Author: Momo Chan

1 The new estate manager, Julian, was a magnetic male lead who “saved” my three villainous sisters, turning them into his loyal attack dogs. They handed him the Armstrong family’s vast resources. Consumed by jealousy over stolen affection, I targeted him constantly until my sisters grew disgusted. My eldest sister froze my accounts and banished me. My second swapped my meds to keep me in agony. My third hid my identity, letting fans cyberbully me to death. I died miserably, unclaimed. Reborn, I decided to lay flat and let things play out. What I didn’t expect was that my sisters could now hear my inner thoughts. The last time I’d seen them in my past life, I sat in a broken wheelchair in a filthy rental room, wearing grease-stained rags. Julian, draped in haute couture, was surrounded by my three sisters doting on him. He looked at me with condescension. “For the sake of us once being best friends, if you apologize and call me brother-in-law, I’ll forgive you and let you move back to the Armstrong estate. How does that sound?” Call him brother-in-law? Like hell he deserved that! He was the reason my face was destroyed. He was the reason I was crippled. His shameless goal of marrying into the Armstrong family was nothing more than a calculated plot to destroy our empire from the inside. But no one believed a single word I said. Everyone was convinced I was just blinded by jealousy, and that my pathetic fate was entirely my own fault. I clenched my jaw so hard I tasted blood, and spat violently in his direction. “You? Deserve that? I’d rather die than call a parasite like you family!” “One day, your disgusting, two-faced scheme is going to be exposed to everyone—” Before I could finish, a brutal slap struck across my face. The sheer force of it made my teeth rattle, and a high-pitched ringing exploded in my ears. I forced my swollen eyes open and saw my eldest sister’s icy, apathetic face. Her brows were knitted tightly together, looking at me as if I were a piece of rotting garbage. “Hugo Armstrong. If you can’t keep that filthy mouth shut, I have no problem ripping it open for you!” I clutched my burning cheek, my voice trembling. “Sis…” She cut me off ruthlessly. “Do not call me your sister. The day you framed Julian, you ceased to be our brother.” Her words were like serrated knives, twisting into my already bleeding heart. The light in my eyes slowly died. I wanted to say something, anything, but when I opened my mouth, my throat was so raw and dry that no sound came out. Then, my heart started to seize. I clutched my chest, gasping frantically for air. “My… medicine.” My second sister had quit smoking years ago, but she picked up the habit again just because Julian smoked. She took two steps forward and violently crushed her lit cigarette directly into the back of my hand. Ignoring my hoarse scream of agony, she pointed a manicured finger at my chest and sneered. “Hugo, your congenital heart defect is probably just karma for having such a black, rotten core. Honestly? I don’t think there’s any point in treating you anymore.” The pain was so blinding I tumbled out of the wheelchair, hitting the dirty floor. I was practically suffocating. My third sister slowly crouched down, examining my emaciated, skeletal frame. She scowled. “Stop acting like a victim, Hugo. Do you honestly think playing the pathetic cripple is going to earn our forgiveness? Let me spell it out for you: you are delusional.” “And by the looks of it, you still haven’t learned your lesson.” Her words carried a deeply malicious undertone. I knew exactly what she meant. Just because I cursed at Julian once, she gave her fanatical followers the green light to publicly humiliate me online. Her stalker fans even tracked me down, pushed me out of my wheelchair, and stood there laughing as I crawled through the dirt. They constantly threw dead rats at my front door. The landlord couldn’t take the harassment anymore and kicked me out. That was why I was forced to rent this rotting shed next to a literal garbage dump, a place with a door that didn’t even lock. Without my medication, simply drawing breath became an excruciating battle. I collapsed onto the filthy floor like a dying fish, covered in open wounds. My consciousness began to blur. I tried desperately to recall a single happy memory from my life, something that wasn’t pure agony… but my mind was completely blank. My sisters ignored my trembling, outstretched hand. They turned their backs on me and walked out, leaving behind a final, disgusted mutter: “What a curse.” I opened my mouth one last time, but I had absolutely no strength left to fight. This was my second life. In my first life, I had calculated every move, fought tooth and nail, and still lost to the impenetrable plot armor of the “chosen” male lead. This world was a generic, wish-fulfillment novel. Julian was the protagonist. His entire goal was to bankrupt the Armstrong family so he could pave a golden road for the woman he actually loved. My three sisters were written as the grand villains. Yet, they inexplicably fell in love with Julian at first sight, let him “redeem” them, and willingly abandoned everything to act as his loyal lapdogs. They handed him every corporate asset, and even took literal bullets for him when he was kidnapped. In the end, one of my sisters was crippled, one was permanently blinded, and the last was left in a vegetative state. Desperate to save them from that horrific fate, I risked my life to expose Julian’s true intentions. But in their eyes, I was just a bitter, jealous little brother throwing a tantrum because Julian stole their attention. I fell from the grace of being the Armstrong family’s sole male heir, reduced to a disfigured, crippled outcast despised by everyone. No matter how many times I restarted, Julian would flawlessly manipulate his way between my three sisters, effortlessly usurping the place in their hearts that used to belong to me. I knew that when I opened my eyes again, everything would reset to the very beginning. But this time… I was just so goddamn tired. When I finally opened my eyes, my heart was still hammering against my ribs. The rotting, filthy shed had transformed into the warm, brilliantly lit dining room of the Armstrong mansion. The soft, amber chandelier illuminated the exquisitely plated food in front of me. A familiar voice echoed right next to my ear, dripping with pathetic grievance. “Hugo, why aren’t you eating? Did I make something you don’t like?” “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you hated this.” “Tell me what you want to eat. I’ll make whatever you want.” My pupils violently contracted. It was Julian’s voice. Right now, in this timeline, he was still pretending to be my best friend. He had already “saved” my three sisters a few times, and whispers were starting to spread that he was the Armstrong family’s lucky charm. He wasn’t wearing the cheap uniform of an estate worker. He was dressed in a high-end designer outfit that I had bought for him. Sitting there, looking pampered and delicate, he looked more like the wealthy heir of the Armstrong family than I did. Right now, his face was the picture of utter victimization. A grown man, literally biting his lower lip to look pitiful. “I specifically asked Martha in the kitchen. She said you absolutely love seafood. Are you refusing to eat just because I was the one who cooked it?” “Don’t worry… I followed Martha’s instructions perfectly.” He was putting on a masterclass performance. But I just sat there, refusing to utter a single syllable. Julian’s voice grew more frantic. “Hugo, why are you ignoring me? Are you… are you disgusted because I grew up in the slums? Do you think I’m dirty?” I opened my mouth, but only meaningless, raspy syllables came out. I reached up and gripped my own throat, trying to force myself to speak. I was terrified that if I made Julian unhappy, my three sisters—who were already deeply infatuated with him—would use it as an excuse to torture me again. But my vocal cords refused to form a complete sentence. My eldest sister’s gaze shifted darkly between me and Julian. Her eyes were pools of frozen ink. “Hugo Armstrong. Is this the kind of manners the Armstrong family taught you?” “Julian put his heart into making this for you. Even if you don’t want to eat it, you will finish your plate.” I lowered my eyes, a cold, mocking laugh echoing entirely inside my own head. These three women are already completely blinded by him. How could I ever dare to be disgusted by you, Julian? You’re going to be the new master of the Armstrong family soon anyway. I’m just a cripple destined to be thrown into the slums. What right do I have to judge you? Anyone walking in right now would think Julian is the actual blood brother, seeing how fiercely you protect him. Oh, wait. I forgot. He’s not a blood brother. He’s a lover boy. And does anyone even care that I’m deathly allergic to seafood? Guess my life doesn’t mean a damn thing. For some inexplicable reason, the dining room plunged into a suffocating silence. The three women, who had just been smiling warmly moments before, suddenly froze, their expressions dropping into absolute ice. The seafood paella looked nauseating, but I forced myself to shovel it into my mouth, bite by agonizing bite. Swallowing down the bile rising in my throat, I managed to stretch my lips into a hollow smile directed at Julian. My eldest sister’s face was completely black, looking as if someone had just ruthlessly exposed her most shameful, guarded secret. Seeing me rapidly clear the plate and stand up to leave, her face turned pale, and she instinctively reached out her hand. “Hugo…” My second sister shot her a vicious glare, silently commanding her to shut up. She turned to me, her voice sickeningly gentle. “Hugo, are you feeling unwell today? Do you want your sister to examine you?” She was a brilliant doctor. In my past life, the medication that was supposed to manage my heart condition was prescribed by her. And she was the one who abruptly cut it off. She watched me writhe in unspeakable agony, completely forgetting that I was once the little brother she doted on. I paused on the first step of the grand staircase and looked back. My face was hidden in the shadows; no one could read my expression. It’s just a severe allergic reaction. It won’t kill me instantly. I’m so goddamn tired. Stop torturing me. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll just comply. My second sister froze, the blood draining completely from her face. She practically choked on her apology. “I didn’t… I didn’t purposely forget your seafood allergy.” Not purposely? What a pathetic, laughable excuse. I couldn’t be bothered to entertain their twisted mind games anymore. I turned my back on them and walked upstairs without a shred of hesitation. The moment Julian entered the picture, I knew the truth. No matter what I did, I would never be the one they chose. So I was done fighting. I was just going to let it all rot. A sudden, aggressive knock on my bedroom door ripped me out of my chaotic thoughts. It was Julian, armed with his signature pitiful routine. His voice was thick with fake tears, knocking rhythmically on the wood as if he would literally collapse if I didn’t open the door. “Hugo, what’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you? I’m so sorry, please don’t ignore me. Aren’t we best friends?” His words were agonizingly sweet. But at the exact same moment, another voice echoed directly inside my head. It was also Julian’s voice. Except the words he was saying were the absolute polar opposite. “System. What the hell is Hugo acting crazy for?” “He’s completely going off script. None of this was in the plotline. Now those stupid female side characters think I’m bullying him! My affection meter just dropped ten whole points!” A sterile, mechanical voice responded instantly in my mind. “Rest assured, Host. I have scanned the targets. Their affection levels for you remain comfortably above fifty. The point deductions are well within the controllable margin.” My entire body went numb. A terrifying chill crawled straight up my spine. Despite being in a heavily heated bedroom, violent shivers tore through my body. It was those voices. In my past life, when Julian orchestrated a car crash that left me in a brief coma, I used to hear these exact same voices echoing in the darkness of my hospital room. I heard Julian and his “System” plotting exactly how to bankrupt the Armstrong empire, how to turn my family into a stepping stone for his own ascension. The second I woke up from that coma, I desperately sought out my eldest sister to warn her. But no matter how frantically I tried to explain, she only looked at me with profound disgust. Julian had walked out of the private lounge in her home office—a room she strictly forbade anyone else from entering—wearing the ultimate “wronged victim” face. “Monica, it’s okay. Hugo probably just had a moment of confusion to do something so reckless. It doesn’t matter. I forgive him.” Monica’s face grew darker and darker as Julian played the martyr. She looked down at me and spat, “Hugo, what the hell has gotten into you? You try to murder Julian in a car crash, and when that fails, you have the audacity to slander him to my face?” “He literally sat by your hospital bed while you were in a coma, begging me not to punish you!” I couldn’t quite remember what happened after that. I only remembered that from that exact moment, I was entirely erased from the Armstrong family. I packed a tiny suitcase with a few changes of clothes. It was pouring rain outside. Monica’s expression didn’t soften for a fraction of a second as she physically shoved me out the front door. She looked down at me, covered in mud and filth, from the top of the grand marble steps. “Hugo Armstrong. Since you cannot tolerate Julian’s existence, the Armstrong family will no longer recognize you as its heir.” “Without the title of the Armstrong heir… what exactly do you think you are?” Just recalling those memories made my hands shake uncontrollably. What kind of twisted act was he trying to pull this time? I didn’t even have to guess. I knew for a fact Julian wasn’t standing outside my door alone. I didn’t know which sister’s affection points he was trying to farm right now, but honestly? I didn’t care. It had nothing to do with me anymore. I was leaving the Armstrong family anyway. Knowing I couldn’t hide in here forever, I took a deep breath, walked over, and yanked the door open. Julian’s hand was raised mid-knock. He didn’t even look embarrassed. He immediately reached out to grab my hand, but I smoothly stepped sideways, letting him grab dead air. “Hugo—” He dragged out my name, his eyes frantically darting to the space behind him. Standing there was my third sister. “If something is bothering you, just tell me. Please don’t shut me out.” In my past life, he only ever acted this sickly sweet to me when my sisters were watching. The whole pathetic routine he just pulled was strictly for her benefit. My third sister remained silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, it was, predictably, to defend Julian. She looked at me with a calculating, deeply concerned gaze. “Hugo. I’ve been talking to Monica and Diana the past few days. Is there some sort of misunderstanding between you and Julian? Weren’t you two inseparable?” “You have no idea how many times he’s cried in secret because you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder lately.” She let out a heavy sigh, putting on a sickeningly convincing mask of a loving sister. “I know a very highly regarded psychiatrist. If you’re struggling with something and don’t want to tell Monica or Diana… tell me. I’ll take you to see him tomorrow, okay?” So, without even trying to understand what happened, you instantly jump to throwing me into a psych ward… Right. In your eyes, anyone who doesn’t worship Julian must be mentally ill. When you permitted your rabid fanbase to dox and cyberbully me to the brink of suicide, you didn’t seem to care if my mental health was declining then. Are you just trying to get revenge for Julian? You might as well just lock me in an asylum right now and throw away the key. My third sister froze completely. The expression on her face slowly contorted into something horrified. She looked at Julian, then at me, and finally stared down at her own trembling hands in absolute disbelief. “Hugo,” she started, her voice shaking. “Did… did I do something terrible? Please don’t hate me.” My face remained a mask of extreme caution. I slowly shook my head, then immediately slammed the heavy bedroom door shut in her face. Right as the latch clicked, I heard a loud thud against the wood. Followed instantly by Julian crying out in pain, “Chloe!” The mechanical System blared in my head: “WARNING! Female side character Chloe affection -10. Current affection has dropped below 50. Host must formulate an immediate strategy to recover affection points.” “Do not call me that.” My third sister’s voice sounded chillingly dark. “You might have fooled my two idiot sisters upstairs, but you haven’t fooled me. You better give me a very good explanation right now, or I swear to God I will—” I couldn’t hear the rest of her threat. They must have walked away. I didn’t know what sparked her sudden, bizarre shift in attitude, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. Seeing how deeply they had protected Julian up until this point, history repeating itself was only a matter of time. Whatever Julian planned to do to the Armstrong family, it wasn’t my problem anymore. For me, nothing mattered more than staying alive.

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I’ve been married to Nick for six years. For four of those, a “sunshine girl” system host hijacked my body. She used my flesh and blood to melt the heart of this ruthless billionaire. Then, today, I suddenly snatched the steering wheel back. Rows of glowing text drifted through the air right in front of my eyes. “The mission is almost complete. Why the hell is this loser side-character back to ruin everything?” “Relax. There is no way the male lead will ever fall for a pathetic doormat like her.” Right on cue, Nick walked into the room carrying a glass of mango juice, a drink that literally made my stomach churn. He stared a hole right through my face. Suppressing my gag reflex, I downed it in one gulp. I mimicked that sunshine girl, flashing him a bright, empty-headed smile. The light in Nick’s eyes died instantly. He turned around like a puppet with cut strings, his footsteps heavy as lead. 1 Four years. I had no idea what Nick had been through, but he looked like a completely different person. His face was gaunt, stripped down to sharp angles and bone. His eyes were sunken hollows, his jaw wired tight with tension. He carried a suffocating aura of death around him, completely stripped of the arrogant, high-flying heir I used to know. I almost didn’t recognize him. I dragged my gaze away from his face and looked at the empty glass of mango juice. Judging by his intense focus, he had poured it specifically for me. I sucked in a sharp breath. My stomach immediately twisted into violent knots, and my first instinct was to wave it away in disgust. The glowing comments popped up again. [LMAO. The female lead drinks a glass of mango juice every single night before bed.] [But this useless side-character saw a maid spit in her mango juice when she was a kid. She gags just looking at the stuff now.] [Oh snap. Is the male lead about to realize the original trash wife is back?] [Grab the popcorn! Once he figures it out, he’ll do whatever it takes to drag our Sunshine Girl back.] [Wait, is he already suspicious? Was this juice a test?] As the text floated by, the hand I had raised to push the glass away froze mid-air. Nick seemed to catch that micro-hesitation. His pitch-black eyes locked onto mine. He stubbornly pushed the glass an inch closer, his voice betraying a sliver of desperate hope. “Why aren’t you taking it? Do you not want it?” I ground my teeth together, forced my hand forward, and took the glass. Under his piercing scrutiny, I tipped my head back and chugged the thick liquid down. I swallowed the rising bile in my throat and forced out a bright, carefree giggle. The chat was right. Down to my marrow, I was a coward. I had spent my entire life hiding in my shell, too terrified to even breathe too loudly. There was no way I could naturally pull off a smile this radiant. The only person who could laugh with such brazen confidence was the female lead who stole my life. Luckily, I still retained her memories. The juice was gone. Now it was time to lean in and act sweet. “I’m fine! The juice is super sweet. Thanks, hubby.” Before the words even fully left my mouth, the fragile hope in Nick’s eyes shattered into dust. He reverted back to that lifeless, hollow shell. Turning his back to me, he walked away, his posture radiating a freezing distance. As he reached the doorway, his foot slipped. He slammed his hand against the doorframe, his knuckles turning white as he violently caught his balance. He nearly collapsed to the floor. My heart skipped a beat. I scrambled out of bed barefoot to catch him. “Are you okay?” Before my fingers could even graze his shirt, Nick flinched violently away. He didn’t spare me a single glance as he strode out of the room. My hand hung in the air. I stared blankly at the empty hallway, nervously biting my lower lip until I tasted iron. Ever since I could remember, I had lived under the shadow of cold violence. The feeling of being treated like invisible dirt was carved into my bones. My body always reacted faster than my brain. The second I sensed hostility, my shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. 2 The moment the bedroom door clicked shut, the adrenaline wore off. I stumbled into the master bathroom, dropping to my knees. Clinging to the porcelain toilet, I threw up until my throat burned and my lungs screamed for air. Only when my stomach was completely empty did I feel like a living, breathing human again. The floating text started buzzing with activity. [Holy shit. She actually faked her way through that?] [Chill out. She’s still wearing the same face, and the dude isn’t a mind reader. He won’t figure it out instantly. Just watch.] [Haha, did you guys see how pathetic she looked? Shaking like a leaf just because he glared at her.] [Right? Our Sunshine baby never put up with that attitude. The colder he acted, the more she teased him. These past four years have been the ultimate grumpy-sunshine romance trope.] [Exactly. Let’s be real, he actually wanted to marry her older sister first. The sister was a total ray of light too.] [Yup. The sister refused to marry him, so he had to settle for this doormat.] The text faded. I used the tiled wall to drag myself upright and shuffled over to the marble sink. I stared hard at the reflection in the mirror. Perfectly sculpted cheeks, arched brows, glowing skin, flawless makeup, and bright, sparkling eyes. The female lead had polished this meat suit until it shined blindingly bright. So bright that I couldn’t even recognize myself. 3 The chat wasn’t lying. My older sister, Harper, was cut from the same cloth as that system host. Passionate, outgoing, and wildly charismatic. No matter where she stood, she effortlessly stole the room. We shared the same mother, but our personalities were night and day. I grew up entirely in Harper’s shadow. I wore her hand-me-down dresses, ate the snacks she discarded, and used the pens she threw away. I was the ugly duckling constantly used to highlight the swan. Being treated as invisible for two decades had molded me into a deeply insecure ghost of a person. I was used to walking with my shoulders hunched, hiding behind her, trying to blend into the wallpaper. I didn’t speak up, I didn’t stand out, and I was too terrified to even look people in the eye when saying hello. The day the Sinclair family patriarch came to propose an alliance, my parents were over the moon. The old man didn’t specify which granddaughter he wanted, but everyone knew the unspoken truth. The Sinclairs absolutely wanted the radiant, perfect Harper. That night, Harper dressed to the nines for a dinner with the Sinclair family. She came home pale as a sheet, throwing herself into our mother’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “Mom, everyone says Nick is a literal psychopath! When he loses it, he beats people half to death. He knew I was there today and didn’t even show his face. I bet they had him locked up in the basement! I’m not doing it, Mom. I’d rather die than marry a freak!” Harper threw tantrums for three straight days. My mother cried tears of heartbreak for her golden child. Finally, she hardened her heart and turned her sights on me. The very next day, without a single word of warning, they announced Harper was already engaged to someone else. Then, they shoved me into the black luxury car sent by the Sinclair family. I curled into a tight ball in the backseat, shivering violently. My head was filled with the vicious rumors I had overheard. People said Nick was a flesh-eating monster. They said he was a ruthless psycho who turned on his own blood. Looking at my pathetic reflection in the tinted window, I mentally prepared myself for a hundred different ways to die. Boiling water thrown in my face, getting slapped around, being mocked for not being Harper, or just getting kicked out onto the curb. Whatever. I had been treated like a stray dog my whole life. Getting cursed out one more time wouldn’t kill me. But when Nick finally saw me, he didn’t even lift an eyebrow. He just gave a curt nod. “Anyone works,” he threw out the words with zero emotion. He slid a signet ring off his pinky finger and tossed it into a drawer. 4 On our wedding night, we were both clueless. After a clumsy, agonizing ordeal, I literally passed out from the pain. When I opened my eyes again, the bedroom was bathed in the warm, dim glow of a wall sconce. Nick was sitting right by the bed. He held a warm, damp towel, repeatedly wiping the cold sweat from my forehead. His movements were incredibly light, like he was afraid I would shatter. Seeing me wake up, he let out a massive breath. But the relief lasted only a second before his brows slammed together again. “Hazel, if it hurt that badly, why didn’t you make a sound?” I was already terrified of him. I yanked the duvet up to my chin, trembling. I nodded frantically, then shook my head just as fast. He froze. He clamped his mouth shut and didn’t say another word. He just sat there, his dark eyes quietly studying me for a long time. There was an emotion hidden in his gaze that I couldn’t read. It looked like regret. Or maybe something else entirely. For the next entire month, he didn’t lay a single finger on me. At first, I felt like I had dodged a bullet. But soon, a different kind of terror crept in. Did I disgust him? Did he think marrying me was a bad deal? Was he going to throw me out on the street? After all, he only took me because he had no other choice. After years of surviving in the Woods household as a punching bag, fawning and people-pleasing were my only survival tactics. I locked myself in my room, blushing fiercely as I spent a whole day researching online. Late that night, taking a massive gulp of air, I squeezed my way into his slightly ajar bathroom door. That night, I passed out three more times. Though, this time, it definitely wasn’t from the pain. The floating chat insisted Nick was a block of ice that could never be melted. I thought the same at first. But as the days bled into months, I realized he was just cold on the outside. Whenever he traveled for business, he would video call me a dozen times a day. Keeping a straight, serious face, he would report mundane details like how many slices of beef he had for lunch. A few times, I was too slow to answer. He would stubbornly claim it was fine, but through the screen, he was visibly sulking, fully convinced he was hiding it perfectly. Every evening when he walked through the front door, he always had something in his hands. A slice of cake from a bakery, or a neatly wrapped bouquet of flowers. Rain or shine, he never missed a day, always tossing them on the counter with a feigned nonchalance. “Just picked it up by the road.” I never had a good sense of style. Even if I spent hours staring at the mirror, my outfits always looked like a messy disaster. Nick would sit on the velvet sofa behind me, pretending to read his financial reports, acting like he didn’t notice my struggle. But the next morning, I would wake up to a perfectly folded outfit sitting on my nightstand. From the base layers to the coat, right down to the matching necklace and handbag. It was immaculately styled. From that day on, it was like a switch flipped inside him. He tirelessly prepared my outfits every single morning, mixing up the styles day after day, acting like a stressed-out father dressing his toddler. 5 The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway snapped me back to reality. I shook my head, clearing the memories. After chewing on my lip for a moment, I slid my feet into my slippers and cracked the door open as quietly as possible. Being gone for four entire years, it would be a lie to say I didn’t feel a deep attachment to this house. The hallway was eerily silent. I looked down the corridor. The decor was exactly the same as it was four years ago. Even the potted monstera plant I used to take care of was still sitting by the bay window. Its leaves were lush and vibrant green, looking even healthier than when I used to water it. Whoever was taking care of it had put a lot of love into it. I couldn’t control my legs. I drifted closer. But the second my fingertips brushed against a glossy green leaf, a voice like cracked ice struck my back. “What are you doing out here?” I turned to stone. Nick was standing in a dimly lit corner of the hall. His eyes were nailed to me. I couldn’t read his expression in the shadows, but the suffocating pressure rolling off him made it hard to breathe. I fought down the primal urge to run away. Forcing a rigid smile, I shook my head. “I… I was just walking around…” “If you’re still sick, don’t wander the halls.” He dropped the freezing words, didn’t spare me a second glance, and walked right past me. Desperate to escape the suffocating air, I spun around and practically ran back to my room. Because I fled so fast, I totally missed what happened next. The man stopped in his tracks, lowered his eyes, and pulled a pack of tissues from his pocket. He meticulously wiped down the exact leaf I had just touched, cleaning it over and over again. Then, with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust, he tossed the crumpled tissue into the trash bin. 6 Back in the bedroom, I slid down the wooden door until I hit the floor. My hands and feet were freezing, and my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. This room, where I had safely lived for two years, now felt terrifyingly alien. The space was drowned in an aggressive, blinding Barbie pink. A wildly obnoxious faux-fur rug covered the hardwood floor. The vanity was cluttered with dozens of absurdly expensive perfume bottles, crammed so tight there wasn’t even room to set down a hairbrush. With a shaking hand, I pulled open the walk-in closet. It was stuffed entirely with neon slip dresses, tight leather shorts, and backless club wear. The modest, perfectly tailored clothes Nick used to leave by my bed every morning were completely gone. Not a single thread remained. As I flipped through the hangers, a bitter, sour ache rose in my chest. For four years, did that woman prance around in these clothes, laughing and flirting with him without a care in the world? The text in the air was still floating lazily by. [God, the way this side-character acts like a deer in headlights is hilarious.] [Our Sunshine Girl turned this depressing haunted house into a cozy home. Now the male lead rushes home from the office every day just to see her.] [Yep. Give it a few days. Once she gets used to the Sunshine Girl’s lifestyle, she’ll completely forget who she even is.] I bit down on my lip and forced myself to look away from the closet. Bang. The bedroom door was violently shoved open, shattering my thoughts. I jumped out of my skin, spinning around. Nick was back. He stood in the doorway, gripping a thin stack of papers in his hand. His eyes were colder than absolute zero. Without looking at my face, he tossed the papers onto the crowded vanity. The documents slid across the marble, revealing the bold black letters at the top. The words burned my eyes. DIVORCE AGREEMENT. White noise filled my ears. What was going on? Didn’t the chat say the Sunshine Girl had completely melted this iceberg? Didn’t they say they were living in a sweet, romantic dream? Why the hell was there a divorce paper? Before I could process it, the floating text went crazy. [Oh boy, here we go again. This is like the third time he’s brought up divorce this month.] [The male lead loves playing hard to get. Every time Sunshine acts cute and throws a tantrum, he instantly folds.] [It’s called foreplay, guys! Come on, side-character, don’t just stand there! Use the Sunshine Girl’s aggressive flirting tactics! Go kiss him!] So that was it. This was just their little twisted roleplay game? I swallowed hard, my palms slick with cold sweat. To keep him from realizing the host was gone, I had to play along. I squeezed my throat, forcing my voice to pitch an octave higher, mimicking the female lead’s whiny tone. “Hubby… stop trying to scare me with this stuff.” As I spoke, I walked over, picked up the papers, and ripped them in half right in front of him. The sound of tearing paper was deafening in the dead silent room. Feeling dangerously bold, I reached out, aiming to gently tug at the hem of his suit jacket. But the millisecond before my fingers grazed the dark wool fabric, Nick violently jerked backward. He moved so fast he nearly slammed his shoulder into the doorframe. He stared down at the shredded paper on the floor. A flash of profound, visceral repulsion crossed his eyes, dropping the temperature of the room below freezing. “Don’t you ever use that tone with me again.” His voice was dangerously low, grinding through clenched teeth. “Get out.” My hand froze in the empty air. Nick didn’t look at me again. He turned on his heel, stormed out, and slammed the door so hard the walls rattled.

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I spent three years pulling Adam out of a cramped, moldy studio apartment and transforming him into the international art world’s newest golden boy. Everyone called him a generational genius. Only I knew that every single brushstroke he took relied entirely on my resources and my connections. Today was his very first solo exhibition. I cleared my entire schedule to be here, only to find him wrapping his arm around the waist of Camilla, a billionaire real estate tycoon. He gestured proudly to the wall of “his” masterpieces. “I created this entire collection completely on my own. Nobody else laid a finger on it.” Standing at the back of the crowd, I held a flute of champagne and let out a soft laugh. Keep a dog long enough, and it eventually forgets who holds the leash. … “If you truly love Eye of the Abyss, Camilla, I can reserve it specifically for you.” Adam’s voice pierced through the bustling crowd and drilled straight into my ears. Camilla stood pressed against his side. She wore a dark green haute couture suit, the diamonds on her Patek Philippe watch catching the harsh gallery spotlights. Her fingers were practically digging into the fabric of his suit jacket. They were glued together, putting on a sickening display of affection right in front of everyone. “I would be honored to take it off your hands.” Camilla tilted her head, giving him a deeply flirtatious smile. “You mixed this blue perfectly. It feels so profound and isolated. It reminds me exactly of the vibe you give off.” Adam looked down and let out a low, charming chuckle. I stood in the back row, the cold glass of the champagne flute chilling my palm. The engagement ring on my left hand suddenly felt heavy, digging uncomfortably into my skin. My assistant, Sarah, was standing in the side corridor, frantically shooting me looks. She was silently asking if I wanted to go over there and intervene. I shook my head and stayed rooted to the floor. It was true that Adam spent seven sleepless nights in the studio last winter trying to paint that exact piece. But on the third night, he suffered a complete mental breakdown. He smeared oil paint all over the walls, smashed his wooden palette against the floor, and screamed that he simply couldn’t paint it. I was the one who dragged him up from the floor. I washed his brushes. I mixed that exact shade of cobalt blue. And from the fourth night onward, I was the one who painted every single stroke. Seven days later, he stood in front of the finished canvas, stared at it for a long time, and whispered how amazing he was. I didn’t correct him back then. Camilla pressed her body even closer to Adam. “I heard someone offered you a million and a half for this piece a few months ago, and you turned them down flat?” “I refuse to sell it to just anyone.” Adam raised his hand, his fingertips gently brushing a stray lock of hair off her shoulder. “I was saving it for someone who truly understands my vision.” Sarah finally reached her breaking point. She marched over to me, keeping her voice in a furious whisper. “Boss, do you want me to go over there right now and…” “No need.” Adam hadn’t noticed me yet. He was too busy whispering something into Camilla’s ear. She threw her head back and laughed, leaning half her body weight against his chest. I placed my champagne glass onto the tray of a passing waiter. The crystal base clinked sharply against the metal. Turning my back to the crowd, I walked straight out the side doors and pushed my way into the gallery’s security room. 2 The security guard jumped to his feet the second he saw me. “Camera three.” I pointed at the wall of monitors. “The feed pointing directly at Eye of the Abyss in the main hall. Take wide shots, closeups, and make sure the timestamp is visible. Screenshot everything and send it to Sarah’s work email within five minutes.” The guard froze for a split second. I shot him a cold glare, and his hands immediately flew across the keyboard. I stood in front of the glowing monitors, watching the exact moment Adam pulled his hand back from Camilla’s hair. I watched the frame freeze, capturing their intimacy in high definition. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant. “Sarah, I need you to do three things. First, pull every single financial transaction Camilla has made with our gallery over the last six months. I want the files on my desk before sunset. Second, gather all the receipts for the art supplies, studio rent, and exhibition fees I have paid for Adam over the years. Bind them by year and leave them in my office. Third…” I paused, my eyes locking onto the bottom corner of Eye of the Abyss on the security screen. Adam, 2024. He had signed those words with more care and effort than he put into the actual painting. “Tell the event staff to cut all the alcohol for the second half of the night. Cancel every single press release. Do not let a single article go out.” I hung up the phone and took one last look at the monitor. Adam was currently guiding Camilla by the shoulder toward another painting. His strides were arrogant, his posture dripping with unearned confidence. That was a painting I had stayed awake for two straight nights to finish, and now he was using it to flirt with another woman. I turned off the main monitor and walked out of the security room. As I stepped into the hall, Camilla’s bright, crisp laughter echoed from the main room again, sounding like a handful of coins scattering across a sheet of ice. I didn’t turn back. I walked straight into the private parking garage. The second I slid the key into the ignition, my phone lit up. My contact, Dylan, had just replied to a message I sent ten minutes ago. “You mean Twilight Fade from last autumn’s auction? The final bid was over a million. The buyer was registered as ‘Adam Studio’. Why are you suddenly looking into this?” I stared at the words ‘Adam Studio’ for three full seconds. Then I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and started the engine. The roar of the motor completely drowned out the faint classical music drifting from the gallery. In my rearview mirror, the neon sign of Celeste Gallery slowly faded into the shadows as I backed out. I hit the gas. The green highway signs flashed by in a blur. The road ahead led neither to my house nor to my corporate office. My grip on the leather steering wheel tightened until my knuckles turned white, then slowly relaxed. “Adam.” I whispered his name into the empty car. The sound bounced against the windows before being swallowed by the rushing wind. My phone screen lit up again. Dylan had sent a follow up text. “Just tell me exactly what you need me to dig up.” I ignored it. The glowing lights of a tunnel entrance swallowed the car, flashing a rhythmic pattern of bright white and deep black across my windshield. I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal, launching the car deeper into the dark. You just wait. 3 As the tunnel lights blurred past my eyes, my mind kept drifting back to a single painting. Twilight Fade. I painted that entire piece in the studio last autumn. The only thing Adam contributed was brewing a cup of coffee and sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. Every now and then, he would look up and casually suggest making the blue a little darker. I adjusted it exactly how he wanted. When I was done, he strolled over, took a quick glance, and casually said it looked good enough. Then he picked up a brush and signed his name. The lights in the corporate hallway were mostly turned off by the time I arrived. The clicking of my heels against the marble floor echoed loudly, bouncing off the walls in hollow thuds. When I pushed open my office door, Sarah was already standing by the printer. She held a thick stack of documents. Seeing me walk in, she placed them carefully on my desk. “Boss, the third task is done.” She cleared her throat before adding, “The security screenshots of Eye of the Abyss are safely archived.” I nodded, sitting down in my leather chair. I began flipping through the stack of financial records. Page one was a supply invoice from last March. Thirty seven thousand dollars. Under the memo line, there was a single word. Adam. Page two was a wire transfer for a year of studio rent. The payee was Adam. The payer was me. Page three, page four, page five… Sarah stood by my desk, remaining totally silent for a long moment before finally speaking up. “Boss, there is one more thing. Adam just called.” My hand didn’t stop turning the pages. “He wanted to know why the open bar was shut down and why the PR articles were pulled.” “What did you tell him?” “I told him we had a technical failure.” I looked up and met her eyes. “He said that excuse was utter garbage.” Sarah’s expression turned incredibly awkward. “He said he is coming straight here tomorrow morning to see you in person. He is demanding a proper explanation.” I let go of the financial records and leaned back in my chair. He was demanding an explanation from me. I let out a cold laugh. “Fine. When he shows up, let him walk right in.” I picked up my phone and opened a saved video file from last night. It was exactly eight minutes long. My thumb hovered over the play button for a few seconds before I closed out of the app. I opened my messages and typed a quick reply to Dylan. “I need to verify some more details about Twilight Fade. Hold off on taking any action for now.” I closed the chat and checked the time. It was twenty minutes to eleven. The screen hadn’t even gone dark before a new text popped up. It was from Adam. “Are you at the gallery or not?” I didn’t answer. Less than thirty seconds later, a second message arrived. “What is your problem today? The entire second half of my exhibition was completely ruined. Do you have any idea how many important people showed up? It is bad enough that you ghosted my big night, but I finally managed to invite Camilla, and you deliberately sabotaged my entire event.” I stared at the words It is bad enough that you ghosted my big night for a very long time. I had been at the gallery since nine in the morning. I listened to his entire pitch. I heard everything from his claim about painting the collection independently, all the way to him saving his masterpiece for someone who truly understands his vision. I locked my phone without replying and tossed it into the deepest corner of my desk drawer. Sarah was still standing by the door, waiting for my orders. “When he gets here tomorrow morning…” I opened the first page of the financial records again. “Wear your hidden body camera. Stand quietly in the corner and record everything. Do not warn him, and do not interrupt me.” “Boss, are you planning to…” “Let him talk. Whatever he says, you record it.” Sarah nodded and stepped out of the room. Just before the door clicked shut, she paused and looked back at me. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something comforting, but she ultimately stayed quiet and closed the door. The office returned to absolute silence. I opened the binder of financial records and read through them from the very beginning. I stared at every single transaction for three full seconds before stacking the papers neatly and slipping them into a pristine folder. Once that was done, I opened my laptop and created a new digital folder on my desktop. I typed a few letters and hit enter. A fresh file name appeared on the screen. Adam. The Complete Truth. I shut down the computer and walked over to the floor to ceiling window. The city lights outside looked scattered and dim. In the distance, the glowing logo of the Celeste Gallery stood out against the night sky. My phone buzzed again inside the drawer. I didn’t bother reaching for it. I just stood by the glass, letting his arrogant text echo in my mind. Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, he would confidently push open my door, wearing that ridiculous sense of entitlement on his face. He would cross his legs on my sofa and aggressively demand to know why I pulled his press releases. He would yell about the alcohol, the ignored texts, and the humiliation he suffered. He would say a lot of things, and he would sound incredibly self righteous doing it. But the only things I had waiting for him were a folder, an eight minute video, and a thick stack of receipts. And a truth he would never want to hear. 4 The office door flew open with a violent crash. Adam stormed into the room. The top two buttons of his tailored shirt were unfastened, and his hair was artfully styled, but his face was twisted in pure, unadulterated fury. I casually glanced at the tiny red light blinking on the camera tucked into Sarah’s breast pocket. “Boss, Adam is here to see you.” Sarah delivered the line perfectly, then took a step back and stood quietly by the window. Adam threw himself onto the leather sofa and crossed one leg over his knee. When he looked at me, the corners of his mouth were pulled down in an ugly scowl. “What exactly is your problem, Celeste? I texted you all night and you completely ignored me. Right here, right now, I am giving you a chance to explain yourself.” I pushed my coffee cup to the side, leaned back in my chair, and looked him dead in the eye. “Explain what?” “Explain why you cut off my alcohol and canceled all my media coverage!” Adam slammed his palm against the armrest, his voice spiking in volume. “Do you have any idea how important my first solo exhibition is? Do you know how long I prepared for this? You pulled the plug on everything and told Sarah to blame it on a technical failure. Do you really think I am that stupid?” “You didn’t believe it. That is why you are here.” He stared at me, totally thrown off by my icy tone. His anger faltered for a second, quickly shifting into a different expression. It was the exact look he always used right before asking me for a massive favor. A manipulative mix of playing the victim and trying to act sweet. “Celeste, if there is an issue between us, why can’t we just talk it out like adults? You sabotaged my media coverage. You have to give me a valid reason.” “A reason?” “Yes. A reason.” I calmly closed the lid of my laptop. “Yesterday afternoon at exactly twelve minutes past three, you were standing in front of Eye of the Abyss with Camilla. You pointed directly at that canvas.” I paused, letting my eyes burn into his. “You told her you painted it entirely on your own.” Adam completely froze. His face went rigid for half a second before he forced his muscles to relax. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over that? Celeste, are you implying I didn’t paint it? I spent seven sleepless nights suffering in that studio! Are you calling me a liar?” “On the third night, you threw your palette at the wall. You spilled oil paint all over the floor. You sat in the mess and cried that you couldn’t paint it.” Adam left his mouth hanging open. No words came out. “At two in the morning on the fourth night, I dragged you up from the floor. I washed your brushes. I manually mixed that exact shade of cobalt blue.” I didn’t raise my voice. I let every single word drop onto the desk like heavy stones. “From the fourth day to the seventh day, I painted for forty eight hours straight while you sat around doing absolutely nothing. On the final night, you stood in front of the finished canvas and said, ‘Wow, look how amazing I am’.” The office plunged into a suffocating silence for three whole seconds. The red light on Sarah’s camera kept blinking, capturing every ounce of his panic. Adam swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then, he let out a loud, forced laugh. His voice carried the frantic desperation of a man who had just been exposed. “Are you seriously going to hold onto that one little detail forever? Fine! You helped me mix some colors. But the creative vision was mine! The composition was mine! You were just an assistant helping me complete my masterpiece!” “An assistant.” I repeated the word slowly, letting the mockery sink in. “Yes! An assistant!” He sat up straighter, his voice growing louder to cover his insecurity. “Without my genius concept, all the color mixing in the world wouldn’t mean a thing! Why are you acting like you painted the whole thing for me?” I didn’t rush to argue. I slowly opened my desk drawer, pulled out the thick stack of bound financial records, and tossed them onto the table. I used two fingers to slowly slide them across the polished wood, stopping right in front of him. 5 Adam glanced down at the cover page but refused to touch it. “What is this?” “Every single dollar you have spent over the last three years, and exactly where it came from.” “What are you trying to say?” His voice grew incredibly tight. “Thirty seven thousand for art supplies. Ninety six thousand a year for your private studio. Custom framing, material transport, gallery rental fees, and every single cent of your media promotion.” I flipped the pages open one by one, making sure he saw his name on every invoice. “Every exhibition you have attended over the last two years. Every ounce of exposure you got. Every bit of your so called market hype. Every single penny came directly out of my personal bank account.” Adam turned bright red. The flush started at his ears and spread rapidly across his cheekbones. “You think just because you threw some money around, you own me? Say it plainly, Celeste. Are you trying to claim that everything I have today is because of you?” “I am simply stating the facts.” He shot up from the sofa so violently that his knee slammed into the coffee table, rattling the ceramic mugs. “The facts? Fine! Let me tell you the real facts! The fact is, I am completely sick of you!” He pointed a trembling, pale finger directly at my face. “You always act like this! You always act so superior, trying to control every aspect of my life! You act like I would die without you! Let me tell you something, Celeste. I can paint just fine without you!” “Alright. Then go paint.” His pointing hand froze awkwardly in the air. “I rented that studio. I bought those supplies. The second you walk out of this office…” I tapped my index finger sharply against the desk. “You leave all of it behind. You are going to go find a completely blank canvas, buy a cheap brush, and paint something for me to see.” Adam stood completely still. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I gathered the stack of receipts and placed them back inside my drawer. Then, I reached over to my left hand and slowly pulled off the engagement ring. I dropped it onto the desk. The metal hit the solid wood with a sharp, heavy click. “Take it. I don’t want it anymore.” He stared at the diamond ring for three long seconds. His expression twisted wildly before he suddenly dropped back onto the sofa. His aggressive posture vanished, and his voice turned sickeningly soft. “Celeste, you need to calm down. Let’s not make rash decisions…” “No.” “You…” I stood up, walked around the massive desk, and pulled the office door wide open. “Get out, Adam.” He sat on the sofa, his face flushing violently from red to a sickly pale. Finally, he snatched his designer jacket and stood up. When he reached the doorway, he paused. He didn’t turn around, but he threw a mocking, deliberately cheerful comment over his shoulder. “You really think I am nothing without you? Let me tell you the truth. Camilla already bought Eye of the Abyss. She is hosting a private exhibition in the lobby of her corporate headquarters next week. She even renamed the piece. It is called Abyssal Promise now. Sounds a lot better than your stupid title, doesn’t it?” With that final taunt, he stormed out. The sharp clicking of his leather shoes echoed aggressively down the hallway. Sarah waited until the door fully closed before stepping forward. She saved the video file and looked up at me. I picked up my phone, opened my chat with Dylan, and typed a quick message. “What is the security like at the private exhibition space in Camilla’s corporate headquarters? Can we sneak a projector in?” The message barely went through before Dylan replied. “I can get it done.” I stared at the screen and let out a cold smile. Get ready, Adam. I have an incredible gift waiting just for you.

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The Montgomery family ruled both the corporate world and the shadows of the city, yet for nine generations, a strange curse haunted their bloodline: every generation produced only a single male heir. Little Poppy was the first girl born into the Montgomery family in over a century. They treated her like a princess carved from diamond. In my past life, she died a horrific death at just three and a half years old. As her nanny, I became the prime suspect. Fake evidence of abuse was planted in my room. The Montgomerys looked at me as if I were already a corpse. When I was dragged down to the basement, I screamed until my voice cracked, “It wasn’t me!” Nobody knew the real monster was Bianca, the sweet, polished girlfriend Gavin had brought home. Faced with the family, she was an angel. Behind closed doors, she was a psychopath. She locked Poppy in dark rooms, pinched her tiny arms, terrified her, and whispered bitterly, “What makes you so special that your brother talks about you every single second?” After I died, my soul drifted in cold darkness, watching the full horror of Bianca’s evil unfold. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she stepped into the Montgomery estate for the very first time. In my arms, three-year-old Poppy clutched my collar, asking in her tiny, adorable voice, “Auntie Hannah, who is that lady?” I pulled her tight against my chest. This time, I will never let her touch a single hair on your head. Not even once. 1 Starting from old Thomas Montgomery, nine generations of the main bloodline yielded nothing but boys. The day Poppy was born, her grandfather Thomas spent the entire night in the family chapel. The next morning, he tore down the old stables in the back courtyard and built a glasshouse nursery. Her father, Richard Montgomery, the ruthless titan who ran the city’s financial empire, held her for the first time like a stiff block of wood, afraid to even bend his fingers. And then there was her older brother, Gavin. He was the sharpest blade of the young generation. Taking over corporate operations at twenty-four, he could bleed rivals dry at the negotiation table without blinking. Yet around Poppy, his booming voice dropped to a soft whisper. The day Poppy learned to say “Gavin,” he canceled an international board meeting just to sit on the carpet building Lego towers with her all afternoon. Back then, I thought Poppy was the safest child on earth. Who would dare touch a Montgomery princess? Until Bianca walked into our lives. When she arrived, she handed me a lavish gift box. “A little plush doll for Poppy. Nothing fancy, just a small token from me.” In my past life, I took it. That night, Poppy broke out in severe hives and sobbed until three in the morning. The family doctor couldn’t pinpoint the trigger, while Bianca stood by with red, teary eyes, sighing, “Could there have been a mistake in her daily care? Her skin is just so delicate.” That was the first time she pointed a hidden blade at my neck. This time, staring at the box held out to me, my fingers tightened until my knuckles turned white. Poppy leaned over my shoulder, curious, reaching out her tiny hand. I gently caught her tiny wrist. “Miss Bianca, I appreciate it, but I can’t accept this.” The entire living room fell silent. Everyone turned to look at me. I placed the box back into her hands. “Poppy just finished her quarterly allergy panel last week. The doctor strictly ordered that any new toys, fabrics, or scents must pass a lab check before touching her skin.” “I thank you on Poppy’s behalf, but this needs to go to the medical staff first.” The smile on Bianca’s face froze for half a second. A flicker of icy malice flashed in her eyes. It was fast, but I caught it. Gavin frowned slightly. “Is all that really necessary?” I lowered my head respectfully. “Sir, if Poppy suffers an allergic reaction at night, she cries for three hours straight. She suffers terrible pain.” That single line shut Gavin up completely. Richard lifted his eyes from behind his financial journal and said calmly, “Do as Hannah says.” Bianca pasted her perfect smile back on. “Of course. Safety comes first. Hannah is a true professional, I completely trust her judgment.” She sounded so graceful, so understanding. But I knew better. The grudge had already taken root in her venomous heart. 2 During dinner, Bianca put on a flawless performance. She chatted comfortably with old Thomas about historical architecture, poured tea for Richard, and even offered to go into the kitchen afterward to learn how to make Poppy’s favorite milk pudding. The maids whispered among themselves that Gavin had found a gem. Clean background, stellar degrees, gentle demeanor. Only Poppy refused to get close to her. Bianca knelt by the carpet, waving a velvet bunny to entice her. “Poppy, sweetie, come give Bianca a big hug, okay?” Poppy shrank back into my arms, her little fingers clutching my uniform button. “Auntie Hannah hold me.” I knew it wasn’t just shyness. A three-year-old child reads instincts far better than adults do. She might not understand evil, but she can sense raw malice radiating off a person. Bianca let out a soft, hurt sigh. “Does Poppy not like me?” Gavin crouched down, softening his voice. “Poppy, look, she brought you a gift.” I scooped Poppy up and stood. “Mr. Gavin, Poppy didn’t get enough sleep during her afternoon nap. She’s getting cranky. I should take her upstairs.” Bianca’s eyes flickered. “Hannah, I actually studied child psychology. When a toddler resists a newcomer, running away behind a nanny only reinforces the fear.” “Why don’t you let me play with her for ten minutes? Once she gets used to me, she’ll be fine.” In my past life, it was those exact ten minutes. She managed to clear the staff out, claiming she was taking Poppy to see the koi pond in the flower garden. When Poppy returned, her long sleeves were pulled down tight. She didn’t cry or speak, just clutched her tiny hands together all night. There were no visible bruises. Only later did the autopsy report reveal deep, hidden soft tissue damage on her wrists. That evening was where the nightmare began. I locked eyes with Bianca. “Miss Bianca, child psychology theories are great, but hands-on care requires reading the child’s real-time state. She is actively refusing right now. Forcing interaction will only traumatize her.” Bianca smiled thinly. “You seem very guarded against me, Hannah.” The living room dropped several degrees. She had drawn a line in the sand. A hired nanny, acting overly suspicious of the heir’s girlfriend. To any outsider, it looked completely out of line. Before I could speak, Poppy buried her face into the crook of my neck, muttering softly, “Don’t want her.” The voice was small, but Gavin heard every word. His expression instantly shifted. He stepped forward and carefully took Poppy from my arms, his movements surprisingly gentle for a man rumored to be a cold-blooded monster in the corporate world. “Then you don’t have to,” Gavin said softly. A flash of humiliation passed over Bianca’s face, her eyes welling with tears. “I was just too eager. I’m sorry, Poppy.” If this were my past life, I might have thought she was being reasonable. Now, it made my stomach turn. That night, after putting Poppy to bed, I returned to my quarters and pulled out my phone. I logged an entry and sent it directly to the family physician: “Daily Log Update: Miss Bianca brought an unverified plush toy, secured. Child showed active avoidance toward Miss Bianca for seven minutes. No crying, no skin abnormalities.” In my past life, I relied on verbal explanations, which meant no one believed me. This time, I was going to leave an undeniable paper trail for every single day, every single detail. The next morning, the medical lab report came back. The interior stuffing of the plush toy contained micro-scented botanical beads. To an adult, it was just a faint milk scent. But to a child with severe allergies like Poppy, it was guaranteed to trigger intense rashes and night terrors. The doctor handed the report straight to Richard. Bianca looked utterly shocked and burst into tears on the spot. “I swear I had no idea the shop put those inside! It was my oversight, I’m so sorry!” Her tears fell right on cue. Gavin’s face was dark, but he didn’t blow up at her. Because at most, this looked like a careless mistake, not malice. I stood off to the side, watching Bianca dab her eyes with a tissue. When she looked up, her gaze locked onto mine. In that split second, a chilling glare flashed across her eyes. She was sending me a silent message: Round one goes to you. But this is far from over. 3 Over the next two weeks, Bianca never tried to touch Poppy again. Instead, she launched a quiet smear campaign against me. She would remark casually in front of Gavin, “Hannah works so hard, and Poppy is just so attached to her. I’m really worried Hannah might burn out from the pressure.” She brought gourmet pastries for the house staff, asking with a sweet smile, “Does Poppy only listen to Hannah? What will happen when Hannah takes a vacation?” When Poppy whimpered and refused to let her come near, Bianca would lower her head, laughing self-deprecatingly, “Maybe kids just don’t like me. Or maybe she’s just used to depending on one single person.” Taken individually, none of those comments sounded malicious. Put together, they wove a suffocating trap. The Montgomerys began to feel I was becoming too possessive, that Poppy was overly dependent on me, and that a nanny had no right to stand between the future lady of the house and the child. This time, I didn’t waste breath arguing. I took three concrete steps. First, I kept a meticulous, daily digital log. Physical copy in the nursery, electronic copy synced live to the doctor, the head butler Bernard, and Richard’s executive secretary. Second, I created an emotional flashcard system for Poppy. Red meant ‘don’t like’. Blue meant ‘scared’. Yellow meant ‘hurts’. Green meant ‘okay’. A three-year-old child cannot handle intense questioning from adults. I didn’t force her to point fingers at anyone. I simply taught her how to express her physical boundaries. “Poppy, if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable, don’t be afraid. Just show Auntie Hannah the red card.” Poppy tilted her head. “Even Gavin?” “Even Gavin. Even Grandpa. Anyone.” She thought hard about it and nodded with great seriousness. Third, I formally submitted a request for additional security camera coverage in the play area. My official reason was rock-solid: anti-fall monitoring and child safety review. All footage would be stored on a secure legal server managed by Butler Bernard and the legal department. No single individual had the authority to delete files. Butler Bernard brought the application form back to me. “Hannah, you do realize this puts you under constant surveillance as well?” “I have nothing to hide,” I replied calmly. Bernard searched my face for a long time. He had served the Montgomery family for forty years, his eyes sharp as a hawk. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?” he asked quietly. I couldn’t tell him I had died once. Instead, I broke down Bianca’s past tactics into realistic safety protocols. “Bernard, I just want to keep Poppy safe, and keep myself protected.” Bernard fell silent for a moment, then took the paper. That evening, Richard approved the installation. When Bianca found out, her composure slipped for the very first time. “Hannah, putting up so many cameras, won’t that ruin the child’s privacy?” I met her gaze dead-on. “A three-year-old child’s privacy does not include being alone with an adult in camera blind spots.” Her eyes went cold. “What are you implying?” I smiled politely. “Exactly what I said, Miss Bianca. Don’t overthink it.” After that day, the rumors among the staff grew nastier. Some said I acted like I owned half the estate. Some said I was using the child to manipulate the young master. Others claimed my six-figure monthly salary made me desperate to block the future mistress of the house. I heard every word, but I didn’t care to explain. I didn’t need people to believe me right now. I needed to make sure that when Bianca finally made her move, she would have zero chance of survival. However, I underestimated her desperation. She moved against me sooner than expected. One evening, Poppy suddenly developed a low-grade fever. I followed standard procedure, checking her temperature, logging the reading, and notifying the family doctor. Before the doctor arrived, Bianca appeared at the doorway, wrapping a light cardigan around herself, her face full of anxiety. “Why is she suddenly burning up? Hannah, did you give her something bad?” Before I could reply, she picked up a bottle of liquid infant vitamins from the nightstand. “How long has this bottle been open?” That bottle wasn’t mine. I knew the moment I saw it. In my past life, the contraband drug bottle found in my room had the exact same scratch mark on the side of the label. Bianca was setting the trap early. 4 I didn’t touch the bottle. I stepped back immediately and slammed the emergency call button on the wall. Butler Bernard and two senior maids rushed up within seconds. In front of everyone, I pointed to the nightstand. “An unregistered bottle of medicine has appeared in the nursery. Bernard, please lock it into a sealed evidence bag immediately.” “No one touches it until the medical team arrives.” Bianca froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to call in witnesses before even looking at the bottle. She knitted her brows delicately. “Hannah, aren’t you being a bit dramatic? Maybe the doctor just left it behind last time.” I stared directly into her eyes. “Then we let the doctor confirm it.” Ten minutes later, Dr. Bennett arrived. He examined Poppy, confirming it was just an early sign of a common cold. When he inspected the liquid vitamin bottle, his expression turned grave. “I did not prescribe this. The chemical contents must be sent to the lab for urgent analysis.” Bernard promptly placed the bottle into a clear tamper-evident bag. Bianca stood beside us, looking utterly guiltless. “Thank goodness it was caught in time. That could have been dangerous.” I knew her fingerprints wouldn’t be on that bottle. She was far too careful for that. In my past life, she framed me so effortlessly precisely because she covered her tracks. Yet, extreme caution always leaves a flaw. She trusted her ability to control people a little too much. The next day, Gavin called me into his private study. He sat behind his heavy oak desk, his jaw set in a cold, rigid line. “Hannah, you’ve been hostile toward Bianca lately.” I stood straight, refusing to sit. “Sir, I remain vigilant against any unverified risk.” “She is the woman I brought into this house.” “And Poppy is the child I am sworn to protect.” He raised his head, his dark eyes terrifyingly sharp. If this were my past life, I would have panicked, stammered, and dug myself into a deeper hole. Not anymore. Someone who has already died once fears nothing, least of all a cold glare. “Sir, you don’t have to like my methods,” I said, my voice steady as stone. “But please look at the objective logs.” “Before Miss Bianca’s arrival, Poppy’s night disturbances averaged once or twice a week.” “Since Miss Bianca arrived, Poppy has displayed active avoidance, severe night terrors, unexplained fevers, and now an unregistered chemical substance in her room. Every single incident is logged on a verified timeline.” Gavin’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Are you accusing her?” “I am eliminating threats.” “What if your suspicions are completely wrong?” I looked him in the eye, delivering every word with absolute clarity. “If I am wrong, I will resign, issue a public apology, and pay for any reputational damage out of my own pocket.” “But if I am right, sir, have you considered what happens to Poppy?” The study fell into a suffocating silence. Gavin’s face turned terrifyingly pale, the atmospheric pressure in the room plunging to sub-zero. Yet I didn’t back down an inch. In my past life, I backed down too much. I backed down until Poppy died, and until I died in that dark basement. Gavin stared at me for an eternity before finally uttering two words: “Get out.” I turned to leave. Just as my hand touched the brass doorknob, he spoke again. “Hannah.” I paused. “You had better really be doing this for Poppy.” I turned back to him. “Sir, everything I do has only ever been for her.” That night, Poppy slept restlessly. I sat by her bedside, watching her tiny face scrunched up in discomfort, gently holding her small hand. She didn’t wake up, but she squeezed my fingers tighter. I knew Bianca was running out of patience. And I was ready to spring my own trap in the glasshouse nursery to rip off her mask once and for all. I went to Bernard first. “Is the backup security feed in the glasshouse still off the main server?” Bernard paused. “How did you know about that?” In my past life, Bianca used that exact blind spot to harm Poppy. “Poppy dropped her toy blocks there last week,” I lied smoothly. “I wanted to check the footage to see how she stumbled, but the angle was dead.” Bernard didn’t press further. He had the tech team fix the angle that afternoon and rerouted the feed straight to the legal department’s secure server. Next, I replaced the tiny tracker inside Poppy’s plush bunny charm. The outer fabric remained identical, but inside sat a state-of-the-art GPS tracker and a crystal-clear emergency audio recorder. It was standard equipment from the Montgomery security firm, completely justified for a high-profile child. I squatted down in front of Poppy. “If Auntie Hannah isn’t next to you and you feel scared, press the bunny’s ear three times.” Poppy blinked her big eyes. “Will a superhero come?” I forced a smile, though tears stung my eyes. “Faster than any superhero.” Finally, I notified Dr. Bennett, requesting him to be on standby at the estate under the guise of observing Poppy’s behavioral distress near the garden. Dr. Bennett looked at me with complex emotions. “Hannah, it feels like you’re waiting for something horrible to happen.” “I pray it never happens,” I said softly. But Bianca couldn’t help herself. 5 On Friday afternoon, the Montgomery family held a private dinner. Bianca accompanied Gavin to the estate early. She wore an elegant baby-blue dress, a diamond engagement bracelet sparkling on her wrist, a gift from Gavin. In my past life, they were already officially engaged by this time. In this life, because of my relentless security measures, their progress had slowed, but Bianca still held a firm grip on Gavin’s trust. Late in the afternoon, Poppy woke up from her nap. While I was changing her clothes, Tessa, one of the younger maids, knocked and entered. “Hannah, the medical center said the lab results need your personal signature.” In my past life, it was Tessa too. She later confessed at my grave that Bianca had bribed her with a massive sum to lead Poppy into the glasshouse alone. I looked at Tessa’s trembling, pale fingers and nodded calmly. “Alright, I’ll go down.” I handed Poppy over to Mrs. Gable, a trusted senior nursemaid. Then, right in front of Tessa, I gently squeezed Poppy’s plush bunny charm. “Poppy, remember what Auntie Hannah taught you.” Poppy nodded dutifully. I walked out of the nursery, but I didn’t head to the medical office. Instead, I slipped into the security monitoring booth right down the hall. Bernard was already waiting inside. On the multi-screen display, we watched Tessa trick Mrs. Gable into leaving, claiming old Thomas wanted to see Poppy perform a nursery rhyme. Tessa led Poppy out of the room. Poppy reached the top of the stairs, paused, and looked back, searching for me. My fingernails dug so deep into my palms that they nearly drew blood. Bernard’s face turned thunderous. “How dare she…” “Wait,” I whispered. “Just a few more seconds.” I wasn’t holding back out of cruelty. If we barged in right now, Bianca could easily play victim and claim it was all a misunderstanding. I needed her to rip off her own sweet mask with her own hands. The moment Poppy was led into the glasshouse garden, Bianca was already waiting inside. She squatted down, offering a sweet smile and waving at Poppy. “Poppy, come look at the new orchids Bianca bought for you.” Poppy didn’t move an inch. Her tiny fingers found the plush bunny’s ear. Once. Twice. Three times. Inside the security control room, a silent red indicator light flashed brightly. My heart hammered violently against my ribs. Noticing Poppy’s movement, the warmth vanished from Bianca’s face. “Who taught you that?” She stood up, taking heavy steps toward the tiny child. “Was it Hannah?” Poppy backed away, her voice trembling. “I want Auntie Hannah!” Bianca bent over, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. Yet every single word was captured crystal clear by the microphone. “If you keep calling for her, she’ll get thrown out of this house because of you.” Poppy’s lower lip quivered, tears welling up. Bianca reached out, grabbing Poppy’s frail arm in a painful grip, while raising her other hand high into the air. “Your brother is going to have his own real family soon. If you know what’s good for you, stop clinging to him like a leech!” I slammed open the control room door and sprinted out. Bernard was even faster, slamming the master alarm button. By the time I crashed through the glasshouse doors, Bianca was staring down at Poppy with a dark, twisted expression. Hearing the loud crash, she instantly released her grip on Poppy. Then, she stumbled backward onto the marble floor, her eyes instantly overflowing with tears as she shrieked: “Hannah! Please don’t push the child!”

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1 At the university showcase, my mother forced me onto a sixteen-foot platform to “build endurance.” Born with a severe heart defect, I was terrified, clutching a ten-pound prop. Sharp agony stabbed my chest. “Your heart is weak because you never exercise!” she’d barked backstage. “Stop acting like a cowardly loser!” When my arms trembled, my adopted sister Kristin hissed, “Don’t slack off! It’s only been minutes!” Mom’s icy voice buzzed in my earpiece: “University trustees are watching. Hold that prop three more hours after the show!” I rasped into the mic, “Mom, it hurts so bad…” She cut the audio. “Endure it! My position doesn’t mean special treatment!” Kristin stomped my ankle, spinning back to dance. For three endless hours, not one person noticed I’d stopped breathing and fallen. Crimson soaked my white dress. My soul floated above. Mom, you’ll never be embarrassed by your cowardly daughter again. … The moment my heart ceased beating, the agony was so intense that my throat had paralyzed. Every bone in my body felt shattered beyond repair. Kristin finished her grand finale, surrounded by admiring classmates. She strutted off stage like a proud white swan, only to frown deeply when she spotted me lying motionless on the floor. “Hey, Wendy! What are you playing dead for?” She walked over and slammed her heel directly onto my hand, grinding her weight into my fingers. I didn’t flinch, because I was truly dead. “Unbelievable!” Kristin snapped, grinding her shoe harder. “You play the helpless victim at home, and now you want everyone at school to think I bully you? You malicious, useless freak!” Furious that I offered no reaction, Kristin kicked my shins repeatedly with ruthless force. Deep purple bruises rapidly bloomed across my sickly pale skin. Several students gathered around, whispering among themselves. “Kristin is so brilliant and beautiful, how does she have such a pathetic, sickly sister?” My soul let out a bitter smile in the air. We weren’t even related by blood. A few classmates started to look genuinely concerned. “Kristin, Wendy has a serious heart condition. Is she actually hurt?” “Yeah, that wooden prop weighed ten pounds. A healthy person would struggle to hold it that long, let alone someone with heart disease.” Kristin scoffed, her eyes instantly brimming with fake tears. “You’ve all been fooled by her! Ever since we were kids, whenever Mom asks her to do chores, she fakes a medical emergency.” “She just envies me. She envies my healthy body, and she hates that I can live a normal life while she can’t!” Floating above, I reached out helplessly, wanting to explain to everyone that I never envied her. I only admired her, like an ugly duckling admiring a swan. Before I could process her lies, my mother marched out from backstage. She wrapped her arms around Kristin, comforting her affectionately, before turning to spit on my limp body. “Wendy, you are a disgrace to this family!” my mother yelled. “Kristin danced for hours without a single complaint, yet you make a scene over nothing!” “I am an administrative director at this university, and I gave birth to a lazy, deceitful parasite like you!” “Do you have any idea that if tonight’s event is ruined, every performing student will receive a disciplinary mark on their record? How can you be so selfish?!” She delivered several heavy slaps directly across the back of my head. My lifeless head jolted back and forth with the force, swaying like a broken ragdoll. Her public condemnation silenced the crowd. The lingering sympathy in the students’ eyes vanished, replaced by anger and disgust, believing I was trying to ruin their grades. Over the years, to ensure I received proper care, my mother had worked her way up from an elementary school administrator to a university director. I had seen every sacrifice she made for me. “Wendy, get up right now!” My mother’s face turned livid as she stared at my unmoving body. “Have you no shame?!” “You’ve been timid and stubborn since you were little. How are you ever going to survive in the real world? Everything I do is for your own good!” The surrounding students murmured with admiration for my mother’s dedication. “Director Ross is such an amazing mother. Wendy doesn’t appreciate how lucky she is!” “Yeah, she doesn’t learn anything good, she just knows how to slack off and drag everyone else down!” Kristin snuggled deeper into my mother’s arms, urging impatiently, “Stop acting, Wendy! Get up! When the university board members come out, how is Mom supposed to explain this?” I hovered above them, panicked and desperate, terrified of causing trouble for my mother. But a corpse cannot move. Enraged by my silence, my mother reached down, grabbing my hair, yanking my head back so hard it nearly tore my scalp. “What did I do to deserve a child like you?” my mother wept with frustration. “Your father died young, and you were born sick! I raised you all by myself, and now that your wings are grown, this is how you repay me?!” “I just wanted you to perform on stage to build your confidence, and you hold a grudge and embarrass me on purpose!” Her words pierced my soul like daggers. Because I knew how much she suffered after Dad passed away, I tried so hard to stay alive. I had seen her cry into her pillow in the dead of night, bearing an unimaginable burden. I obeyed every single order she gave me. When I was seven, she said I needed to overcome my fears, so she left me alone in a dark haunted house attraction, forcing me to find my way out through my own sobs. In middle school, she said I needed to build my heart’s endurance, so she forced me to stay awake for three consecutive days, which landed me in the intensive care unit for two months. And tonight, she forced me to hold a ten-pound prop on a sixteen-foot platform, inflicting both mental and physical torture upon my fragile body. I never complained once. I just couldn’t handle it anymore, Mom… Determined to break my act, Kristin stepped forward to expose my private humiliations. “Wendy, if you don’t get up right now, I’ll tell everyone your dirty little secrets!” My mother encouraged her, “Tell them, Kristin! Give her a taste of her own medicine, or she’ll think she can walk all over us!” Fear ran cold through my spiritual form. Please, no! Don’t do this! Does my dignity mean nothing to you? Kristin crossed her arms, smirking triumphantly. “Wendy is such a coward that she sleeps with the lights on every night. If the lights go out, she wets her bed from fear!” “Our balcony is constantly filled with her washed bedsheets. She smells like urine all the time, and no amount of perfume can hide it!” The surrounding students immediately covered their noses, taking several steps back from my body. “That’s disgusting! No wonder the handmade gifts she gave us during orientation smelled weird!” My face flushed pale with shame. I had stayed up for nights making those orientation gifts for my classmates, ensuring every single item was washed and spotless. Kristin wasn’t done. “And to make matters worse, she actually had the nerve to crush on the campus golden boy! She wrote him over twenty love letters!” She pulled a thick stack of envelopes from her tote bag and tossed them onto the floor. A handsome guy standing nearby looked as if he had swallowed a fly. “Gross! Who would ever like a crippled girl with a diseased heart?” He turned on his heel and walked away. The crowd burst into loud laughter. I covered my face in the air, sobbing silently, unable to look. My private teenage feelings were laid bare, served as a joke for everyone to mock. Seeing that I still didn’t move, my mother’s eyes turned entirely cold. “Still playing dead, are we, Wendy?” She turned to the stage crew. “Fine! Hook her up to the aerial rigging wires! Suspend her near the ceiling and leave her there! Let’s see how long she can hold out!” The auditorium’s wire rigging system was rarely used because untrained individuals could suffer severe rope burns or injuries. Suspending someone that high without harness training was extremely dangerous. The crowd grew quiet, sensing things were going too far. Kristin, however, cheered in approval. “Mom, you really know how to discipline her! She won’t be able to fake it up there!” My mother called over two security guards, who wrapped the wire harness around my waist and chest. As they pulled the straps tight, bright red blood seeped through my dress, drawing shocked gasps from the audience. “Oh my god, look! Wendy is bleeding! Is she actually hurt?!” My mother let out a cold sneer, grabbing the hoist rope to raise my body slowly into the air. “Don’t be ridiculous! It’s just a little blood, it won’t kill her!” Kristin leaned down, pretending to sniff the blood on the floor, her expression filled with disdain. “Mom, this is just cherry syrup! Wendy is definitely acting!” I opened my mouth in silent agony, unable to comprehend why she would invent such a lie to smear me. For years, I had treated her like my own flesh and blood sister. Slowly, my body rose higher and higher into the rafters. The tight harness cut deep into my pale skin. My limbs dangled at unnatural, twisted angles, a posture impossible for a living human being to hold. If my mother had taken just one careful look, she would have noticed. At that moment, several visiting university executives walked backstage. Among them was my late father’s former colleague, Uncle Marcus. Uncle Marcus froze in horror, shouting frantically, “Evelyn! Wendy is sick! What are you doing? You’re going to kill her!” Kristin quickly stepped in front of him. “Uncle Marcus, you misunderstand! Mom is just disciplining my sister!” “Disciplining her?” My mother nodded, her face full of resentment. “Marcus, you have no idea how twisted this girl’s mind is! I wanted her to gain some courage on stage, and she fakes a faint to humiliate me! If I don’t discipline her now, how can I face her late father?” Uncle Marcus fell silent. It was difficult to interfere in another family’s domestic discipline, especially when spoken with such authority. As my body reached the highest point of the ceiling, my mother turned away, heading toward the administration conference room for the event debriefing. Before leaving, she instructed Kristin softly, “Keep an eye on your sister. If she starts showing genuine signs of heart distress, lower her down and give her medicine.” Kristin nodded obediently. After my mother left, the performing students were ordered to remain in the auditorium while the administration discussed the showcase’s outcome. “It’s all Wendy’s fault! Because she slacked off, we’re all stuck waiting in this heat!” “I just want to go back to my dorm, this is unbearable!” Uncle Marcus, still standing near the stage, suddenly pointed up at my suspended body and yelled, “Lower Wendy down right now! Her condition is completely wrong, and she’s dripping blood!” Kristin rolled her eyes. “Uncle Marcus, she tricked you. That’s just cherry syrup! Smear some on your fingers and smell it yourself!” She wiped her hand on the floor and held it out. Uncle Marcus sniffed it and frowned. “It really is syrup… I can’t believe such a sweet child turned so rebellious.” I clenched my ghostly fists, unable to utter a single word of defense. Kristin smiled, commanding the guards, “Hoist her higher! Make her admit her mistake faster!” The strain on my ballet dress caused the fabric to tear loudly, exposing my heavily bruised torso. Meanwhile, in the conference room, my mother was apologizing profusely to the board members. “I am so sorry, everyone. My daughter Wendy messed up on stage due to her poor stamina. She’s been shy and timid since childhood, complaining about heart pain even when walking fast. I’ve disciplined her, and I assure you it won’t happen again.” My mother, who held her head high everywhere she went, bent her spine repeatedly for my sake. The board members concluded that since the live stream didn’t capture my fall, the incident was manageable. A senior female director sitting near my mother remarked gently, “Director Ross, given Wendy’s heart condition, she doesn’t really need to perform on stage.” My mother waved her hand defensively. “How can I let her off so easily? It’s for her own good! If I don’t push her to build courage, she’ll end up a complete burden to society!” I felt a surge of overwhelming guilt. I’m so sorry, Mom… Simultaneously, photos of my body suspended in the auditorium rafters spread rapidly across campus group chats, making me the laughingstock of the entire university. A few board members felt the punishment was getting out of hand. “Director Ross, maybe that’s enough for tonight. She’s still young, moderation is key.” My mother remained resolute. “Thank you for your concern, but I cannot back down. If I don’t teach her a lesson tonight, she will rely on me for the rest of her life!” Suddenly, a terrified scream echoed from the hallway outside. “Oh my god! The rigging wire snapped!”

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1 Born in the slums, I accidentally unlocked the strange ability to understand cockroaches. When I was little, my alcoholic foster father tried to sell me to an old man to settle his gambling debts. The roaches whispered in my ear, warning me to hide in the crawlspace beforehand. When I grew older and shady drunks lurked near my doorstep, the roaches scurried over to tell me to deadbolt the doors and call the police. Relying on this bizarre gift, I studied like crazy and got accepted into Grand Capital University. Around the same time, my biological parents, the ultra-wealthy Brendons, finally tracked me down and welcomed me back into high society. Yet on the very first night of freshman year, I kidnapped the campus heartthrob and dragged him to the dorm roof, preparing to jump. Why? Because my roach friends informed me that Emily, the fake heiress assigned to my dorm, was setting a trap to frame me for arson. “The old roach living under your bunk sent me to pass the message,” a little beetle-like buddy had squeaked to me earlier. “That fake heiress is hell-bent on framing you and putting you behind bars!” I had fallen into deep thought upon hearing that. Emily didn’t just want me in prison; she wanted to alienate me from my biological parents forever. I needed an absolute, unbreakable alibi. So, I did the only logical thing. I snatched the passing campus heartthrob, Nate, dragged him up to the roof, and started a live stream. “Hey everyone, call the cops!” I yelled at my phone screen. “I just kidnapped Nate!” … The roof wind blew violently, stinging my skin. I kept an iron grip on Nate, dragging him all the way to the very edge of the concrete ledge. “Why are you so insanely strong?!” Nate struggled against my grip, his eyes wide. “Let go of me!” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t break free. I grew up in the slums doing heavy manual labor, building up brute strength that no privileged college boy could match. He forced down his panic, trying to reason with me politely. “Willow, are you going through something terrible? Tell me, I can help you solve it. We don’t need to take such extreme measures.” I tilted my head, letting out an unhinged smile. “Sorry, Nate, but my problem can only be solved by live-streaming a rooftop jump!” Once my innocence was proven, I would apologize to Nate and accept whatever punishment he saw fit. Just then, the squeaky chatter of several roaches reached my ears again. “Boss! Emily is making her move! She conspirated with your other two roommates!” “Yeah, she even managed to lift your fingerprints and installed a hidden camera beforehand! She’s setting up an airtight frame-job!” “I heard they hired a hacker to forge footage of you lighting the fire in the dorm!” My heart sank, a wave of coldness spreading down my spine. I should have guessed it. Ever since the Brendons brought me back, Emily had been suspiciously sweet to me. She showered me with warm concern and insisted on rooming with me in the university dorms. That fake kindness was merely a tactic to lower my guard. After all, she was just an impostor occupying a spot that wasn’t hers. She was terrified I would reclaim everything that belonged to me. So she decided to strike first, using an arson setup to destroy me completely. Emily understood human nature all too well. I was an unrefined kid from the slums. Most members of the Brendon family already assumed I possessed terrible moral character. Once the dorm caught fire, a girl like me would be unable to defend herself, disgraced, and thrown out of the family forever. I exhaled a heavy breath. With the help of my roach friends, I had managed to pull myself out of the gutter and survive against all odds. I was not about to go down without a fight. I looked at my phone screen. The live stream’s local viewer count was exploding. The chat box flooded with furious comments. Holy crap! Is she actually holding him hostage? Is this chick crazy? If she can’t have the golden boy, she wants to destroy him?! I know her! Her name is Willow! Word is she grew up in the urban slums! No wonder she’s so unhinged and extreme! Nate, don’t be scared! We called the cops! They’re on their way! Is she trying to get famous? Streaming a fake kidnapping to gain followers is beyond disgusting! If you want to jump, jump by yourself! Don’t drag an innocent guy down with you and waste public resources! I feel so bad for Nate! He’s still trying to talk her down! A tsunami of insults slammed into me through the screen, but I felt no hurt whatsoever. In fact, I felt immensely relieved. The harsher they cursed, the higher the stream metrics climbed, and the more witnesses I gained. I was constructing the most rock-solid alibi imaginable. My smile grew wilder as I yelled into the phone camera, “That’s right! My name is Willow, student ID zero-two-one-four-six-two! I’m completely nuts!” “Everyone listen carefully! The time is currently nine-seventeen PM!” 2 “I have been on this rooftop the whole time, holding Nate hostage and preparing to jump!” At my brazen declaration, the chat box went eerily still for a second. The viewers were genuinely spooked by my mental state. Nate’s dark eyes narrowed, staring intensely at my face. “Willow… do you have a hidden motive for doing this?” He was sharp. Extremely sharp. I leaned closer, my warm breath brushing against his ear. “Nate, just be a good boy and play along with me tonight.” Before he could reply, the heavy iron roof door burst open. Nate’s die-hard fan girls rushed onto the roof. “Willow, are you insane?! Let go of Nate right now!” The leader of the group, Hannah, screamed in terror, her entire body shaking. The other girls joined in, shouting curses at the top of their lungs. “You shameless bitch! Are you doing this just to get Nate’s attention?! You don’t deserve him!” “I knew trash like her shouldn’t have been admitted to Grand Capital University! slum-born garbage will always be trash at heart!” “Nate, don’t be afraid! We called the police! This lunatic isn’t getting away tonight!” Their insults grew nastier by the second. Seeing me completely unbothered, Hannah gritted her teeth and took a step forward. “Willow, I’m warning you one last time…” I didn’t even bother replying. I simply dragged Nate back half a step toward the ledge. Nate instinctively glanced down at the dizzying drop behind him, his fingers tightening in panic. I glanced sideways at him. Ah, the campus golden boy is afraid of heights. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Everyone… stay back! She’s emotional right now, don’t provoke her!” Unfortunately, Hannah was too riled up to listen. Tears of rage spilled down her cheeks. “Willow, are you satisfied now?! Look at how terrified you’re making him!” The other girls grew hysterical, pointing fingers at my face. “She was just brought back by the Brendon family, but she’s still a low-class street rat using cheap tricks to clout-chase!” “Ahhh, go die! If you want to die, jump alone! Don’t drag Nate down with you!” Some of them even pulled rotten eggs out of their bags and threw them at me. I didn’t even blink. Growing up, I had beer bottles smashed over my head, cigarette butts snuffed on my skin, and leftover food thrown in my face. A few rotten eggs were nothing to me. “Take another step forward, and I’ll take Nate over the edge right now,” I warned coldly. I pulled Nate back another half step. This time, half of his feet hung in midair above the drop. Everyone froze in absolute horror. She’s insane! She’s an actual psychopath! You can’t reason with her! Where are the cops?! Nate is so unfortunate! Getting wrapped up with a crazy woman for no reason! Please, lady, stop provoking her! What if she actually jumps?! During the standoff, police officers and firefighters finally arrived at the scene. They quickly dispersed the crowd, shoving Hannah and the fan girls back behind the roof door to avoid triggering me further. The lead negotiator, a friendly senior officer, put on a gentle smile and spoke in a soothing tone, “Young lady, standing up here in the freezing cold night wind, what are you trying to accomplish?” “Getting into Grand Capital University isn’t easy. Millions of kids envy your position. Your parents worked hard to raise you. If something happens to you in a moment of impulse, think of how heartbroken they’ll be.” “Be a good girl. Release the young man first, and we can sit down and talk things through.” As he spoke, he took a subtle, barely noticeable step forward. Noticing his movement, I immediately made a gesture to lean back with Nate. The officer froze instantly, a layer of cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. 3 “Don’t, don’t, don’t! Don’t step back! I’m staying right here!” He wiped his forehead nervously. “Look at you, kid, why are you so stubborn?!” “Fine, fine, I won’t move! You don’t move either! Let’s just talk from right here, okay?” Down below, the fire department had already inflated a massive air cushion. The officer exhaled in relief, then said with deep concern, “Young lady, did someone mistreat you at school? Is someone bullying you? Tell me, and I’ll make sure justice is served!” I tilted my head, flashing him a wide, mischievous grin. “Nobody bullied me! I just wanted to catch some fresh air, and brought Nate along for the ride.” The officer choked on his words, completely speechless. A younger cop behind him lost his temper, shouting sternly, “Willow! Stop being ungrateful! Your actions right now constitute a serious crime! Release the hostage immediately, or face the consequences!” The senior officer turned around and glared at the younger cop. “How are you speaking to a student?!” He turned back to me with another soft smile. “Young lady, how about this? Let the young man step over first, okay? I’ll stay here and talk with you for as long as you want.” Behind the iron door, the fan girls caused another commotion. “Officers, can you hurry up?! Nate clearly can’t hold on much longer!” “Just tackle her! Why are you afraid of a crazy woman?!” Nate was indeed in terrible shape. He was terrified of heights to begin with, and standing on the absolute edge for so long made his legs tremble uncontrollably. Yet he clamped his jaw shut, refusing to make a sound. “Boss! Your biological parents just got a call from the police and are rushing over!” My roach informants crept back to give me an update. “You have to hold out! Emily is ready! She’s about to light the fire to frame you!” I lowered my eyes, calculating the situation in my mind. The live stream heat had completely exploded. With so many witnesses on site and online, I no longer needed Nate as a hostage to maintain the spotlight. The wind was getting stronger, and if Nate had a genuine panic attack or slipped, the collateral damage wouldn’t be worth it. I released my grip on Nate, pushing him gently toward the safe zone near the officers. “Sure thing, officer! Let’s chat!” I smiled warmly at the senior negotiator, agreeing to his proposal. Nate regained his footing on solid ground, but he didn’t run away. He stood there, staring intently at my face. I tilted my head and winked at him. “What? Miss me already?” Nate remained silent, hastily averting his gaze. I didn’t bother with him anymore, turning around and hopping onto the concrete guardrail, letting my legs dangle freely over the edge. The crowd watching below let out a collective gasp of horror. The senior officer broke into a cold sweat again. “Willow, why are you sitting up there?! That’s dangerous, get down right now!” I closed my eyes, the cold wind whipping through my hair. The officer had asked if anyone had bullied me. When I was little, countless people bullied me. Luckily, my roach buddies had my back, constantly tipping me off. Otherwise, I would never have survived to adulthood. Later, I was brought back to the wealthy Brendon family. I thought I would no longer need roaches to protect myself. Yet the moment my high-society relatives saw me, their eyes were filled with unhidden disgust. “Is this the wild girl who grew up in the urban slums? She doesn’t look like a high-society heiress at all!” “I heard her foster father was a drunkard, and her foster mother ran off with another man!” “A child raised in that trash environment must be vulgar and unethical at heart!” “Emily is so much better, polite and elegant, truly a child raised by the Brendon family!” 4 Whenever those insults flew, Emily would gently wrap her arm around mine and say sweetly, “Willow just got back, she needs time to adapt. I believe she’ll make you all proud eventually.” Back then, I actually thought she was a sweet, kind sister. Little did I know, Emily was a snake under her sheep’s skin. Once again, my roach brothers had saved my life. Suddenly, another wave of commotion sounded near the roof door. “Willow! What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” I turned my head toward the voice. My biological mother, Elizabeth Brendon, stepped onto the roof in high heels and immaculate makeup, her face flushed with fury. “Willow, get down here this instant! Turn off that stream! Otherwise… I will disown you as my daughter!” Beside her stood my biological father, Addison Brendon, dressed in a sharp suit, his face dark as thunder. Oh my god, so Willow really is a Brendon heiress! Are the rumors true?! The Brendons are so unlucky! Such a prestigious family ruined by one bad apple! Don’t say that, what if she has a genuine reason? After all… Get out of here with that bleeding-heart nonsense! Who defends a kidnapper?! I sat on the guardrail, looking at them with a relaxed grin. “Oh, you guys finally made it?” “What kind of attitude is that?!” Elizabeth’s voice shook with rage, her chest heaving violently. “Look at yourself! What do you look like right now?!” “Sitting up there playing the victim, running a live stream for the whole city to see!” “Do you know what people online are saying right now?! They’re saying the daughter brought back by the Brendon family is a lunatic!” “Where am I supposed to hide my face?!” Hearing her tirade, I nodded thoughtfully. “They’re completely right. So why don’t you just pretend you never gave birth to me?” “Do you think I don’t want to?!” Elizabeth hissed under her breath, glaring at me. “I should have never brought you back! Emily is a thousand times better than you!” “If I knew you were this unhinged, I would have preferred to leave you in the gutter…” Listening to her cruel words, my heart felt strangely numb. Not a single ripple of sadness touched me. I suppose I was used to it. When I first returned to the Brendons, I tried really hard. I memorized complex etiquette rules and practiced how to smile politely. Yet when Elizabeth saw me practicing, she remarked with disgust, “You don’t need to fake it. Class is in your blood, and you can’t fake what you don’t have.” That was when I realized the Brendons didn’t just dislike my unrefined habits; they hated my very existence. They couldn’t accept that a child carrying Brendon blood had lived a dirty, wretched life in the slums. Addison looked up at me, his voice cold as ice. “Willow, I’ll give you three minutes to get down yourself. Otherwise, bear the consequences.” I burst out laughing, tilting my head at him. “What consequences? Throwing me out of the family?” “That would be fantastic. I’m begging you to do it.” Suddenly, an urgent roach squeak exploded in my ear. “Boss! It’s done! Emily set the fire! The dorm room is ablaze!” “The fire is spreading fast! The whole room is catching!” I exhaled softly. The curtain was finally rising. I slowly raised my eyes, looking at my furious biological parents, the anxious police officers, and finally… at Nate, who was still standing nearby. I offered Nate a gentle smile. Then, under everyone’s horrified gaze, I opened my arms and let my body fall backward off the ledge. “Willow… NO!” The wind roared in my ears like a deafening storm. As I plunged into the night air, I saw Nate and the firefighters rushing toward the guardrail. Nobody caught me. My body crashed heavily onto the inflated air cushion below, my mind going completely blank from the impact. Instantly, paramedics swarmed around me, lifting me onto a stretcher. “Vital signs are stable! Transport her to the hospital immediately!” “Girl, why do this to yourself?! What could be so terrible?!” The noisy voices faded into the distance. When I woke up again, I was lying in a hospital bed. Before I could process anything, two police officers walked into the room. “Willow, you are suspected of malicious arson in dorm room six-one-four at Grand Capital University. We are taking you into custody for investigation.”

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1 Maria’s childhood friend Derek was a popular relationship guru. She believed love wasn’t about instinct, but his strict methodology. Derek said men were like stray cats: starve them to make them cling. So when I pulled an all-nighter, she locked me out in the hallway until sunrise. He claimed security bred complacency, so she vanished on our engagement day to test if I’d break down. Each time I sobbed, she sighed. “Derek said this is low-value emotional manipulation. I’m doing this for our future.” Then Dad had a massive stroke and landed in the ICU. I borrowed from everyone, still three thousand dollars short. Maria refused to send a dime, forwarding my desperate voice notes to Derek instead. That night, I went viral: Her boyfriend begged for money using his dying father. Romance scam? Dad’s blurred critical notice fueled the mockery. Comments hailed Maria as clear-headed, calling me a shameless leech. Bloodshot, I begged her to delete it. She gave a faint, mocking laugh. “Everyone’s helping me cut my losses. Reflect on why you sound like a con artist.” The urge to explain myself died. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I just wanted to drag myself out of this toxic relationship, clean and whole. … The hospital billing counter was closing in ten minutes. I swiped my debit card three times, but the machine kept displaying the same available balance: two thousand and forty dollars. The nurse pushed the receipt back toward me. “You’re still short three thousand dollars for the deposit,” she said coldly. “If it’s not paid by midnight, it will impact his ongoing medication.” I grabbed the slip and sprinted out of the lobby. Rain poured from the night sky. Across the street sat a small pawn shop. “The diamond is tiny, and the band has visible wear,” the jeweler said, squinting through his magnifying glass. “Best I can do is two thousand five hundred.” Maria had spent ten thousand dollars on this ring. The day we picked it out, she held my hand and spent the entire afternoon browsing. I had fallen in love with an eighteen-thousand-dollar band. She squeezed my fingers tightly. “Wait until our tenth anniversary. I’ll buy you a much bigger one.” On the way home, Derek sent her over a dozen voice messages. “Never feed a man until he’s full on the first try,” Derek’s voice had rattled through her phone speaker. “If you satisfy him right away, his demands will only grow bigger next time.” So Maria turned the car around, went back to the mall, and bought the cheaper option. Derek even bragged about her on his livestream later that night. “As long as you make the man choose himself, his sunk-cost fallacy will force him to rationalize your decision for you.” Back then, I really did rationalize it for her. I pushed the ring across the glass counter. “I’ll take it.” My phone buzzed. Maria was finally calling. “Where are you?” she asked. “The pawn shop across from the hospital.” There was a brief pause on the line. “Did you just sell the ring?” “My dad needs the money for his treatment.” “Jesse, why do you always have to take things to such extremes?” I gripped the receipt tightly. “Maria, my father is lying in the ICU!” “I know,” she sighed. “And didn’t I come over already?” She was standing across the street, holding a thermal bag from the porridge shop near the back entrance of the hospital. I ran over to her through the rain. She reached out and gently wiped the water from my forehead. “Why are you wearing so little in this weather?” Inside the bag was a warm container of black sesame porridge. Low sugar, no crushed peanuts, just the way I liked it. Looking at that familiar packaging, my eyes burned. Maria unscrewed the lid and handed me a spoon. “Eat a few bites first.” Just as I reached out, her phone chimed loudly. Derek’s voice filled the air through the speakerphone. “His emotions are running high right now. Don’t rush to comfort him.” “Make him record a clarification video first.” “Otherwise, he’ll think that the louder he throws a tantrum, the more he gets from you.” Maria’s hand froze mid-air. She glanced at me, then slowly put the lid back on the container. “I didn’t lie,” I said, my voice cracking. “You saw the notice with your own eyes.” Maria knitted her brows. “A stroke doesn’t mean he’s going to die instantly. Derek researched it, plenty of patients wake up the very next day.” “You came at me crying for money right off the bat. Anyone would be suspicious.” She held her phone up in front of my face. On the screen was a pre-written statement. [Due to extreme anxiety, I exaggerated my father’s medical condition. Miss Maria never refused to help me. I am deeply grateful to Mr. Derek for his timely reminder.] “Read it out loud,” Maria commanded softly. “Once you do, Derek deletes the post, and I transfer you the money.” I didn’t reach for the phone. Maria’s voice turned cold. “I am willing to give you the money. But you cannot use your family’s illness to cross my boundaries.” In the seven years we had been together, “boundaries” was her favorite word. I wasn’t allowed to check her phone. I wasn’t allowed to ask where she went with Derek. I wasn’t allowed to care when they had late-night heart-to-heart chats. Yet Derek was allowed to read all our private texts. He was allowed to reply to my messages on her behalf. He was allowed to decide when she should hold me, and when she should give me the cold shoulder. A bank notification popped up on my phone: the pawn shop funds had cleared. I turned around without a word and walked back to the billing window. Maria stood in the rain, her face growing pale and stern. “If you don’t record it right now, don’t ever say I didn’t give you a chance!” By the time I finished paying the deposit and made it back to the ICU doors, it was already one in the morning. My phone kept pushing notifications of Derek’s ongoing livestream highlights. He sat in front of a ring light, a sleek new watch gleaming on his wrist. “Special thanks to an anonymous old friend,” he smiled at the camera. “Knowing I just hit ten million followers, she insisted on sending me this surprise.” The camera panned briefly over the luxury box on his desk. The price tag read three thousand dollars. The time of purchase was seventeen minutes after I had begged Maria for help. It wasn’t that Maria didn’t have three thousand dollars. She just didn’t think my father’s life was worth it. The next morning, my boss called me into his office and suspended me indefinitely. “We received hundreds of complaint emails last night,” he sighed. “Upper management doesn’t want clients seeing your face right now.” Shortly after I left the building, the medical crowdfunding platform sent me a notification. My dad’s campaign page had been frozen due to mass reports. The twenty-five hundred dollars already raised was locked and could not be withdrawn. Then the hospital called. Strangers had been posing as relatives, calling the front desk to ask if my dad was a hired actor. Some demanded a livestream to verify his condition. After being harassed for half an hour, the nurses were forced to unplug the landline. When I hurried back to the ward, a funeral wreath was resting against the hallway wall. A bright red message was written across the white ribbon: [May the scammer father and son reunite in hell soon.] I grabbed the wooden frame to throw it away. A splinter pierced deep into my palm, and blood dripped down my fingers. Maria happened to step out of the elevator at that exact moment. Seeing the blood on my hand, she pulled a Band-Aid out of her purse. “Why are you still so clumsy?” she muttered softly. “Give me your hand.” I didn’t move. She reached out, grabbed my wrist, and skillfully wrapped the bandage around the cut. She knew I hated onions. She knew I was terrified of thunder. Yet when my father was lying in the ICU, she had to ask Derek first if my dad was worth three thousand dollars. Her phone vibrated in her palm. It was a text from Derek. [Now that you’ve comforted him enough, pull away. Don’t let him feel that throwing a fit earns him more attention.] The moment Maria finished applying the Band-Aid, she let go of my wrist like I was radioactive. I peeled the bandage off and tossed it straight into the trash can alongside the wreath. “Do you even need his permission to feel sorry for me?” I asked. Her face darkened. “Stop being so cynical. Derek is spending his valuable time analyzing your personality just to help us.” I looked into her eyes. “The wedding is off.” “From now on, he can guide your love life however he wants.” Maria froze for two seconds, then suddenly let out a bitter laugh. “Threatening to break up with me to force a concession again?” she sneered. “Derek called it last night. He said once you realized crying didn’t work, your next step would be bringing up a breakup.” “Jesse, every single reaction of yours is completely within his predictions.” She handed me a duffel bag filled with clothes and chargers. “You’ll be pulling all-nighters here for the next few days.” I pushed the bag back toward her. “I need to go back to the apartment to get my ID and documents.” Maria stepped in front of me. “I’ll have my assistant bring them over.” I looked up at her. “Or what? Do I need Derek’s permission to go back to my own home now?” She didn’t answer. Half an hour later, I used my spare key to open the door to our apartment. My house slippers were still sitting neatly by the entrance. Right next to them was a pair of men’s leather shoes. Derek was sitting casually on the living room sofa, wearing the handmade wool slippers my dad had crafted for me last winter. I stared at his feet. “Take those off.” Derek looked down casually. “They’re just slippers, Jesse. A truly independent man doesn’t project his baggage onto everyday objects.” I bent down to pull them off him. Right then, the study door was pushed open. Maria hurried out and grabbed my arm firmly. “That’s enough!” she snapped. “Derek is just wearing them for a little bit.” Looking at the woman standing in front of me, I suddenly remembered the day we moved in four years ago. She had placed the keys gently in my palm with a radiant smile. “This is our home from now on,” she had whispered. “You can come back whenever you want.” I yanked my arm out of her grip. My lower back slammed against the desk behind me, knocking one of the drawers open a crack. Inside lay a signed equity purchase agreement. Maria had purchased a fifteen percent stake in Derek’s new coaching company for forty thousand dollars. The date of the signature was the exact day my father was admitted to the ICU. Three years ago, Maria’s studio suffered a massive cash flow crisis. My father sold his only property in the old neighborhood and lent her all forty thousand dollars from the sale. The IOU stated the loan would be repaid within two years. But she kept delaying it. Every time my dad gently asked about it, she would hold his hands and smile. “Dad, give me just a little more time,” she would say. “Once Jesse and I get married, my money is your money anyway.” My father waited until a stroke nearly took his life, and she wouldn’t even give him three thousand dollars. Yet that forty thousand dollars had gone straight into Derek’s company without a second thought. “Why is my dad’s money here?” I demanded, picking up the document. Maria snatched it away and shut the drawer. “What do you mean, your dad’s money? That loan was injected into my business, making it a company asset. My company has the right to decide how to invest its capital.” I stared at her, stunned. “Giving it to Derek is an investment? But giving three thousand dollars to save my dad is what?” Derek leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “It’s pouring money into a bottomless pit, Jesse.” “Three thousand today, rehab fees tomorrow, eldercare after that,” Derek continued smoothly. “If Maria doesn’t set hard boundaries now, your family will bleed her dry for the rest of her life.” I pulled the drawer back open. On the memo line of the contract, a single code was written: [Initial payment for Project LG-01.] Maria yanked the contract out of my hands. “These are internal corporate documents. You have no right to look at them!” “You took my dad’s money to fund a project named after him?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Her throat tightened slightly. “LG is just a project code.” Derek stepped up beside her. His new three-thousand-dollar watch caught the sunlight, flashing painfully in my eyes. Suddenly, this apartment I had lived in for four years felt terrifyingly alien. My clothes were hanging in the closet. My mug sat on the counter. My photos were on the wall. Yet standing here, I felt like a complete stranger. My father finally woke up on the afternoon of the third day. The doctor informed me that he had developed temporary aphasia, and the entire right side of his body was paralyzed. When I entered the room, he was struggling desperately with his left hand to grab his phone off the nightstand. The screen was inundated with vile text messages from strangers. [Just die already. Your death will prove your son is a scammer.] [Raising a scumbag son like that, you can’t be a good person either.] I snatched the phone away and shut it off. My father’s lips trembled uncontrollably. The nurse quickly brought over a notepad and a pen. He gripped the pen tightly with his clumsy left hand. Every single stroke was jagged and shaky. After a long struggle, three barely legible words appeared on the paper: [Is money enough?] I squatted down beside his bed. “It’s enough,” I lied softly, forcing a smile. “My company paid my salary early.” He stared into my eyes, clearly not believing me. “It really is enough, Dad.” Tears trickled down his weathered cheeks. Unable to move his right arm, he used his awkward left hand to gently stroke my hair. Just then, the ward door swung open. Maria walked in carrying a boutique bakery bag. “Uncle Hugh is awake?” she asked, her voice bright. She expertly raised the head of the bed and placed a box of chestnut cake on the bedside table. The moment my dad saw her, his eyes lit up. Maria knew he loved chestnuts, but didn’t like things too sweet. Four years ago, when my father was hospitalized for high blood pressure for the first time, I was stuck out of town on a business trip. Maria stayed by his bedside for two straight nights. When I rushed back the next morning, she was fast asleep, leaning against the edge of his mattress. From that day on, my father always said, “Maria is a thoughtful girl, Jesse. You can count on her.” She sat on the edge of the bed and took my father’s left hand into hers. “Uncle Hugh, I’m so sorry you had to go through this,” she said softly. “The people online don’t know the truth. Please don’t take their harsh words to heart.” My father looked at me anxiously. Maria followed his gaze, looking over at me before turning back to him. “Don’t worry,” she reassured him warmly. “I won’t leave Jesse over a little misunderstanding like this.” My father’s tense shoulders visibly relaxed. In that brief second, I felt a terrible pang of hesitation. It was as if she were still the same Maria who had cared for him four years ago. The very next second, however, she pulled an official document out of her briefcase. “The public backlash is too intense right now,” she explained gently to my father. “If you could just help clarify a small detail, Derek can get the trending topics taken down immediately.” Printed on the paper was a single statement: [I, Hugh, hereby confirm that I voluntarily gifted forty thousand dollars to Miss Maria. There is no loan agreement between us.] [My son, Jesse, recently lost emotional control and exaggerated my medical condition to demand funds.] I grabbed the paper and ripped it in half. “You’re shoving this garbage in front of a man who just woke up from a stroke?” I shouted. Maria frowned. “It’s just clarifying the facts!” “There is an IOU for that money!” “That IOU can be voided!” she hissed, lowering her voice. “We are getting married soon! Why are you drawing such a harsh line between your dad’s money and mine?” “Why didn’t you talk about being family when you took his money?” I spat back. “Now that it’s time to pay it back, you’re blaming me for keeping score?” Maria’s expression turned ugly. “Can you stop treating our relationship like a financial ledger?” “My dad was dying, and you still had to consult Derek to see if he was worth three thousand dollars!” Hearing the word married, my father frantically grabbed Maria’s sleeve. He pointed at the torn paper, then pointed at me, his eyes wide with worry. Maria patted his hand gently. “If you sign it, Uncle Hugh, I’ll have Derek take down the posts tonight.” “The wedding will go on as planned.” “I won’t abandon him.” My father stared at me intensely. I stepped in front of the bed, blocking her view. “Get out.” Maria’s face went cold. “Jesse, don’t be ungrateful. Your father knows what’s best for you.” “He just woke up! He can’t even speak!” I yelled, tears brimming in my eyes. “He’s just terrified that you’ll leave me!” My father panicked, trying to push himself up with his left arm. The heart monitor suddenly let out a shrill, piercing alarm. Nurses rushed into the room, shoving all of us out into the hallway. The doctor called me over to sign consent forms for additional emergency tests. When I returned to the floor, Maria was no longer in the corridor. The ward was dead silent. A red stamp pad sat open on the bedside table. The statement I had torn up had been reprinted and laid flat on the mattress. On the bottom right corner was a smudged, crooked red thumbprint. When my father saw me enter, he raised his left hand in a panic. On the notepad beside him were fresh, shaky words he had just managed to write: [She said… if I sign… she marries you.] I stood by the bed, completely frozen. At eight o’clock that evening, Derek posted a teaser for an upcoming emergency livestream. The thumbnail was a close-up photo of the thumbprinted statement. The caption read: [After seven years of being bled dry, she finally received a signed confession from the boyfriend’s father.] In the teaser video, Maria wore a crisp white blouse, offering the camera a tired, long-suffering smile. “I truly cared for them as my own family,” she said softly. “But some people’s greed can never be satisfied.” My father’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. I rushed to silence it, but he had already seen the notification. He stared at me, his left hand still stained with red ink. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He could only shake his head over and over again. The full stream was scheduled for seven o’clock the following evening. Derek released preview clips throughout the day. Footage played of Maria walking through a local market with my dad, carrying his groceries. Another clip showed my dad sitting outside her studio, wrapping homemade dumplings for her staff. There was even a quiet video of his back as he handed his house keys to the real estate agent the day he sold his home. These were videos taken from my personal family archives. Now, they had been edited together into a viral package titled: [The Complete Record of Raising a Leech Father and Son.] I dialed Maria’s number. She picked up almost instantly. “Have you come to your senses?” “Cancel the stream,” I said, my voice shaking. “It’s too late for that.” “My dad just woke up,” I begged. “He can’t handle this.” Maria glanced over at Derek, who was sitting next to her. Derek shook his head firmly. Her tone instantly hardened. “You’re using your dad to guilt-trip me again, Jesse. The stream is just a simple clarification.” “That money was a loan,” I said. “You tricked him into pressing his thumbprint!” “If you have a problem with it, take it to court,” she said coldly. The call went dead. At seven o’clock sharp, the livestream went live. I muted my father’s phone and hid it deep at the bottom of the bedside drawer, begging the nurses not to play any viral videos in the ward. But someone posing as a family member snuck into the floor and dropped the stream link into the patient group chat. While I was at the nurse’s station picking up his prescription, my father pulled open the bottom drawer with his good arm. He sent Maria a single voice message first. Then, he tapped the link. When I rushed back into the room, Maria’s voice was echoing through the phone speaker. “Uncle Hugh used to tell me that as long as I married Jesse, all his money would belong to me anyway,” she was saying to the camera. “I was young back then. I really believed he loved me like a daughter.” The screen displayed the statement bearing my dad’s red thumbprint. Derek sat beside her, leaning in. “So when Mr. Maher demanded three thousand dollars using his father’s medical emergency as an excuse, how did that make you feel?” Maria lowered her eyes sorrowfully. “Disappointed. It wasn’t about the three thousand dollars. It’s just that enabling someone without boundaries only feeds their entitlement.” Comments flooded the screen at lightspeed. My father sat upright in his hospital bed, his face deathly pale. I sprinted across the room and yanked the charging cable out, blacking out the screen. My father grabbed my forearm with incredible strength. Broken, desperate sounds spilled from his throat. “Lo… Loan…” He wanted to tell the world that the forty thousand dollars was a loan. On the screen before it died, Maria had pulled out the original IOU. A massive red ‘X’ had been drawn across the document. “Uncle Hugh personally explained that the IOU was just created for tax bookkeeping purposes,” Maria announced smoothly. “So I won’t be pressing charges for their past actions.” “However, effective today, I will be cutting off all financial support.” My father stared intently at the dark screen. His chest heaved violently. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The heart monitor suddenly screamed a continuous, deadly tone. Doctors and nurses burst through the door. “Possible secondary brain hemorrhage!” the doctor yelled. “Get him to the operating room now!” The bed was unlocked and wheeled out at breakneck speed. I tried to run alongside it, but my knees gave out, and I slammed hard into the hallway wall. Maria’s livestream was still going strong on my phone. Derek was excitedly announcing that sales for his relationship masterclass had just crossed one hundred thousand units. Applaud roared through his studio. I picked up my phone with trembling hands and dialed her number. Once. Twice. I called seventeen times in a row. She never picked up. The red light above the operating room burned for three agonizing hours. When the chief surgeon finally walked out, he looked at me and slowly shook his head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “We did everything we could.” When my father was wheeled out, a white sheet covered his face. His left hand, still faint with red ink, hung limply over the side of the gurney. I knelt beside him, gently lifting his cold hand and placing it back beneath the sheet. My phone vibrated relentlessly in my pocket. Derek’s stream had officially hit the number one spot on the entire platform. On screen, Maria was answering the host’s final question. “If Jesse apologizes to you right now, will you still marry him?” She lowered her head, neatly adjusting her cuffs. The dark gray skirt suit she was wearing was the exact outfit I had bought her for our planned courthouse wedding. “That depends on whether he can truly recognize his mistakes,” she said calmly. “Marriage is not a charity program.” “I will not compromise my principles just because he cries pathetically.” Thunderous applause broke out in the studio. The stream transitioned to the celebration segment. An assistant holding a tablet hurried onto the stage. “Miss Maria, your personal phone has been ringing non-stop.” Maria glanced down. The screen was covered with seventeen missed calls from my number. Before she could process it, an incoming call from an unknown number flashed across the display. Derek reached out, placing his hand over hers. “The stream isn’t over yet.” The ringtone dragged on relentlessly. In the end, Maria pressed answer. “Hello?” The nurse’s voice echoed clearly through her lapel microphone, broadcasted live to hundreds of thousands of viewers. “Is this Miss Maria?” “This is the Central Hospital ICU.” “You are listed as the emergency secondary contact for Mr. Hugh Maher.” “Mr. Maher suffered a massive relapse. Despite emergency resuscitation, he passed away at ten twenty-seven tonight.”

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1 When my little sister Amanda got slapped by a classmate, Dad rushed to school, Mom tore up the parent chat, and Brother Tyler brought friends to trap the boy at the gates. But Amanda pouted that everyone now made fun of her. Mom baked forty-five cupcakes for distribution, while Dad and Brother sent five hundred dollars in apology. Amanda finally stopped crying. The next day, a cupcake appeared on my desk. I gathered courage. “Mom… someone is bullying me…” Mom simmered soup, brushing me off. “Kids make a big deal out of nothing. Maybe they’re just joking.” I turned to Tyler. “They took my allowance and tore my test papers.” Glued to his phone leveling Amanda’s gaming account, he didn’t answer. Dad called from the living room, “If you don’t provoke them, why would they bully you? Reflect on your own behavior.” I reflected all night but couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong. Soon, bullies trapped me in a dark alley. They stripped me, took photos, and beat me until I coughed up blood. I dialed my family dozens of times from my shattered phone. No answer. As they left, one mentioned the last person they beat this way died of internal bleeding. Bruised and bleeding, I dragged myself home. Mom, Dad, and Tyler were gathered around Amanda, helping her try on a new princess dress. They’d forgotten it was my birthday. I said nothing. Using my last spare change, I took a bus to the local crematorium. Standing before the old security guard, I whispered, “Sir, I think I’m dying soon. Can you help me prepare a grave?” … The old security guard, Ben, took me inside his booth. He washed the dirt off my hands and gently sanitized my cuts with iodine. He pulled out his phone, dialing my family while trying to comfort me. “You had a fight with your parents and ran away, didn’t you? Your mom and dad must be worried sick right now.” “I’ll call them to pick you up and take you home, okay?” Worried sick. I caught that phrase in my head. Listening to the dial tone echoing from Ben’s speakerphone, my heart pounded wildly. A few months ago, Mom refused to buy Amanda a toy she wanted. Amanda threw a tantrum and ran away from home. The entire family went out of their minds. Dad called the police three times in less than twenty-four hours. Tyler and his friends searched almost every street and alley in the city. When Amanda was finally found, Mom held her in her arms, sobbing hysterically and agreeing to every single request Amanda had. Dad and Tyler both had bloodshot eyes from crying. Would they be worried sick for me, too? A faint spark of hope flickered in my chest, and my eyes brightened up for a second. Ben’s heart softened seeing my expression, and he gently patted my head. The call finally went through. Ben quickly explained the situation, but Tyler’s impatient voice came blasting through the speaker. “Why is she running around late at night anyway? Amanda is trying to sleep.” “Just let her stay outside for the night. She’s old enough to take care of herself.” I froze in place. Over the phone, Amanda’s spoiled voice echoed in the background. “Mom has to bathe me, Tyler has to brush my teeth, and Dad has to read me a bedtime story! None of you can leave!” Ben tried to say something more, but the call was promptly disconnected. I lowered my eyes. I should have known it would end like this, shouldn’t I? Ever since I was little, I was the most sensible, obedient child in the house. Everyone assumed I could take care of myself and didn’t need an ounce of concern. They naturally poured all their love onto Amanda. It didn’t matter… it really didn’t matter… A violent surge rose in my chest. I couldn’t hold it back and vomited another mouthful of blood onto the floor. “Oh my goodness! What’s wrong with you!” Ben gasped in terror. “Hold on, let me grab my coat and take you to the hospital!” Panicking, I quickly pulled out a napkin to wipe the blood off the tile. While Ben turned his back to grab more paper towels, I ran out of the guardhouse into the dark night. Going to the hospital meant spending money, time, and energy. The last time I had a high fever and went to the hospital, Mom, Dad, and Tyler had a massive argument over who had to stay behind to take care of me. I couldn’t be a burden to them again. Near the crematorium was a public cemetery on a quiet hillside. I picked a small, grassy spot for myself and lay down silently. My body was aching everywhere. The bullies said that coughing up blood meant internal organs were ruptured. Without immediate medical care, a person would die. But if I died, my family would have one less trouble to deal with. The cemetery was dead silent, save for the rustling of leaves in the night wind. Scared of the pitch-black darkness, I used the last one percent of my phone battery to call Mom. After a long wait, Mom finally answered. She let out an exasperated sigh. “You chose to run away yourself, Nora. You can’t blame anyone else. Just stay outside tonight and take the bus back tomorrow morning.” Before I could say anything, the call went dead. Mom misunderstood me. I didn’t want her to pick me up. I just wanted to hear her voice one last time. Today was the day I was going to die. It was also my birthday. “Happy birthday to me… happy birthday to me…” Staring up at the dark, starless sky, I sang the birthday song to myself in a whisper, quietly waiting for death to claim me. The next morning, I opened my eyes. A ray of golden sunlight hit my face. I realized I hadn’t died yet. My body, however, hurt ten times worse than the night before. “She’s over here!” Ben rushed over, accompanied by two police officers. I sat quietly on the stone bench, waiting for the officers to contact my family. Ben stood to the side, sighing heavily. “What kind of parents are they? Their kid goes missing all night, and they don’t even care!” Nearly three hours later, Mom, Dad, and Tyler finally showed up. Dad offered an apologetic smile to the officers. “Our youngest daughter insisted on getting her hair redone this morning, and we had to drop her off at school first. That’s why we’re late.” “Sorry for the trouble.” Mom was busy admiring photos of Amanda on her phone. Tyler was on a call, telling his friends at school to make sure Amanda was well looked after. Not a single one of them paid any attention to me. One of the officers felt sorry for me and slipped a piece of candy into my hand. Ben had to head back to work, but before leaving, he reminded my parents sternly: “This girl was throwing up blood last night. You must take her to the hospital immediately.” Another heavy silence fell over my family. Mom frowned in annoyance. “But I still have to pack a heart-shaped bento for Amanda! She told her classmates she’d show it off today!” Tyler sounded completely indifferent. “She’s so young, what serious illness could she possibly have? No need for a hospital. Just let her rest at home.” Suddenly, Dad’s phone rang. It was Amanda’s homeroom teacher. The moment Dad answered, his expression flipped completely. “Amanda fell down at school and scraped her knee!” Mom and Tyler immediately stood up, rushing toward the car. I was tossed into the backseat like a piece of unwanted luggage and dropped off at home on their way to Amanda’s school. My body was covered in deep scrapes and bruises. It hurt so much. Tyler unlocked the front door and prepared to leave to join Mom and Dad at school. I grabbed his sleeve desperately. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, another mouthful of blood spilled from my lips. “Tyler… it hurts so much…” He merely cast a brief, annoyed glance at the puddle of blood on the floor. “If it hurts, take some painkillers. It’s just a minor ailment, just bear with it.” Amanda was taken to the hospital to have her knee bandaged and brought home in a wheelchair. Mom, Dad, and Tyler took turns waiting on her hand and foot. No one even bothered to check if I was still in my room. The next morning, I had to go to school as usual. Keeping my head down, I walked into the classroom. My desk was a complete disaster once again. My notebooks were shredded, my pencil case was gone, and chalk dust had been dumped into my water bottle. I quietly cleaned up the mess and sat down in the corner. A few girls in the front row leaned together, whispering and shooting mocking glances at me with grins on their faces. Amanda’s seat was right in the middle of the front row. She wore a floral dress Mom had bought her, surrounded by a crowd of eager classmates. The wrappers from Mom’s mini cupcakes were spread across her desk, and several boys were hovering around her. “Your brother bought us milk tea yesterday,” one boy said. “The snacks at your house are awesome!” Amanda smiled sweetly. Amanda never admitted at school that we were related. Tyler also made a point to protect only her, never uttering my name to anyone. Everyone assumed I had no one behind me, that I was weak and timid, making me the easiest target in school. The homeroom teacher, Mrs. Gable, walked into the classroom as the bell rang, holding the monthly exam results. “The results for the monthly exams are in,” Mrs. Gable announced. “The top score in our class goes to Nora again. A perfect score.” I stood up and walked down the aisle to the front. I took the test paper, my fingertips turning pale. A perfect score. Just like last time. Just like every single time before. Yet no matter how many top scores I brought home, no one in my family cared. Whenever I brought a test paper home, Dad would give a faint groan, Mom would toss it onto the coffee table, and Tyler wouldn’t even look at it. Eventually, I stopped bringing them out. Why humiliate myself over something they didn’t care about? When Amanda scored dead last in her class, Mom would hug her and say Amanda was still young, and she’d do better next time. Tyler would buy her toys, and Dad would take her out for ice cream. Mrs. Gable looked at me with concern. “Nora, what’s wrong? You look terribly pale.” I opened my mouth to reply, but a metallic, coppery taste suddenly burst in my throat. I couldn’t hold it back, leaning over and vomiting a large puddle of blood onto the floor. This time was different. The blood was dark, almost black. The classroom fell dead silent. Mrs. Gable was terrified. She rushed over to support my shoulders. “Don’t move! I’m calling your parents right now!” She pulled out her phone and dialed quickly, her voice panicked. “Is this Nora’s parent? Your daughter just vomited black blood at school! It looks extremely serious! Please come…” I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end said, but Mrs. Gable’s eyebrows knitted tightly together. “She looks very sick, it’s best if you come to the school… Really? No need? Fine, I’ll let her walk home herself then.” Hanging up the phone, she looked at me with a complicated expression, hesitating before saying: “Your parents said you should walk home and rest by yourself.” I nodded, folded my test paper neatly into my pocket, and packed my backpack. The girls in the front row resumed whispering, while Amanda kept her head down, digging through her desk for snacks. I put on my backpack and walked toward the exit. Just as I pulled open the classroom door, I saw three familiar figures walking down the hallway. Mom was carrying Amanda’s tiny backpack, Dad held a camera, and Tyler carried a bag of treats. They paused for a split second when they saw me. Mom gave me a brief smile. “Nora, go home first. We’re taking Amanda to the amusement park to celebrate her birthday early today.” Swiping past my shoulder, she walked into the classroom, calling out joyfully: “Amanda! Dad and Mom came to give you a surprise!” The entire class let out envious gasps. I looked at Amanda helplessly as she threw herself into Mom’s arms. Walking down to the ground floor of the school building, I gently tugged at Mom’s sleeve. “Mom… I want to go to the amusement park too…” I was dying soon, and I had never been to an amusement park in my entire life. Mom frowned in annoyance. “Nora, you’re looking like this and you still want to go to an amusement park? What if the cold wind makes you worse?” “Exactly,” Tyler interrupted impatiently, looking up from his phone. “Amanda rarely gets a chance to go out and play. If you go and vomit all over the place, how bad is that going to look? How unlucky!” I opened my mouth, wanting to tell them that I would hold it in, that I wouldn’t cause any trouble, that I just wanted to see what it looked like once. Dad had already bypassed me, squatting down to tie Amanda’s shoelaces without looking up. “Nora, go home and rest by yourself. Take your medicine and sleep. In a few days, when it’s Amanda’s actual birthday, we’ll get you a make-up gift.” “I don’t want a gift…” “Alright, that’s enough,” Mom was already urging Amanda toward the gates, waving her hand back at me. “Be good and head home quickly. Don’t dawdle.” She took Dad’s arm and walked away. Amanda was riding on Tyler’s back. She turned her head, her bright eyes fixed on me as she stuck her tongue out playfully. I didn’t start walking until their car drove out of the school gates. Suffocating waves of pain surged in my chest. Every step I took felt like my bones were breaking. The walk from school to home usually took twenty minutes. I lasted only ten minutes before collapsing against a tree by the curb, gasping for air as my vision turned black. In the end, a street cleaner found me and called an ambulance. When I woke up, I was in a hospital room. A white ceiling, the sharp smell of disinfectant, and the steady beep-beep of an EKG monitor filled my senses. A nurse was adjusting my IV line. Seeing me open my eyes, she let out a sigh of relief. “You’re awake? You passed out by the roadside. You have severe internal bleeding, your condition is very critical. You need emergency surgery immediately.” She paused, looking at me with pity. “We couldn’t reach your family. We tried calling the numbers for your mom, dad, and brother stored in your phone, but no one picked up.” I reached under my pillow for my phone. The moment I unlocked the screen, a new social media update popped up. It was posted by Mom. A nine-photo grid: Amanda smiling on a carousel, Tyler holding cotton candy for her, and Dad making a funny face in front of the camera. The caption read: [Our little birthday girl is celebrating her birthday early today! Happiness is all that matters!] There were over twenty likes from relatives and Mom’s friends. I stared at that post for a very long time. Nurse Julie leaned over to take a look, froze for a moment, and quickly took the phone away, forcing a smile. “Your parents must be busy right now and didn’t hear the ring. Don’t worry, I’ll call them again. I’m sure they’ll pick up this time.” I smiled weakly and nodded. “Yeah. They must be busy.” Nurse Julie looked back at me, something glistening in her eyes. She quickly turned around and walked out, saying she would fetch me a glass of warm water. I leaned back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling light. The warm yellow glow bathed the entire ward in a soft light. Suddenly, I felt so tired. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy. The phone beside my hand lit up again. It was a post from Tyler. A photo of Amanda riding on Dad’s shoulders, holding an ice cream cone high in the air. The caption read: [This little princess insisted on having a second one. Guess we have to spoil her.] I let out a faint smile, flipping the phone over onto the pillow. A gentle breeze blew in from the window, making the curtains flutter like a hand waving goodbye. I remembered lying in the cemetery yesterday; the wind had felt just like this. Nurse Julie hadn’t come back yet. It probably takes a long time to get warm water. That was okay. I slowly closed my eyes, the faint smile still lingering on my lips. It didn’t hurt anymore. Early the next morning, Nurse Julie finally got through to my family. When they arrived at the hospital, Mom was still complaining to Dad. “Honestly, I don’t know what Nora is thinking, running to the hospital first thing in the morning.” Tyler looked down at his phone, asking the nurse casually: “What illness does she have anyway? Is it really worth being hospitalized?” Nurse Julie didn’t say a word. She turned around and led them deep into the hallway. Pushing open the heavy door to the morgue, a blast of freezing air hit them. Mom’s complaining stopped abruptly. Dad froze dead in his tracks. Tyler stared at the small, still outline beneath the white sheet, his lips trembling slightly. Nurse Julie spoke softly into the silence: “Before she passed away, she held my hand and asked to be buried somewhere far away so you wouldn’t have to bother visiting her.” “She said… one flower on her grave would be enough.”

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1 For seven years, my captain and boyfriend Hector adhered to a strict rule: no private coaching sessions, no staying out overnight. He broke that rule the very night online trolls photoshopped my obituary photo and demanded my retirement from professional e-sports. Hector was known across the league for his icy self-discipline and stoic personality. He never gave outsiders the time of day, reserving all his warmth for me. Yet, the person he broke his sacred rule for was my own apprentice, Judy. While I sat alone in our dark, empty training room undergoing a mental breakdown, Hector spent the entire night at an e-sports hotel with Judy. They ran private dual-carry scrims together until the scandal on social media finally blew over. I did not throw a fit, nor did I shed a tear. I simply asked for a breakup. For the first time in seven years, Hector turned a cold face toward me. “The summer league starts next week. I am trying to stabilize our roster. Must you pick right now to throw a temper tantrum?” Judy stood beside him, lowering her head in quiet agreement. “Coach Sierra, please do not be so emotional. Making a scene right now destroys the professional future of our entire team.” I fell instantly silent, watching Hector with stinging eyes. That night, after returning home, I dialed the personal number of the captain of our rival team. “Three years ago, you asked if I would ever join your squad,” I said, my voice dead calm. “Does that offer still stand?” … Logan answered without a second of hesitation. “Name the day. My door is open whenever you are ready.” “The transfer must remain strictly confidential,” I continued. “No one can know until it is finalized.” “Understood.” Three years ago, after I led Team LV to our very first national championship, Logan pursued me through five consecutive tournament cycles to sign me. Back then, my eyes were blinded by my loyalty to Team LV and my love for Hector. The moment I hung up, my phone vibrated. A single text from Hector popped up on my screen. Two cold words: Open up. I looked through the window and spotted the sports car parked below. It was the celebratory car we had picked out together after winning our first trophy. For seven years, he and I were the most envied power couple in the e-sports world, celebrated by fans as the unmatchable Dual Carries. Reserved as he was, he had once ripped into toxic stream chatters on my behalf, unable to tolerate a single word of slander directed at me. All his tenderness and devotion belonged exclusively to me. Yet even the deepest devotion could be tossed aside for someone else. After a long struggle, I stood up and unlocked the door, a faint sliver of hope still clinging to my heart. When he walked in, my blood ran cold. Hector maintained his usual detached posture. He sat on the couch, staring intently at his phone as he reviewed the telemetry data from his overnight scrims with Judy. He reached out toward the coffee table for his wristband out of habit. I instinctively picked it up to hand it to him, only to notice a bright pink wristband already wrapped around his forearm. It was not something I had bought him. The moment our fingertips brushed, he seemed to snap out of his trance and pulled his hand back instantly. I stared at the pink wristband, my mind going numb. A moment later, as if trying to break the heavy silence, he pulled a limited-edition gaming plush charm from his coat pocket. “Stop being upset.” A man who never bowed his head to anyone was making a rare effort to appease me. I took the charm without saying a word. It was a character design I had never liked. Then, his offhand remark smashed the last remaining piece of my hope to dust. “I need you to look over Judy’s telemetry data. As long as we keep her performance consistent, we are guaranteed a spot in the finals next week. You are the master shotcaller for Team LV, analyzing this data should be child’s play for you.” The plush charm slipped from my fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a sharp click that sounded painfully loud in the silent apartment. I stared at him, finding the situation absurd. “She plays my position. What am I supposed to play?” Hector’s expression shifted into something unreadable, though his tone remained strictly business. “Your recent form has been shaky. Private scrims with Judy were a necessity. I have already reported to management that you will temporarily step down to the bench.” A necessity? My mind dragged me back through the years. Seven years ago, when I first entered the professional scene and faced harassment from male players, Hector had taken a stand before the team. From this day on, my training room only has room for Sierra. I will protect her. Now, he was shattering his own oath for Judy. “You trained her yourself,” Hector added, frowning in frustration at my silence. “Her playstyle and macro instincts align well with mine. Sierra, this is not the time to act out. You need to look at the bigger picture.” I could not bring myself to smile. “Looking at the bigger picture means kicking me out of it?” He froze, his voice stiffening. “That is not what I meant.” Before he could finish, his phone screen lit up with a barrage of notifications from Judy. obedient, eager, humble text messages. Hector sat right in front of me, replying to every single text with painstaking patience. In seven years, he had never replied to my messages line by line like that. “Sierra, you are being overly narrow-minded,” he murmured, laying his phone down after reading her latest text. A flicker of disappointment touched his eyes. A tight knot squeezed my throat. On the night I was tormented by the entire internet, flooded with photoshopped obituaries and vicious demands for my retirement, he was running private scrims with Judy. While I collapsed alone in a dark facility into the late hours of the night, receiving zero replies to my messages, he was breaking down vods for Judy. He knew everything I was going through. Yet he called it looking at the bigger picture. His bigger picture had always been built on top of my silent breakdown. Seeing my deathly pale face and utter silence, Hector’s heart softened slightly. He walked into the kitchen, warmed a glass of milk, and placed it on the table in front of me. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Be a good girl. Bear with it for now. Once the summer league is over, your starting position will be waiting for you.” The warm touch sent a shudder through my frame. I almost gave in, just like the countless times in the past when a simple gesture from him would make me forgive everything. But then my mind flashed back to the endless stream of hate messages urging me to kill myself, the black-and-white graphics, and the cruel AI photos. I forced the urge to forgive back into the dark. Interpreting my silence as stubbornness, the warmth in Hector’s eyes vanished, replaced by an icy distance. “Do not let your petty grudge ruin Team LV.” I read the unspoken accusation behind his words. A few days ago, after a devastating match loss where I solo-defended our base until the final second while my team was wiped out, the internet had turned on me. Sierra needs to retire already! Stop dragging Captain Hector and Team LV down! How can someone call herself a god-tier shotcaller with plays like that? Go home and play house! Judy and Hector are the real Dual Carries! Sierra does not belong there! No one cared that the loss was caused by Judy recklessly engaging without my call, or that my teammates had ignored my retreat pings. The entire weight of the blame was dropped onto the shoulders of the mid-lane shotcaller. I let out a hollow laugh. Seven years of blood, sweat, and tears could not buy a shred of understanding from them. Why should I keep degrading myself for their sake? My heart sank into a quiet, undisturbed calm. The lingering memories of the past seven years cut through my chest with a dull, throbbing pain, but the fever had finally broken. At the team meeting the following morning, the head coach formally announced the starting lineup for the upcoming season. My starting mid-lane position was assigned to Judy. Judy stood up, looking overwhelmed with gratitude and modesty. “Thank you all for your trust. I will not let the team down, especially my mentor, Coach Sierra.” She bowed her head, playing the part of a humble, grateful pupil to perfection. Hector sat across from me, leading the applause. His eyes swept over my composed face. Seeing no outrage or resistance, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. He thought I had finally come to my senses. I thought I had accepted it, too. But when my gaze landed on the bag sitting beside Judy, my heart twisted into a sharp knot. Hanging from her zipper was a plush charm from the exact same limited-edition brand Hector had given me the night before; only hers was a customized, highly detailed main-character edition. I remembered what he had told me two years ago. Anything I give you will be one of a kind in this world. His devotion had been divided into two shares long ago. I began counting down in my head. Three more days, and I will never have to step foot in this place again. During morning practice, I completely disengaged. I spoke no words, offered no shotcalls, and led no plays. I sat in the furthest corner of the room, completely still. Behind me, my teammates offered no effort to hide their disdainful whispers. “Sierra is clearly just bitter that Judy has more natural talent than her.” “A high-maintenance princess who expects the whole team to pamper her could never compete with someone as sensible as Judy.” “Judy is way more mature.” My face remained expressionless, though a dull ache resonated in my chest. I was the one who had dragged this organization from the brink of collapse to the top of the league. Every draft strategy, every telemetry breakdown, every macro system had been built through my sleepless nights. In the end, I had become nothing more than an eyesore to them. Hector sat at the head of the table, offering not a single word in my defense. He knew better than anyone how much of my life I had poured into this team. After everyone left the room, Judy walked over to my desk, feigning concern. “Coach Sierra, it is all my fault. Please do not be mad at the guys. Once your form recovers, I will happily give the starting spot back to you.” Hector frowned, speaking up immediately. “You do not need to apologize to her, Judy. She is choosing to slack off and throw a fit. The team does not need to waste time accommodating her ego.” I said nothing. The quieter I remained, the colder his face became. Since I refused to bow my head, he was determined to push me until I broke. “Judy, pack your gear,” Hector said in an unyielding tone. “We are going to my private facility at home for specialized training.” My head snapped up, my eyes locking onto his. That private facility was where he and I had spent countless nights grinding through our lowest points. It was our sanctuary, an unwritten promise that only he and I were allowed inside. Every piece of equipment, every bit of data, and every memory of our seven-year career was stored in that room. Now, that space no longer belonged to just the two of us. A bitter wave of nausea rose in my chest. Judy could barely conceal the triumph in her eyes, though she maintained her hesitant act. “Captain Hector, is that really okay? Everyone knows your private room is strictly reserved for Coach Sierra…” Hector ignored her, offering me a cold, bitter smile. His eyes flared with suppressed anger. “Since Sierra clearly does not care about me anymore, I am sure she will not mind you using it.” I knew what he was doing. He was trying to force me to yield, just like every argument we had over the past seven years where I was always the one to apologize first. Suddenly, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. I looked straight into his eyes, forcing down the pain in my chest, and spoke in a flat voice. “Whatever.” Hector froze, entirely unprepared for my indifference. A flicker of panic flashed across his eyes, but it was instantly swallowed by a wave of cold resentment. “Fine,” he said, his tone dripping with retaliation. “In that case, the center spot on the promotional poster, the media interview slots, and the main feature spot for the summer league will all be handed over to Judy.” Judy’s eyes practically sparkled with joy. “Oh, is that really okay?” That center spot was something I had fought for during the playoffs, playing through a high fever to deliver a tournament-topping MVP performance. My dream had always been to stand at the very center of the team, representing our squad on the grandest stage. He remembered every single one of my dreams. And he was handing them to someone else just to hurt me. He knew exactly where to twist the knife to make me cry and beg for his mercy. My hands clenched into tight fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms that they left dark red crescents. I forced the lump in my throat down into silence. “Okay.” His face went completely pale with anger, and he turned and walked out without another word. The moment the door closed, Judy dropped her gentle mask. She leaned down to my ear, her voice dripping with malice. “Mentor, the movement patterns, macro strategy, and laning concepts you taught me are working wonderfully. I used them to steal your man’s heart and your team’s loyalty. Are you proud of me? After all, you were the one who brought me here.” A strange sense of detachment washed over me. No anger. No hatred. I felt completely drained of energy, left with nothing but an icy numbness. I had thought I was mentoring a promising talent, lifting her up to succeed me. It turned out I had spent years nurturing a snake in my own house. Judy’s smile broadened. She was not afraid of me making a scene, because she knew Hector and the team would always shield the agreeable, sensible girl over me. “Why?” I asked softly. “Do you really think I was just a random rookie you happened to discover?” She leaned in closer, a bitter glint in her eyes. “I have been waiting for this day for seven years. Back when Captain Hector flamed his stream chat to defend you, I was the main hater he publicly humiliated.” She straightened up, adjusted her modest expression, and skipped lightly out of the room. I sat alone on the edge of the desk in the empty facility, swallowed by the silence just like the night I was abandoned. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Let us move up the schedule.” Logan looked exceptionally sharp, his hair styled neatly. “The contract is finalized,” he said, checking his watch before offering a warm smile. “We have plenty of time. Let me buy you dinner before we sign.” I did not decline. I was simply too exhausted. We walked side by side down the brightly lit commercial street, cooled by a gentle evening breeze. For seven years, every day spent beside Hector had been a tightrope walk of high stress, maintaining the team and chasing our dream. I had forgotten how light it felt to simply exist. Turning a corner, two familiar figures stepped into view. Hector walked ahead with a cold expression, lost in thought. Judy followed closely behind him, keeping a respectful yet intimate distance. When our eyes met, my blood felt like it froze in my veins. The suppressed agony flooded back in an instant. Hector’s gaze darted between Logan and me, his eyes frosting over with cold contempt. Judy’s eyes immediately welled with tears as she whimpered quietly beside him. “Captain Hector, is Coach Sierra mad at me for taking her spot? Is that why she brought the captain of Team VT here to make us jealous?” She left the rest unsaid, but the implication was crystal clear. A mocking smirk touched Hector’s lips as he closed the distance between us, his eyes filled with a storm of dark emotions. “You really are something, Sierra. You get upset, so you hire another man to back you up just to get a reaction out of me?” My body went rigid. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I was too tired to explain anything to him anymore. In Hector’s eyes, my silence and resignation were taken as a full confession. “I gave you step after step to back down. I tolerated your drama again and again, only for you to run to another man?” His voice cut through the air. “Well done, Sierra. Truly well done.” Every word was a twisted narrative of self-victimization. Every phrase accused me of failing the team. I bit my lower lip hard, burying the humiliation and heart-wrenching disappointment deep inside, forcing myself to maintain an unbroken composure. Just half a day left. Tomorrow morning, I will be free of all of this. Hector let out a cold laugh, reaching out to pull Judy gently into his arms. “Fine. Have it your way. I will fulfill your wish.” He turned and walked away with Judy, his back rigid and unyielding. Watching him walk away, my feet instinctively took half a step forward before I forced myself to freeze in place. Logan gently stepped beside me, handing me a napkin from his coat. His voice carried a rare edge of suppressed fury. “Are you alright, Sierra? Is this really how they treat you every day?” It was only then that I realized tears had already breached my eyes. I took a deep breath, accepted the napkin, and wiped my eyes carefully. “I am fine. Let us go.” The last lingering warmth of our seven-year relationship burned out completely, leaving behind nothing but cold ash. On the night Hector broke his sacred rule for Judy, allowing her to become the only person besides me to share his private space, the man who once cared for me had been killed by his own hands. This seven-year chapter was officially closed. Inside Team VT’s executive office, I held the pen above the signature line, pausing for a brief second. Logan poured me a hot cup of tea, careful not to rush me. Through the reflection in the glass, I could see his hands tightly clenched, looking far more anxious than I was. I lowered the pen and signed my name. The moment I handed the contract back to Logan, my phone screen lit up with a notification from Hector: Sierra, I miss you. My grip on the paper tightened slightly. Noticing the tension, Logan looked up. “Is something wrong?” His eyes followed my gaze to the notification glowing on the glass table. His shoulders went tense, his voice laced with an unintentional trace of heartbreak. “Are you… having second thoughts?” I shook my head, releasing my grip and letting him take the document. I had never felt more certain about a decision in my life. Logan reviewed the signature once more before letting out a long, relieved sigh. It was truly over. In the secondary bedroom of the Hector estate, Judy sat on the plush sofa with a dark, calculating glint in her eyes. Her fingers moved rapidly across the screen of Hector’s phone, deleting the message she had just sent to my line. She locked the device, placed it back on the nightstand, and quietly glided back to her gaming chair. The bedroom door opened a second later. Her timing was flawless. Hector walked in carrying a plate of fresh fruit, setting it down beside her desk. “Here is the lychee you asked for. I will review this final vod with you, and then you need to head home.” Judy dropped her chin, pouting playfully. “Captain Hector! Didn’t we agree that we were going to spend the night reviewing plays in your private room? I still have so many questions for you!” Looking at her cute, energetic expression, Hector experienced a sudden wave of disorientation, briefly seeing the image of a younger me from seven years ago. Back then, I used to look at him with bright, shining eyes, promising to take him to the national championship. An intense wave of anxiety surged through his chest, but he quickly dismissed it. “No,” Hector said firmly. “Let us finish the vod.”

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1 Nathaniel was a certified genius, admitted to an Ivy League at fifteen, associate professor by twenty-three. Seven years of marriage, and every Valentine’s, Christmas, anniversary, and birthday, he buried himself in thesis papers while I stared at walls. On our seventh anniversary, I cooked a lavish dinner and bought ninety-nine red roses. He sighed. “Charlotte, I know you’re hinting for flowers, but it’s a waste of time. Surely you’re not actually excited by the severed reproductive organs of a plant? Focus on new recipes. The steak was overcooked.” I swallowed my hurt, telling myself geniuses are wired differently. That excuse held until Chloe, a researcher a year younger than him, joined his department. Nathaniel started picking up his phone constantly. The day before my birthday, mopping the floor, he looked up and asked, “What do women nowadays actually like?” Hope flickered. “Roses,” I said softly. That joy died the next morning. Ironing ties in his study, I found a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses on his desk. Tucked in the center was a card in his immaculate handwriting: Chloe, Happy Birthday. … The grandfather clock chimed 7:15 AM. Nathaniel sat at the dining table exactly on schedule, cutting into his breakfast while reading a research paper, precise to the very second. “Don’t wear that tie today,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I stared blankly at the flowers on the counter. “Which one should I wear, then?” “The burgundy striped one. Chloe mentioned the dark ones make me look a bit dated.” Nathaniel was incredibly rigid about his routines. His daily wardrobe was usually planned out weeks in advance. That burgundy tie was the wedding anniversary gift I had given him years ago. He had never worn it once, tossing it into the very back of his closet. But now, simply because another woman made an offhand comment, it was suddenly seeing the light of day. I switched off the iron, pulled out my chair, and sat down to eat. “I don’t have time to look for it. Plus, I don’t even remember where I put it.” For the first time all morning, Nathaniel actually looked up from his paper. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his dark eyes. After a moment of silence, he stood up and walked into the bedroom himself. Ten minutes later, he walked back to the table, holding the burgundy tie out to me. Waiting for me to tie it for him. I kept my head down, stabbing a piece of fruit with my fork. Nathaniel pressed his lips into a thin line and clumsily tied it himself. When he sat back down, the sound of his knife scraping against the plate was a little louder than usual. “The steak is overcooked again today.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s been years, Charlotte. How do you still not know exactly how I like my steak? If you were one of my grad students, I would have expelled you by now.” I slammed my knife and fork down onto the table. I looked up at the crooked, hastily tied burgundy knot resting against his collar. “You can expel me right now. Let’s get a divorce.” Nathaniel’s brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “How old are you, Charlotte? You’re acting like a child. Threatening divorce just to get my attention? Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Do you even know what day it is today?” Nathaniel followed my gaze to the large calendar pinned to the wall, right to the date I had circled in thick red marker. [June 20th – Charlotte’s Birthday] He walked past that calendar dozens of times a day. Nathaniel let out a small, dismissive scoff. “I haven’t celebrated a birthday or holiday since I was five years old. It’s a pointless waste of time and energy.” I didn’t say a word. I just stared intensely at the blindingly red roses sitting on the counter. Nathaniel didn’t look guilty in the slightest. “Oh, is this about the flowers? Are you throwing a tantrum over that?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Chloe is a colleague. She gave me a gift to celebrate my new paper getting published. It’s basic professional courtesy to return the favor for her birthday.” He stood up, walked over to the massive bouquet, precision-picked a single rose that was starting to wilt, and casually tossed it into the trash. “Next time, just say what’s on your mind. My time is extremely valuable. I don’t have the patience to play these passive-aggressive guessing games with you.” He grabbed his briefcase and walked to the entryway mirror. He paused, turned his head, and finally offered me what he considered a generous compromise. “Charlotte, come here and fix my tie.” I didn’t move. I sat there like a broken machine, methodically slicing the beef on my plate into tiny, meaningless pieces. Nathaniel finally lost his temper. He ripped the tie off his neck, threw it onto the floor, and walked out. The sound of the front door slamming echoed loudly through the empty house. I finally stood up, walked over to the entryway, picked up the burgundy tie, and threw it into the trash can right next to the wilted rose. I didn’t start my usual morning routine of cleaning the house. Instead, I walked back into the bedroom, opened my laptop, and typed Nathaniel’s name into the university’s publication database. Sure enough, a new paper had just been published. I clicked it open and scrolled straight to the acknowledgments section at the bottom. A certain Miss Chloe, who prefers to remain unnamed, complained that she has never been published in this journal and demanded I include her name. While I find the behavior incredibly childish, I suppose it’s not entirely impossible to accommodate. Thank you for the pastries you brought to the lab. They were quite good. The text on the screen started to blur. I thought back to the countless times I had begged him—sometimes joking, sometimes entirely serious—just to mention me in one of his acknowledgments. Every single time, I was met with the same icy rejection. “Absolutely not. An academic paper is not a place for your childish jokes.” In that moment, staring at the screen, I didn’t feel angry. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. I closed his paper and opened a blank word document. Key by key, I typed out the title. [Divorce Agreement] After drafting a basic framework for the division of assets, I emailed the document to a lawyer friend of mine. I ordered a small cake for myself and ate the entire thing in silence. I wiped my mouth and whispered to the empty room, “Happy thirtieth birthday, Charlotte.” Packing my things was almost pathetically easy. The master closet was completely dominated by Nathaniel’s custom suits and button-downs. My clothes barely took up a single corner. I had quit my job barely a year after college to become a full-time housewife, dedicating every waking moment to taking care of a genius who couldn’t even operate a washing machine. While reaching into the very back of the closet, my hand brushed against a worn notebook. On the cover, written in Nathaniel’s sharp, commanding script, were the words: To my wife—Charlotte. Nathaniel had always been devastatingly handsome and terrifyingly brilliant, but he was famously cold-blooded. On the first day of middle school, a girl had confessed her crush to him. He looked her up and down and flatly said, “You are very ugly.” His reputation was sealed from that day on. One afternoon, he got so engrossed in a math problem that he missed the lunch period entirely. I was sitting in the classroom eating my homemade bento box. Noticing him staring at my food, I asked purely out of politeness, “Do you want some?” He didn’t hesitate. He took my box and ate every last grain of rice. That very same night, Nathaniel marched up to my house alone, knocked on the door, and calmly told my mother he was going to marry me. He nearly gave her a heart attack. His “proposal gift” was a meticulously organized binder of all his study notes. “I’m going to be a professor at the state university. If you study these notes carefully and follow the daily schedule I’ve drafted for you, you should barely be able to get accepted there.” I never could have imagined that in eleven years of knowing him and seven years of marriage, that notebook would be the only gift he ever gave me. My phone rang, shattering my trip down memory lane. My mother-in-law’s piercing shriek blasted through the speaker. “My son is in the emergency room because of you! Where the hell are you?! Get your ass over here right now!” I didn’t have time to process it. I dropped everything and rushed to the hospital. When I arrived at the ER, Nathaniel’s mother spotted me, and her fury finally found its target. “What is wrong with you?! You know my son is deathly allergic to peanuts, and you purposefully bought a cake with peanuts in it?!” She stepped into my space, practically spitting in my face. “What do you get out of poisoning him?! Did you really need to celebrate your stupid little birthday that badly?!” Her screaming drew the attention of half the waiting room. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but before I could get a word out, Chloe stepped out of the patient room and gently took the older woman’s arm. “It’s okay, Mrs. Sterling. I’m sure Charlotte didn’t mean to do it on purpose.” Nathaniel’s mother glared at me with pure hatred. “If I had known you were this incompetent, I would never have let Nathaniel marry a piece of trash like you.” Chloe smiled, her tone soothing and perfectly composed. “Mrs. Sterling, his IV bag is almost empty. Do you mind finding a nurse to swap it out?” As soon as the older woman left, Chloe smoothly grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the private room. “I am so sorry, Charlotte. I had no idea Nathaniel was allergic to peanuts. I was the one who gave him a slice of my peanut butter birthday cake.” She let out a soft sigh. “I wanted to confess to his mother, but he explicitly forbade me from telling her.” Inside the room, Nathaniel was lying in the hospital bed, looking pale. He was casually scrolling through a tablet. I looked at him. “Nathaniel, do you have anything you want to explain?” He didn’t even lift his eyes from the screen. “You know how my mother is. If she finds out, she’ll go to the university and cause a scene, and it will disrupt the entire department.” He flipped to the next page. “Chloe isn’t like you. Her time and reputation are incredibly valuable. This was the most logical solution.” A sickeningly bitter taste flooded the back of my throat. Chloe is valuable. I am worthless. I deserve to be publicly humiliated and screamed at by your mother. I forced my voice to stay quiet. “I thought you prided yourself on being perfectly objective and fair?” When I was a senior in high school, Nathaniel was already in college. I worked myself to the bone just to get accepted into his university. When I got there, he actually became one of my professors. During his lectures, he would purposefully call on me for the hardest questions. When I inevitably struggled, he would ruthlessly humiliate me in front of the entire auditorium. “You can’t even solve a basic equation like this? Has the standard for admissions dropped this low?” He never gave me private tutoring. He never gave me study guides. He never bumped my grade by a single decimal point. Because, according to him, “That would be unfair to the other students.” It took me until today to realize that the heartless, objective Nathaniel Sterling was perfectly capable of showing blatant favoritism. I just wasn’t the one he favored. Nathaniel finally looked up at me, his eyes narrowing. “Did you forget to take your medication today, Charlotte?” Sensing the tension, Chloe immediately stepped in to play the peacemaker. “Nathaniel, don’t be so harsh on her.” She turned to me with an apologetic smile. “It’s entirely my fault. Charlotte, why don’t you tell me exactly what he’s allergic to so I know for next time?” Nathaniel rejected the idea instantly. “No. Don’t waste your time memorizing that. I’ll have her type it up into a spreadsheet and email it to you later.” He turned back to me, his tone shifting into his usual commanding bark. “Go home and pack me a change of clothes. Then make some porridge and bring it back. Bring three portions, not two.” I stared at him with complete, icy calm. I looked him dead in the eye and fed him the exact same line he used to reject me for years. “You need to schedule these requests in advance. I don’t have the time.” Nathaniel’s brow furrowed so deeply it looked like it might permanently crease. Before he could snap at me, his mother walked back into the room with a doctor, aggressively shoving her shoulder into mine to push me out of the way. Chloe gave me a brief, dismissive glance before pasting a bright, sweet smile onto her face to greet the older woman. The doctor was an old family friend. As he swapped the IV bag, he made polite small talk. “Is this lovely young lady your daughter-in-law? She has such a great presence.” “Oh, no,” Nathaniel’s mother said proudly, patting Chloe’s hand. “She is my son’s colleague. Also a brilliant professor at the university.” I purposefully walked as slowly as I could out the door and down the hall. But from the moment I turned my back until the heavy hospital doors swung shut behind me… Nathaniel didn’t utter a single word of correction. Nathaniel stayed in the hospital for two days. He didn’t text or call me a single time. I spent that time finalizing my packing and browsing apartment listings online. I no longer had to mold my life around Nathaniel’s psychotic sleep schedule. I woke up naturally whenever I wanted. I no longer had to rack my brain during dinner just to find a topic he deemed “intellectual enough,” only to be met with a condescending sneer. I no longer had to watch television with the volume on mute, terrified of being called “unproductive trash.” On the evening of his discharge, he finally sent a text. It was characteristically brief. The department’s celebratory dinner for the new publication is at the VIP room in the faculty dining hall. Come. In the past, whenever I begged to visit the campus, he flat-out refused, treating me like some embarrassing plague he needed to hide. My first instinct was to decline. But then I changed my mind. I had spent years making sure his entire life ran perfectly so he could focus on his research. A fraction of the credit for that publication belonged to me. Why shouldn’t I go? When I pushed open the door to the private room, the table was loud with laughter and clinking glasses. “To Professor Sterling and his lovely wife! Cheers!” The second I walked in, the cheering died instantly. One of the grad students lowered his glass, looking utterly confused. “Wait… all the guests are already here, aren’t they?” Chloe smoothly stood up from the seat next to Nathaniel, offering a graceful smile. “Oh, let me introduce everyone. This is Nathaniel’s actual wife, Charlotte.” The students instantly shifted awkwardly in their seats, murmuring embarrassed apologies and greetings. One of them whispered entirely too loudly, “But I saw Professor Sterling and Professor Chloe shopping at the mall together last week… I thought they were…” Chloe smiled gracefully and began to step away from her chair. “Here, Charlotte, take my seat.” Nathaniel spoke up for the first time since I walked into the room. “You stay right there. There’s no need to move.” Chloe immediately sat back down, looking effortlessly obedient. A young male student sitting to Nathaniel’s left hurriedly gave up his chair so I could finally sit down. Chloe reached over and handed me a clean set of silverware. “Please don’t misunderstand, Charlotte. The students were just joking when they called me his wife. Nathaniel and I played a married couple in the faculty theater production for the New Year’s gala last year.” One of the bolder students chimed in, laughing. “Romeo and Juliet! They even had a kissing scene! We watched them rehearse it a million times!” Chloe’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. she glanced shyly at Nathaniel. “It was just a stage kiss. It was fake.” It sounded completely like a guilty conscience trying to cover its tracks. Nathaniel chuckled—a sound I hadn’t heard in years—and offered a casual explanation. “Professor Chloe caught a massive flaw in my data set. I promised her a favor in return. That was it.” I took a slow sip of my hot tea. I remembered last New Year’s Eve perfectly. I had begged and pleaded for weeks until Nathaniel finally agreed to go on a proper date with me. I booked an impossible reservation at a Michelin-star restaurant half a month in advance. The day of, he texted me saying he was “too busy” to make it. For the next two weeks, he came home well past midnight every single night. I had assumed he was buried under the weight of his research. I was too terrified of breaking his concentration to even send a single text asking when he’d be home. It turns out he was busy rehearsing kissing scenes with Chloe. For the rest of the dinner, the table buzzed with intense conversations about laboratory data, curriculum changes, and inside jokes about the faculty. I was completely, utterly isolated. I kept my head down and quietly ate my food. It turns out the highly praised faculty dining hall tasted like absolute cardboard. Halfway through the meal, one of the female grad students suddenly spoke up, her voice ringing clear over the chatter. “Professor Chloe really is the ultimate role model for modern women. Not only is she a genius researcher, but she also acts and paints traditional watercolors.” She let out a dramatic sigh. “Not like those pathetic housewives who spend their entire lives revolving around a man without a shred of dignity. Women like that completely drag down the reputation of our gender.” Chloe shot a panicked glance in my direction. The girl immediately realized what she had said. Her face turned beet red. “Oh my god, Charlotte, I am so sorry. I totally didn’t mean it like that.” Nathaniel took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze sweeping over me with cold indifference. “Why are you apologizing? You were just stating a biological fact, weren’t you?” My fingernails dug so hard into my palms they almost broke the skin. I couldn’t endure another second of this suffocating room. I stood up and pushed my chair back. “You all enjoy yourselves. I have errands to run.” The cool night wind blew across the university track field, brushing against my hot cheeks. I had almost completely forgotten that years ago, Nathaniel—who despised physical exertion—used to sneak onto this exact track with me under the cover of night, holding my hand as we jogged together. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was my lawyer, sending over the finalized, legally binding version of the divorce agreement. A second later, Nathaniel’s name flashed across the screen with an incoming call. I declined it instantly. Deep into the night, a massive crash jolted me out of my sleep. Nathaniel stumbled through the front door, reeking of expensive liquor, his eyes completely unfocused as he collapsed onto the entryway rug. I immediately rushed over to help him up. He staggered to his feet, swaying heavily as he pointed a shaking finger at the large suitcase sitting by the door. “You knew. You knew the whole time.” I blinked, confused. “Knew what?” He fumbled around in his coat pocket and practically shoved two glossy concert tickets into my chest. They were VIP passes to see Taylor Swift. “It’s tomorrow. I took the entire day off work just to take you.” My eyes subconsciously flicked to the calendar on the wall. At the very bottom, written in tiny print, was a note: [If you absolutely can’t think of a gift, here is a hint: Chloe’s favorite artist is Taylor Swift.] Staring at the two tickets, I felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and crushed my lungs. It took me a long time to force three words past my lips. “It’s too late.” Drunk out of his mind, Nathaniel grabbed my wrist, staring at me with the desperate, stubborn eyes of a child. “How is it too late?! The concert is tomorrow!” I slowly shook my head. I reached out and gently took the tickets from his hand. I would treat it as his final goodbye. The next morning, Nathaniel woke up completely sober, reverting back to his usual, freezing demeanor. For once, he didn’t demand I pack his things and dragged his own bag to the door. “Let’s go. We’ll drive there.” It wasn’t until I walked out to the driveway that I realized Chloe was already sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, smiling warmly at me. “Professor Sterling drank a bit too much last night, so I offered to drive.” I wordlessly opened the back door and slid in, leaving the passenger seat entirely open for Nathaniel. Chloe expertly navigated the car onto the highway, her voice dripping with admiration. “Charlotte, you have no idea how brilliant he is. I mentioned casually that Taylor’s tickets were impossible to get.” She laughed lightly. “He spent two hours learning a new coding language, built a bot from scratch, and instantly secured three front-row VIP tickets.” Nathaniel glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “It wasn’t that complicated.” I let out a self-deprecating chuckle, closed my eyes, and pretended to fall asleep. I spent the entire three-hour drive listening to the two of them engage in endless, effortless banter. The stadium was absolutely deafening. Right before the opener started, the massive jumbotron began scanning the crowd for the Kiss Cam. By absolute pure coincidence, the camera swept right past me and locked directly onto Chloe and Nathaniel sitting next to each other. The entire section around us erupted into cheers. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Chloe looked at Nathaniel, her face flushed red with visible embarrassment. Nathaniel’s face darkened. He immediately raised his hand, signaling the camera operator to move on. The operator quickly got the hint and panned over to the next couple. The crowd roared even louder when they saw the new pair. Nathaniel tilted his head, his eyes lingering on the side of Chloe’s face for a second too long. The tips of Chloe’s ears burned bright red. She finally turned to look at me. “I am so sorry, Charlotte. We honestly didn’t plan that.” Nathaniel furrowed his brow, cutting her off. “Stop apologizing to her. She doesn’t care. Just focus on the show.” Right on cue, the stadium lights went completely black, and the opening chords blasted through the speakers. My quiet whisper—”It’s fine, it has nothing to do with me anymore anyway”—was completely swallowed by the music. The concert was breathtaking. The music dug deep into my bones. I closed my eyes, let the bass rattle my ribs, and without even realizing it, tears streamed silently down my face. When the show ended, the crowd surged toward the exits in a terrifying wave. For the very first time in public, Nathaniel reached out and grabbed my hand tightly. “Stay close to me.” But before we could take three steps, a sharp cry echoed from behind us. Chloe had been tripped by the crowd. She was sitting on the concrete, helplessly calling out Nathaniel’s name. He hesitated for barely two seconds before letting go of my hand and fighting his way backward through the massive crush of people. “Don’t move! Stay right there, I’ll be back!” I stood perfectly still, watching Nathaniel desperately grab Chloe’s hand and pull her up. But when he tried to turn back to find me, the surging crowd had already pushed us dozens of yards apart. It was the perfect metaphor for our entire marriage. It was doomed from the start. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had a million things I wanted to scream at him. But I was done wasting Nathaniel’s precious time. I attached the signed divorce agreement to our chat, hit send, and blocked his number. I turned around, walked away from the stadium, dragged my suitcase out of the trunk of his car, and flagged down a passing cab. “Take me to the airport.”

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