Author: Momo Chan

Three days after my baby passed away, the hospital called, asking me to collect his belongings. Swallowing the bitter taste in my throat, I sent Adrian a Snapchat message. A FaceTime call popped up instead. Adrian’s voice came through, laced with impatient annoyance. “Elena, the overseas project is at a critical stage. Just go and pick up the belongings yourself.” “Be good. It’s a small thing. You can handle it.” I had no choice but to drive to the hospital alone. But on the registry list at the front desk, I froze. I saw Adrian’s name. And next to it, in the relationship column of another woman, was written: *Spouse.* The smell of disinfectant at the registry desk was sharp and cold. My eyes blurred with tears, and my chest felt incredibly tight. Then, I let out a bitter laugh and shook my head, dismissing the absurd thought. Adrian was buried in work overseas. How could he possibly be here? There were plenty of people with the same name in the world. Similar handwriting was just a coincidence. But staring at that checked “Spouse” box, a deep wave of loneliness washed over me. Since I got pregnant, Adrian hadn’t shown his face even once. He said a multi-billion-dollar deal overseas couldn’t be abandoned just because of “this.” He said, “Elena, you’re a sensible woman. We can have another baby, but if the company falls, we lose everything.” I believed him. And I endured all the pregnancy pain alone. I curled my lips into a sad smile, tears nearly spilling over. The nurse seemed to snap out of it, pulling the registry clipboard back from my hands and cutting off my thoughts. “Mrs. Vance, I’m so sorry. I gave you the wrong sheet.” “Your baby’s keepsake is a tiny bronze footprint plaque left by the hospital. Please accept our condolences.” With that, she handed me a clear, sealed bag. As she turned to leave, she murmured something to herself. Maybe the wind was too loud, or maybe I was just too numb, but I couldn’t hear her. I just held the bag, my eyes stinging. I was about to leave when a soft, tender whisper came from the hospital room behind me. “Be good, Chloe. Open your mouth and take another sip of the soup.” “You just had a miscarriage, your body is weak. The doctor said you need to recover.” That voice was too familiar. So familiar that I had heard it whispering in my ear for the last seven years. I froze, feeling as if lightning had struck me. Moving like a zombie, I forced my feet toward the room and finally saw the man inside. My husband, who claimed to be working around the clock overseas, was now frowning slightly, gently blowing on a spoonful of chicken soup. The woman leaning in his arms had swollen eyes and was sobbing softly. “Adrian, I’m so sorry… I couldn’t save the baby…” “It was eight months… it was already a fully-formed baby boy… It’s all my fault for being so careless…” Adrian looked at Chloe’s tear-stained eyes. He set the bowl down with a slightly tense expression, pulled her into his arms, and whispered back. “It’s not your fault, Chloe. It’s mine. I couldn’t bear to be away from you, yet I failed to protect you two.” Chloe let out a watery giggle. “But the company has been so busy lately…” Adrian’s expression softened even more as he leaned down to kiss the tears from the corner of her eyes. “No matter how busy I am, I won’t let you suffer. I’ve already transferred ten percent of Vance Group’s shares to your name as a little apology.” “Chloe, as long as you are fine, my whole world is fine.” My heart stopped. In an instant, I was dragged back to seven years ago. When Adrian first started his business, he worked days and nights to secure clients, eventually getting hospitalized with stomach bleeding. I cried hysterically, never leaving his bedside. When he woke up, pale but worried, he gently wiped away my tears and held me close. “Elena, I’m sorry for making you worry.” “Honestly, I don’t care if the company succeeds or not. As long as you are fine, my whole world is fine.” Back then, even when we were so poor we could only share cheap instant noodles, one look at each other made us feel like we had the whole world. But in just seven years, that love had shattered like a glass bubble. While I was screaming in pain in the delivery room, watching my baby stop breathing, he was keeping Chloe company during her miscarriage. And to comfort her, he gave her ten percent of the company’s shares without a second thought. The sheer absurdity and coldness of it all washed over me. The door creaked open, startling the two lovers inside.

“Adrian…” I clutched the cold footprint plaque, my voice so quiet it felt like it would scatter in the wind. Adrian slowly looked up. When he saw me, his eyes flickered. I dug my nails into my palms, freezing at the doorway, swallowing the bitterness in my throat. “Adrian, didn’t you say you were overseas handling a multi-billion-dollar deal?” I thought he would ignore me. After all, his usual way of dealing with things that displeased him was to simply pretend they didn’t exist. But surprisingly, he quickly composed himself, stood up, blocked Chloe from my view, and spoke calmly. “Elena, what are you doing at the hospital? Are you sick?” “Let me introduce you. This is Chloe, a key executive at our company.” “She miscarried due to overwork on our latest project. As her boss, I came to check on her.” They kept a professional distance now, with no trace of the intimate cuddling from moments before. I stopped breathing for two seconds, staring at him without blinking. The tears finally fell. How could he forget everything we had so easily? How could he stand there with such a clear conscience? Seeing my tears, Adrian remained completely indifferent. A freezing chill seeped into my bones, soaking me through. “Checking on your employee…” My mouth was so dry my tongue felt tied. I stared at him, my eyes burning. “Since when does a boss… sign his name in the spouse column on his employee’s miscarriage registry?” A flicker of annoyance and cold calculation crossed the man’s handsome face. Adrian pulled out a cigarette, lit it, flicked the ash, and said coldly, “We’ve been married for years, Elena. Do we really need to lay everything out so uglily?” Then, noticing Chloe wrinkling her nose at the smoke, he immediately put the cigarette out. “Elena, Chloe just miscarried. She can’t handle any stress right now.” “If you’re angry, take it out on me.” Through the fading smoke, I suddenly remembered how I used to complain about the smell of cigarettes when he came home during my pregnancy. He had never put them out for me. Instead, he would smile wickedly and blow the smoke right into my face. Clutching the bag with the footprint plaque, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. The words choked in my throat. “Adrian Vance, you disgust me!” “I’m glad you’ll never get to be a father.” Chloe shrieked, shrinking under the blanket, and began to cry. “Adrian… are you okay? Did Chloe misunderstand something?” “It’s all my fault. Please go with Chloe. I can handle being alone… even if the pain kills me here…” Adrian’s eyes darkened. He pulled Chloe back into his arms, leaning down to kiss her forehead gently. “Don’t talk nonsense. I’m not leaving.” The way he touched her forehead and wiped her tears was the exact replica of how he used to vow his eternal love to me. I forced my eyes wide open to keep the tears from falling. Adrian stepped closer, his scent filling the air. He tilted his head, his cold, uncaring gaze sweeping over me. “Elena, I can let you vent your anger on me, but not on Chloe.” “As for our baby…” He paused, his eyes filled with pure coldness. “You couldn’t keep him. That’s your own problem.” The man looked as handsome and sharp as the day I met him. Hearing his words, I choked for a second before the words slowly forced their way out of my mouth. “Adrian, let’s get a divorce.” Sometimes it takes a lifetime to see a person clearly. Sometimes, it only takes a second.

The room fell into a brief, heavy silence. Adrian didn’t laugh or get angry. His voice was completely flat. “Elena, I don’t like hearing tantrums. I have no intention of replacing you as my wife.” He stared at me for a moment, curling his lips. “Besides, the connections, the money, the status—which of these did I not give you?” “Could you really walk away from this life of luxury?” My heart was drowning in ice. I pulled out my phone and let out a sudden smile. “Did I ever ask you for any of those things?” “Adrian, if you don’t sign the papers, I will call the cops right now and report you for bigamy.” “Doesn’t Chloe hate stress? Aren’t you worried about her?” But Adrian wasn’t afraid at all. He just tilted his chin up. “This is the first time I’ve seen you take things so seriously.” “Elena, since when did you learn to play such childish games?” “Go ahead and call. Or do you need me to dial the number for you?” When I first married Adrian at twenty-three, I always kept myself calm and composed, never causing a scene. Adrian’s father used to praise me for being wise and mature. I didn’t reply. My hand trembled as I was about to press the call button, but the door was pushed open. “Chloe’s family? We need to do a routine check on the patient…” The nurse walked in with a thermometer, freezing when she saw my face. “Wait, aren’t you the woman who just picked up the keepsake for the deceased baby? What are you doing here?” She looked at me, then at Chloe on the bed. This time, I heard her clearly. “Are you the patient’s sister? No wonder. I was wondering why the same person had to claim miscarriage keepsakes twice.” Before I could say anything, the nurse continued checking Chloe while sighing, “Wow, you two sisters really look alike.” “Your sister is so lucky. Her husband has been by her side the entire time. She’s doing fine now.” I stared at Chloe’s face, my mind drifting back to the past. During college, Adrian was the handsome, broke boy on campus. A freshman girl used to follow him around every day, giving him water and love letters. His friends used to tease him, saying the girl looked like a mini-version of me. But Adrian never cared, never even giving her a second glance. To make her give up, he held my hand at graduation and swore in front of everyone that he would only love me in this lifetime. Now, the blurry face of that college girl from my memory slowly merged with Chloe’s face. I never could have imagined that Adrian, knowing exactly what she wanted, had allowed her to crawl into his bed and carry his child. Seven years. He used her as my cheaper, younger shadow, dragging my already broken heart into the mud. My body swayed, and I had to grab the doorframe to keep from falling. Seeing me on the verge of collapsing, a smug, hidden satisfaction flashed in Chloe’s eyes. She gently tugged Adrian’s sleeve and smiled at the nurse. “Yes, Adrian is a very caring husband.” Adrian’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t offer a single word of explanation. Trying to reason with a heartless man is just self-torture. Without another word, I forced my legs to move and walked out of the room.

On the way back to the villa, the cold wind blew my hair messy, but it also completely woke me up. I gently touched the tiny footprint plaque in my bag and dialed a number I hadn’t called in seven years. When Adrian first started his business and had nothing, I secretly funneled my family’s funds and tech teams to help him get through the hardest starting phase. But Adrian hated being called a gold-digger. So, I hid everything from him. I even broke off ties with my parents just to marry him. Before the company went public, he knelt on one knee, kissing the back of my hand, and swore: “Elena, transferring most of the shares to my name is just a formality. Once the company is stable, everything I have will be yours, including my life.” I had believed every word. On the other end of the line, a middle-aged man’s voice trembled, pulling me back to reality. “Sweetheart? You’re finally calling your dad…” “Why does your voice sound wrong? Did someone hurt you?!” Hearing my father’s long-lost, protective voice, I looked up, forcing my tears back. “Dad, I regret it. I… want to come home.” After hanging up, I arrived at the villa. At the entrance sat the men’s slippers Adrian chose himself. In the living room hung our sweet, smiling wedding portrait. Once, I thought this was my safe haven, the home I would protect with my life. Now, it just looked like a giant joke. Adrian didn’t come home that night. No need to guess—he was staying by Chloe’s bedside. The next morning, my phone buzzed. Adrian’s voice was as cold and indifferent as ever. “Elena, are you done throwing your tantrum?” “Chloe was terrified yesterday and is in a terrible state. I’ll give you a way out. Bring some supplements to the hospital to visit her. I’ll pretend that slap yesterday was just you losing control over losing the baby, and I won’t hold it against you.” “As for the divorce, stop while you’re ahead. Don’t use my patience as your bargaining chip.” I looked down, my voice quiet but firm. “Adrian, I am serious about the divorce.” After a two-second silence, Adrian let out a cold snort and sent a location. “Fine, Elena. I’ll give you what you want.” Half an hour later, Adrian was already sitting by the window in a cafe. Even though he hadn’t slept all night, he was still dressed immaculately, radiating the cold arrogance of a rising billionaire. As I sat down, he casually slid a pre-drafted divorce agreement toward me. “For the sake of our past, this villa goes to you. Plus, a handsome monthly allowance will be transferred to your account.” “When you finally snap out of it, you can come beg me to remarry you at any time.” I glanced down at the paper. There was not a single word about the company’s shares. I didn’t even bother to read the details. I just picked up the pen and signed my name. Adrian frowned, his eyes locked on my face as he shifted his posture. “Elena, over the years, you’ve done nothing but stay at home. You made zero contribution to the company.” “The only reason I’m giving you this much compensation is because Chloe was kind enough to persuade me not to be too harsh on you last night.” “From now on, take care of yourself.” Listening to his words, my heart was completely numb. The deeper the love once was, the heavier the disgust was now. “Adrian, now that the papers are signed, please keep your distance and stay out of my life.” I stood up, giving him a cold smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I have no interest in this house.” “As for whether I contributed anything… you will find out very soon.” Adrian curled his lips into a mock smile, looking away. “I’ll be waiting. I just hope you don’t end up unable to pay your credit card bills next month.” Just then, his phone rang. His expression softened instantly as he looked at me and started walking out. “Be good, Chloe. Stay in bed, I’m coming back to keep you company right now.” A moment later, I walked out of the cafe. A light drizzle began to fall. I looked at the Maybach that had been waiting by the curb for a long time. The car door shut, completely locking out the world that disgusted me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443288”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My husband finally came home after being stationed abroad for ten long years. I should have been thrilled. But the exact moment he stepped through the door, every single hair on my arms stood on end. Ten years. And he hadn’t aged a single day. At first, I tried to calm myself down. I told myself he just had great genetics, or maybe a really expensive skincare routine. But as the days went on, the red flags started piling up. Ten years ago, my husband was sickly. He would get winded just walking to the mailbox, and he suffered from chronic, agonizing stomach ulcers. But this man standing in my kitchen? His skin was glowing with health. He could carry giant, sixty-pound bags of dog food and heavy garage equipment up to our attic without even breaking a sweat. Even worse, he had become terrifyingly smart. He spoke with a cold, calculated precision that felt entirely foreign. He was a completely different person. Creeped out and desperate for answers, I secretly went down to the local police precinct. The officer at the front desk tapped away at his keyboard for what felt like hours. Finally, he looked up at me. “His Social Security number is active. There’s no death certificate, and his passport registry is clean. On paper, your husband is very much alive.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I spilled everything—every weird detail, every creepy change. The officer went dead silent. Slowly, he stood up, his entire demeanor changing. “I think I know what’s going on here.” *** ###

My entire body froze. The detective’s face turned incredibly serious. He walked around his desk, stepped over to the door, closed it, and pulled the blinds shut. “I think I know what’s going on here,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a low whisper, as if he was terrified of being overheard. “What do you mean?” I asked, my knuckles turning white as I gripped my purse on my lap. He sat back down, staring at me for a long moment, visibly debating how much he should tell me. “First, try to breathe,” he started. “Nothing is confirmed yet. But… we had a case exactly like this about two years ago.” My heart squeezed in my chest. “Two years ago,” the detective said, leaning forward. “An elderly woman named Mrs. Jenkins came in. She lived in the quiet suburbs on the east side. She reported that her son, Tommy, had returned. Tommy had been a heavy gambler, ran up massive debts with some bad people, and fled the country to hide. After years of silence, he suddenly showed up on her doorstep.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Naturally, Mrs. Jenkins was overjoyed at first. Her lost son had returned, seemingly reformed. But within a week, the dread set in.” “She told me Tommy used to be a high school dropout. He was a lazy slob who spent his days drinking, gambling, and hanging out with thugs. But the man who came back? He didn’t drink. He didn’t gamble. He spoke and acted like a highly educated gentleman. Mrs. Jenkins said her son could barely read a map before, but this new version was casually discussing Machiavelli’s *The Prince* and the complex politics of the Roman Empire over breakfast.” My fingers began to tremble. “And here’s the kicker,” the detective said, tapping his desk. “Tommy used to have severe asthma. He couldn’t jog for thirty seconds without reaching for his inhaler. But the man who returned could chop logs in the backyard for hours in the freezing cold, perfectly fine.” I felt the blood drain completely from my face. “What happened to them?” my voice shook. “We went to investigate,” the detective sighed. “We visited the house. The son was there. He was incredibly polite, offered us coffee, and answered every question flawlessly. We did a walkthrough of the house and found absolutely nothing suspicious. Even Mrs. Jenkins couldn’t pinpoint a specific crime; she just kept saying she felt a deep, instinctual terror around him. We assumed it was just estrangement—that they had been apart so long they just needed time to adjust. We told her to call us if anything changed, and we left.” He stood up, walked to the window, parted the blinds slightly to peer outside, and closed them again. “Less than a week later,” he turned to look at me, “Mrs. Jenkins and her son completely vanished.” “Vanished?” “Yes. Gone. All their belongings were still in the house. Their clothes, their bank cards, their IDs—nothing was taken. Neighbors said they saw Mrs. Jenkins walking her dog the night before, and the next morning, the house was empty. Their phones were disconnected. It’s been two years, and we haven’t found a single trace of them.” I bolted upright, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. “My husband… is he going to make me…” “Please, sit down,” he waved his hand, urging me to calm down. “Like I said, we don’t know for sure. But the patterns are identical. I had to warn you.” “Then what is he? Who is the man in my house?” My voice cracked, borderline hysterical. “I don’t know,” the detective shook his head. “We ran Tommy’s biometrics back then, just like we ran your husband’s. Clean. No red flags. But people don’t just transform into perfect versions of themselves overnight. And they don’t just disappear into thin air.” *** ###

I took a few deep breaths, forcing the panic back down. “What do I do now?” The detective thought for a moment, then pulled a small drawer open and handed me a tiny object. “First, you need to get out of that house. Go stay somewhere else. And take this.” I took it. It was a sleek, black digital voice recorder. It was tiny, barely the size of a thumb drive. “This is a high-grade recorder. The battery lasts for days. Keep it on you at all times, and keep it recording. If he says anything strange or does anything out of the ordinary, we need it on record. Right now, we don’t have probable cause to make an arrest.” I clenched the recorder in my fist, its cold metal casing biting into my palm. “If anything feels wrong, call me immediately,” he said, handing me a business card. “Anytime. Day or night.” I looked at the card. *Detective Miller, East Precinct.* “Detective Miller,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Will staying at a hotel be enough? What if he finds me?” “Go stay with your mother. Don’t tell him the address. If he texts you, just say you missed her and wanted to spend some quality mother-daughter time. Don’t trigger his suspicion, and absolutely do not let him know you’re onto him. Act completely normal. Can you do that?” I nodded, slipping the card and the recorder into my purse. “One more thing,” Detective Miller added, his eyes locked onto mine. “Do not let him get you alone in a car, and under no circumstances do you agree to leave the country with him.” Cold dread washed over me. “Leave the country?” “Before she vanished, Mrs. Jenkins mentioned that her ‘son’ kept urging her to move abroad with him. He kept telling her he had bought a beautiful estate in Europe and wanted her to live out her days in luxury. She laughed it off at the time. But now…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. By the time I stepped out of the police precinct, the sky was pitch black. The November wind was freezing. I wrapped my coat tightly around myself, my mind spinning at a million miles an hour. Why make people disappear? Where did they go? Where were Mrs. Jenkins and her son right now? Were they even alive? My hand remained buried in my pocket, gripping the recorder so hard my knuckles turned white. I began to dissect every single detail of the last ten years. Julian and I got married in 2014. He was twenty-eight back then, working as a low-level sales rep for an import-export company. He was incredibly frail—nearly six feet tall but barely weighing 130 pounds. He looked like a gust of wind could blow him over. His stomach issues were so severe that we spent half our weekends in the ER. He couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs without gasping for air. The doctors told us it was a congenital weakness. Then, just one year into our marriage, he told me he had to relocate abroad. He claimed his company offered him a transfer to their overseas branch. The pay was five times his current salary. I remember how excited he was when we talked about it. He said we could finally buy a house, start a family, and live comfortably. I was completely against it. We had only been married for a year, his health was terrible, and the thought of him being alone across the world terrified me. But he was set on it. He insisted it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. After weeks of fighting, he won. And so began the agonizing decade of long-distance. We communicated mostly through Snapchat and quick text messages. We rarely did phone calls. He always claimed he was working grueling overtime, or that the time difference made it too difficult. Whenever I begged to FaceTime, he always had an excuse. His camera was broken, his internet was too slow, or his roommates were already asleep in their shared dorm. I was naive. I believed him. I thought he was just sacrificing everything and living in harsh conditions to build a future for us. But there were times when he would completely drop off the grid. The longest stretch was five whole days of radio silence. I sent dozens of snaps, called his number repeatedly, but got absolutely nothing. I was on the verge of buying a plane ticket to go search for him when he finally texted back, claiming his project was on a brutal deadline and he had been working eighty-hour shifts without a second to look at his phone. I believed him back then. But now? A normal human being doesn’t look at their phone for five days? *** ###

Not even a single text? Even in the busiest job, people still use the bathroom, don’t they? I had been so blind. As I approached our apartment building, I stopped. I looked up at the sixth floor. Our unit’s lights were on. He was home. I took a deep breath, reached into my pocket, and clicked the power button on the recorder. The tiny red LED light flashed once, signaling it was recording. I slid it back into my pocket, zipped it up, and walked inside. My legs felt like lead as I climbed the stairs. It took me nearly ten minutes just to reach our door. I pulled out my keys, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The rich, mouth-watering aroma of gourmet food instantly hit me. I froze. The dining table was covered in an absolute feast. Seared salmon, glazed ribs, garlic butter broccoli, and a perfectly seasoned potato soup. There were seven or eight dishes, beautifully plated like they had just been served at a Michelin-star restaurant. Julian poked his head out of the kitchen, wearing the faded blue apron I had bought years ago. He flashed me a warm, boyish smile. “You’re home! Go wash your hands, the soup is almost ready.” Looking at his smile, a shiver ran down my spine. My husband used to burn instant ramen. Once, when I had to work late and asked him to make pasta, he turned the noodles into a soggy, burnt paste that ruined the pot. I still vividly remembered him standing in the kitchen, looking completely helpless and embarrassed. But the man standing in front of me now was casually tossing ingredients in a wok with the effortless grace of a professional chef. I slowly took off my shoes, walked over to the table, and sat down. My throat felt incredibly tight. He brought over the soup, placed it gently in the center, took off his apron, and sat down opposite me. “Try this,” he said, placing a tender piece of salmon onto my plate. “Tell me how it tastes.” I took a small bite. It was spectacular. The fish was perfectly flaky, savory, and rich—better than anything I’d ever had at a luxury restaurant. “Do you like it?” he asked, his eyes soft and attentive. “It’s… amazing,” I said, slowly putting my fork down. “When did you learn to cook like this?” “While I was abroad,” he replied smoothly, without a second of hesitation. “When you’re living alone in a foreign country, you either learn to cook or you starve. I was terrible at first, but practice makes perfect.” “But you always told me you were too busy with work to even sleep. How did you find the time to master gourmet cooking?” He paused. It was a fraction of a second—so fast that anyone else would have missed it. “Well, a man still has to eat,” he smiled warmly. “And later on, my project transitioned into a slower phase. I had more free time to experiment in the kitchen.” It was a flawless answer. Every question had an explanation, and every explanation was perfectly logical. But the logical perfection only made me more terrified. The old Julian didn’t have this level of mental agility. He was clumsy with his words, easily confused, and arguing with him was always an exercise in frustration. But this man? He was sharp, articulate, and every response felt pre-programmed and rehearsed to perfection. I kept my head down and ate in silence. The recorder in my pocket silently blinked, completely hidden beneath my clothes. After dinner, I went to wash the dishes. He came into the kitchen to help, but I gently pushed him away, telling him to relax and watch some TV. He complied instantly, giving me a soft nod. Standing at the sink, my hands submerged in the warm soapy water, my mind raced. I needed a reason to leave for my mom’s place. But it had to be seamless. I couldn’t let him suspect a thing. When I walked back into the living room, he was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. I sat down next to him, trying to find the words to break the news. But before I could speak, he turned to me. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said. “What is it?” “I’m planning on staying for good this time. But I still have some paperwork and final loose ends to wrap up at the overseas office. I’ll need to go back one last time. It’ll probably take a month or two. But…” He reached out, his hand covering mine. His palm was warm, dry, and perfectly steady. “I want you to come with me.” *** ###

My heart missed a beat. “Come with you?” “Yes. You’ve spent the last ten years alone and waiting for me. I want to take you out there, treat it like a second honeymoon. The coast is beautiful, the weather is warm, and the beaches are incredible.” “Once I finish my paperwork, we can travel around for a few weeks before coming back.” His grip on my hand tightened slightly. Inside my head, a siren went off. *If he asks you to leave the country with him, under no circumstances do you go.* Detective Miller’s warning echoed in my mind. I forced myself to remain calm. Gently, I slipped my hand out of his grip, pretending to reach for my glass of water on the coffee table. “Where exactly is the office located?” I asked, keeping my tone light and curious. “Penang, Malaysia,” he said. “It’s a gorgeous island.” *Penang.* I memorized the name instantly. I let out a soft sigh, playing my part. “I don’t think I can go, Julian.” “Why not?” “You know how terribly motion-sick I get on long flights and boats. Traveling that far sounds like torture for me. Plus, my mom hasn’t been feeling well lately. I really want to spend some time taking care of her.” “Oh. Okay then,” he said. His voice was entirely calm and understanding. “I’ll go handle it myself and come back as fast as I can.” He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to persuade me, he didn’t push, and he didn’t even ask a single follow-up question. He just accepted it. That was wrong. The Julian I knew was stubborn. If he truly wanted me to join him, he would have begged, whined, and brought it up a thousand times until I finally gave in. He was never a man who accepted “no” on the first try. But this man let it go without a second thought. A cold sweat broke out across my back. “Actually,” I said, pretending the thought had just popped into my head. “I think I’m going to head over to my mom’s place tomorrow for a few days. It’s been so long since we’ve spent time together.” “Sure. I’ll drive you there and stay with you guys.” “No, don’t worry about it,” I said quickly. “You just got back, you need to rest and get over your jet lag. And you know how my mom gets—she’ll stress herself out trying to host you and clean the whole house. I’ll just go by myself, chat with her for a couple of days, and come right back.” He stared at me for a brief second, then nodded. “Alright. Whatever you think is best.” More compliance. Unconditional, effortless compliance. I didn’t sleep a single wink that night. The next morning, by the time I opened my eyes, he was already up. The pleasant sound of a spatula scraping a pan and the sizzle of bacon drifted from the kitchen. I got dressed and walked out. The dining table was set with a beautiful breakfast spread—avocado toast, perfectly poached eggs, fresh fruit, and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. It looked like a picture-perfect brunch from an upscale cafe. “Morning, sleepyhead. Eat up, you don’t want to miss your train.” He walked out of the kitchen, placing a warm glass of milk in front of me. I sat down and took a bite of the toast. It was delicious. “I went ahead and bought your train ticket,” he said, checking his phone. “It leaves at ten. You’ll arrive around twelve-thirty. I also bought some luxury wellness gift baskets for your mom. They’re by the door.” He pointed toward the entryway. Two beautifully packaged, high-end gift baskets were resting against the wall. They looked incredibly expensive. I looked at him, an unsettling wave of emotion washing over me. “Thank you,” I mumbled, keeping my head down. Halfway through the meal, he suddenly laid his fork down and looked directly at me. “By the way, where did you go yesterday afternoon?” My hand froze, the coffee cup hovering inches from my lips. “I went out for a walk yesterday, but when I came back, you weren’t home,” he said smoothly. *** ###

My mind raced at lightning speed. Yesterday afternoon, I was at the police station. But I could never let him know that. “Oh, an old friend invited me out for coffee,” I lied, keeping my voice steady. “We hadn’t seen each other in forever, so we lost track of time.” “Which friend?” “You don’t know her. A girl from college, Sarah.” “Where did you guys meet up?” My heart rate began to climb. He was pressing. The old Julian would never interrogate me like this. “Just at that new coffee shop downtown… what was it called again…” I pretended to struggle to remember. “Anyway, it’s on the first floor of the shopping mall.” “What did you talk about?” “Just life. She’s trying to get pregnant and was complaining about her mother-in-law.” He stared at me, his eyes wide and completely unblinking. I felt his gaze cutting through me, analyzing my micro-expressions, calculating whether I was telling the truth. “I see,” he finally said, breaking his gaze and taking a sip of his coffee. “Next time, invite her over for dinner. I’d love to meet your friends.” “Sure.” I looked down, quickly finishing my food, my stomach churning with anxiety. At exactly ten o’clock, he dropped me off at the train station. He carried the heavy gift baskets into the waiting area and walked me all the way to the security gate. “Text me when you get there,” he said gently. “And don’t stay too long. I don’t want you getting exhausted.” “I will.” He reached out to adjust my collar. The moment his fingers brushed against my neck, I instinctively flinched. “It’s cold out today,” he said, slowly retracting his hand into his coat pocket. “Stay warm, and have a safe trip.” I turned and walked through the gate. After walking a safe distance, I couldn’t help but look back. He was still standing in the exact same spot, watching me through the crowded terminal. I turned back and hurried toward my platform. Once I found my seat on the train, I clutched my bag tightly to my chest and let out a massive breath of relief. The recorder in my pocket was still silently running, its tiny light blinking. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to Detective Miller: “Detective Miller, I’ve left the apartment. I’m on the train to my mother’s place now.” “I recorded everything from last night and this morning. He did ask me to go abroad with him, and I refused.” “He gave me an address in Penang, Malaysia, claiming it’s a logistics office. Also, he interrogated me about where I was yesterday afternoon. I lied, but I’m not sure if he bought it.” Detective Miller replied almost instantly: “Understood. I will verify the address. Stay safe, and let me know when you arrive.” I put my phone away, leaned my head against the window, and closed my eyes. The train slowly chugged to life, and the station began to slip away. Just then, I felt someone sit down in the seat right next to me. I assumed it was just another passenger and didn’t open my eyes. But whoever it was didn’t rustle any bags, didn’t pull out a phone, and just sat there in absolute, eerie silence. Then, a familiar scent drifted into my nose. It was a sharp, citrusy cologne. The exact one I had bought for Julian. My eyes snapped open, and I whipped my head around. Julian was sitting right next to me. He was wearing the same dark blue wool coat from this morning, a small duffel bag resting on his lap. He was smiling warmly at me. My blood instantly froze. “You…” My voice caught in my throat. “What are you doing here?” “Did you forget?” he asked, his tone as calm as a summer breeze. “I bought your train ticket, Amelia.” He tilted his head, his smile widening just a fraction. “I knew exactly which car and which seat you were in.” My brain went completely blank. “I got to thinking,” he said, adjusting himself to get comfortable in the seat. “It’s been years since I’ve visited your mother. I’ve been a pretty terrible son-in-law, being away for ten years. Since I have some free time today, I figured I should come along.” He reached over and gripped my hand. “And,” he turned his head, locking his eyes directly onto mine, “I suddenly remembered something. The place you went yesterday afternoon… it didn’t look like a coffee shop.” My heart hammered violently against my ribs. “I happened to be out running errands yesterday afternoon,” he whispered. “And as I passed the local police precinct, I saw you walking out the front doors.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443287”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Cold, biting wind whipped across my face. I gasped, my eyes snapping open. In front of me was a blindingly white ski slope, and a man stood right in my face, holding up his phone. He was gripping a ski pole, and caught on its sharp metal tip was a shred of pink fiber. I looked down at my left arm. My professional-grade ski jacket had been ripped open, leaving a long, nasty gash that exposed the high-tech insulation layer inside. ### The man angled his phone camera directly at my face. “Look at this, guys,” he sneered into his microphone. “This is exactly what’s wrong with the slopes these days. Another textbook snow bunny.” “Dressed up in flashy pink, hogging the black diamond run just to take selfies and bait rich guys.” “But don’t worry, chat. Today, Carter Thorne is doing public service. I’m going to teach this clout chaser a lesson!” As he spoke, he shoved the camera even closer to my face. The live stream chat on his screen was scrolling at lightning speed. *— ‘Exposing the ski resort gold digger! She actually tried to extort me after I called her out. Go back to the bunny slopes if you can’t afford real gear.’* *— ‘Seriously, nine out of ten girls in pink are just there to fish for rich guys.’* *— ‘Serves her right! Good job ripping her jacket!’* Staring at his arrogant face, a wave of sheer terror and fury washed over me. The memory of freezing to death in my past life rushed back. In my previous life, I had stood here arguing with him, demanding he pay for the ruined jacket. Then, the avalanche hit. The moment I pulled out my avalanche beacon, he snatched it out of my hands. He used my beacon to get rescued and became a national hero—the ‘miracle survivor’ praised by millions online. Meanwhile, I was left to freeze to death in a dark, suffocating crevice, dozens of feet below the ice. But now, I was back. I had reincarnated right to the exact second he ripped my jacket and started his hate-train live stream. I quickly took two steps back, putting some distance between us. “You ruined my jacket,” I said, my voice cold. Carter shrugged, completely unfazed. “Oh, please. How much could a cheap pink jacket cost? A twenty-dollar Wish knockoff, and you have the balls to wear it on the black diamond run?” “If you’re too broke to buy real gear, get lost. Stop embarrassing yourself.” I pulled out my phone and tapped the record button. “This is a polar-grade, specialized arctic research jacket. It has a built-in aerogel insulation layer and a vital-sign monitoring chip.” “It costs twelve thousand dollars.” “What you just did constitutes felony destruction of federal research property.” Carter blinked, stunned for a fraction of a second, before bursting into a hysterical laugh. “Twelve grand? Are you out of your mind?!” “Did you hear that, chat? This gold digger got caught, and now she’s trying to extort me!” “Polar research? Sure, honey. And if you’re a scientist, then I’m the Pope.” A crowd of skiers began to gather around us, whispering and pointing at me. “Well, wearing bright pink on a black diamond run does look a bit… unprofessional,” someone mumbled. “Yeah, there are way too many influencers posing on the slopes lately. It’s so annoying.” Seeing the crowd side with him, Carter’s chest puffed out. He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a threatening whisper. “Get lost while I’m still being nice. Don’t make me post your face all over Snapchat and ruin your life forever.” “Stay away from me,” I said. I purposely lowered my voice, acting as if I was terrified of him. Seeing me retreat, Carter got even more arrogant. “What? Not so tough now, are we?” “Scared? There are fifty thousand people watching you right now on my live stream, you clout chaser.” He turned back to his phone, yelling into the camera. “You see this, guys? Girls like this just need to be humbled. Put on some pink and suddenly they think they’re royalty!” I didn’t bother replying to his provocations. Under my feet, I felt a very faint, deep vibration. If my memory served me right, the massive avalanche was less than sixty seconds away. I quickly scanned the area, calculating the best escape route. To the left, there was a massive, solid rock formation. I immediately shifted my weight and kicked off, snowboarding toward it. As I sped past a few beginners who were standing around watching the drama, I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Move! Head for high ground! Avalanche!” The beginners froze for a second, but seeing how fast I was booking it, they instinctively scrambled toward the rock structure. Behind me, Carter’s mocking laugh echoed across the slope. “Look at her go! She can’t even lie with a straight face!” “An avalanche? On a perfectly sunny day? She’s just running away because she’s guilty!” “Chat, I’m not letting her get away. Let’s chase her down!” He kicked off his board, speeding right after me. Right then, a thunderous boom echoed from the peak of the mountain. The entire mountain shook violently. The peaceful snow-covered slope suddenly transformed into a roaring, violent ocean of white. A massive wall of snow and ice came crashing down with terrifying speed. Carter’s laughter died instantly. He looked back over his shoulder, his face turning pale as a ghost. “Holy shit!” He tried to turn and run, but it was too late. The colossal white wave swallowed him whole. Meanwhile, I had safely made it behind the massive rock formation. I gripped the cold stone tightly, feeling the violent rush of snow roaring past me like a freight train. A few minutes later, the roaring stopped. The world fell into a dead, suffocating silence. I took a deep breath, reached into my inner pocket, pulled out my avalanche beacon, and pressed the SOS button. This time, the beacon stayed with me. — ###

The rescue team arrived incredibly fast. They tracked the signal of my beacon and dug me out. Aside from a scratch on my arm and minor frostbite, I was completely unharmed. I insisted on helping the search and rescue team. Fifty yards away from my shelter, we dug Carter out of a deep snow drift. He was incredibly lucky. A fallen pine tree had blocked the brunt of the impact, saving his life. But his leg was snapped, his skin was a sickly shade of purple, and he was screaming in agony as they loaded him onto the stretcher. Once we arrived at the hospital, I got my arm bandaged up and prepared to head back to my hotel. The moment I stepped into the lobby, my phone started vibrating like crazy. Maya sent me a panicked voice note. *— “Chloe! Oh my god, look at the trending topics on Twitter! You’re being doxxed!”* I opened Twitter. Sitting at the very top of the trending list was: **#SkiResortGoldDiggerTriedToKillInfluencer** I clicked on it. It was a screen recording of Carter broadcasting live from his hospital bed. His head was wrapped in gauze, and he was literally sobbing into the camera, snot and tears running down his face. “Guys… I almost didn’t make it,” Carter whimpered. “When the avalanche hit, I could have made it to safety.” “But that girl in the pink jacket… she pushed me from behind just to save her own skin.” “She used me as a human shield so she could hide behind a rock.” “I was just trying to be a good guy and tell her to stop taking selfies on a dangerous run, and she tried to kill me!” The live chat was a wall of pure rage from his loyal fans. *— ‘This is insane! Put that psycho in jail!’* *— ‘Find her! Ruin her life!’* *— ‘She is a literal murderer. Call the cops!’* Watching Carter spin this sick lie on screen, I let out a dry, angry laugh. In my past life, he stole my beacon and built his fame on my corpse. In this life, since he couldn’t steal it, he made up a murder charge instead. This man would literally feed on human blood if it gave him views. I immediately dialed the police, reporting the incident at the resort and filing a defamation claim against Carter. The deputy promised they would look into it, but the internet’s trial moved a million times faster than the law. Carter was a massive influencer with ten million followers. His brand was built on “calling out fakes,” “social justice,” and being a “no-nonsense alpha male.” His fanbase was incredibly toxic and aggressive. In less than thirty minutes, my entire life was laid bare online. My name, my photos, and even my employer were leaked. *— ‘Chloe Vance? A deputy researcher at the National Polar Research Institute?’* *— ‘Yeah right! A federal scientist wearing neon pink on the slopes to hook up with rich guys? Please.’* *— ‘She probably slept her way to the top. She’s an academic bimbo!’* *— ‘How is a literal murderer working for a federally funded institute? Taxpayer money is paying her salary!’* *— ‘Guys, spam the Institute’s social media accounts! Get this bitch fired!’* My phone started ringing nonstop with calls from random numbers. Every time I answered, a wave of sickening slurs and death threats blasted through the speaker. I shut the phone off completely. When I got back to my hotel room and turned it back on, the first call was from Dr. Evans, the director of my institute. “Chloe, you need to book the first flight back to the office right now,” his voice was tense and exhausted. “The internet is in an absolute uproar. The Board of Trustees has already been notified.” “You are suspended effective immediately pending an internal investigation. We need a full explanation.” I tried to explain. “Dr. Evans, he’s lying. He maliciousy ripped my research jacket before the avalanche even happened.” “That was the new sub-zero arctic suit we’re supposed to test in Antarctica next month. It costs twelve thousand dollars.” Dr. Evans cut me off. “This isn’t about a jacket anymore, Chloe.” “Carter’s followers have completely crashed our phone lines. Our Instagram and Twitter pages are flooded with thousands of comments calling us accomplices to murder.” “We are a prestigious federal research institution. We cannot have this kind of stain on our reputation.” “Go home, lay low, and wait for the investigation.” The line went dead. I gripped my phone, a familiar feeling of helplessness creeping in. But I wasn’t going to lie down and die this time. I opened my laptop and began gathering my ammunition. — ###

The next morning, I landed back in Washington, D.C. The moment I walked out of the terminal, a group of teenagers holding up smartphones rushed me. “Are you Chloe Vance?” one of them screamed. “You murderer! Why don’t you go kill yourself!” A girl threw a half-empty Starbucks cup right at my face. I ducked, and the sticky iced coffee splattered all over the tiled floor. These kids were Carter’s brain-dead stans. They had somehow got hold of my flight info and waited to ambush me. Airport security quickly intervened and escorted me out. I dragged my suitcase straight to the Institute. When I walked into Dr. Evans’ office, he slammed a stack of printed printouts of angry tweets onto his desk. “Look at this mess, Chloe!” “Now there’s a massive online boycott against our upcoming Antarctic expedition.” “Two of our biggest private sponsors are already threatening to pull their funding!” I calmly placed a folder on his desk. “Dr. Evans, this is the official medical report from the ski resort’s clinic. The tear on my arm and the damage to the jacket occurred *before* the avalanche.” “And here is the evidence of Carter Thorne destroying federal research property.” “I have already filed a formal police report.” Dr. Evans didn’t even look at the folder. “A police report? Do you think the police can control ten million angry people online?” “Right now, Carter is the national hero. He’s a victim who got severely injured while trying to warn people. And you?” “You walked away without a scratch. The public always roots for the underdog.” I stared directly into Dr. Evans’ eyes. “So, just because he knows how to cry on camera, I have to take the fall?” Dr. Evans sighed, rubbing his temples. “Chloe, you’re young. You don’t understand how dangerous public opinion can be.” “Just take some paid time off. Go home and rest.” “Once the storm blows over, the board will re-evaluate your position.” I knew there was no point in arguing further. My suspension letter was delivered to my inbox ten minutes later. I packed my desk into a cardboard box and walked out of the building. On my phone, Carter’s live stream was still going strong. He was propped up in his hospital bed, doing a virtual interview with a major entertainment outlet. “Honestly, I don’t hate her,” Carter said, looking incredibly weak. “When it’s a matter of life and death, survival instinct takes over. People get selfish.” “I just feel bad for all the people she fooled. Everyone thought she was this prestigious, elite scientist.” “Would a real scientist dress up like a bimbo on the slopes just to show off?” The chat was flooded with sympathy. *— ‘Carter is literally an angel.’* *— ‘She should be charged with attempted murder!’* *— ‘I heard she got fired today. Justice served!’* Carter’s assistant, Leo, stepped into the frame, pointing at the screen. “Hey guys, please check out the link in our bio. Carter’s medical bills are going to be crazy, and his recovery will take months.” “We’re not launching a GoFundMe, but please support Carter by buying from his merch store.” What a well-oiled machine. By turning me into a villain, Carter had gained over a million followers in a single day. His merch sales were currently topping the Shopify charts. I went back to my apartment and hung the ruined pink ski jacket on a rack. This jacket wasn’t pink just for fashion. In the endless, blinding white of the polar ice caps, neon pink and bright orange are the easiest colors for rescue helicopters to spot. That is why our research gear is manufactured in these specific colors. But Carter had weaponized a stupid internet stereotype to paint me as a gold digger just to get clout. I opened my laptop and logged into the secure intranet of our equipment manufacturer. This specific research jacket had a vital-sign monitoring chip woven into the fabric. And because it was designed to record data in extreme polar environments, the chip also featured ambient audio recording and structural impact analysis. The moment I activated my beacon on the mountain, all the telemetry data from my jacket had already synced to the secure cloud. I opened the cloud database, downloaded the audio file recorded on the slope, and saved it. I knew that right now, Carter was the internet’s golden boy. If I just dropped the audio file out of nowhere, his rabid fans would immediately claim it was an AI deepfake. I needed to trap him first. — ###

Over the next few days, I stayed inside and watched Carter dig his own grave online. He was discharged from the hospital. Sitting in a wheelchair and surrounded by screaming fans, he made a grand return to his talent agency’s headquarters. His agency threw him a massive welcome-back party, which they streamed live. He even posted a dedicated video showing off the heavy plaster cast on his leg. “Thank you for all the love, guys. Carter Thorne is too tough to die,” he said, staring dramatically into the lens. “But I heard that the girl who pushed me is only suspended? Just sitting at home?” “If people like her don’t face real consequences, then the system is broken!” “Tomorrow at 3:00 PM, I’m personally going to her office to demand justice!” The video exploded. Thousands of his followers commented, promising to show up at the National Polar Research Institute to protest. I stared at the screen, a slow smile spreading across my face. *You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, Carter?* The next day at 2:30 PM, I took an Uber to the Institute. Even before getting close to the gate, I could see a massive crowd of hundreds of people blocking the street. They were holding up signs that read: *“Jail the Murderer Chloe Vance!”* and *“The Institute Protects Criminals!”* Carter was sitting in his wheelchair, pushed by Leo, shouting into a megaphone. “Bring Chloe Vance out! Bring the directors out!” “If we don’t get answers today, we’re not leaving!” The campus security guards had set up barricades, and the Institute’s PR team was sweating bullets. A couple of police cruisers were parked nearby to keep the peace, but the crowd was too large to disperse easily. I wore a black hoodie and a face mask, slipping quietly into the crowd. Right next to me, a young girl was live-streaming the protest on TikTok, screaming slogans. I tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me.” The girl turned around, annoyed. “Watch it! Can’t you see we’re—” She froze. I pulled down my face mask. For a second, the space around us went dead silent. Then, she screamed. “It’s Chloe Vance!” “The murderer is here!” The crowd instantly surged toward me like a wave of zombies. The police officers quickly jumped in, forming a protective wall around me. Carter’s eyes lit up when he saw me. He raised his megaphone, pointing it directly at me. “Chloe Vance! You actually showed your face!” “When you pushed me into that snow drift, did you think about this moment?” “Get down on your knees and apologize to me and everyone here!” The crowd chanted in unison: “Kneel! Kneel! Kneel!” I pushed past the officer in front of me and walked straight up to Carter’s wheelchair. “Carter, did you break your brain along with your leg?” “I pushed you?” I pulled a small Bluetooth speaker from my pocket and connected it to my phone. “Since you want an explanation so badly, I’m going to give you one. Right in front of your millions of viewers.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443286”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The basement was covered in mold. I lay there in the pitch-black darkness, waiting for death. Twenty years. Ever since that catastrophic chemistry lab fire twenty years ago, I had never seen the sunlight. The harsh screech of my AP Chemistry teacher, Brenda Vance, still echoed in my ears: “Summer Lin! You forgot to turn off the burner! You blew up the lab, disfigured your classmates, and burned down the entire science building!” To pay for my “crime,” my parents sold our house, begged on their knees, and died early from sheer exhaustion and stress. Branded as an “arsonist,” I spent two decades working under the table, washing dishes in greasy spoons, and sending every penny I made to the “victims” as blood money. The heavy metal door creaked open. Brenda and her daughter, Chloe—who used to be my best friend—stepped in. “Mrs. Vance…” I croaked, trying to squeeze out a shred of gratitude. Over the past twenty years, she was the only one who ever visited me. Chloe snatched the envelope containing my last hundred dollars from under my pillow. “Only a hundred? This won’t even buy me a lip gloss.” I froze. She leaned in close, a sickening smirk playing on her lips. “Summer, you didn’t actually think this money went to the victims, did you? Back then, I was the one playing with magnesium powder and caused the spark. My mom opened the gas valve, locked the door from the outside, and made you the perfect scapegoat.” *Boom—* My mind went entirely blank. Brenda looked down at me with cold, dead eyes. “Your parents were just cheap blue-collar workers. Taking the fall for Chloe was the only useful thing you could ever do.” The heavy door slammed shut. Darkness consumed me. Sheer hatred tore through my veins. If I could just do it all over again—! ***

“Summer! Are you even listening to me? What is wrong with you?” A piece of chalk struck my forehead with perfect accuracy. The sharp sting felt incredibly real. I gasped, my eyes flying open as I sucked in a huge breath of air. In front of me was a green chalkboard covered in complex chemical equations. The air smelled faintly of chalk dust and sulfur. Standing at the podium in a beige blazer and wire-rimmed glasses was the middle-aged woman frowning at me. Brenda Vance. I instinctively gripped the pen in my hand so hard the plastic casing nearly cracked. All around me were my classmates, wearing high school hoodies and varsity jackets. In the front row, Chloe turned around, made a face at me, and mouthed, *“Idiot.”* I was alive. I glanced at the wall clock: May 18, 2004, 4:30 PM. The exact day of the lab explosion! “Did you get any of the esterification reactions I just explained?” Brenda tapped the board sharply. “As my lab assistant, with the state science decathlon next week, how can you be this distracted? You’re staying after school to clean up the AP chemistry lab. Think about your attitude.” The exact same words. In my past life, this was how I was forced to stay behind, becoming the “last person to leave the lab.” The perfect scapegoat. I took a deep breath, forcing down the violent urge to kill her right then and there. I stood up, my voice eerily calm. “Understood, Mrs. Vance.” Brenda seemed satisfied with my obedience. She nodded. “Class dismissed.” The classroom erupted into cheers as everyone packed up to leave. Chloe walked over to my desk, tossing her designer backpack over her shoulder with a sweet smile. “Thanks for doing the heavy lifting, Summer. I have dance practice. Oh, by the way, I heard the department just got some expensive new reagents. Don’t be clumsy and break them.” Looking at her youthful, flawless face, all I could see was her twisted, ugly expression twenty years later. “Don’t worry,” I said, looking straight into her eyes with a faint smile. “I’ll take *excellent* care of everything.” ***

5:00 PM. The hallway was completely empty. I walked into the top-floor chemistry lab. In my past life, I had been in here diligently cleaning up just like Brenda told me to. Meanwhile, Chloe had snuck back in while I went down to empty the trash, stealing magnesium powder to play with, which started a small fire. Then she ran. When Brenda arrived, she didn’t put out the fire. Instead, she turned on the main gas valve, overturned a bottle of ethanol, and turned a minor accident into a massive explosion. This time, I wasn’t going to give them the chance. I pushed the door open. Sure enough, the lab was a total mess. It didn’t look like a class had just ended; it looked like someone had intentionally rummaged through it. I didn’t start cleaning right away. Instead, I pulled out a rare luxury for a high schooler in 2004—a Nokia 7610. My dad had saved up for three months just to buy it for me as a reward for my grades. The camera was only one megapixel, but it was enough to capture video. I turned on the camera and started recording from the entrance. I captured every corner, the position of every chemical bottle, and the status of every valve. Especially the corner where several open jars of magnesium powder sat, along with a few unextinguished cigarette butts on the floor—the trash left behind by Chloe and her popular slacker friends. Once I recorded everything, I quickly got to work. I put all the chemicals back in their locked cabinets, checked every single burner, and made sure they were completely extinguished. Most importantly, I checked the main gas valves. All tightly shut. By the time I finished, it was 5:20 PM. According to my memory, the explosion happened around 5:45 PM. I grabbed my backpack and walked out, locking the heavy door behind me. But I didn’t leave the campus. I walked straight to the security office on the ground floor. “Mr. Miller!” I tapped on the glass window. The school guard, Mr. Miller, looked up from his small TV. “Oh, hey, Summer. Leaving late today?” “Yes, sir. I had clean-up duty,” I smiled, handing him the logbook. “Here are the lab keys. Could you sign here to confirm I handed them in at 5:25 PM?” There was no strict rule about signing out, but because I was always a straight-A, detail-oriented student, Mr. Miller didn’t think twice. “Of course, kiddo. You’re always so responsible.” He checked his watch and wrote in the logbook: *5:25 PM. Summer Lin returned lab keys. Doors and windows locked.* Seeing his signature, half of the weight on my chest lifted. I had the video. I had the witness. This time, even if Chloe burned the school to the ground, she couldn’t pin it on me. I walked out of the school gates, but instead of going home, I walked into the Starbucks right across the street. I ordered a sweet drink and sat by the window. From here, I had a perfect view of the top-floor lab windows. In this life, I wasn’t just going to prove my innocence. I wanted to see just how evil my “beloved teacher” could truly be. The minutes ticked by. 5:40 PM. The school should have been completely deserted. But then, a familiar figure slipped through the school gates, looking around suspiciously. It wasn’t Chloe. It was Brenda Vance. Why wasn’t she at home? In my past life, she claimed she had been at home tutoring Chloe all evening, giving her a perfect alibi. But now, she was sneaking back into the school? I narrowed my eyes as I saw her pull out a key—the spare key! As the head of the science department, of course she had a master key. She scanned the empty courtyard, then slipped quickly into the building. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. In my past life, the logic was: Chloe messed up, and Brenda cleaned up by framing me. But in this life, Chloe never got the chance to sneak back in because I had locked up so fast. If Chloe wasn’t in there, why did Brenda go in? Unless… ***

A terrifying realization hit me. 5:50 PM. Brenda came running out of the building. She was running incredibly fast, her hair slightly messy, clutching something tight in her hand. She jumped into her red sedan parked by the curb and sped away. The second her car rounded the corner. *BOOM—!!!* A deafening blast shook the windows of the Starbucks. Flames erupted from the top floor of the school! Thick black smoke billowed into the sky, swallowing the evening sun. I squeezed my plastic cup so hard it cracked, spilling cold coffee all over my hand. Tears spilled over my cheeks. Not from fear, but from the sheer, icy horror of the truth. So that was it. In my past life, Chloe’s little fire was just an excuse. In this life, even though I locked the doors and left early, the explosion still happened! Which meant Brenda didn’t just “cover up” for her daughter. She wanted to blow up the lab on purpose! Why? Just to frame me? No, that didn’t make sense. Then why? Whatever the reason, this time, you lit the fire with your own hands. Brenda, in this life, I’m not just going to clear my name. I’m going to send you straight to hell. Sirens wailed as police cars and fire trucks rushed toward the school, cutting through the twilight. I blended into the growing crowd of onlookers, staring at the roaring flames with a cold, expressionless face. “Oh my God! The whole top floor is gone!” “I heard it’s the chemistry lab! Thank God school was over!” Twenty minutes later, the fire was brought under control. I saw Brenda rushing back to the scene. She had changed her clothes and redone her hair. Her face was a mask of panic and grief. Her acting was worthy of an Oscar. “My lab! How did this happen?!” she sobbed, grabbing a firefighter’s arm. “There was so much expensive equipment in there! How could it blow up?!” Soon, a few police officers walked over. Leading them was a stern-looking, middle-aged detective. “Who is in charge of this lab?” “I am. I’m Brenda Vance, Head of the Science Department,” Brenda cried, wiping her tears. “Officer, what happened?” “Preliminary investigation suggests a gas leak triggered by a spark, fueled by highly flammable chemicals,” the detective said, looking at his notepad. “The school guard said someone was in there cleaning up. Who was the last person to leave?” Brenda’s eyes flickered with a dangerous light. Then, she put on a look of utter shock and heartbreak. “It… it was one of my students, Summer Lin.” “She’s usually such a sweet girl… I asked her to tidy up. How could she be so reckless?” “Oh my God!” Brenda gasped suddenly, covering her mouth. “I remember now! She was so distracted during class today. I scolded her… Could she have done this out of spite? Or maybe she was just in such a rush to leave that she forgot to turn off the gas?” She was already shaping the narrative. The surrounding teachers and onlookers began to whisper. “Summer Lin? The quiet scholarship kid?” “She always seemed so nice. I can’t believe she could be so irresponsible.” “Leaving the gas on? She could have killed people!” “Where is Summer Lin? Get her over here!” the detective called out. “I’m right here.” I walked out of the crowd, my backpack over one shoulder, my expression completely calm. ***

In that instant, every eye in the crowd locked onto me. Some looked at me with disgust, some with anger, others with malicious excitement. When Brenda saw me, a flash of pure malice crossed her eyes before she threw herself at me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me violently. “Summer! What did you do?! I trusted you to clean the lab! Did you leave the gas on?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! You destroyed school property! You ruined our reputation!” Her acrylic nails dug painfully into my skin. In my past life, this was the exact moment I broke down. I had sobbed, uselessly repeating “I didn’t do it,” which only made me look guilty. But now, I just stared at her performance with cold eyes. “Mrs. Vance, please let go of me,” I said, my voice quiet but incredibly clear. Brenda froze, shocked that the usually timid, quiet girl was actually standing up to her. “You’re talking back now? Do you realize you’re going to juvenile hall for this?!” “Juvenile hall?” I smiled slightly. “Everything requires evidence. Why are you so sure I left the gas on?” “Because you were the last one there! You had the keys!” Brenda shrieked. “And the guard confirmed you were the last one to lock up!” The detective stepped forward, looking down at me seriously. “Summer, were you the last one to leave the lab?” “Yes,” I nodded. “And did you make sure all gas valves and electrical appliances were turned off?” “Yes, I did.” “Liar!” Brenda cut in. “If you turned them off, how did it explode? You obviously rushed out without checking because you wanted to go home! Lying at your age… this is a serious character flaw!” “Detective!” Brenda turned to the officer, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Her family is low-income, and she’s always had a bit of a chip on her shoulder. I take responsibility for not supervising my student better, but I beg you to investigate this thoroughly. We cannot let this slide.” With just a few sentences, she had painted herself as a saint while giving me a perfect motive. Brilliant. Just then, my parents arrived, breathless and terrified. They were still in their grease-stained work uniforms, pushing through the crowd with pale faces. “Summer! Are you okay?” My mom looked like she was about to burst into tears. My dad immediately started bowing to the detective and Brenda. “We are so sorry, Mrs. Vance, officer. If our daughter made a mistake, we will work three jobs to pay for the damage…” Looking at my hardworking, humble parents, my heart ached. In my past life, they worked themselves to death in shame. In this life, I was going to make sure they stood tall. “Dad, Mom, stop.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443285”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On the sixth year of our long-distance relationship, I secretly flew to New York City to give my girlfriend a surprise for her birthday. Inside the trendiest bakery downtown, my eyes caught the custom cake the guy next to me was picking up. The icing on it read: [Happy Birthday, Vivian, My Love]. My girlfriend’s name was also Vivian. Noticing my lingering gaze, the man struck up a conversation. “Ordering a cake? You’ve got great taste. I get my girl’s birthday cake here every single year.” His buddy smirked and nudged him. “Still calling her your girl? She’s basically your fiancée now!” A tender smile spread across the man’s face. “Shut up, man.” He pulled out his phone and showed me photos of the different custom cakes he’d ordered over the years. “Here, bro. These are some past designs. Just to give you some ideas.” In the photos, a girl was snuggled tightly in his arms. They were both beaming with pure happiness, holding a cake together. It wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t just someone with the same name. His fiancée was my Vivian.

Those photos didn’t just show birthday cakes. There were anniversaries, Valentine’s Days, and New Year’s Eves. The very last photo showed a cake with the words [999 Days] written on it. I stood there, frozen, for what felt like an eternity. Doing the math, Vivian had been with another man since the third year of our long-distance relationship. She used to tell me, *”Asher, baby, please understand. Work is so crazy right now, and flights are so expensive. Let’s save every penny we can so we can get married sooner.”* My heart had ached for her back then. I swallowed all my loneliness and promised to be patient. That was why we talked less and saw each other less. It turned out she was spending all that saved time in the arms of another man. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, desperately suppressing the bitter wave of betrayal and fury rising in my chest. The man didn’t notice my distress. He offered his hand. “By the way, I’m Julian.” “What a coincidence that you’re celebrating today too. I booked the best rooftop restaurant overlooking Manhattan tonight. If you don’t mind, why don’t you join us?” My mind was a chaotic mess. Acting on pure, desperate impulse, I nodded. Until I saw Vivian with my own eyes, I refused to let my heart die. We took the elevator up to the 49th floor. The restaurant had a breathtaking view, offering a stunning panoramic look at the NYC skyline. “Grab a seat, bro. I need to set up a little surprise for my baby. She went all out for me on New Year’s and Valentine’s, so I have to return the favor.” I managed a tight nod, my heart aching with a sharp, stabbing pain. Vivian had always told me she hated “senseless, commercial holidays.” So, in our ten years together, we only ever celebrated our actual birthdays. But for this man, she made exceptions. “Man, they are so disgustingly cute. Pure couple goals,” Julian’s friend said, looking on with envy. “You have no idea. When his fiancée made her first million from her startup, she spent almost the entire thing on a Patek Philippe watch for Julian. Over a hundred and fifty grand, just like that.” “Julian loves the ocean, so every year she rents a luxury yacht and sets off private fireworks over the harbor just to make him smile.” I stopped breathing. Vivian had lied to me. She told me her startup was struggling, that she was barely making ends meet. I had worked day and night at my job in Ohio, sending her money transfers under every excuse I could think of, terrified she was starving or stressed. On my birthday last year, Vivian said she was too busy to travel and only ordered a tiny, cheap grocery-store cake to be delivered to my apartment. I had eaten every single bite of that dry cake and sent her a video. *”Thank you, baby. The cake is great. It feels like we’re celebrating together anyway. My only wish is to finally end the distance and move in with you.”* She hadn’t replied until the next day: *”Great. You’re so understanding, Asher.”* Julian was busy pinning polaroid photos onto silk ribbons hanging from the ceiling. “Are you celebrating your birthday alone? Your girl didn’t come with you?” My eyes scanned the photos. Every single one of them was a sweet, intimate shot of him and Vivian. Them kissing with their eyes closed, him carrying her bridal-style, her laughing as she sat on his shoulders… Vivian smiled so brightly in those pictures. I couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled at me like that. “We’re long-distance. I wanted to surprise her,” I said, staring at Julian. “I was actually planning to move to her city, propose, and finally end the distance.” When we graduated, Vivian chose to stay in New York to build her business, while my father fell gravely ill, forcing me to go back to Ohio to care for my parents. She always told me to wait. To wait until her startup took off to get married, to wait until her company was stable so she could move to my town. I never once doubted Vivian’s love. So, the moment my parents’ health stabilized, I rushed here to be with her. I didn’t want her to exhaust herself traveling back and forth for me. But I never expected to walk into this. “Is that so? Sounds like you love her a lot,” Julian said, his smile unchanged. “But honestly, bro? If a man has nothing to his name, if he can’t even afford a decent life for himself, what kind of happiness can he really offer a woman? Better not drag her down.” Before I could reply, his friend gasped, looking at his phone. “Julian! Get ready! Boss Vivian is downstairs!”

“Surprise!” The elevator doors slid open, and the crowd popped confetti cannons. In the middle of the falling colorful rain, Vivian looked at Julian with eyes full of tenderness. She didn’t notice me at all, standing there in the dark corner. She ran straight into Julian’s arms. Julian leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Happy birthday, baby!” Vivian affectionately brushed a piece of confetti off his shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. “Thank you, handsome.” Amidst the cheers and teasing from their friends, Julian brought out the cake, lit the candles, and gestured for her to make a wish. Vivian stood on her tip-toes and kissed him deeply on the lips. “I don’t need to make a wish. Heaven has already given me the best gift I could ever ask for right here.” I stared blankly at the flickering candle flames. Six years of long-distance. To see Vivian, I had saved stacks of cheap bus and train tickets. I never let her make the tiring trip to see me even once. On my birthday during our fourth year, she sat beside me, completely distracted, staring at her phone all night. For the last two years, she was virtually non-existent in my life. And now, she was calling Julian the best gift heaven had ever given her. My chest felt completely numb, a dull, agonizing ache. A single question echoed in my mind over and over again. *What about me? What was I to you?* Julian smiled, helping Vivian blow out the candles. “If you won’t make a wish, then I will.” Someone in the crowd yelled, “What did you wish for, Julian? Let me guess, does it involve Vivian?” “Duh! Everyone knows Julian is a total simp for her. His whole world revolves around Vivian.” Vivian blushed, playfully hitting Julian’s chest. He gave her a doting look, and in the next second, he dropped to one knee. The room erupted. Julian pulled out a red velvet box, his expression dead serious and full of devotion. “Vivian, it’s been four years. Will you marry me?” Vivian covered her mouth, her eyes instantly filling with tears. Everyone held their breath, waiting for her answer. But then, a cold laugh broke the silence of the room. “Four years? Vivian, what about my ten years? What did our ten years mean to you?” Everyone whipped their heads around to look at me. Vivian turned, her face freezing in absolute horror and shock. Their friends looked back and forth between us, whispering. “Who is this guy?” “No idea.” One of Julian’s friends walked up and threw a heavy punch straight at my face. “Are you out of your mind? Julian was nice enough to let you join the party, and you come in here to ruin his proposal?!” The blow left me dazed for a second. Julian looked back at Vivian, confused. “Babe, do you know him?” “No.” Vivian coldly pulled her gaze away from me without a single shred of hesitation. She forced a sigh. “Julian, you really shouldn’t just invite any random street rat to your parties. Just ignore him.” My eyes widened. This was the woman who once cried hysterically when I got a tiny paper cut. Now, she watched someone punch me and didn’t even blink. I loved Vivian for ten years, only to be called a “street rat.” With shaking hands, I threw a heavy punch right back at the guy who hit me. He fell straight to the floor, groaning. The next second, two heavy security guards pinned me down. At Julian’s nod, the guards didn’t hold back. In front of everyone, I was beaten until my face swelled and my ears rang. As the guards held me down, Julian walked up to me and kicked my knee hard. I let out a sharp cry and collapsed onto my knees before him. My dignity and my ten years of devotion shattered completely in that exact moment. Vivian stood to the side, motionless, though a tiny flicker of hesitation crossed her eyes. Julian’s lips curled into a mocking sneer. “I tried to be a nice guy and let you hang out. I didn’t expect you to be a psycho.” “Beating you up is wasting my energy. Throw him out like the trash he is!”

The security guards dragged me by my arms toward the exit. I was too dizzy and weak to fight back. Everyone in the room stared at me with pure disgust. “This loser clearly has nothing going for him. Just trying to cause drama.” “He’s probably just jealous! Trying to be a homewrecker because he’s broke. Trash like him deserves to get run over by a car.” The vicious insults rained down on me, but Vivian never looked back. Behind me, I heard her clearly say, *”Yes, I’ll marry you,”* followed by a deafening cheer of celebration. Outside, a cold drizzle was falling. The guards threw me onto the wet pavement and kicked me twice in the ribs for good measure. A kind passerby tried to step in, but one of the guards glared at him. “This creep tried to stalk Boss Vivian and ruin her engagement. You want to take his side?” The passerby’s expression instantly changed to disgust. “Get a life, man. Stop trying to ruin other people’s happiness.” “So pathetic. If he were my son, I’d die of embarrassment.” My entire body screamed in pain, and my vision began to fade to black. “I’m… I’m not…” But no one was listening. Everyone just walked past me coldly. The rain soaked through my clothes. As I lay in a puddle, right before I lost consciousness, I heard that familiar female voice. “Take him to my apartment near the office. And take his phone.” In my feverish, chaotic sleep, I dreamed of Vivian when she was twenty-two. Back then, we were just two broke college graduates trying to survive in New York, renting the cheapest, moldiest studio apartment. We believed that if we just worked hard, everything would be okay. But a year later, my dad got terribly sick, and we needed a massive amount of money. I emptied my savings and borrowed from everyone I knew. Without telling me, Vivian emptied her own bank account and took out personal loans to send the money to my family. *”This is my family’s mess! I didn’t want you to go into debt! I didn’t want to drag you down…”* The winter nights in NYC were freezing back then. We couldn’t afford heating, so we huddled under a single thin blanket on our squeaking wooden bed to keep each other warm. Hearing my sobbing complaints, Vivian held me tighter. *”Your dad is my dad, Asher. I couldn’t just stand by. I wanted to do this.”* *”It’s going to get better. I promise.”* New York was where the money was, so Vivian had to stay to build her career, while I had to go back to Ohio to care for my parents. The moment I finished my day job, I did food delivery until 3 AM, only to wake up at 7 AM. I pushed myself to the absolute limit, eating free crackers from the office pantry for lunch to save every dollar. We survived those brutal two years and paid off eighty thousand dollars in debt. Just when life seemed to be getting easier, Vivian told me, *”Asher, I want to start my own company.”* I didn’t hesitate for a second. *”Do it. I’ll support you.”* I gave her every single penny I had left. But the corporate world was brutal. Vivian drank herself to stomach bleeding trying to pitch to investors, but couldn’t get a single dime. I couldn’t bear to see her destroy herself. Without telling her, I reached out to a wealthy senior from my college, Seraphina. After making a deal with Seraphina, Vivian miraculously received her first major seed funding. Vivian told me, *”Asher, just wait for me a little longer.”* We had survived the hardest times. I never believed that distance could ever destroy our love. But I was dead wrong. I snapped my eyes open. The sweet face of twenty-two-year-old Vivian vanished, replaced by the cold, unfamiliar twenty-nine-year-old woman standing over me. She sighed. “Let me explain, Asher.”

Vivian held a glass of water to my lips, helping me drink. My body was burning with a fever, my head felt like it was splitting open, and my voice was completely hoarse. “My phone… give me my phone.” “Asher, don’t even think about calling the cops. It won’t work.” She was worried I would file a report against Julian. She cupped my face, her eyes filled with pity. “You have to believe me. With Julian… I had no choice. There’s a reason.” I pushed her hands away, struggling to stand up. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know. Vivian, we’re done. It’s over.” I stumbled into the living room and froze. On the coffee table sat a framed photo of Vivian and Julian holding a golden retriever puppy. Next to the frame lay a few unused condom wrappers. A pair of black stockings lay crumpled on the couch, with a lace thong hanging off the edge. Beside the couch was a dog bed, lined with a worn-out piece of clothing. It was a designer shirt I had saved up for months to buy her for her birthday. It cost me $800. Inside the dog bed was a chewed-up, ruined plush black cat keychain—something she had begged me to hand-make for her years ago. We had promised that when we got married, we would get a black cat together. My heart began to spasm in agony again. I gasped for air, suffocating. “Vivian… you could have just broken up with me. Why did you lie? Why did you give the things I bought you to a dog? Why did you have to drag my love through the mud like this?!” “Don’t call him a dog! That was the puppy Julian and I raised for years. He was family, and he passed away in an accident. Do you have to be so hateful?” Vivian rubbed her temples, looking exhausted. “Asher, stop being so childish. My startup went through a massive financial crisis years ago. If Julian hadn’t begged his dad to bail me out, I wouldn’t have any of this today.” “You should be grateful to him.” How incredibly absurd. I stared at her blankly, realizing it was useless to speak to her. “Sure. Whatever you say.” I coldly began searching the living room for my belongings, wanting nothing more than to escape this disgusting woman forever. But Vivian rushed forward and hugged me tightly from behind. “Asher, stop throwing a tantrum. Aren’t you tired of being broke? I have money now. We don’t have to be long-distance anymore. In a few weeks, I’ll buy you that luxury penthouse overlooking Central Park you always wanted. We can go back to how we used to be…” I cut her off, my voice ice-cold. “Vivian, are you asking me to be your side piece, or are you making Julian one?”

Vivian fell silent for a long moment before whispering, “I have to marry Julian.” Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, and her face went pale. She grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the guest bedroom. “Julian is coming up. Hide in here. If you go down now, you’ll run right into him.” “No, let me go—” Losing her patience, Vivian slapped me hard across the face. “Stop acting up!” My head spun, and I realized my body felt incredibly weak and heavy. I suddenly remembered the glass of water she had just given me. “You drugged me? Vivian, I’m literally sick with a fever!” “Asher, I had no choice. I need to make sure you behave. Just cooperate, okay?” She dragged me into the bedroom, pulled out a set of restraint ropes she kept for her private games, and tried to tie me to a chair. The sedative wasn’t that strong. I could have fought her off. But then, Vivian softened her voice, speaking to me like a child. “We’ve been together for ten years, Asher. We can’t just end. And don’t forget… I lost your baby once. You owe me for the rest of your life. You can never pay me back for that.” The words hit me like a physical blow. I froze, letting her wrap the ropes around my body, coil by coil. The pregnancy had been an accident. Years ago, after I visited her in New York, she told me she was pregnant but lost the baby due to high stress and exhaustion at work. We had always used protection, but she claimed it was a freak accident. By the time I found out about the baby, it was already gone. I had fallen to my knees back then, promising her I would spend the rest of my life making it up to her. And now, the woman who had cried in my arms used my deepest, most agonizing guilt to blackmail me. She tied a tight knot behind my back. “Don’t hate me. You’re too emotional right now. Just be a good boy and stay here.” Vivian kissed my forehead, then tore a piece of heavy duct tape and slapped it over my mouth. Outside, the sound of the front door passcode lock beeped. Vivian locked the guest bedroom door from the outside. A moment later, Julian’s ecstatic voice echoed from the living room. “Babe! I saw the pregnancy test on the counter! Two pink lines! You’re pregnant! Why didn’t you tell me?! We need to move the wedding up right away.” “We lost our last baby to an accident… This time, I won’t let anything happen to our child…” My pupils dilated in sheer horror. The baby Vivian had lost back then… wasn’t mine. “I was going to tell you once the doctor said it was stable… Honey, I’m sorry about last time…” From outside the door, the unmistakable, muffled sounds of heavy breathing and moaning began to drift in. I bit my tongue so hard the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, my stomach turning in violent disgust. I don’t know how much time passed before they finally stopped. The sound of the front door closing left me in a state of sudden terror. *Vivian will come back to untie me, right? She knows I have a high fever!* I waited. And waited. The sun went down, and a new day broke. She never came back. I lost track of how long I had been without food or water. Eventually, the darkness swallowed me whole. When I finally opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed, my body completely drained. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Asher. Boss Vivian got caught up in wedding prep and… forgot about you. She asked me to apologize on her behalf.” Vivian’s assistant placed a check on the bedside table. “This is compensation from Boss Vivian. She’ll come visit you in a few days.” I didn’t say a word. My phone buzzed with a trending notification: [The Royal Wedding of Tech Mogul Vivian and Julian, Heir to the Mercer Empire.] With a blank expression, I swiped the notification away and sent a text to Seraphina: *”I lost the bet. I keep my word.”* She replied almost instantly: *”I’m coming to pick you up right now.”* My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I sent one last text to Vivian: *”Vivian, we are done. For good.”* Ten years of devotion, and I never got to see the dawn. For the rest of our lives, may we never meet again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443284”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

“Mr. Carter, are you absolutely sure about this? Lily is only five years old—” I cut the lawyer off, sliding my pen across the paper to sign my name on the sole custody agreement. “I’m sure.” Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rain was pouring over Chicago. I looked up at the skyscraper across the street. On the thirty-seventh floor of the Vance Group headquarters, Charlotte Vance, the CEO, was leading a board meeting. She wore a flawlessly tailored white pantsuit, her expression icy, carrying herself with the commanding aura of a business queen that everyone in the city feared and respected. Nobody knew that this woman was legally my wife. And nobody knew that we shared a five-year-old daughter. *** It had been three years. For the past three years, I had worked as her personal driver. Every day, I drove her back and forth, listening to her cold instructions from the backseat: “Leo, take a left,” or “Leo, park here.” She never spared me a second glance in public. To the world, we were nothing more than an employer and her hired help. Lily had learned to call me “Daddy” since she was two, but she never dared to call Charlotte “Mommy.” Because Charlotte had once looked down at her with a freezing gaze and said, “Don’t ever let me hear that word in public.” Lily was a good girl. She never said it again. But I knew that every single night, she would hug that cheap plush rabbit—the only thing Charlotte had ever bought her—and whisper to it, “Goodnight, Mommy. You looked so beautiful today. Will you look at me tomorrow, Mommy?” That plush rabbit was just a ten-dollar toy Charlotte had grabbed from a drugstore checkout line three years ago. But to Lily, it was her most precious treasure. She hadn’t let go of it for three whole years. “I’m working late tonight, Leo. You can go home first.” Charlotte walked out of the conference room. She didn’t even pause as she passed me, tossing the words over her shoulder as she headed straight for her private office. I stood up, about to speak, when her phone rang. She picked it up, and her voice instantly transformed—soft, warm, and filled with a rare tenderness. “Julian? You’ve landed? Great, I’m coming down to meet you now.” Julian. Julian Sterling. Charlotte’s college sweetheart. He had moved to London three years ago, and today, he was back. I watched her figure disappear into the executive elevator. With a bitter smile, I took out my phone and messaged Lily’s kindergarten teacher on Snapchat. “Hi Ms. Jenkins, I’ll be picking Lily up on time today.” The teacher replied almost instantly. “Sounds good, Leo! Lily drew a picture today. She said she can’t wait to give it to her mom.” Staring at the word “mom,” I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. Lily had no idea that Charlotte had never looked at a single one of her drawings. Once, Lily had saved up a month’s worth of her doodles and carefully placed them on Charlotte’s nightstand. The next morning, they were sitting neatly in the trash can. Not a single page was missing. Lily hadn’t cried. But she never picked up a crayon again after that day. I packed my things and went downstairs. The moment I stepped out of the lobby elevator, I saw three people standing in the center of the hall. Charlotte, Julian, and a four-year-old boy. The boy looked just like Julian. He was tugging at Charlotte’s blazer, saying in a sweet, childish voice, “Charlotte, can we get ice cream?” Julian smiled, rubbing the boy’s hair. “Teddy, don’t bother her.” Charlotte actually knelt down, her face softening into a gentle expression I hadn’t seen in years. “It’s fine. I’ll take you to get some.” When she stood back up, her eyes swept over me as if I were a complete stranger. I lowered my head and walked past them. As our shoulders brushed, I heard Julian ask, “Charlotte, it’s been so many years. Why are you still single?” Charlotte didn’t answer. But I could hear the sweet, silent smile in her breath. When I arrived at the kindergarten, Lily was standing by the gate, standing on her tiptoes to peer through the crowd. Seeing my car, her eyes lit up, and she waved her little hands. “Daddy!” I got out of the car and lifted her into my arms. She wrapped her tiny arms around my neck and whispered, “Daddy, is Charlotte coming home for dinner tonight?” My heart clenched. “She’s very busy with work today, sweetie. She might not make it.” “Oh.” Lily lowered her head, but then she looked up again, her eyes bright. “Then we can wait for her! I drew a picture. I want to show her!” Looking at her innocent, hopeful face, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I could only nod. “Okay. We’ll wait for her.” By 9:00 PM, Lily was sitting on the living room rug, clutching her drawing, her eyes glued to the front door. 10:00 PM. 11:00 PM. Lily leaned against my chest, her eyelids growing heavier by the second, but she fought to stay awake. “Mommy… Charlotte will be home soon, right?” I gently patted her back. “Go to sleep, baby. Daddy’s here.” “But when she comes back, you have to wake me up, Daddy…” “I will.” Lily finally drifted off, her little fingers still tightly gripping the piece of paper. At 2:00 AM, the front lock clicked. Charlotte walked in, carrying the faint scent of wine. Seeing me holding Lily on the sofa, she paused, her eyebrows knitting together. “Why aren’t you guys in bed?” I looked at her, my voice dead calm. “Lily was waiting for you.” “Waiting for me for what?” “She drew a picture. She wanted to show you.” Charlotte glanced at the paper in Lily’s hand. It was a crayon drawing of three people holding hands under a giant yellow sun—a woman in a dress, a man with glasses, and a little girl with pigtails. Charlotte looked away. “I have an early meeting tomorrow. Go to bed.” She turned toward the master bedroom. But just before she reached the door, she stopped. “By the way, there’s a family event at her kindergarten tomorrow. You go.” “But—” “I have plans tomorrow.” She didn’t turn around. “Julian just got back and needs help settling in. I’m helping him run some errands.” I held Lily closer, watching the bedroom door shut. I couldn’t say a word. Lily stirred in my arms, murmuring a faint, sleepy whisper. “Mommy…” I looked down and saw a tear slipping from the corner of her closed eye. She hadn’t been asleep at all. ***

The next morning, Lily woke up early. She dressed herself, brushed her teeth, and ran to the kitchen door, whispering, “Daddy, is Charlotte awake?” I paused my cooking. “She already left.” “Oh.” Lily’s shoulders slumped, but then she looked up again. “Can she make it to the family craft day later?” I knelt down and looked into her eyes. “Lily, Daddy is going with you today, okay?” Lily bit her lip, staying silent. After a long moment, she nodded slowly. “Okay.” But her eyes were filled with a profound disappointment she couldn’t hide. The family craft day was themed “Parents and Kids DIY.” In the classroom, every other child had both their mom and dad sitting beside them. Only Lily sat with just me. While we were cutting paper, a little boy next to us asked his mother, “Mom, why does Lily only have her dad here?” His mother whispered back, “Shh, don’t ask. Probably a broken home.” Lily kept her head low, her hands crumpling the colored paper in her lap. I reached out and wrapped my arm around her. “Hey, Lily. Daddy’s going to make the coolest project with you, okay?” Lily looked up, her eyes red, but she forced a brave smile. “Okay.” Near the end of the event, the teacher announced it was time for a group family photo on stage. The other kids eagerly dragged their parents up, laughing and shouting. Only Lily sat frozen in her seat. “Lily, do you want to go up and take a photo?” I asked gently. Lily shook her head. “Daddy, can we just go home?” She took my hand and led me out of the classroom. But as we reached the exit, she couldn’t help but look back one last time. I knew what she was looking at. She was watching the other kids holding their mothers’ hands. On the drive back, Lily didn’t say a single word. As we reached our porch, she suddenly asked, “Daddy, does Charlotte hate me?” I froze. Lily looked up, tears finally spilling over. “Is it because I’m not good enough? I can be better, Daddy. I won’t ask for snacks anymore, and I won’t bother her. I just want her to like me…” I knelt down and pulled her into a tight embrace. “No, Lily. It’s not your fault. It is never your fault.” Lily cried into my shoulder, her little body trembling. “Then why… why doesn’t she want me?” I didn’t know how to answer. Because I wanted to ask the same thing. *Charlotte, why don’t you want us?* ***

That night, Charlotte actually came home early. Lily was playing with blocks in the living room. When she saw the door open, her eyes lit up, but she remained frozen, too scared to approach. Charlotte glanced at her briefly, said nothing, and walked straight to her bedroom. Lily lowered her head and went back to her blocks. Standing by the kitchen door, I felt an unbearable tightness in my chest. During dinner, Charlotte’s phone rang. “Julian? Sure, I’ll be right over.” She put down her fork and stood up to leave. Lily finally couldn’t help herself. She called out in a tiny voice, “Mo—” Charlotte stopped, turning around with a cold glare. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?” Lily’s face turned paper-white. Her lips trembled. “Charlotte… are you going out?” “Yes.” Charlotte turned and left. The moment the front door clicked shut, Lily’s tears fell. But she didn’t make a sound. She just wiped her face with the back of her hand. Seeing her like this, the string that had been pulled tight in my heart for three years finally snapped. I walked over and knelt before her. “Lily, Daddy wants to ask you something.” Lily looked up, her eyes red and puffy. “If Daddy takes you to a place far away, a place without Charlotte… would you want to go?” Lily stared at me. After a long pause, she whispered, “Will she come looking for us?” I stayed silent for a moment. “No.” Lily looked down, thinking for what felt like an eternity. Then, she looked up and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Wherever Daddy goes, I go.” At that moment, my mind was made up. Over the next few days, I began making quiet preparations. I resigned from my job as her driver, sold my car, and secured a small apartment and a school placement in a quiet coastal town in Maine. Every day when I picked Lily up, I would ask her, “Lily, are you sure you want to go with Daddy?” And every time, she would nod. “Yes.” But at night, before she slept, I still heard her hugging that plush rabbit, whispering, “Goodbye, Mommy.” On the fifth night, Charlotte called me. “Tomorrow is the weekend. Bring Lily to the mall. I want to buy her some clothes.” I was stunned. In three years, this was the first time she had ever offered to buy Lily anything. “Okay.” The next day, we met at the mall. Charlotte walked ahead, while Lily and I followed a few paces behind. Lily held my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on Charlotte’s back. At the kids’ clothing section, Charlotte stopped and grabbed a few dresses. “Try these on.” Lily was overwhelmed with joy. She took the clothes carefully and whispered, “Thank you, Charlotte.” Charlotte frowned slightly but said nothing. In the fitting room, Lily poked her head out. “Daddy, does this look pretty?” I smiled. “Beautiful, sweetheart.” Lily then looked at Charlotte. “Charlotte, do you like it?” Charlotte was staring at her phone, not even looking up. “Yeah.” The smile on Lily’s face dimmed, but she still tried to stay happy. At the register, the cashier smiled at Lily. “Your mom has great taste, sweetie.” Lily froze, lowering her head in silence. Charlotte paid with a blank expression. As soon as we stepped out of the mall, Charlotte’s phone rang again. “Julian? Okay, I’m on my way.” She hung up and turned to me. “Take an Uber back. I have things to do.” She walked away without looking back. Lily stood there, watching her mother’s figure disappear into the bustling crowd. After a long time, she looked up at me. “Daddy, did she leave us again?” I picked her up. “She didn’t leave us, baby. She just has her own life to live.” Lily buried her face in my shoulder. But I felt her warm tears soaking into my neck. *** 3 (Cont.) That night, I signed the final relocation documents. Our flight was scheduled for the day after tomorrow at 10:00 AM. The lease was terminated, and the suitcases were packed. Everything was ready. Before bed, I went into Lily’s room. She was asleep, hugging her plush rabbit, with dried tear tracks on her cheeks. I gently pulled the blanket over her and kissed her forehead. “Lily, Daddy is taking you away. We’re going to build our own life.” The next morning, Charlotte suddenly came home. She stood in the living room, looking at the packed suitcases, her brow furrowing. “Are you going somewhere?” “Yeah. Taking Lily on a short trip.” She didn’t ask further. She only said, “Julian and Teddy are staying here for a few days. It’s actually perfect that you two won’t be around. Less crowded.” I looked at her, suddenly finding the situation incredibly tragic. “Okay.” Charlotte turned to leave, but then remembered something. “Oh, tomorrow is Teddy’s birthday. I promised to take him to the amusement park. If Lily wants to join, she can. The kids can play together.” Before I could decline, Lily ran out of her room, her eyes shining. “Charlotte, can I really go?” Charlotte looked at her and nodded. “Sure.” Lily literally jumped with joy. But I knew she wasn’t excited about the amusement park. She was excited about being with her mother. Looking at her bright smile, my heart ached. We were leaving tomorrow anyway. *Let her have this one happy day,* I thought. ***

At the amusement park. Charlotte was on the carousel with Teddy, while Lily stood outside the railing with me. Teddy waved happily, screaming, “Charlotte, look at me!” Charlotte smiled, snapping photos of him with her phone. Lily watched them with envy, whispering, “Daddy, can I ride too?” I took her to join the queue. But by the time we got on, Charlotte had already taken Teddy to the next ride. Sitting on the wooden horse, Lily kept turning her head, searching for Charlotte’s figure in the crowd. Once we got off, she tugged my hand. “Daddy, let’s find them, please?” I nodded and led her forward. We found them at the bumper cars. Teddy was sitting next to Charlotte, laughing loudly. Lily stood against the railing, watching them, completely still. After a while, Teddy spotted us. He pointed at Lily and asked, “Charlotte, who is that girl?” Charlotte glanced at us, her voice indifferent. “Just a friend’s kid.” *Just a friend’s kid.* Hearing those words, Lily’s face crumbled as if something inside her had shattered. But she didn’t cry. She just lowered her head and gripped my hand with all her might. That afternoon, Lily didn’t smile again. On the ride home, she remained completely silent. That night, after checking our bags one last time, I went into her room. She was sitting on her bed, clutching her rabbit. “Daddy,” she looked up. “Are we leaving tomorrow?” “Yes.” “Will…” she hesitated. “Will she miss us?” I was silent for a long time. “Lily, some people simply don’t have room in their hearts for others.” Lily looked down, digesting my words. Then, she looked up and hugged me tight. “That’s okay. I only need Daddy.” My tears almost spilled over. The next morning, we were ready to leave. As I opened the door, Charlotte and Teddy were standing on the porch. She paused, her eyes sweeping over our luggage. “You’re leaving for your trip this early?” “Yeah.” Teddy ran out from behind her. Seeing the plush rabbit in Lily’s arms, he snatched it away. “What is this? It’s so ugly!” Lily gasped, instinctively trying to grab it back. Teddy threw the rabbit onto the muddy ground and stomped on it. “Trash!” Lily’s eyes welled with tears, but she held them back. Charlotte frowned slightly and told Teddy, “Don’t do that.” Then she looked at me. “Have a safe trip.” She led Teddy inside, brushing past us without sparing Lily a single glance. Lily knelt down, picked up her dirt-covered rabbit, and carefully patted the dust off its fur. “Let’s go, Daddy.” I nodded, took her hand, and walked away. At the gate of the neighborhood, I looked back at the building. Three years ago, I thought this was a home. Now I realized it was just a house we lived in. “To the airport, please,” I told the taxi driver. As the car merged onto the highway, Lily leaned against me and whispered, “Daddy, I’m not sad.” I wrapped my arm around her. “I know, baby.” “Because I have you.” Looking at the city skyline fading in the window, I thought to myself: *Goodbye, Charlotte.* *This time, it’s for real.*

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443283”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On the day the results for the National Physics Olympiad Selection were posted, the bulletin board at Oakwood Prep was packed. I, Logan, was at the very top. As always. Chloe was second. Also as always. The gap between our scores was always prepensely and precisely locked at exactly 0.5 points. She was the crown jewel of Oakwood Prep—the heiress to a billionaire estate, as arrogant as a peacock. I, on the other hand, was the scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks, cold and unbreakable as a block of ice. “Logan, is this the piece of trash you call study notes?” Chloe’s voice cut through the murmuring crowd. Between her manicured fingers, she was pinching the physics notebook I had stayed up all night organizing. Just yesterday, in the pouring rain, she had cornered me at the lab door with red rims around her eyes, begging to borrow it. At the time, she had sniffled, “Logan, I just want to see how the top scorer thinks. I don’t want to lose so embarrassingly next time.” But now, right in front of the school’s top academic elite, she tossed that heavily annotated notebook directly into the trash can outside the hallway as if it were a piece of used tissue. ####

With a dull thud, the notebook landed in the damp waste paper, its leather cover instantly stained with dirt. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She flipped her long, blonde hair, looking down at me with pure disdain. “I brought it home and skimmed through it. It was full of loopholes. Logan, I was just studying my opponent’s weaknesses. You didn’t actually think I needed your help, did you?” Whispers erupted around us. “The ice queen is still the ice queen, huh?” “The nerd finally tripped. I heard he never lends his notes to anyone, but he made an exception for Chloe.” I stood there, staring at her, my face completely expressionless. “Are you done?” I asked, my voice flat and devoid of any emotion. Chloe blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She probably expected me to blow up or look devastated. Clenching her jaw, she sneered, “Don’t bring this kind of garbage near me again. After all, our relationship begins and ends with being rivals.” With that, she turned on her heel like a victorious general, leading her clique of girls down the hallway. Under the watchful eyes of everyone, I walked over to the trash can, bent down, and picked up the dirty notebook. There was a deep crease on the cover. No one else knew that on the very last page of this notebook, there was a Polaroid picture of the two of us—our only photo together. It was taken at the national awards ceremony last year. The backstage area was a chaotic mess, and she had accidentally tripped and fallen right into my arms. A passing photographer caught the split-second moment. In the photo, she was clutching my collar in panic, and I was looking down at her, my eyes softer than they had ever been. At 10:00 PM, I was in the school library. I was staying late to prepare for the final round of the National Team Selection. Outside, thunder rumbled, and a sudden autumn storm slammed against the massive glass windows. My phone buzzed on the wooden table. It was an unknown number. I knew it was her because just this afternoon, Chloe had dramatically left the class Snapchat group and blocked my main account. I tapped the message, and my pupils dilated. *“The third method for that physics problem… you only wrote the beginning in your notebook. I… I can’t solve it.”* I frowned. This demanding, bratty tone could belong to absolutely no one else. But I didn’t reply. I locked my phone and went back to calculating the vector forces on my scratch paper. Ten minutes later, my phone started buzzing like crazy. *“Logan, are you dead? Would it kill you to text back?”* *“And why did you sketch my side profile in your notebook? It’s so ugly! My face is not that round!”* *“During the tournament, why did you slide your eraser to me? It totally threw me off! If it weren’t for your stupid eraser, I wouldn’t have messed up the last question. Did you want to beat me that badly?”* I watched the texts stream in, the tip of my pen digging heavily into the paper. A sketch of her profile? That was from that afternoon in the lab when she was hunched over her desk. I had drawn it unconsciously. I thought I had hidden it well enough, but she had found it. The messages kept coming, getting more ridiculous by the second. *“Logan, are you an idiot? I threw your notes in the trash! Why didn’t you yell at me? You could have at least cursed me out! You acting all calm makes me feel like I’m the only one losing my mind here!”* *“It’s pouring outside, and I don’t have an umbrella. I’m standing right outside the library. I know you’re in there.”* *“If you’re willing to explain the last problem to me, bring an umbrella and come out. If not… I’ll just stand here until sunrise. It’s just rain anyway. It won’t kill me.”* I turned my head to look out the window. Through the heavy sheets of rain, under the dim streetlamp, I could see a small, fragile figure. She was wearing her thin school uniform skirt, standing stubbornly in the storm like a drenched kitten. Another text popped up. *“Hubby…”* The moment those six letters hit my eyes, my heart skipped a beat. But within two seconds, the message was unsent. Immediately after, a long voice-to-text message appeared: *“I hate you so much. I hate how you’re always so calm. I hate how you make me feel like a complete fool! I hate how you clearly like me, but you’re too chicken to say a single word!”* ####

The last text felt like a final ultimatum: *“Counting down from three. If you don’t come out, I’m… I’m really never talking to you again. Three. Two. One…”* I slammed my textbook shut, grabbed my black umbrella, and bolted out of the reading room. By the time I pushed open the heavy double doors of the library, the spot under the streetlamp was empty. Only a pool of water remained, reflecting the cold white light. And in the middle of that puddle lay a small, pink rhinestone hair clip. I picked it up, my heart sinking to the pit of my stomach. It was Chloe’s favorite hair clip. No one was ever allowed to touch it. Now, it was abandoned in the mud. A dark SUV had just sped away from the curb, its tires splashing rainwater onto the sidewalk. A voice memo on my phone—which had automatically recorded her voice-to-text—captured a faint, deep male voice in the background: *“Miss Vanderbilt, it’s time to go. Your father has been waiting a long time.”* Then, Chloe’s tearful, desperate voice: *“I’m not going back! All he cares about is his business mergers! I told him I’m not going to that closed-off training camp!”* I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It was her family’s security detail. But right after, a wave of cold anger washed over me. If she was going to let them take her, why did she have to text me and mess with my head first? I unlocked my phone and dialed the unknown number. It rang twice before someone picked up. The background was quiet, save for Chloe’s shaky, muffled breathing. “Chloe,” I said, my voice sharp and tense. “…Logan.” Her voice was quiet, thick with tears. “Why did you come out? The three seconds were already up.” “I have your hair clip,” I said, ignoring her question. “Where are you?” “In the car. My dad is sending me to the elite prep camp upstate tonight.” Her voice suddenly cracked, filled with bitter resentment. “Logan, do you think I’m pathetic? I humiliate you in public during the day, and then I cling to you like a desperate ghost at night. Honestly, I disgust myself too.” “What are you trying to say, Chloe?” “I’m saying… I took the photo from your notebook. And I tore out the sketch. You’re free now, Logan. No one’s going to fight you for the top spot anymore. And no one’s going to use ‘academic discussions’ as an excuse to stare at you.” The heavy click of automatic car door locks echoed through the line. “Goodbye, Logan.” The call went dead. I stood in the rain, my knuckles turning white around the pink hair clip. Everyone at Oakwood Prep said Logan was just a heartless, test-taking machine. But only I knew how many calculations I had to run to perfectly maintain that 0.5-point gap right behind her, just to keep her looking back at me. I walked back into the library and opened my notification history. Even though she had unsent the message quickly, the preview on my lock screen still clearly showed those six letters. *Hubby.* It was a stupid nickname from a game of Truth or Dare back in freshman year. She had lost the dare, blushed furiously, and promised that if we both got into Oakwood Prep, she would call me that forever. But once we got in, she put her armor back on, becoming the untouchable heiress once again, acting as if that promise had never existed. I sat back down at my desk and flipped to the damp last page of my notebook. Underneath where she had torn out the sketch, there was another hidden note I had written in tiny font: *“If the final equation of physics is love, I admit defeat. I am completely, utterly helpless.”* I picked up my phone and sent her my first text of the night. “I’m only explaining the third method for that physics problem once. If you don’t show up at the National Selection next week, I’ll drag you out of the Vanderbilt mansion myself.” Three seconds later, a one-word reply came back: *“Screw you.”* Right after, she sent a picture. It was a selfie taken in the backseat of the luxury SUV. Chloe was hiding in the shadows, wiping away tears, but her hand was clutching the Polaroid photo she had stolen from my notebook. Her caption read: *“Just you wait, Logan. I’m going to crush you next week.”* *** The exam room for the National Team Selection was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I sat right in the middle of the front row. The desk to my left was empty. That was Chloe’s seat. The proctor checked his watch for the third time. Only five minutes left before the doors locked. “Um… son, please place your ID card flat on the table,” the proctor said, tapping my desk. I looked down and realized I was gripping my permit so hard my knuckles were white, the edges of the paper completely wrinkled. “Sir,” I said, my voice dry. “Is Chloe Vanderbilt not coming?” The proctor adjusted his glasses and sighed. “The administration office just got a call from the Vanderbilt family. They withdrew her from the competition. Something about… medical issues.” Medical issues? Bullshit. When she was yelling at me on the phone yesterday, she sounded like a wild cat. Just then, a commotion broke out at the entrance of the hall. A middle-aged woman in a neat maid uniform was arguing frantically with the security guard. When she saw me turn around, her eyes lit up. She broke past the guard and ran toward the window next to my row. It was Maria, the maid from Chloe’s house. Through the glass pane, her face was twisted with panic. She frantically gestured to me, mouth opening wide to silently scream two words: *HELP HER.* I stood up abruptly. “Mr. Logan! The exam is about to start. Where do you think you’re going?” the proctor barked. ####

I stood in the aisle, looking up at the clock on the wall. Two minutes until the exam started. Two hours until it ended. This selection was my only ticket to the International Olympiad, the only way a poor kid like me could secure a full-ride to MIT. It was also the “meet me at the top” promise Chloe and I had made. But now, the peak was still here, and she was gone. I sat back down and picked up my pen. “Sir, you can hand out the papers.” The proctor let out a sigh of relief. “Good choice, kid. Don’t let distractions ruin your future.” The moment the exam paper landed on my desk, I scanned the questions. They were brutal. Truly national-level difficulty. The final, high-weight question involved complex non-linear dynamics. If Chloe were here, she would probably be chewing on her pen, crying her eyes out. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and all I could see was her tear-stained face in that photo, saying *Logan, just you wait.* If I didn’t go, her life might actually be ruined by her father’s forced arrangements. If I did go and abandoned this exam, my life might be ruined too. This choice was harder than any physics problem I had ever solved. But I, Logan, don’t do single-choice questions. I put pen to paper, my hand moving at lightning speed. Because of my speed, the scratching of my pen against the paper was incredibly loud in the silent room. The students around me looked over in sheer terror. Forty-five minutes. It took me exactly forty-five minutes to finish a high-level exam designed for two hours. I wrote down the final derivation for the last question, then slammed my pen onto the table. “I’m turning in my paper, sir.” Amidst the dead silence of the room and the slack-jawed stare of the proctor, I grabbed my backpack, leaped right over the first-floor window sill, and landed in front of Maria. “Lead the way,” I said coldly. “Take me to the engagement venue.” The black sedan sped down the coastal highway. Maria was shivering in the passenger seat while I sat in the back, searching up Chloe’s supposed “fiancé” on my phone—Julian Vance. Julian Vance. The sole heir to the Vance tech empire. A prodigy who entered college at fourteen and won two international gold medals. He wasn’t just rich; he was an intellectual beast. No wonder Chloe’s dad looked down on me. To billionaires, a scholarship kid who got high scores through sheer hard work wasn’t even fit to shine Julian’s shoes. “Mr. Logan,” Maria said, her voice trembling. “The road ahead is blocked. Mr. Vanderbilt has private security guarding the estate. You can’t get in without an invitation. And… I heard Mr. Vance has a horrible temper. Last time a guy tried to talk to Miss Chloe, Julian had his legs broken.” I looked out the window. Indeed, five hundred yards ahead, a security checkpoint had been set up. Several burly men in black suits were patrolling with guard dogs. “Pull over,” I said suddenly. “What? Here?” the driver stammered. “The front entrance is suicide.” I pushed the door open, pointing toward a brick wall adjacent to the estate. “That’s the exhaust vent for the hotel’s kitchen. Based on the architectural blueprint of this estate, that vent has a structural weakness and is constantly under maintenance. There will be a gap.” Maria stared at me like I was an alien. “How… how could you possibly know that?” “Because the blueprint of this hotel was used as a structural stress analysis problem in one of our prep tests.” I ripped off my school tie and wrapped it around my knuckles. “You guys go back. I’ll take it from here.” Ten minutes later, covered in dust and soot, I dropped from the kitchen ventilation shaft onto the backstage area of the grand ballroom. The elegant sound of a violin quartet floated through the air. The master of ceremonies was speaking into a microphone with mock enthusiasm: “And now, please welcome our brilliant groom-to-be, Julian Vance!” The crowd erupted into applause. I hid behind the heavy red velvet curtains, peeking through a gap. Under the massive crystal chandelier stood Chloe. She was wearing a stunning white strapless gown, looking breathtakingly beautiful. But her face was a mask of despair, her eyes completely hollow as she stared at the floor. Beside her stood a guy in a sleek white tuxedo. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, looking like a textbook sociopath with a polished, smug grin. That was Julian Vance. “Chloe,” Julian said into his lapel mic, his voice so smooth it made my skin crawl. “I heard you had a very… passionate rival back at Oakwood Prep? On a big day like today, why didn’t you invite him to bear witness?” Chloe snapped her head up, glaring at him. “Julian, don’t push it. This is a business deal between our families. Leave innocent people out of this.” “Innocent?” Julian adjusted his glasses, his smile widening. “But I heard that just last night, in the middle of a storm, someone called him ‘hubby’ on Snapchat.” ####

The crowd gasped. Chloe’s father, Mr. Vanderbilt, looked absolutely livid. Suddenly, Julian turned his head, his eyes locking precisely onto the curtain where I was hiding. His gaze was filled with the arrogant superiority of a man who thought he owned the world. “Since you’re already here, why play the mouse, Logan? Come on out.” I had been spotted. I had to hand it to him; the gold medalist’s observation skills were indeed top-tier. Taking a deep breath, I ripped the curtain open. Amidst the gasps of the wealthy guests, I stepped onto the polished floor, wearing my dust-covered school uniform, and walked right into the spotlight. The moment Chloe saw me, tears streamed down her face. She frantically shook her head, mouthing: *Go! Get out of here!* I didn’t look at her. I kept my eyes locked on Julian. “Mr. Vance,” I said, brushing the soot off my sleeves. “You got your variables mixed up. Chloe didn’t call me that because she wanted to. It was a dumb Truth or Dare game. But for a guy with a gold medal, you seem pretty bad at distinguishing independent and dependent variables. Her emotions are controlled by me. What kind of constant do you think you are in her life?” The entire ballroom went dead silent. “What? Scared?” Julian looked down at me, casually spinning a multi-million-dollar diamond ring between his fingers. Chloe rushed forward, shielding me like a protective kitten. “Julian! You’re disgusting! Logan is just a high school senior, he hasn’t even taken college-level quantum mechanics! You’re just trying to humiliate him!” “Oh? You care about him that much?” Julian’s eyes went cold. He reached out to grab Chloe’s wrist. “Since your little boyfriend is a coward, why don’t you just put the ring on?” Before his hand could touch her, I intercepted him. My grip was iron-clad. Years of doing heavy labor at my parents’ farm had given me a level of raw strength that this spoiled rich kid couldn’t match. Julian’s face twisted in pain. “Who said I was a coward?” I shoved his hand away, pulling Chloe behind me. “Give me the test.” The guests began to murmur, and Mr. Vanderbilt looked ready to call security, but Julian raised a hand to stop them. A projector screen rolled down, and a incredibly complex quantum mechanics wave function equation appeared on the screen. “Solve the Schrödinger equation for a particle in a finite potential well under these boundary conditions,” Julian sneered. “I’ll give you ten minutes.” Chloe closed her eyes in despair. But looking at the screen, I actually smiled. How incredibly ironic. This exact advanced problem was something I had taught myself and derived in that very notebook Chloe had thrown into the trash—just to show off to her. My annotation next to that equation had been: *“I am like this particle, forever trapped in the potential well called Chloe. No matter how much my probability wave spreads, I can never escape you.”* She had thrown the notebook away, but had she read it? If she had, she would know I could solve this in my sleep. I grabbed the digital stylus and began writing on the smartboard. No hesitation. No pauses. One line. Two lines. Ten lines… As my derivation expanded, the smug smirk on Julian’s face gradually dissolved, replaced by a horrified stiffness. “This is impossible… this derivation isn’t even in the standard undergraduate syllabus…” he muttered to himself. Writing the final symbol, I tossed the stylus aside and turned to face the pale-faced billionaire heir. “Schrödinger’s cat is both dead and alive before you open the box,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “But when it comes to Chloe, there is only one wave-function collapse—she is mine.” The room erupted into chaos. Ignoring the shocked stares of the elite, I grabbed Chloe’s hand. Her fingers were ice-cold and trembling. “Let’s go,” I said. “Where… where are we going?” she asked blankly. “Back to school.” I pulled her toward the exit. As we passed Mr. Vanderbilt, I stopped. The older man was shaking with rage, pointing a finger at me. “Logan! If you dare walk out that door with her, I will have you expelled from Oakwood Prep by tonight! Your scholarship, your Ivy League recommendations—gone! I will make sure you have no future in this country!” Chloe flinched, trying to pull her hand back. “Logan, don’t… I’m not worth ruining your life over…” I tightened my grip, locking my fingers with hers. I turned to the man who held all the wealth and power, my gaze colder than the winter rain. “Mr. Vanderbilt, you have one thing wrong.” “Oakwood Prep didn’t give me a chance. Oakwood Prep needs me to keep their Ivy League admission rates up. As for my future…” I pulled out my crumpled exam permit from my pocket and flicked it in front of his face. “I finished the national selection exam in forty-five minutes. I am absolutely certain I got a perfect score. Once I make the national team and bring back a gold medal, MIT and Princeton will be begging me to join them. Do you think your influence is bigger than the academic prestige of the United States of America?” Without waiting for his response, I pulled Chloe with me and kicked open the heavy oak doors of the ballroom. Outside, the storm had cleared, and golden sunlight was piercing through the clouds. Chloe stumbled along beside me. One of her high heels had slipped off, so she simply kicked the other one off too, running barefoot on the wet asphalt. We ran until we were miles away, finally stopping under a bridge to catch our breath. She slid down against the concrete wall, burying her face in her knees, and began to sob uncontrollably. “Logan, are you an idiot?! *Sob*… You provoked the Vance family, you provoked my dad… What if you didn’t pass? What if you got that equation wrong?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443282”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

One week before the wedding, the hotel suddenly notified me that my reception booking had been canceled. I rushed to open the booking app and swiped to the order page. The status indeed read *Canceled*, and the timestamp showed it was done three days ago. For this wedding, my fiancé, Ethan, and I had stayed up for three consecutive nights. We compared prices venue by venue and tasted every single dish on the menu. How could it be canceled? The hotel must have made a mistake. I dialed the hotel’s number, and someone picked up almost immediately. “Hi, I’m the coordinator for the wedding booked for May 20th.” “I just received a notification saying the reception was canceled. Is there a glitch in your system?” The receptionist paused for a second. “Ma’am, our records show that a Mr. Ethan Carter came to the front desk in person three days ago to complete the cancellation. He signed the paperwork himself.” “Maybe you should double-check with him?” The receptionist’s voice was still echoing in my ear, and my fingers holding the phone went cold. Canceled three days ago? But three days ago, Ethan was still discussing the invitation designs with me. He was still asking if the bridesmaids’ dresses were the right shade of blush, and if we should do another makeup trial this weekend. I hung up, standing frozen in the living room, staring at the wedding itinerary spread out on the coffee table. The door lock clicked. I heard the familiar sound of Ethan kicking off his shoes at the entryway. “Maya, I got those artisan cronuts you love,” his voice called out from the hallway. “I stood in line for half an hour. Managed to snag the very last box.” I didn’t move. He walked in carrying the bag, a bright smile on his face. When he looked up and saw me, his smile faltered. “What’s wrong? Why are you just standing there?” I watched him put the bag on the coffee table. I watched him open the box, get out the forks, and hand one to me, just like he always did. “Try one. They’re still warm.” I didn’t take it. “Ethan.” “Is there something you need to tell me?” His hand froze mid-air. Then, he slowly set the fork back on the box. He looked up at me, forced that same smile back onto his face, and said, “Like what? Oh, about my mom visiting this weekend? She just texted me—” “About the hotel.” He went completely silent. The living room fell dead quiet. He stood on one side of the coffee table, and I stood on the other. Between us was a table littered with wedding pamphlets and seating charts. “The hotel coordinator called me today. She said you walked up to the front desk three days ago and canceled everything.” Ethan looked down, his eyes scanning the papers on the table. “Maya,” he started, his voice incredibly quiet. “I was actually just about to talk to you about this.” “Talk to me? About what?” “The wedding.” He finally looked up to meet my eyes. “I just feel like all of this is so unnecessary. It’s a massive waste of money. Look at this catering bill—thousands of dollars for a venue, thousands more for dinner, just for a few hours of partying.” “And the planner, the DJ, the photographer… that’s another ten grand. If we save this money, think of what we could actually do with it.” I stared at his moving lips, barely processing his words. “But we already agreed on this, Ethan.” “You were the one who said a wedding only happens once in a lifetime. You said it didn’t matter if we went a little over budget.” “You said we needed a top-tier photographer so we wouldn’t have any regrets when we looked back at the photos.” “I thought about it more, and I realized it’s just not worth it.” “Honestly, young couples don’t even do big weddings anymore. An elopement trip is so much better. It saves money and stress. We could go to Napa Valley—you’ve always wanted to go there, right?”

“Ethan.” “Yeah?” “Look me in the eyes.” He did. “Is there another reason?” I asked. “What other reason could there be?” “Do you just not want to marry me anymore?” He frowned, looking irritated. “What are you talking about? When did I ever say I don’t want to marry you?” “Then why did you cancel the wedding behind my back? Why didn’t you tell me?” “I told you. I think it’s a waste of money.” “Ethan.” I cut him off. “We’ve been together for three years. Do you really think I don’t know you? You just got a raise last month, your annual bonus cleared, and the savings your dad set aside for our wedding hasn’t even been touched.” “Since when did you care this much about a few thousand dollars?” He shut his mouth. “If you truly thought the wedding was too much, we could have sat down and talked.” I took a step closer. “Why did you sneak around and cancel it? Why didn’t you consult me?” “Aren’t I consulting you right now?” “This is consulting?” I pointed at the papers on the coffee table. “You already canceled it, and now you’re ‘consulting’ me? This isn’t a conversation, Ethan. This is an announcement!” He took a deep breath and looked away. “I already told my mom.” “You should probably tell your parents, too. Let them know the wedding is off.” A loud buzzing sound filled my head. “You told your mother?” “Yeah.” “And what did she say?” “She said…” He hesitated. “She said it’s our decision to make.” I stared at his profile. “Ethan.” “Give me your phone.” “What?” “Your phone. Let me see it.” His hand twitched backward—just a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch. But I caught it. “See what?” he said, his voice tightening. “There’s nothing to see on my phone.” “You used to let me use it whenever I wanted.” “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you get to audit it every single day.” I walked toward him and reached out. “Give it to me.” He took a step back. “Maya, don’t do this.” “Do what?” “You’re being…” He dodged my hand. “You’re being paranoid. You don’t trust me.” I let out a dry laugh. “I don’t trust you? Ethan, you went behind my back and canceled our entire wedding! You lied to me for three days! And now you’re telling me *I* don’t trust *you*?” He didn’t say a word. His hand was shoved deep inside his pocket, and I knew he was clutching his phone. “Take it out,” I demanded. “No.” “Ethan.” “I said no!” His voice hardened. “My phone is my private property. I have a right to privacy.” “That’s not what you used to say.” “You used to say we didn’t have secrets. You said I could look at it whenever I wanted.” “That was then.” “And what about now?” Silence. I looked at him—at the man I had loved for three years. He stood on the other side of the coffee table, just a few feet away, but he felt like a stranger standing on a different continent. “Are you hiding something from me?” I asked.

“No.” “Then let me see the phone.” “No.” “Why not?” “Because I said so.” I stepped around the coffee table and lunged toward him. He backed up until his spine hit the shoe cabinet near the entryway. “Maya!” I reached for his pocket. He grabbed my wrist. His grip was so tight that a sharp pain shot up my arm, making me gasp. “Let go of me!” “Stop acting crazy!” “Ethan, let go!” His fingers clamped down like steel handcuffs. His knuckles were white. He was terrified of what I would find in that phone. And the more terrified he was, the more desperately I needed to see it. “Maya!” he roared, and shoved me away with all his strength. I stumbled back, losing my balance. My back slammed hard against the drywall, and the impact knocked the wind out of me. He stood at the entryway, his chest heaving, his hand squeezing his phone as if his life depended on it. We stared at each other. Neither of us said a word. After what felt like an eternity, he broke eye contact. “I’m going out,” he muttered, his voice dropping. “We both need to cool down.” He grabbed his jacket, opened the door, and slammed it behind him. The loud bang echoed through the empty apartment. I slid down the wall and sat on the cold floor. I sat there for a long time, until the sunlight faded and the apartment plunged into total darkness. Finally, I dragged myself up and looked for my phone. I scrolled to “Mom” and dialed. She picked up on the second ring. “Maya? Sweetie, why are you calling so late?” Hearing her warm, familiar voice, my eyes instantly stung with tears. “Mom,” I choked out, my throat tight. “The wedding is canceled.” “What? What do you mean?” “Ethan went to the hotel and canceled it. He didn’t tell me. I just found out today.” Silence stretched over the line for a few seconds. Then, my mom’s voice exploded with rage. “What does he mean he canceled it? Who does he think he is? Did you two get into a fight?” “No.” “Then why on earth did he do that?” “He said it’s a waste of money.” I leaned back against the sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling. “He said he already told his parents. He told me to tell you guys.” “That is absolute bullshit!” My mom rarely swore, but she was livid now. “A waste of money? Who was the one begging to have a big wedding in the first place? Who insisted on giving you a beautiful ceremony? And now he claims it’s a waste of money?” I couldn’t find the words to reply. “Maya, tell me the truth. Is there something else going on?” “I don’t know.” “I tried to look at his phone. He wouldn’t let me, and then… he shoved me.” “He shoved you?! That bastard! You stay right there. I’m calling your dad. We are coming over right now!” “Mom, no, you don’t have to—” “Don’t tell me what to do! You stay in that apartment and don’t go anywhere! We’re only a few miles away. We’ll be there in ten minutes.” The line went dead. I tossed my phone onto the couch, stood up, and walked into the bedroom. On the nightstand sat a framed photo of us from our trip to Savannah last year. He had his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulder, and I was leaning into his chest, both of us laughing so hard our eyes were squinted shut. On the back of the photo, he had written in his messy handwriting: *Maya & Ethan, Forever.* Forever. How long exactly was “forever”? I threw open the closet, grabbed his clothes, and began ripping them off the hangers, throwing them onto the bed one by one. His t-shirts, his button-downs, his jackets. When I was done, his side of the closet was completely bare, and his clothes formed a messy mountain on the mattress. I sat down next to the pile, staring at it blankly. Then, I stood up and walked into the study. There was an iPad on the desk. It belonged to Ethan, but he usually left it at home for casual use. I knew the passcode. It was the same as his phone—the date we officially started dating. I unlocked the iPad. The screen lit up with his usual apps. His Snapchat and iMessage were synced.

I opened his chat list and started scrolling. Nothing looked suspicious at first. Just work group chats on WhatsApp, a few college friends, and some old threads from days ago. But I wasn’t convinced. I checked his photo gallery, his Safari history—still nothing. Was I wrong? Was he really just being cheap about the wedding? But then I remembered his shiftiness, his defensive body language, and the way he shoved me. I opened his Amazon app. Three orders were currently pending delivery. The shipping address was not our apartment. I stared at the address, burning it into my memory. It was an apartment complex on the other side of town. A place I had never heard of. I tapped on the order details. First order: One week ago. A designer silk dress, size Small, $350. I wore a medium. Second order: Five days ago. A high-end skincare set from Sephora, $280. Not the brand I used. Third order: Three days ago—the exact day he canceled our wedding. A bottle of luxury perfume, $150. Not my scent. I set the iPad down on the desk. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely control them. I tapped on his past order history and scrolled back further. Two months ago: A box of gourmet Swiss chocolates. One month ago: A pair of gold hoop earrings. Two weeks ago: A bouquet of red roses, delivered to that exact same address. The recipient’s name was listed on the shipping label: *Olivia Styles*. I stared at the name “Olivia” over and over, confirming I had absolutely no idea who this woman was. Next, I opened his bank statements, his Uber history, and his food delivery apps. The more I scrolled, the harder I shook. A reservation for a Michelin-star restaurant for two, last Thursday. That night, he told me he had to work late at the office. He didn’t get home until 9:30 PM, claiming he was exhausted and had grabbed a soggy sandwich from the cafeteria. Two movie tickets, two Sundays ago. He told me he had an urgent team meeting. He left in the afternoon and didn’t return until late. I had spent that entire Sunday alone, watching Netflix and waiting for him to come home for dinner. His Uber history showed trips to that apartment complex at least twice a week. The most recent ride was three days ago. I closed the iPad. My phone buzzed. It was a text from my mom: *Your dad and I are downstairs. Coming up now.* I stood up, but my knees felt like jelly. I had to lean against the wall for a moment to steady myself. I walked to the living room, unlocked the front door, and sat back down on the couch. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. My mom burst through the door first, with my dad following closely behind. The second my mom saw my face, her expression softened into deep worry. She rushed over, cupping my face in her hands. “Where did he hit you? Are you hurt?” “He didn’t hit me, Mom. He just shoved me.” “Where?” “My back. Against the wall.” My mom immediately reached to pull up my shirt to check for bruises, but I gently stopped her. “Mom, I’m fine. Really, I’m okay.” “Where is Ethan?” “He left.” “Where did he go?” “I don’t know.” My mom sat down beside me, while my dad stood by the coffee table, his face grave. “Maya,” my dad said, his voice calm but incredibly heavy. “Tell me exactly what’s going on.” I looked at my dad. I told them everything, from the hotel’s phone call to Ethan’s sudden excuses about the budget, to his refusal to show me his phone, and finally, how he shoved me out of the way and walked out. I didn’t mention the iPad yet. By the time I finished, my mom’s face was flushed with anger. “This wedding is off,” she declared. “He has the nerve to lay a hand on you before you’re even married? What happens after? Who does Ethan think he is? Our daughter is way too good for him!” “There is nothing to discuss. If he can cancel a wedding behind your back today, God knows what else he’ll do tomorrow. You cannot marry this man.”

My dad remained silent, keeping his eyes on me. “Maya,” he said softly. “What do you want to do?” What did I want to do? I thought about the Amazon orders. The apartment address. The name *Olivia*. I thought about all the times he claimed he was working late, or attending emergency meetings, or just “too tired” to talk to me. “Dad, I need to confirm one more thing.” I stood up, went into the study, and brought out the iPad. I opened the order history and handed it to my dad. As my dad scrolled through the screen, his eyebrows knitted together. My mom leaned over to look. When she saw the purchases, her eyes widened, and then they welled with tears of pure fury. “That’s not our address,” I said quietly. “And none of those things were bought for me.” The living room fell silent again. My mom wiped a tear from her cheek, while my dad stared at the screen for a long time. “How do you want to handle this?” my dad asked. I looked at him, then at my mother. “I want to wait for him to come back.” “I want to hear what he has to say for himself.” “What is there left to say?!” my mom cried, wiping her eyes. “The proof is right here! He’s a liar and a cheater!” “Mom, I need to hear him admit it to my face.” My dad placed a comforting hand on my mom’s shoulder. “Let her handle this her way, Helen.” My mom wanted to argue, but my dad gently pulled her back. He looked at me and said, “Call us the second you need anything. Doesn’t matter how late it is.” “I know, Dad.” “We’ll head out now.” “Okay.” They walked to the door, but my mom turned around at the last second and threw her arms around me. She hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe. “Maya, I can stay with you,” she whispered. “No, Mom, go home with Dad. I need some time alone.” She let go, looking at me with deep heartache, before finally sighing and leaving with my dad. The door clicked shut, and the apartment was quiet once more. Ethan didn’t come back that night. I sent him a single text: *Come home. We need to talk.* He didn’t reply. I sat on the couch all night, staring at the pile of wedding itineraries, the untouched box of cronuts, and the remnants of a life we were supposed to build together. When the sun began to rise, the door lock finally clicked. I raised my head and watched Ethan walk in. He saw me sitting on the couch and flinched slightly. Avoiding my gaze, he walked straight past me and into the bedroom. I stood up and followed him. He had dragged his suitcase out of the closet and was laying it flat on the bed. He began grabbing his t-shirts, his shirts, and his jackets—the ones I had thrown onto the mattress the night before—and started folding them. “Ethan.” He didn’t stop. “Ethan, look at me.” He kept folding. I walked over and grabbed his wrist. He violently shook me off and continued packing. “We need some space,” he said, his eyes glued to the suitcase. “I’m going to stay at a hotel for a few days. We both need to cool down.” I looked at his hands, watching how carefully he was folding his clothes. “Cool down for a few days?” I asked. “Yeah. Just a few days.” “And then what?” He finally stopped and looked up at me. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed his words. “Ethan,” I said, my voice entirely flat. “Don’t bother cooling down.” He stared at me. “We’re over. It’s finished.” His hand paused for a fraction of a second before he went back to packing. “Maya, don’t be dramatic. I just wanted to save some money because I didn’t think a massive wedding was necessary. Is that really worth throwing our relationship away?” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “To save money?” “Yes.” “To save money for whom, Ethan?” He went stiff. “To save money for Olivia Styles?” “Buying her designer dresses, Sephora skincare, and expensive perfume? Taking her to fancy dinners and movies? Is that where our wedding budget went?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443281”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

For two consecutive months, my clients backed out at the very last second before signing. Instead, they all chose Chloe Bennett, the newly hired intern. No matter how much sweat and tears I poured into a project, she always managed to snatch it from me right at the finish line. Because of my failing KPIs, Marcus Kane, the Director of Sales, had already called me into his office twice. My colleagues sneered whenever they saw me in the breakroom. “Oh look, Vivian got rejected by another client. What a surprise.” But Chloe had never even met my clients. Why on earth did they keep choosing her? It wasn’t until the night before the annual project bidding gala that I suddenly saw translucent words floating in the air before my eyes: *[The female lead is the darling of destiny! This Exchange System is so satisfying!]* *[She’s taking all of the supporting female lead’s resources by exchanging their items. So what if the rival is a senior manager? She’s just a stepping stone for our girl Chloe!]* I stared at the floating text for three seconds. Finally, I understood. It wasn’t that I lacked ability. Chloe had a cheat system. So, I quietly swapped the luxury gift I had prepared for my client with a bag of fresh dog poop.

I prepared two gift boxes ahead of time. One was a gorgeous, Tiffany-blue box. Inside lay a fresh piece of dog poop, wrapped so exquisitely it looked like a high-end French dessert from Ladurée. The other was a plain, brown paper bag. Inside was a vintage bottle of Macallan whisky and a limited-edition Montblanc pen. I placed the Tiffany-blue box in the most conspicuous spot on my desk, wrapping it with the most expensive silk ribbon. Then, holding my coffee, I casually strolled past Chloe’s desk. I slowly slipped the gorgeous box into the outermost pocket of my briefcase. “Tonight’s dinner with Mr. Vance depends entirely on this baby,” I muttered to myself. My voice wasn’t too loud, but it was just enough for her to hear. Once the dinner at the upscale Manhattan restaurant began, I excused myself to the ladies’ room. When I returned, I subtly felt my briefcase. The gorgeous box was still there, but the weight was off. I stealthily opened it. The dog poop was gone. In its place was a cheap, synthetic silk scarf. Chloe sat across the table, her lips curving into a smug, victorious smile. Right next to her hand sat the Tiffany-blue box. She thought she had won. At the climax of the dinner, Chloe stood up. She held the gorgeous Tiffany-blue box with both hands and presented it to Mr. Vance with a sweet, doll-like smile. “Mr. Vance, this is a special gift I personally selected for you. I hope you like it.” Mr. Vance smiled, taking the box and slowly opening it under the expectant gaze of everyone at the table. The moment the lid was lifted, the air in the private dining room froze. A neat pile of dog poop lay peacefully on the black velvet lining. Mr. Vance’s face turned instantly as black as charcoal. He slammed the lid shut and threw the box heavily onto the table. “Chloe Bennett! What is the meaning of this?!” Chloe’s face drained of all color. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. In sheer panic, she shot a frantic look at me. I stood up unhurriedly, pulled the plain paper bag from beneath my seat, and presented it to Mr. Vance with both hands. “Mr. Vance, this is a small token of my appreciation. Just a little something to show my respect.” Mr. Vance took it and opened it. Seeing the vintage Macallan and the limited-edition Montblanc pen, his face finally softened. “At least Vivian knows how to conduct professional business. Some people… not only lack capability, but their character is downright trash.” Chloe slumped in the corner, her face as pale as a sheet of paper. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms they drew blood. *[Hahaha! The green tea bitch got the dog poop!]* *[Vivian is so much smarter!]* A faint, cold smile played on my lips. She probably had no idea that the gorgeous box she “exchanged” from me was a trap I had custom-made just for her.

The moment I stepped out of the restaurant, I heard a trembling, pitiful sob. “Julian… Vivian is here.” I looked up and saw Chloe throwing herself into the arms of my husband, Julian Sterling. Several of our colleagues from Apex Marketing were standing around them, their necks craned, eyes gleaming with pure gossip. Seeing me approach, Chloe raised her tear-stained face, deliberately raising her voice so everyone could hear. “Vivian, I know you hate me because my quarterly evaluations always beat yours. But you didn’t have to humiliate me with dog poop tonight!” “How am I supposed to close this deal after being embarrassed in front of the client like that?” “Even if you’re jealous of my performance, you shouldn’t ruin my career!” As soon as she finished, the crowd gasped. I saw a few colleagues pull out their phones, recording me while whispering to each other. “It’s her. The one who kept losing clients to Chloe. Turns out she’s just malicious and vindictive.” *[Oh my god, how can the supporting character be so evil? Framing the female lead with dog poop?]* *[People like her should be fired, not promoted!]* *[I feel so bad for Chloe. She’s so strong, still trying to work after being publicly humiliated.]* Julian’s face darkened instantly. He pointed a finger at my nose and roared, “How did I end up marrying such a toxic woman!” “You’re incompetent yourself, so you decide to sabotage Chloe?” I stood there, watching them stand side-by-side like a perfect couple. I, the actual wife, looked like an unwelcome intruder. The Tiffany-blue box was clearly snatched by Chloe using her system, yet she effortlessly pinned the blame on me. I hadn’t had time to record the swap during the dinner. If I tried to defend myself now, who would believe me? Just as I opened my mouth, Julian waved his hand in disgust, as if shooing away a stray dog. “Get lost. Don’t ruin our night. I’m taking Chloe to Nobu to cheer her up. She needs to be rested for tomorrow’s meeting.” Leaning against Julian’s chest, Chloe peeked over his shoulder. She shot me a quick, triumphant wink, a smug smirk plastering her face. Where was the crying, victimized girl from a second ago? They turned and walked away without looking back. The crowd, having had their fill of drama, dispersed while pointing fingers at me. I wasn’t angry. Instead, my lips curled up. The next morning at the office, Chloe deliberately strolled past my cubicle. She leaned down, her voice barely a whisper in my ear. “Loser. You’re destined to rot in this cubicle forever. The VP of Operations position is mine.” *[Hahaha, Chloe put her in her place! The rival is just a clown!]* I ignored her. The moment I booted up my laptop, I began plotting my next move. Since Chloe could exchange things from me, I was going to let her “exchange” a beautifully wrapped poison bait. I unlocked my phone, opened Snapchat, and brought up a chat with a contact named “Mr. Harrington.” I tilted my screen slightly, ensuring Chloe would catch a glimpse of the messages as she walked past. *Vivian: “Mr. Harrington, regarding the partnership we discussed last time, I see massive potential. Let’s grab coffee soon to finalize the details.”* Arthur Harrington was a well-known figure in the industry. On the surface, he was a wealthy big shot. In reality, he was a notorious sexual predator whose company was drowning in millions of dollars of debt, on the verge of bankruptcy. But Chloe didn’t know that. As she passed my desk, her eyes lingered on my screen for two seconds before she walked off, pretending nothing happened. I smiled. She had taken the bait. Over the next few days, it was the same routine. I casually dropped Mr. Harrington’s name in front of Chloe, raving about how lucrative his company was and how this contract would secure anyone a partner seat. After a few times, she finally couldn’t resist. She used her Exchange System to “steal” this connection from me. She had no idea that the golden goose she thought she stole was actually a ticking time bomb.

When I walked through the front door of our apartment carrying my briefcase, the laughter in the living room abruptly died. Julian walked out of the kitchen. Seeing me, his face instantly turned cold. “Why are you just standing there like a statue?” “We’re celebrating Chloe’s big win tonight. She just landed a massive client, and her promotion to VP of Operations is practically sealed. Don’t you dare ruin her mood.” Chloe, lounging on the couch, looked up and waved her phone at me. “Vivian, have you signed any clients lately?” “My colleagues keep asking how you’re doing. After all, you used to be the top manager before I came along.” I didn’t reply. I walked straight into my home office and shut the door, blocking out their noise. I opened Instagram. The very first post on my feed was from Chloe, posted ten minutes ago: *[Just landed the legendary Mr. Harrington! Hard work always pays off! 🥂💼]* The comment section was already flooded with dozens of comments from our colleagues kissing her feet: *[Oh my god, you are a sales queen!]* *[VP of Operations is yours! Unlike a certain someone who keeps losing clients and probably only gets base pay now. 😂]* I scrolled down to a post I made three months ago when I won the Employee of the Year bonus. The recent comments on it were filled with disgusting vitriol: *[How did you even win Employee of the Year with this level of performance? Did you steal Chloe’s work back then?]* *[Can’t steal anything now, huh? Enjoy your zero sales!]* My fingers paused. I closed the app and tossed my phone aside. A moment later, Chloe’s voice drifted in from the living room. She was on speakerphone with Marcus Kane, the Director of Sales. “Chloe, darling! I heard about you landing Harrington! Absolute genius!” “Once the quarterly evaluations are officially out, I’m putting you up for the President’s Award and writing your recommendation letter for the VP role. You are the pride of Apex Marketing!” Chloe giggled, her voice dripping with sweet vanity. After hanging up, she yelled toward my room: “Julian! Marcus is writing my recommendation letter!” Julian’s booming laughter shook the walls. I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, and pulled up the real background check on Arthur Harrington. The credit report showed his company was $8 million in debt, with seven active lawsuits and two sexual harassment filings pending. I then pulled out a locked document box from the bottom of my safe—one I hadn’t touched in six months. Inside lay twenty folders containing client data, original pitch decks, and communication logs from every single quarterly evaluation over the past year. I photographed every single page to back them up. Every client I had worked hard to secure had magically ended up in Chloe’s name, but my original files were packed with deep market analysis, client pain points, and call logs that she could never replicate. I organized these proofs by date and uploaded them into a double-encrypted cloud drive. The moment the Harrington deal blew up, these would be the final nails in her coffin. Feeling thirsty, I went downstairs to grab an iced coffee. When I returned, my heart stopped. The pitch decks on my desk and the project timelines pinned to my wall had been ripped to shreds, scattered all over the floor. My body trembled with pure rage. “Oh, you’re back?” I spun around. Chloe was leaning against the doorframe of my study, chewing bubblegum. She shrugged, giving me an innocent, doll-like smile. “I came in to look for something and saw all this scrap paper taking up space. Since you’re never getting promoted anyway, these garbage plans are useless. I did you a favor and thrashed them. Don’t mention it.” *[Nice! Those trash files deserved to be ripped!]* *[Why is the rival even hoarding files?]* *[It’s useless anyway. You’re a loser, Vivian.]* On the day of the quarterly evaluation, I was still sweeping up the shredded paper in my home office. Julian banged on the door, telling me to hurry up and get to the office for the meeting. When I arrived at the main conference room, Marcus Kane and the executive board were already seated. The projector screen showed the quarterly performance ranking list. Chloe was leaning back in her chair, sending a voice note on Snapchat: “Yeah, the results are coming out. Landing Mr. Harrington guarantees my top spot. I’m taking everyone out for drinks tonight!” Seeing me walk in, she arched an eyebrow and raised her voice: “By the way, Vivian, once my rank is displayed, don’t you think you owe me an apology? You must have been so bitter being crushed by me every single time.” Julian glared at me, frowning. “What are you standing there for?” “Take notes from Chloe. If you want to keep your job, stop being a useless househusband’s burden and learn something.” Marcus Kane cleared his throat, standing up to announce, “Alright team, let’s display this quarter’s final performance rankings.” He clicked the remote. The spreadsheet appeared on the screen. From the top down… First place, second place, third place… The scroll went all the way to the very bottom. And there, sitting dead last at the absolute bottom of the list, was: *Chloe Bennett.* TheThe entire conference room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. “No… This is impossible! There must be a glitch!” Chloe’s shriek shattered the silence.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443280”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

“Don’t touch me.” He shook off my hand, his eyes cold as ice. “Just thinking about sharing a bed with a calculating woman like you for three whole years makes my skin crawl.” Three days ago, he drove through a torrential storm just to buy me my favorite lavender-lemon cake, and ended up in a horrific car crash. Now, his memory had rolled back to three years ago, right when we first got married and he absolutely despised me. Holding his first love close, he crushed the wooden hairpin I had personally carved for him under his heel. “Trash belongs in the trash can.” Today was my birthday. It was also our wedding anniversary. Outside the window, he was setting off a massive display of fireworks across the Manhattan skyline for that other woman. Over the phone, his cold, detached voice came through. “Vivian? She’s nothing but a cheap substitute.” I slid the simple wedding band off my ring finger and signed the divorce papers. Christian Blackwood, I am finally letting you go. Vivian’s POV The smell of disinfectant in the ICU was sharp and suffocating. I stood outside the glass wall, staring blankly at the man hooked up to the ventilator. Christian Blackwood. My husband. The ruthless CEO of Blackwood Enterprises. Three days ago, just to get me a cake from that boutique bakery downtown, his car collided with an out-of-control truck in the middle of a heavy storm. The doctor said he suffered a severe traumatic brain injury. Whether he would ever wake up was entirely up to fate. For three days and three nights, I hadn’t left his side. My tears had long run dry. The heart monitor suddenly spiked. The man on the bed slightly twitched his fingers. My heart leaped into my throat. I rushed into the room like a madwoman. “Christian! Are you awake? Christian!” I grabbed his trembling hand, my tears spilling over again, splashing onto his pale skin. Slowly, those deep, dark eyes opened. After a fleeting moment of confusion, his gaze locked onto my face. There was no warmth. No relief of surviving a near-death experience. Only bone-chilling coldness and pure, unfiltered disgust. He yanked his hand back as if he had touched something toxic. “Don’t touch me.” His voice was hoarse, but it cut through me like shards of glass. I froze, staring at him in disbelief. “Christian… what’s wrong? It’s me, Vivian…” “Vivian?” Christian let out a mocking laugh, his eyes dripping with contempt. “What kind of game are you playing now? My grandfather already forced me to marry you. What more do you want?” It felt like a lightning strike. My mind went completely blank. Grandpa forced him to marry me? That was three years ago! Three years ago, Arthur Blackwood used his failing health to force Christian to marry an ordinary, self-made UN simultaneous interpreter. Me. Back then, Christian’s heart belonged entirely to his high-school sweetheart, Tiffany Sterling. He hated me to the bone, believing I was a gold-digger who used his grandfather to climb into his bed. But over the last three years, I was the one who stood by him through the brutal board battles at Blackwood Enterprises. I spent three years chipping away at his icy heart. Just two weeks ago, he had pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window of our penthouse, whispering against my ear, “Vivian, once this merger is done, I’m giving you the grandest wedding. I want the whole world to know you are my wife.” But now, he was looking at me like I was his worst enemy. The doctors rushed in to run tests. Afterward, the chief neurologist called me out into the hallway. “Mrs. Blackwood, your husband suffered retrograde amnesia from the impact. His memory has reset to three years ago, right around the time of your wedding.” The doctor’s words were a blunt knife sawing at my heart. “Will he… will he ever remember?” my voice shook. “It’s hard to say. He could remember tomorrow, or… he might never remember for the rest of his life.” I don’t even remember how I walked back into the room. By then, Christian’s mother, Eleanor, had arrived. She had always despised me. Now, she was holding Christian’s hand, wiping away tears. “Oh, Christian, you scared me to death! Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll make sure that leech pack her bags and get out of our lives immediately!” Christian leaned against the pillows. Even pale and in a hospital gown, he still possessed the intimidating aura of a billionaire mogul. He looked up, his cold eyes sweeping over me as I stood at the doorway. “Now that I’m awake, this joke of a marriage ends,” he said, his tone casual but incredibly cruel. “My lawyers will draw up the divorce papers. Vivian, take the cash settlement and get out of my sight. I’m going to find Tiffany.” I dug my nails deep into my palms, swallowing the metallic taste of blood in my throat. “Christian, these past three years, we…” “Shut up!” Christian snapped, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Don’t bring up these three years. Just thinking about the fact that I was forced to share a bed with a calculating woman like you for three whole years makes my skin crawl.” My heart shattered into a million pieces. I looked at the man I had loved with every fiber of my being, and he felt like a total stranger. The Christian who used to warm my cold feet under the covers, who would massage my shoulders after a grueling day of interpreting, who drove through a storm just because I casually mentioned a cake… that Christian was dead. He died in that car crash. I took a deep breath, forcing my tears back. “Fine,” my voice was quiet, but steady. “I agree to the divorce.”

Vivian’s POV I returned to our mansion in Greenwich. This place used to be my sanctuary. The cashmere rugs I picked out, the custom couple mugs we made at a pottery class, the framed photo of us chasing the Northern Lights in Iceland… Every corner was filled with proof of his love. The next afternoon, the front doors were thrown open. Christian walked in, looking sharp in a tailored black suit. Right next to him, holding his arm, was Tiffany Sterling, wearing a delicate white dress and looking like a fragile doll. I stood at the top of the stairs, watching their locked hands. My chest tightened so hard it was difficult to breathe. “Christian, the decor here is so depressing. I really don’t like it,” Tiffany whispered, looking around the living room with a pout. Christian looked down at her, his eyes filled with the exact tenderness I used to receive. “If you don’t like it, we’ll throw it all out.” He turned to the butler, his voice instantly turning frigid. “Throw away everything that belongs to Vivian. Re-decorate the entire place exactly how Tiffany wants it.” The butler froze, looking at me awkwardly. “Mr. Blackwood, but… you personally picked out these items with Mrs. Blackwood…” “I said, throw them out!” Christian roared, his glare piercing through me. “Are you deaf? Or does she run this house now?” The maids didn’t dare hesitate. They immediately started packing. I watched my favorite cashmere rug get rolled up. I watched our custom mugs get tossed into a trash bag with a sharp clink. That was the mug Christian had held my hand to mold. “Wait.” I hurried down the stairs, snatching a small wooden box from a maid’s hands. Inside was a wooden hairpin Christian had hand-carved for me on my twenty-fifth birthday. He had told me he would love me forever. “Drop it,” Christian’s icy voice sounded behind me. I clutched the box to my chest, my knuckles turning white. “Christian, this is mine.” “Is there a single thing on your body that wasn’t bought with my money?” Christian stepped closer, looking down at me with utter contempt. “Vivian, did you really think playing the role of Mrs. Blackwood for three years made you the owner of this estate?” He snatched the wooden box from my grip and threw it onto the hardwood floor. Crack. The box splintered, and the wooden hairpin inside snapped in half. Without an ounce of hesitation, Christian stepped forward, grinding the broken hairpin into the dust with his expensive leather shoe. “Trash belongs in the trash can.” My breath caught in my throat. I stared at the broken pieces on the floor. My eyes burned, but I refused to let a single tear drop. Tiffany stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Christian’s, saying softly, “Christian, let it go. Vivian has lived here for three years, after all. We should leave her with some dignity. Why don’t we let her stay in the basement guest room for now?” The basement room was damp, dark, and usually reserved for temporary cleaning staff. Christian spared me a cold glance. “Since you’re taking your sweet time signing the papers, you can stay in the basement. Tiffany is staying for dinner tonight. You’ll cook. Her stomach is sensitive, and she can’t stand restaurant food.” I snapped my head up to look at him. In the past, Christian never let me cook. He said my hands were meant for professional interpreting, not kitchen grease. If I ever made a meal, he would fuss over my hands for hours. Now, he wanted me to play maid for his first love. “What? You got a problem with that?” Christian stepped into my personal space, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Vivian, learn your place. Until the divorce is finalized, you better keep your head down and keep Tiffany happy.” I looked at his familiar face, suddenly feeling a bone-deep exhaustion. “Fine. I’ll do it.” I turned and walked into the kitchen without looking back. Behind me, the sound of their laughter echoed through the house. It felt like a physical blow, leaving me bruised and bleeding inside.

Vivian’s POV I was a top-tier simultaneous interpreter. For the past three years, to support Christian’s career, I had stepped back and only took on minor translation gigs. Now that Christian had frozen all my credit cards, I had to get back to work to prepare for my departure. I contacted my former mentor and secured a spot as the lead French interpreter for a massive multinational merger. On the day of the conference, I wore a sharp, professional blazer and arrived early at the venue. However, when the acquiring party’s delegation walked through the door, my blood froze. Walking at the head of the group was Christian, looking powerful and intimidating in his bespoke suit. And right next to him was a glammed-up Tiffany. Blackwood Enterprises was the buyer. The moment Christian saw me, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “What are you doing here?” his voice dripped with disgust, as if he had run into a cockroach. My mentor quickly stepped in to explain, “Mr. Blackwood, Vivian is our agency’s most elite French interpreter. She is running the translation for today’s session…” “Replace her,” Christian cut him off ruthlessly. “I don’t want a toxic, manipulative woman near my meetings.” My mentor looked cornered. “But Mr. Blackwood, it’s too late to find a replacement, and Vivian’s professional skills are unparalleled…” Tiffany gently pulled on Christian’s sleeve, offering a sweet, magnanimous smile. “Christian, it’s fine. Since Vivian needs the job, let’s just treat it as charity. Besides, I’m here as the cultural ambassador today. I might need her to explain some complex French terms to me.” Christian scoffed, his eyes scanning my face like a blade. “Since Tiffany is begging for you, you can stay. But you’re not interpreting for the room. You are Tiffany’s personal translator. You translate exactly what she says.” The meeting began. It was a highly technical negotiation filled with complex legal and financial jargon. Tiffany didn’t know a word of French, but she insisted on pretending she was fluent. She deliberately spoke at an insanely fast pace, throwing in American slang, then looking at me mockingly. I kept my face completely expressionless. Using my years of training, I took her incoherent ramblings and translated them into flawless, elegant, and highly professional business French. The French delegates nodded in high appreciation of Tiffany’s “brilliant insights.” During the coffee break, one of the French representatives walked over and spoke to Tiffany in French: “Miss Sterling, your business acumen is truly impressive, and your French expression is incredibly elegant.” Tiffany didn’t understand a word. She turned to me. I translated the compliment perfectly. Tiffany smiled triumphantly and clung to Christian’s arm. “Christian, look! Even the French are praising me.” Christian patted her hair lovingly. “My Tiffany is always the best.” Then, he cast a freezing glare at me, whispering in a voice only the three of us could hear, “See that? That’s real talent. While you, Vivian, even in a designer blazer, are nothing but a glorified shadow speaker, a human Google Translate. You will never compare to a single finger of Tiffany’s.” I stood there, keeping my spine perfectly straight. My years of hard work, my elite education, my pride. All crushed under his boot just to elevate another woman. I didn’t argue. I just lowered my gaze, hiding the dead silence in my eyes. “You are absolutely right, Mr. Blackwood,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “I am just a speaker. Miss Sterling, would you like me to proofread your speech for the second half of the meeting?” Christian sneered at my submissive attitude, grabbed Tiffany, and walked away.

Vivian’s POV The merger was a massive success, and Blackwood Enterprises won big. That night, Christian threw a massive celebration party at a five-star hotel in Manhattan. At the same time, he officially announced his engagement to Tiffany Sterling. The news shocked the city’s high society. Everyone knew Christian had a secret wife of three years. Now that Tiffany was back, the “substitute” was finally being discarded. The next day, my agency received a high-paying project. The CEO’s office of Blackwood Enterprises had sent an email requesting us to translate Christian and Tiffany’s engagement vows and destination wedding invitations into French. And Christian had personally demanded that I do it. My boss looked at my pale face with pity. “Vivian, we can reject this. I’ll make up an excuse.” “No need,” I took a deep breath and took the papers. “I’ll take it.” I went back to my desk and opened the document titled To My One and Only. With just one glance, my tears started falling onto the keyboard. “In this chaotic world, you are my anchor. Without you, I am just a ghost ship drifting in the dark. I would trade all my success just to keep you safe and happy forever…” These were the exact words Christian had written in his journal, with red eyes and a slight slur, on the night we got our marriage certificate three years ago. Back then, he had just reclaimed Blackwood Enterprises, and the company was in a terrible state. I had stayed up with him night after night. He had told me, “Vivian, once I have total control of the company, I am going to read these vows to you in front of the whole world.” Now, he was giving those exact vows to Tiffany. Trembling, I grabbed the papers, walked out of the agency, and took a cab straight to the Blackwood headquarters. The secretary didn’t dare stop me. I pushed open the door to Christian’s office. Christian was sitting at his desk. Seeing me burst in, his face darkened. “Who gave you permission to come in? Get out.” I slammed the document onto his mahogany desk, my voice cracking from the sheer pain. “Christian, do you even have a heart? Do you have any idea who these vows were originally written for?!” Christian glanced at the papers, his eyes turning even colder. “What? Jealous because you saw what I wrote for Tiffany?” He stood up, leaning over the desk, staring at me. “Vivian, are you delusional? I wrote these vows five years ago for Tiffany. I just never got the chance to read them to her. Did you actually think I wrote them for you?” I felt like I was plunging into a freezing abyss. Five years ago? No. He wrote them three years ago. He had even drawn a little lavender flower, my favorite, at the bottom right corner of the page. But he had forgotten everything. He had taken the most sacred memories of our love and handed them to another woman. “Christian, you really… don’t remember a single thing,” I whispered, tears finally escaping my eyes. “You took my soul, my love, and gave it all to her.” “Cut the act. It’s pathetic.” He walked around the desk, grabbing my chin in a grip so tight my bones ached. “A gold-digger who climbed into my bed for money doesn’t get to talk about love. Translate those vows perfectly. If you try to mess with the translation, I will make sure your agency disappears from New York overnight!” He threw me back. I stumbled, hitting my back against the cold wall. Looking at this merciless man, I suddenly started laughing. It was a laugh of pure despair. “Fine. I’ll translate it,” I wiped my tears, pulling myself together. “Don’t worry, Mr. Blackwood. I will make sure it is flawless. I wish you both… eternal happiness.”

Vivian’s POV I walked out of the Blackwood tower, feeling completely hollow. The sky was gray, and a cold rain was falling on my face, but I couldn’t feel the chill. “Vivian!” A warm, anxious voice called out from behind. I turned slowly to see Julian Mercer running toward me, holding a black umbrella. Julian was my colleague and a partner at the translation agency. For the past three years, he had watched me suffer in silence, knowing all the pain I had buried. “What did he do to you?” Julian placed the umbrella over my head. Seeing my ghostly pale face and bloodshot eyes, his heart broke. He quickly took off his trench coat and wrapped it around my shivering shoulders. “Julian…” my voice was barely a whisper, “He gave my vows to someone else.” Julian’s fists clenched. He didn’t say a word. He just gently pulled me into a hug, patting my back. “Let it out, Vivian. Cry. You need to leave him. The UN office in Geneva has a long-term interpreting project. I got you a spot. Come with me. Leave this place and live the life you deserve.” Leaning against Julian’s shoulder, all the pain and humiliation I had bottled up finally spilled out in quiet, shaking sobs. Suddenly, a violent grip grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of Julian’s arms. It was Christian. “Christian! What the hell are you doing?!” Julian snapped, stepping forward, but Christian’s bodyguards immediately blocked him. Christian gripped my wrist so hard it felt like it would snap. His eyes were dangerously dark. “Vivian, I’m impressed. The ink on our divorce papers isn’t even dry, and you’ve already lined up your next husband?” I winced in pain, trying to pull away. “Let go of me! Christian, you don’t have the right to control me!” “Right?” Christian sneered, pulling me flush against his chest. His warm breath hit my cold face. “As long as we aren’t officially divorced, you are still my wife. Parading around with another man in public… are you trying to humiliate me?” He glared at Julian, his voice dripping with malice. “Julian Mercer, right? It seems like your agency wants to go bankrupt.” Julian didn’t back down, locking eyes with him. “Christian, if you don’t love her, let her go. Torturing her like this… does it make you feel like a man?” “What’s mine stays mine, even if I don’t want it anymore,” Christian said coldly. He threw me into the back of his SUV and slammed the door shut. The tension inside the car was suffocating. Christian grabbed my chin again, forcing me to look at him. “You want to go to Geneva? You want to be with him?” A cruel smirk played on his lips. “In your dreams, Vivian. Until Tiffany’s wedding is over, you aren’t going anywhere. If you try to run, I promise you, Julian’s career will be over.” I looked at him, the very last spark of hope in my eyes completely dying out. “Christian, you are pathetic,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Are you keeping me here because you lost your memory, or because… you are too terrified to face who you really are?” Christian flinched as if struck. He angrily pushed me away. “Shut up! Your only purpose is to stay and watch Tiffany be happy.”

Vivian’s POV There were only three days left before Christian and Tiffany’s engagement party. Today, Christian’s assistant dragged me to the most exclusive bridal boutique in Manhattan. “Mr. Blackwood ordered that since Miss Sterling is trying on her wedding gown and the French designer only speaks French, you must be here to translate,” the assistant delivered the order coldly. I stood in the luxurious boutique, watching Christian and Tiffany sitting on a velvet sofa sipping tea. I nodded numbly. Soon, the French designer wheeled out a dress covered in a delicate garment bag. “Mr. Blackwood, this is ‘The Nebula,’ the gown you personally flew to Paris to commission six months ago for your bride. It is finally complete,” the designer introduced passionately in French. Hearing “six months ago” and “The Nebula,” the blood drained from my face. Six months ago, Christian had lied and said he was going to Paris for a business trip. When he came back, he had whispered secretly that he had prepared a massive surprise for our upcoming wedding ceremony. So, this was it. The bag was zipped open, revealing a gown covered in tens of thousands of tiny diamonds, the skirt sparkling like a starry night sky. Tiffany’s eyes lit up, and she gasped. “Oh my god, it’s gorgeous! Christian, did you really customize this for me?” Christian looked at the gown, his brows slightly furrowing. I knew he didn’t have the memory of making this dress, but he simply assumed he must have ordered it for Tiffany five years ago. “As long as you like it,” he said softly. With the help of the staff, Tiffany quickly put on the gown. But when she walked out, she looked ridiculous. The waist was suffocatingly tight, the chest was completely loose, and the hem was way too long. The designer frowned, speaking rapidly in French: “This is wrong. This gown was made strictly according to Miss Stone’s measurements. This lady has an entirely different body frame. Of course it doesn’t fit!” The designer recognized me. Because six months ago, Christian had brought my photos and exact measurements, staying in their Paris workshop for three days and nights to perfect it. I stood there, my fingernails biting into my palms, trying to stop myself from shaking. Tiffany didn’t understand French, but she could read the designer’s expression. She turned to Christian, pouting, “Christian, why does it fit so poorly?” Christian looked at me coldly. “What did he say? Translate.” I took a deep breath, looked straight into Christian’s eyes, and translated in a flat voice: “The designer said this gown was custom-made to my exact measurements.” The air in the room instantly turned to ice. Tiffany’s face twisted in ugly jealousy. Christian’s expression darkened. He looked at the ill-fitting gown on Tiffany, then at my slender frame. A wave of irritation crossed his face. “If the size is wrong, alter it,” Christian said coldly. The designer shook his head repeatedly. “Mr. Blackwood, the design of this dress is seamless. If we forcefully cut and alter it, we will destroy its soul. It is a complete waste of art.” “Translate,” Christian commanded. I translated the designer’s words word-for-word. Christian walked over to Tiffany, wrapping his arm around her waist. He looked down at the designer and me with sheer arrogance. “I paid for it. I can cut it however I want. Since it was made for Vivian, that means this dress is already dirty. Cut it. Alter it to Tiffany’s size. If you won’t do it, your shop will be closed by tomorrow.” My heart, at this very second, died completely. I watched the designer reluctantly pick up the shears. I watched the sharp blades cut through the sparkling fabric of “The Nebula.” Every snip felt like it was cutting through my heart. I watched the man who used to love me rip our memories to shreds and grind them into the dirt.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “443279”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster