister again, I’ll make sure she regrets it.” “Mr. Harper,” Madison’s father’s voice wavered on the other end, “Please, let’s not involve the adults in a petty schoolyard squabble. Surely, we can allow the children to handle this themselves?” Madison’s dad’s supplicating voice clearly reached everyone’s ears, including those eavesdropping at the door.

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As I was cleaning the room over the weekend, I swept under the bed and found a wrapper. Any adult would know what it was. Mia and I had been trying for a baby for over two months without using any protection, so there’s no way that thing was mine. I looked at the wrapper closely—it was clearly used recently. A terrible thought exploded in my mind: Was Mia cheating on me? I found a cigarette butt in the trash can in our bathroom, and I don’t smoke. My wife, Mia, hates the smell of cigarettes—so who smoked it? We hadn’t had any guests over recently. Holding the cigarette butt, I asked Mia who had been here. She stammered, saying it might have been left by the guy who came to fix the water heater. Our water heater had been broken for a while, and it was indeed fixed recently, so I didn’t think much of it at the time. But then, over the weekend, while cleaning, I found a wrapper under the bed. Any adult would know what it was. Mia and I had been trying to have a baby for two months without protection. So, this contraceptive wrapper wasn’t mine. I looked at it again—it was obviously used recently. That horrible thought resurfaced: Was Mia cheating on me? I didn’t confront her right away. With work keeping me so busy, I hadn’t spent much time with her lately, and things between us had become tense. I wanted to believe this was all just a misunderstanding. The next day, I took a day off from work and sent Mia out to hang with her friends on purpose. I called the home appliance repair company, claiming our water heater was broken again, and requested the same guy who had come last time. About fifteen minutes later, he arrived—a tall, clean-cut young man. He smiled confidently as he came in. I led him to the bathroom and, as a test, I pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered him one. To my surprise, he immediately pushed it away, saying, “Sorry, man, I don’t smoke.” I was stunned, but more than that, I was suspicious. The cigarette butt in the trash hadn’t come from him. Mia had lied to me. He checked the water heater and told me nothing was wrong. I mumbled some excuse and sent him on his way. He was polite, but as he was leaving, he said something that completely threw me off: “Hope you’re feeling better, man. Your wife’s been worried about you.” Feeling better? What was he talking about? I pulled him back inside and asked more questions. He told me that when he was here a few days ago, he heard a man coughing in the bedroom. Mia had said it was me—she told him I had a fever and was resting. My mind reeled in shock. That night, I wasn’t even home. I had been working late and didn’t get back until after midnight. So, whoever that man was, it wasn’t me. I asked if he had seen the man’s face. He shook his head. I handed him $500 and told him to keep this between us. I rushed to the nearest Best Buy and bought a hidden camera, planning to gather evidence. I looked all over the bedroom for a good spot, and finally, I noticed the gap between some suitcases on top of the wardrobe—a perfect place to hide the camera. As I stood on a chair, ready to install the camera, I spotted something strange in the gap. I reached in and pulled out a hidden camera—one much more sophisticated than mine. Who had put this here? And when? Someone had been spying on me and Mia. A flood of questions raced through my mind. I didn’t want to alert anyone, so I carefully put the camera back. At that moment, my phone rang. It was Mia. She purred into the phone, “Hey honey, are you home? Are you heading back to work this afternoon?” Why was she asking? Could it be that she was planning to bring her lover to our house? I calmly answered, “No, I just left for work. You’ll have to grab lunch by yourself.” She sighed and hung up. I decided to stay hidden at home and catch them red-handed. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, just in case. Around noon, I heard Mia’s laughter outside the door. I peered through the peephole. Mia was all dressed up—heavy makeup, a revealing outfit—and she was clinging to a man I recognized all too well: Randy Johnson, my coworker. Randy was the type of guy who flirted with half the women in the office. Everyone knew about his affairs. He and I were cordial, but nothing more. But how did he end up with Mia? They were standing so close, his arm around her waist, looking more intimate than I could handle. Inside, I was boiling with rage, gripping the knife so tightly my palms were sweaty. My whole body trembled as I fought the urge to run out and tear them apart. But I held myself back. Instead, I pulled out my phone to take pictures as evidence. Just as I clicked the camera, the shutter sound went off loudly. They might not have heard it, but I panicked and dropped the knife on the tiled floor, which made a sharp, echoing noise. Immediately, they stopped talking. I ran to the kitchen and pretended to be busy. A minute later, Mia slowly opened the door and, hearing me in the kitchen, came to check on me. Seeing me chopping vegetables, she asked cautiously, “Honey, I thought you went to work?” I smiled and said, “I heard you sounded a bit down on the phone, so I figured I’d make you lunch before heading back to work.” But inside, I was thinking: You lying cheat, did I ruin your little plan? Mia wrapped her arms around me from behind, whispering about how lucky she was to have me, saying she was the happiest woman in the world. I swallowed my disgust and played along.

The entire afternoon, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I would deal with those two. I knew I needed solid evidence of their affair. I checked the photos I had taken through the peephole, but they were too blurry to identify anyone. That night, Mia went to take her usual bath. Oddly enough, this time, she didn’t bring her phone with her. The screen was blinking with notifications, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there might be some incriminating messages. While she was in the shower, I picked up her phone. Her password was her birthday, so I easily unlocked it. I opened WhatsApp and saw a few unread messages from Randy. I hesitated. If I read them, would Mia know? But I couldn’t stop myself. I clicked them open. What I found left me stunned. They had started seeing each other two months ago—right after that company dinner, when Mia had attended as my plus-one. I couldn’t believe it. They had only met once before hooking up, and for the thrill of it, they had done it right here in my home. And they had timed it around when I got off work. It was a complete betrayal of everything I believed. But what shocked me more was that they had a plan. Before Mia and I got married, we had signed a fidelity agreement stating that if either of us cheated, the guilty party would leave the marriage with nothing. All our assets, the house, the cars—they were all paid for by me. Mia was planning to take everything. And it was her idea. Randy had agreed to help her pull it off. They even had a lengthy video call discussing it. What was Randy going to do for her? Were they plotting something even bigger? I had kept myself faithful to this marriage, barely interacting with the cleaning lady, let alone having an affair. How did Randy plan to frame me? I scrolled further through their chat and discovered that the hidden camera in the bedroom had been planted by Mia, following Randy’s instructions. I checked Mia’s spending history and found that they regularly booked rooms at the same Hilton Hotel. When Mia got out of the shower, I put her phone back and carefully observed her reaction when she picked it up. She seemed unaware that I had gone through it. Over the next few days, I continued to go to work as usual. Every time I saw Randy was missing from the office, I pretended to be sick and took the day off, spending my time staking out the hotel, taking pictures to gather more evidence. What I discovered was shocking. Randy wasn’t just cheating with Mia—he brought a different woman to the hotel each time. The guy was a total scumbag. After about a week, I had enough evidence, but I wasn’t ready to confront Mia or file for divorce yet. I had a plan to make Randy suffer first.

One morning, I arrived at work, and Randy was already there, smiling and greeting me like nothing had happened. He looked so innocent, it was disgusting. He had been sleeping with our overweight boss, Mrs. Smith—everyone knew it. She had made advances toward me in the past, but I had rejected her, which had led to her giving me a hard time at work. Lately, Randy’s workload had mysteriously lightened, even though he often showed up late, left early, or skipped days entirely. And yet, he was still being considered for Employee of the Month. It had to be because of his relationship with Mrs. Smith. I couldn’t believe he was willing to go that far for success. Mrs. Smith’s husband was notoriously strict with her. He would stop by the office unannounced to keep an eye on her, and Randy and Mrs. Smith would sneak off to the stairwell for their rendezvous. One day, I managed to snap some photos of them together. I also had pictures of Randy from the hotel with her. Once I had everything ready, I anonymously sent all the photos to Mr. Smith—showing them hugging, kissing, the whole disgusting affair. The very next day, Mr. Smith stormed into the office with several big guys in tow. Randy, sensing danger, tried to run, but he didn’t get far. The men grabbed him and beat him so badly he was spitting blood. A few coworkers threatened to call the police, so they finally stopped. Mrs. Smith, terrified, hid in her office but was soon dragged out by her furious husband. After the chaos, I helped Randy up, pretending to be concerned. Seeing him bruised and barely able to stand was deeply satisfying. That evening, back at home, Mia casually asked, “I heard Randy got beaten up at work. How is he?” I held back a laugh. It was clear she had heard from Randy himself. “Yeah,” I said, “apparently he was hooking up with our boss, and her husband found out. He came in and beat him up.” As I told her this, I watched her closely. Her expression didn’t change much, which made me wonder—did she know about Randy’s other affairs? If she did and still stayed with him, well, that just proved the old saying true: “Birds of a feather flock together.” After dinner, I got up to do the dishes, but Mia stopped me, saying I had been working too hard lately and that she’d take care of them. I found it odd. She hadn’t offered to do this in a while. As I sat back down, I noticed her phone lighting up with a notification. I clicked on it—it was a message from Randy. Their previous chat history was gone. Had she deleted it because she knew I had checked? But the message made my blood run cold: “I got my test results. I have HIV.”

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The trending topics were filled with their public announcement video. My boyfriend said to me, “I need someone who can keep up with me, and all you do is hold me back.” I smiled, hung up the phone, and immediately called all the brands he was working with to cancel his contracts. My boyfriend is a popular actor. We agreed to keep our relationship private for the sake of his career. Today, he was supposed to come celebrate my birthday with me. But instead of him showing up, what I got was a trending video of him announcing his relationship with Lila Preston, the new rising starlet. In the video, he smiled so radiantly, just like when I first met him. The footage was from a recent vacation they took abroad together, one he had told me was for a company-sponsored shoot. I felt like a complete fool. I called him, demanding an explanation. “Dylan Hawthorne, what’s going on with the trending video?” I asked. He scoffed, “Isn’t it obvious? Avery, I’m with Lila Preston now. She can offer me the best resources. I need a partner who can keep up with me, not drag me down.” I hung up and immediately called every brand that worked with Dylan, telling them to terminate their contracts with him. I even offered to cover any breach-of-contract penalties myself. For years, I worked behind the scenes to connect Dylan with major brands, securing resources and partnerships, turning him from an unknown trainee into the rising star he is today. But he never knew any of this. To him, I was just a plain, unremarkable girl who didn’t care much about appearances—a fan who loved him to the bone. We started dating when he was still an unknown trainee. Back then, his company posted a video of him practicing a dance routine—zero views, zero comments. I was the first person to click on it and became his first fan. I followed him on Twitter and sent him messages of encouragement. He told me he cried out of joy. At that time, I found him to be genuine, sunny, and driven. After we secretly got together, I pitied that he wasn’t getting the company’s attention or resources. So, I used my connections to gradually build him into the star he is today. But over time, he became blinded by the applause and the limelight. This isn’t the first time Dylan and Lila Preston have trended together. The last time was when they were caught by the media, spending five hours in a hotel room while filming together. I confronted him with the reports, and he brushed it off, irritated, “We were just discussing the script. What, should we have sat in the hotel lobby instead? Do you really believe those gossip reporters over me? I can’t talk to you anymore.” That fight didn’t end well, and after that, his attitude toward me grew colder. I even questioned if it was my lack of trust that pushed him away. Looking back, I realize now I was just overthinking it. Dylan had long been ready to kick me aside and fly straight into Lila Preston’s arms.

The next morning, several brands announced that they had cut ties with Dylan Hawthorne, and it quickly trended online. People were speculating whether Dylan had done something wrong or offended someone powerful. Of course, no one knew it was all because of me. The brands would never dare to reveal my name. My family is one of the top corporations in the country, and crossing me would be equivalent to cutting off their financial lifeline. Last night, Lila Preston’s fans had been sending them congratulations. But by morning, they were flooding Dylan’s social media with insults. “Can you not drag my girl down with you?” “If you know what’s good for you, break up. Don’t pull Lila into your mess.” “Is he a gold digger or what?” “Trying to stay relevant by using our Lila’s name? Gross. Lila, run while you can!” Some even started speculating: “I heard Lila Preston has a sponsor, and this announcement upset them. That’s why all of Dylan’s endorsements were pulled.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when I saw that one. Honestly, it wasn’t far from the truth. Except the one who’s upset was me, and I was Dylan’s real sponsor. That said, Lila also had someone backing her—someone who saw her commercial potential and decided to promote her. That person just so happened to be my childhood friend, the one I grew up with but never quite got along with—Grayson Whitmore. To be honest, before that video was posted last night, I always thought Lila and Grayson would end up together. Sure, Grayson could be a bit cold and had a bad temper, but he wasn’t a bad guy overall. He’s handsome, wealthy—an ideal catch for most women. As I thought about it, I suddenly wondered—should I offer him some comfort? After all, we’ve known each other for so many years. It wouldn’t hurt for two heartbroken people to console each other. I shot him a message: “Don’t be sad. There’s plenty of fish in the sea.” He replied almost immediately: “?” “It’s okay. I know you’re upset. If you need to cry, go ahead.” “You’re nuts.” Well, he just broke up; I’ll let it slide. No point in arguing with him. I glanced at Twitter, and the trending topics had shifted again. This time, it was a statement from Hawthorne Talent Management, essentially telling the public not to spread rumors or face legal consequences. They also announced that all of Dylan’s upcoming events had been suspended. In other words, Dylan was officially blacklisted. I couldn’t help but smile. Sweet, sweet justice. Later, several brand managers called me. Apparently, Dylan’s agent had been blowing up their phones, frantically asking why all his contracts were suddenly canceled. Exhausted, the managers asked me if they should come up with some excuse. I coldly replied, “Just tell him—it’s because his client brought it on himself.” When I love you, I give you everything. But when I stop, I take back every ounce of it.

A few days later, Grayson Whitmore invited me to a charity gala. I rarely attend events like that because I can’t stand the superficial small talk. But I thought, why not keep him company? It would be a nice distraction for both of us. I wore a sleek custom gown, my hair pinned up, revealing my smooth, fair shoulders, and I did my makeup much more dramatically than usual. When Grayson saw me, his eyes narrowed slightly, though his face remained as stoic as ever. He took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, his tone flat, “It’s cold in the ballroom. I’m not responsible if you catch a cold.” I shrugged it off, tossing the jacket back at him. “It’s ugly with this outfit.” He didn’t say anything, but his face darkened even more. At the event, I ran into an old acquaintance. Dylan walked right past me, wearing the custom suit I had once bought him. I looked so different tonight that he didn’t even recognize me at first. That suit cost six figures, but to avoid making him feel bad, I’d told him it was an off-the-rack design for a few thousand. Now, with all his work suspended, his presence here could only mean one thing—Lila Preston was here too. Suddenly, I realized why Grayson had invited me. He wanted to get under his ex’s skin. Who knew this cold, stoic man had such a cunning side? I hooked my arm through Grayson’s, giving him a knowing look. Since my ex was here, it was time to let Dylan experience some regret. Grayson glanced down at my arm, “So, you’re using me to get back at your ex?” What? He’s the one who wanted to mess with his ex first! I’m just playing along. “Hey, if we’re all gathered here, we might as well help each other out, right? Don’t be so stingy.” He shot me his usual response, “You’re nuts.” But he didn’t let go of my hand. Ah, men. They say one thing, but their actions say another. We spent the evening mingling with business moguls and Hollywood elites, exchanging fake compliments and stiff smiles. I kept glancing around, but there was no sign of Lila Preston. Then, a short, curvy woman approached us. I recognized her. She had inherited her late husband’s vast fortune last year and loved attending these events with a different young man on her arm each time. I noticed a familiar watch on the hand resting on her waist. I looked up. Oh, wow. It’s Dylan. “Well, if it isn’t little Dylan,” Grayson said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know him?” the woman asked, surprised, looking between Dylan and me. Dylan finally recognized me and pointed, confused, “Avery?” “Yes, Vivian, we’re old friends,” Grayson said smoothly, patting my hand. Though Dylan and Grayson had never met, Grayson knew all about my history with Dylan. “So, Dylan, where’s Lila Preston tonight?” I chimed in, joining in on the sarcastic fun. “Dylan and Lila are ancient history,” Vivian purred, stroking his hand. Her bright red lips stretched into a wide grin, making the heavy makeup on her face even more garish. I saw a brief flash of disgust cross Dylan’s face. Grayson and I exchanged amused glances, sharing a quiet, satisfied smile.

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On my way to meet the lawyer with the will in hand, I was in a car accident. The car was totaled, and I didn’t survive. When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting in a classroom at Brentwood University, back in 2002. Sitting next to me was a 19-year-old Julian Mercer, my boss. “Are you… Julian Mercer?” He was in the same class as me? Julian slightly turned his head, acknowledging that he heard me, though his eyes stayed focused on Professor Dean Foster at the front. “Yeah.” I looked at this young man, wearing a worn-out hoodie and a pair of ill-fitting sneakers. Julian was hurriedly taking notes, and I noticed the bruises on his wrists. This handsome, slender boy would, ten years later, become my boss. He was the one who left all his wealth to me when I was at my lowest. I glanced down at my hands—smooth and delicate. They were completely different from the rough, worn hands I had before. And right there beside me, I spotted a 2002 Chanel handbag. Back when I worked for Julian, my family had fallen into hard times. The few designer bags I owned were gifts from him, given as year-end bonuses. I pulled out a compact from the bag, carefully studying the beautiful young woman reflected in the mirror. I had really been given a second chance.

After class, Julian picked up his books and quickly left. I tried to follow him, but a girl blocked my way. “Sienna, why were you talking to that loser today?” Loser? She must be talking about Julian. “So what if I talked to him?” Her eyes widened, and she reached out to touch my forehead. “Weren’t you the one who used to say he smelled like dirt and was gross?” What? I hated Julian? I tried to recall, but I really had no memory of him from our university days. “I was immature back then. Now I think he’s amazing—an inspiration.” I glanced up, and there he was, standing at the doorway, lips tightly pressed together, looking a bit uneasy. “Did you forget something?” I smiled at him, offering as much kindness as I could. He nodded but didn’t look at me. I grabbed the keys on the desk and handed them to him, following him out of the classroom. His pants were clearly too short, and his shoes too big, revealing the backs of his heels as he walked. There were several blisters on his feet, and I noticed more bruises on his ankles. “Is someone bullying you? Who is it?” He turned around, surprised, as if to say, “Isn’t it you?” I blinked, clarifying, “I mean, someone in your dorm?” He didn’t respond and kept walking. I followed him, and as we passed the West Wing Stairwell, someone suddenly pulled him aside.

“What are you guys doing?” I rushed up to find Julian pinned to the ground. One of the guys had his foot on Julian’s shoulder and looked shocked when he saw me. “Sienna, I thought you hated him.” Julian looked at me too, but his eyes didn’t show fear or a plea for help. “I don’t hate him anymore. In fact, he’s my friend now. So you better move your foot.” The boys laughed mockingly, throwing me challenging looks. I pulled out my phone, pretending to make a call. They started to panic. “What are you doing?” I looked at them innocently. “Calling the dean. My dad donates so much to this school every year, and this is what it produces? A bunch of bullies ganging up on one guy?” They grew scared, knowing I had the power to get them expelled. They glared at Julian and me, muttering curses as they started to leave. “Wait.” They froze. The only defiance they could muster was standing with their backs to me. “Julian is my friend. You got that?” Grudgingly, they nodded and left. I helped Julian up. He wasn’t hurt, just dirtied. In his hand was an unsealed envelope. As he stood, the money inside spilled onto the ground. Some were even coins. “You were going to deposit this?” He looked at me, trying to figure out if I was a friend or foe, then nodded. “I was sending it to my brother.” “You’re this broke, and you’re still giving your brother money?” I realized I’d overstepped as soon as the words left my mouth. Luckily, he didn’t seem offended. “Yeah, he needs it right now.” He had a brother? I had worked for Julian for seven years in my previous life, and not once did I hear him mention a brother.

I had someone look into Julian’s past. It wasn’t an easy path for him. He dropped out in his sophomore year of high school, and it took a lot of convincing from a teacher before his parents agreed to let him retake his exams and go to college. His grades were excellent, and the school waived his tuition. He even received scholarships and financial aid, which won over his parents. But Julian’s younger brother, Mason, had failed his entrance exams, and their family spent a fortune to pull strings to get him into a vocational college. A few days into school, he got a girlfriend and started asking Julian for money to buy her gifts. Their family didn’t give Julian a single cent for living expenses. He had to work at the Brentwood University Dining Hall to earn money and send it back home to support Mason. There was even a picture of Mason in the report. He was leaning against a tree, smoking, with a smug look on his face. But… why did he look so familiar? I racked my brain. Wait… wasn’t this the same guy who was driving the car that hit me in the accident?

A chill ran through me. Maybe the accident wasn’t an accident after all. I had always wondered why Julian left nothing to his parents in his will and gave everything to me instead. Maybe his suicide was tied to his family. Mason’s school was near Brentwood, though it didn’t have the best reputation. Students like Mason, with average grades and family backgrounds, acted as if they ruled the world. Every time I saw their posts, I thought it was some wannabe mob boss living out a fantasy. As I was thinking this, Mason and his group of friends blocked my path, asking for my number. I looked at them coldly. “Why would you need my number? Do you even have a phone?” Mason awkwardly scratched his head and said confidently, “We have a phone booth at our dorm.” When I didn’t respond, he reached for my bag. I shot him a low warning. “This bag is worth ten grand. Are you sure you can afford to pay for it?” They burst into laughter. “No way it costs that much. Is it made of gold?” I didn’t back down. “You’re welcome to try if you’ve got the money.” Mason hesitated but withdrew his hand. Maybe feeling humiliated in front of his friends, he suddenly reached for my arm, but I dodged. “Mason.” A familiar voice came from behind me. It was Julian. He hurried over, pushing Mason away and apologizing to me. I watched as he bent slightly, bowing to me, though just earlier, he hadn’t flinched when others were bullying him. Now, though… I felt a sudden pang of sympathy for him. “Julian, your brother crossed a line. Let’s go back to campus and deal with this.” With that, I walked off. Julian said something to Mason, who looked annoyed, but finally smiled when Julian handed him fifty bucks. Back at Brentwood, Julian was still apologizing. “I’m sorry, my brother is out of line. Please don’t hold it against him.” There was a pleading tone in his voice. I nodded. “Alright, but you owe me tutoring in exchange.”

Julian froze. “Tutoring?” I told him I wasn’t doing well in my classes, especially English. As long as he could tutor me daily and help me pass my finals, I’d let this whole thing go. Plus, I’d pay him for the tutoring. He looked serious as he replied, “I can tutor you, but I won’t take your money.” Of course, I knew he’d say that. But it didn’t matter. There were other ways to help him financially. Thinking back to my past life and how much Julian had cared for me, I had this sudden urge to spend money on him, to return the favor. As a boss, Julian had been great. He’d had a tough life, but he was always kind and considerate with his employees. Once he started making money, he consistently donated to charity, though always in my name. He said he didn’t want any media attention. I understood. After all, it wasn’t like I was losing anything; I was building good karma. Just then, my phone rang. It was my dad. “Hey, Dad.” I greeted him, my voice dry. In my past life, my father had committed suicide by jumping from a building after his company went bankrupt. He hadn’t left a single note behind. I never imagined I would have the chance to speak with him again. “Harper, have you eaten yet?”

His familiar voice, so warm and comforting, made my nose sting, and I had to fight back tears. “I… yeah, I’ve eaten. What about you?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but the emotions were overwhelming. Dad chuckled on the other end. He proudly told me that he’d had Grandma’s pork stew today, knowing it was my favorite dish. That warmth spread through my chest, but I couldn’t forget the real reason for the call. “Hey, Dad, make sure you’re checking the company’s accounts closely. My professor said you should never let just one person handle all the finances—it’s too risky.” In my previous life, my father’s company had been siphoned off bit by bit by his so-called best friend, who eventually fled overseas with millions. Dad had trusted him too much, and even when things went south, he refused to believe it. Dad suddenly turned serious on the phone, saying, “I’ll look into it.” I wanted to keep talking to him, but another call was coming through on his end. He was still Greg Blake, after all. His days were busy. After hanging up, I turned to Julian and discussed my schedule with him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294735”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #校园School #魔幻Magic #励志Inspiring #惊悚Thriller #浪漫Romance #擦边Steamy #重生Reborn