Author: Momo Chan

Olivia spent eight years by Ethan’s side, watching him work his way up from first officer to captain. During his busiest year, I quit my job and planned my meals around his flight schedule. Once, I asked him, “Can you take me up to see the world from ten thousand meters, just once?” He coldly replied, “That’s a workplace, not an amusement park.” I said okay, and never brought it up again. Until one night, I found a hidden album on his phone. It contained a silhouette of a woman sitting in his cockpit. The next morning, I brewed coffee as usual and drank it in silence. Then I opened my laptop, wrote a resignation letter, and booked a flight to Texas. Eight years. I finally decided I wouldn’t look up to him anymore, wouldn’t track his flight path. “Why are you up so early today?” Ethan emerged from the bedroom, pulling his flight bag, his brows slightly furrowed. I held my mug. “Couldn’t sleep, so I got up for coffee.” He walked to the kitchen island, picked up the other cup of hot milk I’d just poured, and took a sip. “Did you stay up late again watching those useless shows last night?” “No.” “Olivia, your sleep schedule is completely off these days.” He checked his watch, his tone laced with his usual instructing manner. “I’ve got a Frankfurt run later, four days round trip.” “Okay.” He seemed surprised by my overly calm reaction today. Usually, when he flew international long-hauls, I’d pack his stomach medicine, melatonin, and neck pillow a day in advance, making sure they were in his flight bag. I’d also remind him repeatedly to text me when he landed. Today, I did nothing but sit on the high stool and watch him. “Where did you put my stomach medicine?” He rummaged through the side pocket of his bag. “Second drawer under the TV cabinet. Grab it yourself.” His movements paused, and he turned to look at me. “What’s wrong with you today? You can’t even walk a few feet?” “I’m a little tired.” He sighed, walked to the TV cabinet, pulled open the drawer, took out the medicine box, and tucked it into his pocket. “You’re home all day, I don’t know what you’re tired from.” His phone lit up. A text message popped up. The contact name was a little bear emoji. “Ethan, it’s getting cold in Frankfurt today, remember to bring a thick coat.” Ethan picked up his phone, the screen’s light illuminating the slight upturn of his lips. He quickly typed a reply with one hand, not even bothering to zip up his luggage. “A colleague’s message?” I asked, looking at the bear emoji. He locked the screen and slipped his phone into his pants pocket. “Yeah, Chloe. She’s on this flight too, in the main cabin.” “Isn’t she usually a purser on domestic flights?” “Temporary reassignment. She’s helping out with some new recruits.” He answered so naturally, as if he didn’t need to think twice for an excuse. I looked at his tall, straight back, remembering the forty-plus pictures in that hidden album from last night. “Ethan.” “What is it?” He was changing his shoes. “Do you remember what day next Wednesday is?” He didn’t stop putting on his shoes. “Next Wednesday? I have a simulator re-training at work. Why?” “Never mind.” Next Wednesday was our eighth anniversary. Eight years ago, on a Wednesday, he got his first officer job offer. He was so excited, he picked me up and spun me around in our tiny apartment. He said that someday, high above the clouds, he’d pick out the most beautiful ones for me. He forgot. “I’m leaving. I’ll text you when I land.” He pushed the door open. “Ethan.” I called out to him again. His hand was on the doorknob, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Now what? The crew car is waiting downstairs.” “Your flight bag zipper isn’t fully closed.” He glanced down, then casually zipped it up. “Got it. You’re acting really strange today.” The door closed. The house plunged back into silence. I walked to my computer and clicked ‘send’ on the resignation letter I’d just finished. Then I opened the ticketing app and confirmed that one-way ticket to Texas, seven days from now. Seven days. Enough time for me to erase eight years of my life here. My phone rang. It was my best friend, Sophia. “Did you submit your resignation?” “I did.” “Once you’ve decided, no backing out. When are you going to tell Ethan?” “The day I leave.” Sophia was silent for a few seconds on the other end. “Olivia, eight years of your life, just going to let it go so silently?” “I don’t want it anymore.” I looked at the now cold milk on the kitchen island. “Sophia, have you ever seen the sunset pictures he takes for other people?” “What?” “They’re beautiful. Even the light on the wing is so gentle.” I flipped my phone face down on the table. “Too bad they weren’t for me.”

In the afternoon, I went to the building management office. I had my fingerprint deleted from the access system for this apartment. The building manager, a kindly elderly woman, looked confused as I did it. “Mrs. Hayes, why on earth would you delete your fingerprint? It’ll be so inconvenient getting in and out.” “I won’t need to anymore,” I smiled. Back home, I dragged two large cardboard boxes from the storage room and started packing. This house was huge, a spacious river-view penthouse, two thousand square feet, that Ethan had paid for in full. He said it was to thank me for enduring the toughest times with him. I thought this was our home. Now I realized, my belongings were pitifully few. In the walk-in closet, only two racks of clothes belonged to me. The rest were all his uniforms for different seasons, suits, trench coats, and sports gear. I folded my everyday clothes and put them in a suitcase. The expensive evening gowns he bought me, but which weren’t my style, remained untouched on their hangers. On the bedside table sat an airline model plane. It was a souvenir from his first international flight. I picked it up, and underneath, there was a photo. It was a picture of us from four years ago. He had just been promoted to captain then, full of youthful vigor. I gently pulled the photo out and tossed it into the nearby trash can. The model went back to its spot. In the evening, my phone vibrated. A SnapChat message from Ethan. “Landed, just got to the hotel.” Normally, I’d reply immediately, asking if he was tired, if the hotel bed was comfortable. Today, I just sent one word. “Okay.” Half an hour later, he sent another. “It’s really cold here in Germany. Do you want me to buy you any duty-free stuff?” I was packing my bottles and jars from the bathroom counter into my makeup bag. “No, thanks.” “Didn’t you always bug me about getting that specific serum?” I looked at my reflection in the mirror. “No, thanks. I don’t want it anymore.” No reply came from his end. Maybe he thought I was being unreasonable, or maybe he was busy looking after someone else. I opened Chloe’s Ins profile. The first post was from ten minutes ago. A night view of the Rhine River. Next to it, a glass of mulled wine, with a man’s hand resting on the rim. The middle finger of that hand had a faint scar. Ethan got it cutting fruit; I’d even changed his dressing for a week back then. Chloe’s caption read: “The wind in Frankfurt is cold, but the mulled wine is warm. A flight taken care of by someone is always the best journey.” A few of their company colleagues had liked it. Someone commented, “Ethan must’ve treated, right? Chloe, you’re so lucky.” Chloe replied with a shy emoji. I calmly closed Ins. The sharp pang in my chest had finally gone numb. For eight years, like a fool, I’d been blind, feeding myself on his empty promises. He wasn’t careless, he wasn’t unromantic. He just saved all his care and romance for someone else. A few days later, Ethan’s flight landed. At seven in the evening, he pushed open the front door. In his hand, a beautifully wrapped gift box. I sat on the sofa, watching him change his shoes. “Why didn’t you make dinner?” He glanced at the empty dining table. “I already ate.” His frown deepened. “I flew for over ten hours, and I can’t even get a hot meal when I get home?” “You can order takeout.” He slammed the gift box onto the coffee table. “Olivia, what’s with this attitude of yours these past two days?” “I don’t have an attitude.” “No attitude? You haven’t sent a single message? I asked you if you wanted anything and you wouldn’t say.” I looked at the gift box. “Is that for me?” He froze for a moment, his eyes darting away. “This is… someone asked me to bring it back for them. I’ll get yours tomorrow at the mall.” Someone. “Chloe asked you to get it?” I looked him in the eye. His face darkened. “You went through my phone?” “Her Ins profile is public for everyone to see.” He breathed a sigh of relief, his tone immediately becoming self-righteous again. “She helped me with something, what’s the big deal about getting her a gift? Do you have to be so petty?” “I didn’t say anything.” “This cold, distant look says it all!” He impatiently tore off his tie. “She’s a colleague, we see each other all the time at work, what’s wrong with me looking out for her?” “You look out for her very well.” I stood up, unwilling to argue anymore. “Olivia!” He called out from behind me. “I’ve had a long day. Can you just be reasonable? Don’t make me come home and have to deal with your moods.” Reasonable. I’d been reasonable for eight years. So I swallowed my tears and walked into the guest room without looking back. “I’ll sleep in here tonight. Get some good rest.”

Over the next two days, I systematically cleaned out my life. The Monstera plant in the living room was mine; I gave it to the elderly neighbor next door. The rocking chair on the balcony was my choice; I called a second-hand recycler to take it away. Ethan seemed oblivious to the missing items in the house. He just thought I was pleasantly quiet these days. “Why couldn’t you always be like this?” On Friday morning, he sat at the dining table, eating the instant dumplings I’d haphazardly cooked. “Chloe’s birthday is tonight. A few of the crew are getting together for dinner. You should come with me.” My hand stopped wiping the table. “What would I go for?” “Didn’t you always complain that I never brought you to meet my colleagues? Well, everyone’s going tonight, you can meet them.” His tone was like an offering. I used to beg him to let me be part of his world. He’d say, “They’re all pilots, you wouldn’t understand what they’re talking about. You’d just be bored.” Now he was actively asking me to go, all because it was Chloe’s birthday. “Okay,” I agreed. I wanted to see for myself what place Chloe held in his colleagues’ eyes. At eight that evening, we arrived at the Japanese restaurant. The private room door opened, and six or seven people were already seated. Chloe sat at the head of the table, wearing a white French-style maxi dress, with a familiar necklace around her neck. It was the item from the gift box I’d seen on the coffee table the day before yesterday. “Ethan, Olivia’s here!” Chloe stood up, smiling, and came to greet us. “Nice to meet you, Olivia! Ethan talks about you all the time. So glad to finally meet you today.” She reached out, intending to take my hand warmly. I avoided her touch. “Happy birthday,” I said flatly. The atmosphere in the room went awkward for a moment. Ethan pulled me to a seat and whispered a warning, “Don’t you dare give me any attitude today.” During dinner, everyone talked about flight-related things. Which routes had rough turbulence, or which control towers had the most difficult controllers. I truly didn’t understand, nor did I care to listen. “Speaking of which, Ethan’s landings are truly flawless.” A first officer laughed, raising his glass. “Chloe knows best. Whenever Ethan’s flying, Chloe in the main cabin doesn’t even spill her coffee.” Chloe chuckled, covering her mouth. “That’s right, Ethan’s skills are famous throughout the company. Last time we flew to Narita and hit a thunderstorm, my legs were like jelly, but Ethan texted me from the cockpit saying, ‘I got this. Don’t worry,’ and I instantly felt at ease.” Everyone at the table started teasing them. Ethan laughed along, not refuting, his gaze even carrying a hint of indulgence. I lowered my head and took a sip of tea; it was already cold and somewhat bitter. Thunderstorm. I remembered that Narita flight. It was delayed by five hours due to weather. I was so anxious at home that I couldn’t sleep, and I called him over a dozen times, but he never picked up. Later, he texted back, “Busy with work, don’t make things difficult.” Turns out, he was busy comforting Chloe in the cabin. “Olivia, don’t you usually look after Ethan?” Chloe suddenly turned the conversation to me. “Ethan has a sensitive stomach. Yesterday, I saw him skip breakfast and fly the simulator, it really made us colleagues worried.” Her tone carried undisguised blame. The table fell silent, everyone looking at me. “He’s an adult. He knows how to order takeout,” I said, putting down my teacup. Chloe froze, her eyes instantly reddening. “Olivia, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just worried about Ethan…” “Olivia, have you had enough?” Ethan’s face was ashen. “Everyone’s here to have a good time, why do you have to be so passive-aggressive and make a scene?” “Did I say anything to make a scene?” I looked at him calmly. “Chloe was kindly reminding you to care about me, and that’s your attitude!” “Ethan.” I stood up, grabbing my bag. “Since someone else cares so much about your stomach, you won’t need me to worry about it anymore.” “Olivia! You dare walk out that door!” He roared behind me. I pushed open the restaurant door without a moment’s hesitation. The cold air in the hallway hit my face, and I took a deep breath of the outside air. Eight years. I finally didn’t have to crush myself for his sake anymore. Back home, I packed up the rest of my books into boxes. Just waiting for next Wednesday.

Ethan didn’t come home that night. He only walked in the door around noon the next day, smelling faintly of woody perfume. It was Chloe’s usual scent. He tossed his car keys on the entryway table and glared at me, his face cold. “Did you throw enough of a tantrum last night?” I was sealing a cardboard box with tape, not looking up. “Are you deaf?” He walked over and kicked the box. “What are you doing packing all this junk?” “Just organizing things I don’t need anymore.” He scoffed. “Olivia, your ‘play hard to get’ act is getting old. Do you think I’ll come crawling back to you if you give me the silent treatment for a few days?” I straightened up, dusting off my hands. “I wasn’t trying to make you come back.” “Then what’s this attitude? Chloe cried for almost an hour last night because of what you said. You owe her an apology.” “I won’t apologize.” “You’re completely unreasonable!” He irritably ran a hand through his hair and sat down on the sofa. “I don’t have time to waste on this. Next Wednesday, I’m flying an Aurora Borealis route to Reykjavik. If you admit you were wrong, I’ll give you the complimentary family ticket I’d set aside for Chloe, and take you to see the Northern Lights.” I froze. The Northern Lights. Six years ago, I was diagnosed with a thyroid nodule. It was benign, but I was terrified at the time. He held my hand by the hospital bed and said, “Once you’re better, I’ll take you to see the Aurora. You’ll sit on my flight, and we’ll watch the most beautiful night sky together.” He’d put off that promise for six years. Now, he was using that six-year-old promise as a handout, a way for me to climb down. And that ticket, it was originally for Chloe. “You don’t care?” He frowned, seeing my silence. “Do you know how hard it is to get a complimentary ticket for that route? Chloe begged me for ages before I agreed. I’m only changing my mind for you because it’s our eighth anniversary.” “Give the ticket to Chloe,” I said, looking at him, my voice so quiet I could barely hear it myself. “What did you say?” “I said, give the ticket to her. I don’t need it.” Ethan abruptly stood up, his face terribly dark. “Olivia, don’t push your luck. I’ve given you the chance; if you’re just screwing yourself over, don’t come crying to me later.” “I won’t beg you.” He violently smashed a glass on the coffee table. Shards flew, cutting my calf. He didn’t even glance at it, turning and slamming the door behind him. I looked down at the drops of blood on my calf, pulling a tissue to wipe them away. It didn’t hurt. It truly didn’t hurt anymore. Time flew by to next Wednesday. Our eighth anniversary. And the day my resignation took effect, the day I left this city. I dragged my only suitcase and took a taxi to the airport. My flight to Texas was scheduled for three in the afternoon. After checking in, I sat in the waiting area, watching planes take off and land outside the window. The Aurora Borealis flight was scheduled to depart at 2 PM. Ethan should be in the left seat now, preparing for pushback. I opened my phone, wanting to check his flight status one last time, to put a period on these eight years. His crew information popped up on my flight tracker app. The Captain’s name wasn’t Ethan. It was a different, unfamiliar name. I froze. Had he gotten sick and been temporarily replaced? Just then, my peripheral vision caught sight of the entrance to the first-class lounge not far away. A man in a casual trench coat was wheeling a pink suitcase into it. Beside him was a woman in a matching trench coat. She was affectionately linked arm-in-arm with him, her head resting on his shoulder. It was Ethan and Chloe. I stood rooted to the spot, watching them enter the lounge. I overheard two airline staff members chatting nearby. “Wasn’t that Ethan who just went in? Wasn’t he supposed to be flying to Reykjavik today?” “He took some last-minute vacation days. Heard it’s to go with Chloe to Finland.” “Chloe was bragging in the group chat all yesterday, saying Ethan skipped his Aurora Borealis flight for her, buying a passenger ticket just to go on a long vacation with her.” “How romantic, Ethan really goes all out for Chloe.” I suddenly found it a little funny. So he hadn’t given me the complimentary ticket he’d set aside for Chloe. He had, for Chloe’s sake, abandoned his duties as a pilot, personally planning an Aurora trip for just the two of them. The boarding announcement for my flight came over the loudspeaker. I boarded the plane. And Ethan, who had taken vacation days for Chloe, was in the first-class cabin of another plane. I looked out at the sea of clouds. Eight years. I was finally free.

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This was my ninety-ninth loop. The wall clock said eight in the evening. In three hours, Serena, his true love, would slit her wrists. He’d rush out like a madman. And When tried to stop him, an out-of-control truck would reduce me to a bloody mess. This time, I wasn’t going to stop him. I even thoughtfully placed his car keys on the console table by the entryway, poured myself a glass of red wine, and waited quietly for the call to come. The system’s icy voice exploded in my mind. “Warning! Host is slacking off. This is your last loop. If the mission fails, your soul will be completely annihilated. Countdown: 3 days.” I smiled. Three days? Enough time for me to plan a grand funeral. The moment my eyes opened, the crushing pain of my chest bones being pulverized by a multi-ton truck seemed to linger through every nerve. I bolted upright in bed, cold sweat soaking my silk pajamas, my heart hammering wildly in my chest. It was protesting being dragged back into a body that was already doomed. Seven in the morning. The sound of rushing water came from the bathroom. Ethan was showering. According to the script of the previous ninety-nine loops, in five minutes he’d emerge wrapped in a towel, casually wiping his hair while telling me the same lie he’d told ninety-nine times. The water stopped. Ethan pushed open the bathroom door, water droplets sliding down his toned muscles. He didn’t even glance at me, walking straight to the walk-in closet, his tone already laced with practiced impatience. “Overtime at work tonight, a multinational conference. Don’t wait up for dinner.” The so-called multinational conference was just an excuse. Serena had just returned, and he was eager to go to a three-star Michelin restaurant to throw a welcome party for her. In the past, I would have jumped out of bed barefoot, hugged him from behind, buried my face in his back, and pleaded pitifully. “But it’s our wedding anniversary today. Not even for an hour?” Then he would frown and push me away, annoyed that I had stained his shirt with tears. He’d call me childish and dramatic. But this time, I just sat on the bed, quietly watching him perform. My stomach was cramping from the side effects of the loops, and waves of nausea rose in my throat. I took a deep breath, forced the bile back down, then threw back the covers and got out of bed. Ethan was rummaging through a pile of ties, his brow furrowed, clearly searching for the cobalt blue striped tie Serena had given him. In previous loops, I would deliberately hide that tie, trying to erase her presence on this special day. I walked behind him, pulled open the bottom drawer, and retrieved the tie. “Looking for this?” My voice was raspy, like it had been scraped with sandpaper. Ethan’s hand froze in mid-air. He turned around, his eyes flashing with surprise, which quickly morphed into annoyance at being seen through. He opened his mouth, as if to explain, or perhaps to wait for me to hysterically question him. But I said nothing. I stepped forward, stood on my tiptoes, and skillfully tied his tie for him. My fingers were cold; when they brushed his warm neck, I distinctly felt his muscles tense. “This color brings out your skin tone. She’ll probably like it.” I adjusted the knot to perfection, then gently patted his collar, my movements as delicate as if I were arranging a shroud for a corpse. Ethan grabbed my wrist abruptly, his grip so tight it hurt. He stared intently into my eyes, trying to find a trace of jealousy, anger, or even grievance. Unfortunately, all he saw was an empty gaze. “Scarlett, who’s the snark for?” His voice was low, laced with suppressed anger. I pulled my hand free, turned, and walked toward the bathroom, leaving him with only my back. “Nothing. Just feeling tired. Go early, come back early, Ethan.” “After all, it’s going to rain heavily tonight.” I knew he was still staring at me from behind; the feeling of his eyes on my back made my spine stiffen. But I didn’t look back, because the woman in the mirror had a face as pale as paper, and dark red blood was slowly dripping from her nostril. This was the sign that my soul was beginning to strip away. I turned on the faucet, washing the blood away with cold water again and again, the stream mixing with red, swirling down the drain, just like my absurd life.

Six in the evening. The downpour arrived as scheduled, thunder ripping through the sky. Normally by this time, I’d be running around the kitchen, busy as can be. I would have pre-ordered dry-aged prime ribeye. I’d trim it, decant a red wine from Ethan’s birth year, and light expensive scented candles. Then I’d dress myself up like a fancy gift waiting to be sent back. This time, looking at the empty dining table, I felt nothing but irony. I picked up my phone, opened a delivery app, and casually ordered a cheap pizza, the kind I would never touch normally, and Ethan would sneer at. I sat cross-legged on the sofa, holding a slice of cheap, store-brand pizza. I took a bite; the cold cheese wouldn’t melt in my mouth, tasting like cardboard. But I actually enjoyed it, because I ordered it for myself, not to cater to Ethan’s picky palate. Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. It was Ethan. When I heard the key turn in the lock, I was still sitting cross-legged on the sofa, holding a half-eaten slice of pizza, tomato sauce smeared on the corner of my mouth. Ethan pushed the door open. When he saw the scene, he froze in the entryway. He was carrying his briefcase, having returned for an important document he’d forgotten. In previous loops, when he came back for the document and saw my carefully prepared candlelight dinner, a fleeting moment of guilt would cross his face, only to turn into sheer disgust when I insisted he stay for dinner. Now, the living room had no roses, no candlelight, only the lingering smell of cheap cheese and burnt crust. “What… are you eating?” Ethan frowned, his gaze falling on the greasy pizza box as if it were some bio-weapon. “Dinner.” I swallowed my food, didn’t get up to greet him, or even lift my eyelids. “If you’re getting files, hurry up. Don’t let me delay your overtime.” Ethan changed his shoes and walked in, his steps heavy. He didn’t go straight to the study but walked into the living room, standing in front of me, blocking the TV light. “Today is…” He paused, seemingly waiting for me to remind him. “I know, Friday, right?” I interrupted him, picking up a pill bottle from the coffee table and pouring out a handful of white pills. They weren’t vitamins; they were strong painkillers. The system had warned me that as the countdown approached, the feeling of my soul detaching from my body would intensify. The pain was like someone sawing at my bones with a dull knife. The moment I heard him open the door, a sudden sharp pain erupted in my spine, so intense I almost dropped the pizza. I tilted my head back and swallowed all dozen pills in front of Ethan, without even water, forcing them down. A bitter taste spread in my mouth, slightly suppressing the agonizing, churning pain inside me. “Why are you taking so many vitamins?” Ethan’s frown deepened as he watched me swallow the pills, a hint of inexplicable irritation in his eyes. “Scarlett, are you sick?” Ha, asking now, isn’t it a bit too late? “Losing some hair lately. Just supplementing.” I lied casually, picked up the remote, and turned up the TV volume. The variety show on screen erupted with laughter, jarringly loud in the quiet living room. “The files are on the study desk. I saw them just now.” Ethan stood still. The love that once suffocated him had suddenly vanished, replaced by a sense of detachment he couldn’t control. This discrepancy made him uncomfortable, even more so than my constant nagging. He stared at me deeply, as if trying to find a flaw in my calm face. But I just stared at the TV screen, laughing even more exaggeratedly than the show’s guests, my fingernails digging deeply into my palms, using the pain to stay clear-headed. Finally, he said nothing, turning and entering the study. When he came out with the files, he paused by me and curtly remarked, “Eat less of that junk food.” The moment the door closed, I finally couldn’t hold it in. I rushed to the bathroom and violently vomited into the toilet. The pizza and pills I’d swallowed mixed with stomach acid spilled everywhere. My stomach felt like it was on fire, and tears streamed uncontrollably down my face.

Seven thirty in the evening. My phone screen abruptly lit up, displaying “Serena.” In the previous ninety-nine loops, this call was my nightmare. Each time it connected, it was her silent boasting, or a snippet of Ethan’s voice beside her, enough to shatter my pathetic self-esteem. I wiped the residue from my mouth, calmly pressed the answer button, and put the call on speaker, tossing my phone onto the coffee table. “Hello? Is that Scarlett?” Serena’s voice came through the receiver, carrying her characteristic sweet, fragile tone. In the background, I could faintly hear elegant violin music and the soft clink of cutlery against ceramic plates. “Oh, I’m so sorry to bother you so late. Ethan just went to the restroom, and he left his phone with me. I saw you were calling and worried it might be urgent…” The same old story. I hadn’t called Ethan at all. This was her usual trick to make sure I knew he was with her. If it were before, I would scream into the phone, demand to know why she had my husband’s phone, and then cry like a madwoman. But this time, I picked up a nail file and slowly, meticulously filed my nails, my voice light with amusement. “Oh, no urgent matter. Just wanted to remind you of something.” A noticeable pause on the other end. “Remind me of what?” “Remind him to use protection.” I blew the dust from my nails, my tone as nonchalant as if discussing the weather. “You know, he’s been out networking a lot lately and hasn’t been too careful. I don’t really care, since I have my full health report. But you, darling, just back in the country, you’re delicate. It’d be a shame if you caught something nasty. After all, I still have my life to live.” A dead silence fell on the other end of the line. Then, I heard Ethan’s voice. He had clearly just returned and heard my shocking “advice.” “Scarlett! What nonsense are you spouting!” Ethan’s roar came through the speaker, mixed with the sound of a chair being knocked over. He was obviously furious. Serena seemed startled too, letting out a short gasp. “Ethan, darling…” I chuckled softly, imagining Ethan’s livid face at that moment. The satisfaction of shattering that elite mask he always wore, the one of a man in a high position, was actually more effective than any painkiller. “What’s wrong, Mr. Evans? Are you all talk and no action?” I said languidly into the phone. “Alright, I won’t disturb your fun. Remember, safety first.” With that, I decisively hung up. Almost simultaneously, the system in my mind let out a harsh crackle of static. “Warning! Warning! Male lead’s emotional fluctuation value abnormally soaring! Plot deviation 30%… Detecting severe OOC (Out of Character) behavior from host… Recalculating… Calculation error.” I leaned back on the sofa, looking at the chandelier on the ceiling, a mocking smile curving my lips. Emotional fluctuation? That was pure rage. This was probably the first time he realized that Scarlett, who used to only revolve around him, worshipping him like a god, could also utter such humiliating words. He’d probably think I was crazy. And he’d be right. For someone abandoned in the ending, what did it matter if I cried or laughed, was sane or mad?

After I hung up. All words felt as light as a breath of white mist. Scattered in the air, not even a shape remained. I didn’t even bother to wave my hand to clear them. With three days left on the countdown, every minute and second was precious. I opened my laptop and sent the divorce agreement I had already drafted to my lawyer. The terms were simple: I’d walk away with nothing. In the reason column, I typed five words: a ghost marriage. After handling that, I took a thick stack of brochures from my bag. I had picked them up from the cemetery that afternoon. If I was planning a grand funeral, the location couldn’t be sloppy. I chose a plot on the hillside, facing south, with an open view of the city lights. Most importantly, it was quiet there. No Ethan, no Serena, no cursed loops. The door suddenly slammed open. Ethan was back. Faster than I expected. He hadn’t even had time to change his shoes, striding into the living room, carrying the dampness of the rain and unrestrained fury. I knew that phone call had completely enraged him, making him rush back without even finishing dinner with his “true love.” “Scarlett, what did you mean on that call just now?” He yanked the coffee table in front of me, sending the brochures scattering across the floor. They were pictures of various tombstone styles and landscape photos of the cemetery. Ethan’s gaze fell on the brochures, emblazoned with phrases like “Rest in Peace” and “Forever Missed.” His pupils suddenly constricted. He froze, the questions he’d prepared stuck in his throat, his expression becoming strange and absurd. “What are you doing?” He pointed at the brochures on the floor, his voice laced with incredulous mockery. “To get attention, you’re really pulling out all the stops now, aren’t you? Even bringing this morbid stuff home? Are you trying to threaten me with death?” In his eyes, everything I did was to get his attention. Before, it was faking illness, running away from home. Now, it had escalated to looking at cemetery plots. I bent down, picking up the scattered brochures one by one, my movements slow and stiff. My fingers trembled slightly from the pain, but to him, it probably looked like shame and indignation from having my intentions exposed. I picked up the last picture, a black marble tombstone, and looked up, meeting his eyes filled with disgust. This time, I didn’t rush to explain like before, nor did I cry and say, “I didn’t.” I looked at him, my gaze as empty as if I were looking at a dead man, or rather, looking through him, at the person I was about to become. “Threaten?” I chuckled softly, handing him the picture. “You’re overthinking, Mr. Evans. This location is good.” I paused, my tone eerily gentle. “Yes, I picked it for you. A double plot. Even though we’re getting divorced, I still saved a spot for you. Consider it my final gesture of goodwill. So, do you like it?” Ethan’s face instantly went ashen, then turned livid. He probably never imagined that one day, his subservient wife would smile and ask him if he liked his own cemetery plot. “You’re irrational!” He violently swatted the brochure from my hand. The sharp edge of the paper grazed my cheek, leaving a thin red scratch. Pain flared, but I just stood there quietly, watching the tombstone picture flutter to his feet, like a prematurely delivered verdict.

The European-style wall clock ticked monotonously, its hands once again irreversibly aligning at the number 12. Eight o’clock sharp. Outside the window, the rain poured as if someone was dumping basins of water, rattling against the glass, just like the ninety-nine times before. My phone vibrated on the coffee table, the screen blindingly bright. It was Serena’s friend calling, the so-called “death notification.” Serena had slit her wrists in the bathtub and sent a picture of blood everywhere to Ethan, now hovering between life and death. Ethan practically sprang from the sofa, his face pale. He didn’t even finish listening to the sobbing on the phone before grabbing the car keys from the console table and rushing out. In the script of fate, I should have lunged at him like a madwoman right now, hugging his waist, crying, begging him not to go, or trying to snatch his keys. In previous loops, no matter what I did, the outcome was always the same: I’d catch up to his car at that traffic light intersection, then be caught under the wheels of a heavy truck that swerved to avoid his sudden brake. The agonizing pain of my bones being crushed to powder and internal organs rupturing instantly, even now as I stood perfectly whole, still made my teeth chatter involuntarily. “Scarlett! Get out of the way!” Ethan rushed to the door, instinctively shouting that line. But he froze, because there was no one blocking him. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, swirling half a glass of decanted red wine. The red liquid clung to the glass, looking remarkably like spilled blood. I didn’t even turn to look at him, just gazed at the blurred traffic in the dark, rainy curtain outside. “The roads are slick in the rain, Mr. Evans. Drive safely.” I took a sip of wine. The pungent alcohol slid down my throat, suppressing the sourness churning in my stomach. Ethan’s fingers gripping the doorknob turned white from the force. He glanced back at me, his eyes filled with disbelief and an indescribable panic. It was like punching a pillow, leaving his pent-up rage with nowhere to go. “You’d better pray Serena’s okay, or I’ll make you pay!” He gritted his teeth, spat out the threat, and slammed the door shut. The loud bang of the door made the plaster on the walls seem to tremble. I turned around, looking at the closed security door, a cynical smile on my lips. Pay? I’ve paid ninety-nine times, Ethan. You should be satisfied. I walked to the balcony and watched through the rain curtain as the black Maybach shot out of the garage, like an out-of-control beast plunging into the storm. Without my interference, he’d left three minutes earlier. And that tired truck driver, who always passed the intersection three minutes later, arrived precisely on time as well. I closed my eyes, silently counting down in my mind. Ten, nine, eight… From this distance, I couldn’t hear the impact. But I could feel that momentary stillness in the air. Half an hour later, the shrill phone ring once again pierced the deathly silence of the living room. It was the Metropolitan General Hospital ER. “Are you Ethan Evans’ family? The patient was in a serious car accident at the Riverwalk intersection. The truck overturned and flattened the driver’s side of the car. The situation is critical. Please come immediately to sign the paperwork!” I hung up the phone and drained the last sip of red wine in my glass. This time, it wasn’t me who shattered.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “411894”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

When the ‘Good Fertility System’ found me, I was clutching that diagnosis report. Terminal brain cancer, three months left. The system said, “Go sleep with three infertile madmen, get pregnant with their children, and you’ll live.” I looked at the three names on the list. Julian, the CEO in New York who treated women like dirt. Ethan, who built his security empire on weapons, a ruthless CEO with no mercy. And Leo, the thrill-seeking, extreme racer. These three were not only infertile but also sworn enemies, the kind who’d love to dance on each other’s graves. I laughed. I was going to die anyway, so why not go out with a bang? If I were bold enough, I’d have these infertile tycoons taking paternity leave. I tore the diagnosis report to shreds and threw it into the trash. In these three months, I wouldn’t just sleep with them; I’d make each of them believe the child could only be his. I sat on a bench in the hospital corridor for ten minutes. The doctor’s words were blunt: the cancer cells had spread to a difficult location, and the success rate for surgery was less than one percent. He advised me to eat well, spend my savings, and live without regrets. I glanced at my mobile banking balance: four digits. That amount wasn’t even enough to buy a decent burial plot. Just as I was debating whether to jump off the roof or just grab a bun, that voice in my head chimed in. “Host Alice Miller, the Genetic Completion Plan has been activated.” “Your cancer is caused by a genetic defect. Only by having children with three top-tier genetic donors can your body be rebuilt.” I ignored it, got up, and walked out. The system sounded a little anxious. “Aren’t you afraid to die?” I pressed the elevator’s down arrow. “Yes, but I’m more afraid of a messy death. You want me to approach those three? I’d rather just sign that diagnosis report and donate my body.” Who were those three? Ethan Blackwood. He had more blood on his hands than anyone I’d ever known. Even though he’d cleaned up his act and become a security company owner in recent years, everyone in New York knew about the madness lurking beneath. Julian Thorne, a notorious hypocrite, calculating to the core. Women who got close to him either went crazy or ended up broken. And Leo Maxwell? Don’t even get me started. Apart from racing, he was constantly flirting with death. No sane person would dare provoke him. The system was silent for two seconds. “Get pregnant with one, and your life countdown pauses. Give birth, and you’ll receive ten billion dollars in child support, plus your illness will be cured.” The elevator doors opened. My steps faltered. I hit the ‘close’ button again, then ‘top floor’. I asked, “Ten billion? After taxes?” System. “…After taxes.” I wasn’t afraid to die anymore. I was saved. I immediately changed direction, went back to the doctor’s office, and got some pain medication. These three months would be painful, but I had to hold on. The system uploaded the information into my brain. These three men were not only tough to handle but also had severe physiological or psychological defects that made them infertile. Ethan suffered from severe bipolar disorder. When he snapped, anyone nearby was in danger; no woman could get close to him. Julian had severe OCD and psychological blocks, making him allergic to women. He couldn’t even stand being touched. Leo’s body was simply burned out, his sperm count nearly zero. The system said, “Because of your special constitution, you possess natural fertility. As long as you ‘do the deed’ successfully, it’s a 100% success rate.” “But you must get all three.” “Miss one, and the gene chain will be incomplete; you’ll still die.” I looked at Ethan’s schedule in the data. Tonight, he was at his private estate in the West End. I felt the bottle of freshly prescribed painkillers in my pocket and swallowed two pills. “System, get me an identity.” “What kind?” “Ethan’s psychological therapist.” I remembered reading that Ethan’s bipolar disorder had flared up recently, and he was offering a high salary for a fearless psychologist. The previous ones had been carried in and then literally thrown out. But I had to go. For those ten billion, and for decades more of this wretched life. I tidied my hair, looking at my reflection in the elevator mirror. My face, though pale from illness, perfectly fit that delicate, fragile look. Men, especially the crazy ones, always seemed to be drawn to things that looked easy to break. I walked out of the hospital entrance and hailed a cab. “To the Blackwood Estate in the West End.” The driver gave me a look like I was crazy but floored the accelerator. On the way, the system warned me. “Ethan is in an extremely manic state right now. You might be strangled to death the moment you step in.” I closed my eyes, resting. “As long as I don’t die, he has to provide me with genes.” At the estate gates, a bodyguard stopped the car. I rolled down the window and handed him the top-tier psychologist’s license that the system had forged for me. The bodyguard glanced at it, a hint of pity in his eyes. “Go on in. Take the first left.” The car couldn’t go in, so I had to walk. The estate was eerily quiet; not even a bird chirped. Just as I reached the entrance of the villa’s main hall, a loud crash came from inside. It sounded like something heavy smashing against a wall. Followed by a man’s furious roar. “Get out! All of you, get out!” Several servants scrambled out, their faces bruised. I took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy door. The room was a wreck, shards of porcelain and glass littered the floor. A man sat on the sofa, clutching a bottle of liquor, three buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a muscular chest. His head was bowed, his face obscured, but the raw aggression emanating from him was enough to make anyone’s knees weak from a distance. This was Ethan. I said nothing, clicking my heels on the floor, avoiding the debris, and walking towards him step by step. The sound of my heels echoed loudly in the silent hall. Ethan suddenly looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, glinting with the savage ferocity of a caged beast. “If you don’t want to die, get out.” His voice was hoarse, thick with a metallic tang. I didn’t stop, continuing until I stood half a meter in front of him. “Mr. Blackwood, I’m your new doctor.” The words had barely left my lips when Ethan suddenly erupted. He moved with astonishing speed. I had no time to react before an iron-like hand gripped my neck, squeezing tightly. I was lifted and slammed against the back of the sofa. Suffocation instantly overwhelmed me. The system’s red alert blared in my mind. “Warning! Life value decreasing! Warning!” Ethan stared at me, his grip tightening, eyes full of murderous intent. “Who let you in? Huh?” I didn’t struggle. Struggling would only make me die faster. I painstakingly raised my hand, not to pry his fingers away, but to gently caress the back of his hand. My fingertips traced the bulging veins on his skin. The system had said I had a special constitution, and my scent was the only tranquilizer for him. Indeed, Ethan’s grip stiffened slightly. He seemed to smell something, his nostrils flaring, as he leaned closer to my neck. That killing rage receded slightly, replaced by a mixture of confusion and craving. I seized the opportunity, using my last ounce of strength, and leaned in to kiss his lips. Forget it, I had to administer the “medicine” first.

Ethan’s lips were scorching, tasting of strong liquor. The moment I kissed him, his entire body visibly stiffened. The hand clamped around my neck didn’t loosen; instead, it tightened for an instant, almost sending me to my grave. I desperately pushed myself into his arms, trying to magnify that so-called “body scent buff” through physical contact. This wasn’t healing; this was pulling teeth from a tiger’s mouth. The system counted down in my head. “Life value remaining: 24 hours… 23 hours…” After about five seconds, just as I thought I’d die from lack of oxygen in that kiss, Ethan finally let go. Fresh air rushed into my lungs, and I coughed violently, tears streaming from my eyes involuntarily. Before I could recover, Ethan suddenly gripped the back of my head, reversing our positions. This kiss was devoid of any tenderness, filled with raw predation and release. He seemed to be confirming something, or perhaps seeking a remedy that could calm him. I was pinned against the sofa, unable to move. It wasn’t until I tasted blood in my mouth that he abruptly pulled away. Ethan gasped for breath, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me. Some of the madness had receded, leaving behind a deep intensity I couldn’t decipher. “Who are you?” His voice was hoarse, and his thumb forcefully grazed my swollen lips. I endured the searing pain in my throat, trying to keep my voice professional and calm. “Alice, your therapist.” “Therapist?” Ethan sneered. “Previous therapists just gave me pills. You’re certainly unique, feeding me from your lips right away.” I looked at him, my gaze unwavering. “If it’s medicine, as long as it works, the method doesn’t matter.” Ethan narrowed his eyes, seemingly assessing my threat level. A moment later, he suddenly stood up, looking down at me. “Effective? Let’s see how long the effects last.” With that, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me towards the second floor. His strength was terrifying. I stumbled along, my wrist feeling like it would break. “Where are you taking me?” Ethan ignored me, kicked open a door on the second floor, and flung me inside. The room contained only a massive bed, the curtains tightly drawn, making it oppressively dark. With a click, the door was locked from the outside. Ethan stood by the door and began unbuckling his belt. The sound of the metal buckle clinking was jarring in the darkness. My heart tightened, and I instinctively took a step back. “Mr. Blackwood, is this part of the therapy?” Ethan didn’t stop. He pulled his belt off, tossed it on the floor, and advanced towards me, step by step. “Whether it’s therapy depends on your cooperation.” He cornered me against the bed, leaning one hand beside my head, an overwhelming pressure engulfing me. “That kiss just now made me feel… good.” He lowered his head, his nose almost touching my face. “But I’m not full yet.” The system screamed in my head. “Host! Opportunity! Quick! Take him down!” I mentally cursed. This wasn’t an opportunity; it was a death trap. While Ethan’s current state wasn’t manic, he was clearly more dangerous. He intended to use me as his personal human tranquilizer. I took a deep breath and placed my hand against his chest. “Mr. Blackwood, therapy requires a gradual approach.” “I don’t have patience.” Ethan grabbed my hands, pinning them above my head. “I want it now.” I stopped talking. Because his hand had already found its way under my clothes. If I couldn’t resist, I might as well enjoy it and complete the mission. I closed my eyes, no longer fighting, and instead slightly raised my chin, exposing my vulnerable neck. This submissive posture seemed to please him. Ethan chuckled softly, and his kiss descended. That night, I profoundly understood what it meant to be a “mad dog.” He was utterly unrestrained, as if unleashing years of pent-up emotions. Every touch carried a brutal intensity, as if he wanted to devour me. I was in agony, covered in cold sweat, yet I had to grit my teeth and cooperate, even feigning responsiveness at critical moments. For that one seed, I truly put my life on the line. I don’t know how much time passed, but just before dawn, Ethan finally stopped. He lay on me, his breathing heavy, seemingly asleep. My body felt like it had been run over by a truck; I couldn’t even lift a finger. The system chimed. “Congratulations, Host. Fertility value +30%. Ethan’s gene acquisition successful.” I sighed in relief, tears almost falling. At least this pounding wasn’t in vain. I nudged Ethan, but he didn’t move, sleeping deeply. This was a good chance to escape. Enduring the pain, I slowly, bit by bit, slid out from under him. I haphazardly pulled on the clothes I picked up from the floor and glanced at the man on the bed. Even in sleep, Ethan’s brows were furrowed, as if even sleep brought him no peace. I felt no lingering attachment, turning towards the door. The door was locked, but I was prepared. I pulled a bobby pin from my bag. Picking locks was a skill I’d learned for emergencies. After a few fumbles, the lock clicked open. I tiptoed out of the room and descended the stairs. The villa was silent; the servants had likely all fled in fright. I made my way out of the estate without any trouble, and only when I was in the pre-booked ride-share did I let myself collapse into the backseat. I checked my phone. It was five in the morning. First hurdle cleared. But I couldn’t just leave like this. If Ethan woke up and found me gone, he’d surely tear the city apart looking for me. I needed to cause him some trouble, to keep him occupied for a while. I pulled out my phone and dialed the emergency number. “Hello, 911? I want to report an illegal detention and attempted sexual assault at the Blackwood Estate in the West End.” After hanging up, I removed my SIM card, broke it, and tossed it out the window. Ethan, you’re welcome for this parting gift. The car drove into the city. I asked the driver to stop outside a 24-hour pharmacy. I bought emergency contraceptives. Not to take them, of course, but for show. I flushed the pills down the drain, putting the empty box into my bag. Then I found a public restroom, changed out of my torn clothes, washed my face, and put on light makeup. My reflection showed a pale face with faint dark circles under my eyes, making me look even more pitiful. Perfect. The man I was going to see next would fall for this. I walked out of the restroom and saw a black Bentley parked by the curb. The license plate was familiar. Julian’s car. How was he here? The system suddenly spoke. “Julian has been monitoring Ethan. His people followed you the moment you left Ethan’s estate.” I see. This just got even more interesting. I straightened my skirt, pretending not to notice the car, and walked unsteadily forward. Just as I passed the car, the window rolled down. A cool, low voice drifted out. “Miss Miller, if you don’t mind, I can give you a ride.” I stopped, turning to look. Julian sat in the backseat, his stoic face devoid of any expression. But the look in his eyes, as he watched me, held a hint of amusement. It was the look of a hunter spotting wounded prey.

I got into Julian’s car. The car was filled with a faint sandalwood scent, just like the man himself: cool and reserved. Julian didn’t look at me, as if the woman beside him, fresh from his rival’s bed, was mere air. “Where to?” he asked. I leaned back against the seat, trying my best not to look too disheveled, but the discomfort in my body was impossible to hide. “Just drop me off at any hotel,” I said, my voice a little hoarse. Julian turned his head, his gaze lingering for a second on the bruise on my neck, the one Ethan had left last night. He chuckled softly, a touch of mockery in his tone. “Ethan has a heavy hand.” I didn’t respond, just pulled my collar higher. “Miss Miller, you’re a smart woman.” Julian retracted his gaze, his voice flat. “A madman like Ethan is enough for one time. Keep playing with him, and you’ll lose your life.” I scoffed inwardly. Playing? In their eyes, I was probably just a plaything, risking my life for money. “Since you know where I came from, Mr. Thorne, are you really letting me in your car?” I turned to him, deliberately needling him. “Aren’t you afraid I might ‘snap’ too?” Julian looked at me, his eyes deep. “I’m not interested in madmen, but I am very interested in someone who can make Ethan snap.” The meaning behind his words was clear. He wanted to use me to get to Ethan. Perfect, that suited me just fine. I was already struggling to find a reason to get close to him, so since he delivered himself to my doorstep, he shouldn’t blame me for taking advantage. “What do you want me to do, Mr. Thorne?” I asked directly. Julian pulled a file from the glove compartment and handed it to me. “Be my personal assistant, and my eyes and ears.” His tone was casual. “I want to know all of Ethan’s recent movements. In exchange, I can offer you protection and money.” I took the file and glanced at it; it was essentially a binding contract. But right now, what I needed most was money and protection. The police might hold Ethan off for a while, but that madman would surely be out soon. Hiding with Julian was the safest option. “Deal.” I closed the file. “But I have one condition.” “Speak.” “I want a month’s salary in advance, cash.” Julian raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by my bluntness. “Alright.” The car stopped outside a five-star hotel. Julian handed me a room key card. “Penthouse suite. Go clean yourself up, and come see me when you’re presentable.” He said “clean yourself up” with a clear note of disdain in his voice. A germaphobe, indeed. I took the room card, said nothing, and got out of the car. Once in the room, I locked the door, then rushed into the bathroom. The moment the hot water hit my skin, I felt alive again. My body was covered in bruises, thanks to that monster Ethan. I cursed him as I washed, while also plotting how to handle Julian. This guy was immune to conventional tactics, and he was “allergic” to women, so normal approaches wouldn’t work. The system’s data said that Julian was actually a pseudo-ascetic. His repressed desires were stronger than anyone else’s; he just hid them too well. After showering, I ordered room service, which delivered a clean set of clothes and the cash I’d requested. A full hundred thousand dollars. I counted it twice, feeling much better. Money brought a sense of security. The next day, I reported to Julian’s company. If I was going to be a “spy,” I had to play the part convincingly. Julian didn’t shortchange me; he gave me a position as a presidential assistant, which essentially meant keeping me under his watchful eye. But I knew he didn’t trust me. My office computer, even my phone, was surely bugged. That afternoon, I deliberately took a call in the office. It was an insurance telemarketer, but I acted as if I were reporting to Ethan. “Yes, he’s at the office… Right, no plans tonight… Okay, I understand, I’ll keep an eye on things.” After hanging up, I could feel the red light of the camera in the corner of the office blink once. That evening, Julian called me to his villa. It was a sprawling estate nestled on a hillside, filled with books everywhere. The moment I stepped inside, I was hit by the strong scent of sandalwood. Julian sat in the tea room, brewing tea, dressed in a white linen loungewear, looking even more ethereal. “Come here.” He poured a cup of tea and pushed it across from him. I walked over and sat down, picking up the cup and taking a sip. “I hear you contacted Ethan today?” he asked without looking up. I put down the teacup, forcing a wry smile. “Mr. Thorne, since you’re already listening in, why bother asking?” Julian looked up at me. “You’re quite upfront.” “How else can I survive?” I looked at him. “Ethan has leverage over me. If I don’t report something, he’ll kill me.” “What leverage?” I bit my lip, said nothing, but then turned around and lifted the back of my top. There, a vivid red spider lily tattoo was inked on my lower back. I’d gotten it at a small tattoo parlor near the hotel yesterday, to cover a hickey Ethan had left. That spot was too intimate; if Julian saw it, he’d definitely be suspicious. “What is this?” Julian frowned. “A mark Ethan left on me,” I lied without batting an eye. “He said as long as this flower remains, I can only be his.” Julian’s eyes instantly turned cold. A man with such strong possessive tendencies would despise anything belonging to someone else encroaching on his territory. Even if I was just a pawn to him, I could only be his pawn. “Get it removed,” he said icily. “Can’t be removed.” I lowered my top and turned around. “Not unless I peel off the skin.” Julian stared at me for a moment, then suddenly stood up and walked to me. He reached out, and through my clothes, pressed his hand against the spot of the tattoo. His fingers were icy cold, yet they felt like an electric current. “Then we’ll cover it.” After saying that, he suddenly tore at my clothes. The sound of fabric ripping echoed harshly in the quiet tea room. A large portion of my back was exposed to the air. Julian looked at the glaring red spider lily, a flicker of disgust in his eyes, but more so, a provoked possessiveness. “Stay tonight,” he said, his voice low. “Help me meditate.” My heart leaped with joy. Opportunity. Meditate? What kind of sane man keeps a woman overnight to meditate? I nodded obediently. “Alright.” Julian’s room was in the deepest part of the villa. I knelt on a cushion, holding a brush, pretending to transcribe. Julian sat beside me, eyes closed, meditating. Only our breathing filled the room. The atmosphere was so oppressive it made one want to scream. But I knew this was exactly what Julian wanted. He was restraining himself, enduring. After transcribing for a while, I deliberately let my hand tremble, and ink splattered onto my skirt. “Oh dear,” I gasped softly. Julian opened his eyes, looking at me with some displeasure. “What happened?” “I got ink on it.” I looked at him with an innocent expression. “Mr. Thorne, could I borrow some clothes to change into?” Julian glanced at me, his eyes scrutinizing. But he still stood up. “Wait here.” He turned and left. I watched his retreating back, a faint smile playing on my lips. When he returned, he held a loose, white shirt. It was his shirt. I took it but didn’t go to the restroom. Instead, I started unbuttoning my skirt right in front of him. Julian froze. “What are you doing?” His voice held a hint of panic. “Changing clothes, of course,” I said with a look that suggested it was the most obvious thing in the world. What kind of twisted logic was that? But I was betting his mind was already in disarray. As I moved, my skirt slipped down, revealing the black lace lingerie I had carefully prepared underneath. In the dim light, the stark contrast of black and white was incredibly impactful. Julian’s breathing hitched instantly. His usually cool eyes finally showed the desire I wanted to see. “Alice, do you know where you are?” His voice was hoarse, like a warning, yet also a plea. I stood barefoot on the cold floor, stepping towards him, one by one. Until I stood before him, I reached out and hooked my fingers around his sleeve. “I know,” I whispered, leaning close to his ear. Snap. Julian’s tightly strung nerve finally broke. He suddenly reached out, gripped my waist, and pressed me to the floor.

The air in the room was so thin it was suffocating. Julian’s usual aloof, ascetic demeanor shattered completely. At this moment, he was even crazier than Ethan. But his madness was a repressed explosion, carrying a destructive despair. As he moved, he murmured to me, his voice deep and trembling, sending shivers down my spine. This man was truly a pervert to the core. I gritted my teeth and endured, silently counting the time in my head. The system’s fertility buff should have taken effect by now. After an unknown period, Julian finally stopped. He was utterly spent, collapsing beside me, his eyes vacant as he stared at the ceiling. I was exhausted too, covered in sweat, and that white shirt was long since torn beyond repair. I nudged him. “Mr. Thorne?” Julian didn’t move. After a long moment, he turned to look at me. His eyes held an incredibly complex mix of emotions. There was regret, disgust, and a trace of infatuation he himself was unwilling to admit. “Get out,” he rasped, his voice utterly hoarse. I wasn’t angry; instead, I smiled. Telling me to get out at such a moment meant his heart was in turmoil. “Alright,” I scrambled off the floor, picking up my torn clothes and wrapping them around myself as best I could. “Then I won’t disturb your ‘purification’ anymore, Mr. Thorne.” I stumbled out of the room. The night wind outside hit me, and I suddenly felt disgustingly sticky. Back in my hotel room, I took a shower and put on the clean clothes Julian had previously arranged for me. This time, I didn’t linger. Julian’s current state was dangerous; once he fully came to his senses, he might try to silence me to preserve his “moral compass.” I had to run. But I couldn’t just run without leaving a trace. I pulled out my phone and sent Julian a SnapChat message. “Mr. Thorne, what happened tonight will remain my secret. But I need hush money. Five hundred thousand. Transfer it to this card.” After sending the message, I immediately blocked him. This was me testing his bottom line. If he transferred the money, it meant he wanted to keep things quiet. If he didn’t, or even sent people to catch me, it meant he intended to eliminate me. Ten minutes later, my phone vibrated. A bank deposit notification: five hundred thousand dollars. I breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he still cared about his reputation. With this five hundred thousand, plus the previous hundred thousand, I was much more financially comfortable. I left Julian’s villa that very night. For the next two days, I hid in an inconspicuous motel. The system notified me that the second seed had been planted. Only one left. Leo. This guy was a race car driver, a complete thrill-seeker. But he was different from the first two; they had psychological issues, while Leo was purely chasing adrenaline. To handle him, I had to be even crazier than he was. I checked Leo’s schedule. This weekend, there was an underground race on the winding mountain road. Leo was both the bookie and a racer. I used fifty thousand of the money to buy a used, modified motorcycle and a tight-fitting leather racing suit. On Saturday night, I rode my bike up the mountain. The winding mountain road was brightly lit, filled with luxury cars and attractive women, the roar of engines deafening. Leo leaned against his red Ferrari, a cigarette between his fingers, chatting and laughing with a few people. He had silver hair and a row of earrings, looking rather unconventional, but his face was undeniably handsome and flamboyant. Wearing my helmet, I rode straight towards him and performed an emergency stop. The tires shrieked, and exhaust fumes billowed all over him. Leo coughed a couple of times, his smile instantly gone. “Who’s the idiot? Trying to get yourself killed?” he cursed, stubbing out his cigarette on the ground. I took off my helmet and shook my hair. A chorus of whistles erupted from the crowd. Leo saw my face, paused, then narrowed his eyes. “Never seen you before. New around here?” I dismounted, walked up to him, and looked him straight in the eye. “I heard if you beat you, you can ask for anything?” Leo laughed as if he’d heard a joke, and the crowd egged him on. “Big talk, huh?” Leo took a step closer, looking down at me. “If you beat me, you can certainly make a demand, but can you afford the stakes if you lose?” “If I lose, I’ll give you my life,” I said, my face devoid of emotion. The entire crowd instantly fell silent. The amusement in Leo’s eyes faded, replaced by the madness of someone whose interest had been piqued. “My life?” He reached out and tilted my chin up. “What’s your life worth? But… if you want to play, I’ll play.” “If you lose,” his finger slid from my chin to my collarbone, “tonight, you belong to me.” My heart tightened, but I didn’t show any fear. “Deal.” The race rules were simple: from the mountaintop to the bottom and back. First one to return wins. This mountain road had countless twists and turns, with sheer cliffs on the side and no guardrails. One mistake meant a fiery crash and certain death. I straddled my motorcycle and put on my helmet. Leo also slid into his Ferrari. With a signal, both vehicles shot forward like arrows from a bow. The wind roared in my ears, and the scenery blurred past. Leo’s driving skills were indeed impressive; his turns were terrifyingly precise. But I wasn’t bad either. After all, to save my life, the system had temporarily loaded a “Racing God” skill pack for me. Though it only lasted an hour, it was enough. On a series of hairpin turns, I leaned low, hugging the inside line, and overtook him. In my rearview mirror, Leo’s car clung to my tail. I could sense his excitement, as he started honking wildly and even tried to cut me off several times. This madman was truly playing with his life. Just on the last bend, an accident occurred. There was an oil slick on the road. My wheel spun, and I, along with the bike, skidded out. I rolled several times on the ground, finally stopping at the edge of the cliff, half my body suspended in mid-air. Below was a pitch-black abyss. I was so scared my heart almost stopped. Just then, a screech of brakes sounded. Leo’s car stopped a few meters away. He leaped out, rushed over, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me back from the cliff edge. We both fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Leo was on top of me, his eyes shining with a terrifying intensity. “Damn it, are you really trying to die?” he cursed, but his voice was full of excitement. I looked at him, my heart still pounding wildly. This was the “bridge effect.” In such a life-and-death moment, a person’s defenses are at their weakest, and hormones are at their most active. I grabbed his collar and kissed him. “You wanted my life? Take it.” Leo froze for a second, then cupped the back of my head and deepened the kiss. Right there, in the desolate wilderness, beside a cliff, two people who had just cheated death ignited a fire. As Leo flattened the passenger seat, he was still muttering curses. “I’ve never met a woman as crazy as you in my life.” I thought to myself, you haven’t seen anything yet. To survive, I could be even crazier.

The confined space of the car was stifling, filled with the scent of leather and Leo’s strong aroma, a mix of tobacco and gasoline. This man was a piston, his energy as fast and fierce as his car’s speed. The car rocked violently; I even worried if this multi-million dollar Ferrari would fall apart under his assault. “Scream,” Leo bit my ear, his voice rough. “Weren’t you screaming plenty at the cliff’s edge?” I rolled my eyes; that was out of fright. But for the sake of the mission, I still let out a few cooperative moans. Leo seemed satisfied, and his actions became even more unrestrained. The system appropriately broadcasted in my mind. “Third gene acquisition in progress… 50%… 80%…” I looked at the pitch-black night sky outside the window, with only one thought: it’s finally going to end. These past few days had been pure hell. First the mad dog, then the hypocrite, and finally this daredevil. My body had reached its limit, sustained only by sheer willpower. After an unknown amount of time, Leo finally stopped with a low growl. System. “Congratulations, Host. All three genes collected, gene fusion program initiated.” In that instant, I felt a warm current surge in my lower abdomen. The constant, nagging ache seemed to lessen considerably. It really worked. Leo lay on me like a sated tomcat, idly kissing my neck. “Hey, what’s your name?” he asked. “Does it matter?” I pushed him away and sat up, tidying my clothes. “Of course it matters.” Leo sat up straight and lit a cigarette. “You’re the first woman who dared to overtake me on the track and keep up with me in bed. How about being my co-driver?” I scoffed inwardly. Co-driver? To play with your life? I buttoned up my shirt and pushed open the car door. “No interest.” “Not enough money?” Leo reached out, trying to pull me back. “Name your price.” “It’s not about money.” I looked back at him, my gaze cold. “I don’t play with losers.” Leo was amused. “Loser? If it weren’t for that oil slick, you’d have lost.” “Lost is lost.” I jumped out of the car, uprighting my slightly deformed motorcycle nearby. “A bet’s a bet. Tonight, consider it your overnight fee.” With that, I got on the motorcycle, started the engine, twisted the throttle, and sped away. In the rearview mirror, Leo stood by his car, the cigarette tip flickering, but he didn’t follow. I knew this hurdle was also cleared. Back in the city, I found a place to get rid of the motorcycle and checked into an inconspicuous hotel. Next was the waiting game. Waiting for the pregnancy test results, waiting for this absurd “collecting mission” to finally conclude. Three days later, I bought a bunch of pregnancy tests. Seeing the clear two lines, I let out a long breath. Mission accomplished. But the real trouble was just beginning. None of these three men were easy to deal with. Ethan was surely still looking for that “psychologist.” Julian had probably figured things out by now. As for Leo, that guy was the type who could turn the world upside down if he didn’t get an explanation. Once they found out I’d provoked all three of them simultaneously and was pregnant… That image was too beautiful, I dared not imagine it. I had to disappear. And disappear completely, so they’d give up looking for me. A dead person is never found. I called out to the system. “Help me plan a fake death.” System. “Alright. How about a yacht explosion? The kind where there’s no trace of a body?” “Deal.” I used the money I’d saved to rent a small yacht and booked a time for it to go out to sea on a Saturday. Then, I started writing “suicide notes.” Three of them. To Ethan: “Mr. Blackwood, thank you for showing me the light in the darkness, but I am too tainted for you. If there’s a next life, I hope to meet you in the sunshine.” To Julian: “Mr. Thorne, that night was the most beautiful memory of my life, but I know it was a desecration. I’m leaving, don’t mourn me.” To Leo: “Beating you was the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done. Don’t look for me, I’m in the wind, forever free.” I scheduled these three letters to be sent automatically, half an hour after the yacht explosion. On that day, the weather was beautiful. I sailed the yacht out to sea alone. Of course, I wasn’t foolish enough to stay on board. The system gave me an “invisibility bug.” Before the yacht reached the designated explosion point in international waters, I had already put on a diving suit and quietly slipped into a passing freighter’s lifeboat. This freighter was bound for another country. Time ticked by. In the distance, a massive explosion suddenly rocked the sea. Flames soared, and thick smoke billowed. The rented yacht instantly disintegrated into fragments. I hid in the shadows, watching the fireball, my heart utterly calm. Alice was dead. From today on, I was new. Half an hour later, my phone indicated that the three emails had been successfully sent. I imagined the expressions on the three men’s faces when they received the letters. Ethan would probably crush his phone, then frantically search the sea for my body. Julian might sit silently in his room all night. Leo would probably drive his car wildly along the coastal road until his fuel tank ran empty. But none of that mattered to me anymore. I touched my still-flat belly. “Babies, Mommy’s taking you to a new life.” The freighter sounded its horn, slowly sailing toward the other side of the ocean. I threw away my SIM card and everything that could prove my identity. Goodbye, New York. Goodbye, infertile tycoons.

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In my past life, my wedding car suddenly burst into flames. My fiancé, Ethan Thorne, to save his delicate adopted sister, Serena, who suffered from claustrophobia, cruelly locked me inside the burning vehicle. He carried a pregnant Serena out of the inferno, telling me through the car window, “Serena is pregnant and can’t stand the smoke. You’re strong; just hold on a little longer.” I burned alive inside that car, listening to the crackle of my own flesh, watching their figures disappear, entwined. I died consumed by hatred. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our cruise engagement party. Serena had once again fallen into the water, and when she was rescued, her baby bump was clearly visible. This time, facing the pressure from the entire Thorne family and Ethan’s desperate pleas on his knees, I let out a cold laugh and shattered the entire event. I opened my eyes. The salty sea breeze hit my face. The deck was brightly lit, and the champagne tower glittered, reflecting the harsh lights. I looked down at my dry, couture gown, my fingertips digging sharply into my palms. It hurt. Not the agonizing pain of being consumed by fire, but a vivid, stinging pain. I was back. Back at the cruise engagement party for the Thorne-Davies alliance. “Splash–” A loud splash interrupted my thoughts. Followed by a terrified scream: “Serena fell overboard!” I looked up, unsurprised to see my ‘devoted’ fiancé, Ethan Thorne. Without even stopping to take off his jacket, he plunged into the icy seawater. His movements were so frantic, as if a second’s delay would cost him his life. The surrounding socialites and guests instantly gathered, gasps and whispers erupting. “Mr. Thorne is way too concerned about his adopted sister, isn’t he?” “Well, they did grow up together at the orphanage. And I heard Serena’s always been frail.” “But it’s his engagement party! Leaving his actual fiancée high and dry, what’s that about?” I stood my ground, my eyes cold, watching Ethan cradle a drenched Serena as if she were a priceless treasure, bringing her back onto the deck. Serena was wearing a thin white dress, which now clung to her body, soaked through by the seawater. Because of this, her normally flat stomach now had an undeniable curve. Ethan tore off his suit jacket, wrapping it tightly around her, his voice trembling. “Serena, don’t be scared. I’m here.” Serena leaned into his embrace, her face ghost-white, her eyelashes fluttering. One hand instinctively moved to cover her stomach, then she turned her head and retched violently. The gesture was too obvious. The whispers around us instantly died down, and everyone’s gazes became subtly weighted with meaning. Eleanor, Ethan’s mother, pushed through the crowd, her face a thundercloud. “What are you waiting for?! Get Serena to the lower-deck lounge! Don’t let the media get a shot of this!” On my family’s side, my father, Richard Davies, also frowned. He turned to his assistant. “Go. Make sure no media cameras on this cruise get *anything*.” I looked at the puddle on the deck, a slow smile spreading across my lips. Still the same old act. It was like this in my past life too. No matter how scandalous the situation, their first reaction was always to cover it up, then push me out to clean up their mess. “Dr. Davies.” I pushed through the crowd, my voice clear and cold, cutting through the sudden silence on the deck. “If someone isn’t feeling well, don’t bother dragging them downstairs. Let’s examine them right here.”

The ship’s Dr. Davies blinked, instinctively looking at Eleanor. Eleanor’s face tightened. She lowered her voice, a sharp warning in her tone. “Scarlett, it’s your big day. Don’t make a scene.” I met her gaze without flinching. “Precisely *because* it’s my engagement party, we need to get to the bottom of this. Serena is the Thorne family’s adopted daughter, and her status is… unique. Falling into the water and retching at an event like this? Shouldn’t there be a public explanation? What if she has something contagious? Who’s going to explain that to all these VIPs if they get sick?” Ethan held Serena, his brows furrowed deeply. “Scarlett, can’t you see she’s already suffering? Why are you pushing her?” I stared at him, my eyes devoid of warmth. “Am I pushing *her*, or are *you* hiding something?” The words hung in the air, and a deathly silence fell over the deck. Dr. Davies knelt to examine Serena. Serena’s eyelashes fluttered violently, her fingers digging into Ethan’s shirt. I saw it clearly: she’d been awake the whole time, just pretending to be unconscious. After a moment, Dr. Davies removed her hand from Serena’s wrist, her face ghost-white. Eleanor immediately reached out. “What’s wrong? Is she just cold?” Sweat beaded on Dr. Davies’s forehead. She swallowed hard before speaking. “From her pulse and her current state… Serena… she appears to be pregnant.” Pregnant. The word exploded like thunder on the deck. I heard gasps all around me. “Pregnant? Serena doesn’t even have a boyfriend! Where would she get a baby?” “Look how nervous Ethan is… Could it be…?” The whispers surged like a tide, impossible to suppress. Eleanor panicked, her voice sharp. “That’s ridiculous! It’s windy, Dr. Davies, you must be mistaken! Get her out of here!” “Hold on.” I took a step forward, my high heels clicking crisply on the wooden deck. “Mrs. Thorne, if Serena is pregnant, we need to know who the father is, right now. If someone coerced her, or if there’s any hidden relationship, we’ll call the police. This ship hasn’t docked. No one’s getting off.” At the mention of calling the police, Serena finally dropped her act. She abruptly opened her eyes, her gaze bloodshot, tears streaming down her face. Her voice hoarse, she pleaded, “Scarlett, please don’t call the police… It’s my fault, all my fault…” I looked down at her. “Who’s the father? You tell us.” She bit her lower lip, stubbornly avoiding the main point, just burying herself deeper into Ethan’s arms, crying her eyes out, a picture of distress. “Ethan… please don’t say anything… please…” *Ethan*. Such an intimate address. I suddenly felt incredibly sick. I pointed at Ethan. “She’s your *adopted* sister, yet she’s carrying a child with no known father. You’re defending her, telling her not to be scared. Ethan, what are *you* so afraid of?”

Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked at me, then down at Serena, trembling in his arms. The next second, he did something that stunned everyone present. In front of all the elites, the media, and our business partners, he dropped to his knees before me. “Scarlett.” He looked up, his eyes full of pleading. “Serena has always had a hard life, and her health is poor. That night, I had too much to drink… I let you down.” “BOOM,” went the room. Everyone erupted. Phone flashbulbs erupted, flashing wildly. Even with Richard Davies’s people trying to stop them, there was no way to contain the spread of this earth-shattering scandal. “The baby is mine.” Ethan clenched his jaw, admitting it. “But I love you, Scarlett. I’m begging you, for the sake of this child.” I looked at his pathetic figure, kneeling on the ground, and felt nothing but utter absurdity. He was kneeling *to me*, but every single word was for Serena. Serena sobbed, shaking her head, struggling to kneel as well. “No, it’s not Ethan’s fault… it was just that once, I didn’t mean to…” Eleanor’s eyes flickered. She immediately adopted a solemn, almost empathetic expression, her words coming out in a rush, a plan forming. “Scarlett, this has become a mess, but the baby is innocent. You can raise it. You’ll still be Ethan’s wife, his *only* wife. No one will ever take your place!” I slowly turned to Eleanor. “I’ll raise it?” “Yes!” Eleanor seized onto it like a lifeline. “Serena won’t compete with you; she just needs a safe place to stay. After you two marry, Ethan will be a good husband to you, and the Thorne family will take care of all the gossip.” Several Thorne relatives nearby also chimed in, offering their advice. “What old-money family *doesn’t* have a little scandal? Men will be men; sometimes they just… play around.” “If you want to be the lady of the Thorne family, you have to think about the bigger picture.” “Ethan publicly knelt for you. Do you really want to destroy Serena?” I listened to their nauseating remarks and suddenly laughed. My laughter, in the cold air, sounded unusually sharp. They weren’t feeling sorry for *me*. They simply thought that since the scandal was out, I should just quietly take over. To hide Serena’s shame, to secure an heir for the Thorne family, to let Ethan keep up his ‘devoted boyfriend’ act. And even later, I’d have to raise this secret baby for them, pretending nothing had ever happened. In my past life, I actually believed their lies.

In my past life, for the sake of the Thorne-Davies alliance, I swallowed my anger. I thought if I just conceded, Ethan would settle down. After we married, he was indeed attentive and sweet to me. He’d freak out if I even frowned. Until that deliberately caused car accident. My wedding car caught fire, the door jammed shut. I was pinned under the twisted seat, my face covered in blood, reaching out to him. “Ethan, save me…” But he turned and smashed the window on the other side, pulling out Serena, who only had a minor scrape. The fire grew, the thick smoke choking me. I pounded desperately on the car window, staring at him in despair. He stood in the safe zone, watching me struggle in the flames, his eyes devoid of any former warmth. “Scarlett, Serena is pregnant and suffers from claustrophobia; she can’t stand the smoke. You’re strong; just hold on. The fire department will be here any minute.” He just stood there, holding Serena, watching as the flames consumed the entire car. Before I died, through the inferno, I saw Serena, nestled against his shoulder, flash me a triumphant, chilling smirk. It turned out, all his kindness to me was just to keep the Davies family on their side, to make me willingly become Serena’s human shield. Snapping out of my memories, I looked at Ethan, still kneeling, my eyes utterly cold. “You expect me to accept your secret baby with your adopted sister? You expect me to walk into your family as the city’s laughingstock?” I took a step forward, looking down at him. “Ethan Thorne, who do you think you are, to expect me to cover up your mess?” Ethan’s face changed instantly. “Scarlett! I’m on my knees, begging you! What more do you want?!” “What do I want?” I turned, snatched the microphone from the nearby emcee, and cranked the volume to max. “Everyone here today is a witness!” My voice echoed through the cruise ship’s broadcast, across the entire sea. “The Thorne family knew full well that Ethan Thorne and his adopted sister, Serena, were secretly carrying on an affair and getting pregnant, yet they still went through with the alliance with the Davies family! When the truth came out, their first reaction wasn’t to admit fault, but to force me to swallow this insult, to force me to raise his secret baby!” “In their eyes, my only purpose, Scarlett Davies, was to cover up for this disgusting pair!”

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He personally signed the organ donation consent form, diverting the life-saving heart intended for his own daughter to his first love’s son. For seven years of marriage, I concealed my identity as the heiress to a multi-billion dollar empire, content to be the devoted wife who stood by him. He climbed the ladder I built for him, becoming a world-renowned cardiothoracic surgeon, while I became a desperate housewife, unable to even protect my own daughter’s life. “Lily can hold on for another month with life support, but Leo has already been issued three critical condition notices!” He shielded his first love behind him, his voice harsh and accusatory towards me. He thought I would just kneel, begging him to change his mind. But he didn’t know that the prestigious medical group he prided himself on was merely a gift from my hand. The scalpel he wielded with such arrogance was a privilege I had bestowed upon him. Since he mistook my silent endurance for weakness, and offered my daughter’s life to appease the woman he idealized, Then I would personally reclaim everything I gave him, tear down his facade, and ensure he and his ‘true love’ would be ruined, plunging into an abyss of despair!

When Lily’s cardiac arrest alarm blared, Dr. Arthur Sterling was on stage, delivering his acceptance speech for the ‘Medical Innovator of the Year’ award. I sat in the audience, clutching the critical condition notice the hospital had just sent, feeling utterly frozen. “Dr. Sterling, congratulations on your ‘Artificial Cardiopulmonary Circulation System’ winning the Gold Award! Who would you most like to thank at this moment?” The host beamed. Under the spotlight, Arthur in his tailored suit looked utterly charming and composed. He didn’t look at me in the audience. Instead, his gaze drifted to a corner in the second row. Serena Thorne was sitting there. His first love. “The person I most want to thank is a woman who taught me the true weight of life. It’s her resilience that gave me the courage to constantly push the limits of medicine.” The entire hall erupted in applause. Serena’s eyes welled up, and she covered her mouth, her gaze filled with tears of happiness. Watching this scene, my stomach churned, a wave of nausea washing over me. My phone vibrated. It was Dr. Evans, Lily’s attending physician. “Ms. Hayes, the donor heart has arrived at the hospital, but… Vice Director Sterling just used his top-level clearance to reallocate that heart to the patient in VIP Room 8!” I abruptly stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. Heads turned from all around. Ignoring their curious stares, I practically ran out, my high heels clicking furiously. VIP Room 8. That was Leo’s room, Serena’s son. Half a month ago, Lily’s match was successful. I was overjoyed, thinking my daughter was finally saved. Arthur had hugged me, saying, “Evelyn, our daughter is saved. I’ll personally perform her surgery.” But now, he had personally given away Lily’s only hope for survival. When I arrived at the hospital, Arthur was standing outside VIP Room 8. He had taken off his award ceremony suit, changing into sterile scrubs, and was softly comforting a crying Serena. “Don’t worry, the donor heart is very healthy. The success rate of the surgery is over ninety percent. Leo will soon be able to run around like any normal child.” “Arthur, thank you… Without you, my son and I really wouldn’t be able to live.” Serena leaned into his embrace, sobbing uncontrollably. I walked over, raised my hand, and slapped Arthur hard across the face. *Smack!* The crisp sound of the slap echoed through the hallway. Arthur’s head snapped to the side. Serena shrieked and immediately shielded him. “Evelyn! What the hell are you doing?!” Arthur turned back, his eyes blazing with fury. I stared at him, my voice trembling uncontrollably, “That heart was Lily’s! How dare you give it to someone else!”

Arthur frowned, a flicker of discomfort in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold indifference. “Evelyn, calm down. Leo has acute heart failure; he’ll die if he doesn’t get a transplant immediately. Lily’s condition is relatively stable; she’s supported by a bypass machine and can perfectly wait for the next donor.” Stable? I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips, tears splashing onto the back of my hand. “She was in pain all night yesterday and couldn’t sleep. This morning, she even coughed up blood! You call that stable?” I grabbed the collar of his scrubs, my nails digging into his flesh. “Arthur, Lily is your biological daughter! Are you really going to kill your own daughter for an outsider’s child?!” Serena trembled beside him, tears streaming down her face like a broken dam. “Ms. Hayes, every fault is mine. I begged Arthur to save Leo… Leo is only seven years old, he hasn’t even truly seen the world yet…” She started to kneel. Arthur pulled her back, protectively holding her behind him, then turned to glare at me, his eyes blazing with fury. “Evelyn, that’s enough! Serena is a single mother, struggling enough as it is. Why do you have to be so relentless? What happened to your kindness and generosity?” Kindness and generosity. I looked at the man I had loved for seven years and suddenly felt he was utterly foreign. Seven years ago, he was a struggling medical student, and I was the heiress who hid my identity. For his words, “I want to save lives,” I willingly devoted myself to him, quietly paving the way for him using my family’s connections. His entry into the prestigious St. Mary’s Medical Center, his access to those core research projects—all of it was funded and facilitated by me. Yet, he believed it all came from his own hard work. “Give Lily back her heart,” I released him, my voice cold as ice. “Impossible.” Arthur adjusted his collar, resuming the air of a superior Vice Director. “I am the hospital’s Vice Director and a leading expert in cardiothoracic surgery. From a medical ethics standpoint, the patient with the more severe condition gets priority for the donor organ. I’ve already signed off on this, and I’m about to go into surgery.” He paused, a hint of condescension in his voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll arrange the best conservative treatment for Lily. When the next donor becomes available, I’ll personally perform her surgery.” “The next donor? Lily’s blood type is Rh-negative! Do you have any idea how rare a match is? We waited three years for this heart!” I shrieked. Serena, hiding behind Arthur, softly sobbed, “Ms. Hayes, I’m so sorry… When Leo gets better, I’ll make sure he works tirelessly to repay your kindness…” Repay? A ‘repayment’ bought with my daughter’s life? I find it utterly repulsive! I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. Arthur scoffed, “Who are you going to call now? Your socialite friends? Evelyn, this is a hospital, not a playground for your tantrums.” The call connected. I ignored him and spoke into the receiver. “Activate top-level clearance. Lock down all operating rooms at St. Mary’s Medical Center. Notify the legal department to revoke all of Dr. Sterling’s medical privileges.” Arthur froze, then laughed as if he’d heard the most absurd joke. “Evelyn, have you lost your mind? Who do you think you are? Even the Director wouldn’t dare to use St. Mary’s top-level clearance so casually, you—” Before he could finish, the elevator doors dinged open at the end of the hallway.

A line of security personnel in sharp black suits streamed out, quickly securing the corridor. Close behind them, Director Thompson of St. Mary’s Medical Center hurried over, wiping sweat from his brow. The Legal Director, Ms. Davis, followed. Arthur stepped forward, his brows deeply furrowed, “Director, what brings you here? I’m about to perform an emergency transplant surgery, and the patient’s family is causing a scene here. Could you ask security to escort her out?” Director Thompson didn’t even glance at him. He walked straight to me and bowed deeply. “Chairwoman, I am so sorry. This is due to our management’s oversight, allowing you to be distressed.” Chairwoman. At that title, a dead silence fell over the corridor. Arthur’s expression froze. He looked at Director Thompson, then at me, as if he’d seen a ghost. “Director, what did you call her? Her name is Evelyn Hayes, she’s just a housewife…” Ms. Davis stepped forward, cutting him off coldly. “Dr. Sterling, Ms. Evelyn Hayes is the absolute controlling shareholder, holding eighty percent of St. Mary’s Medical Group. This hospital is her private property.” Serena’s legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor. Arthur staggered back two steps in disbelief, pointing at me, his finger trembling. “You… you’re the Chairwoman of St. Mary’s? How is that possible! You, who supposedly had to budget carefully for every handbag…” I looked at his comical expression, finding it utterly sarcastic. “If I hadn’t been so ‘careful,’ how could I let you comfortably play the role of a self-made medical authority?” I walked over, took a document from Marcus, and threw it squarely in Arthur’s face. “Arthur, you’re suspended.” The papers scattered across the floor. Director Thompson announced emotionlessly, “Dr. Sterling, it has been verified that you severely violated protocol by privately altering the donor allocation system without the Ethics Committee’s approval. Effective immediately, all your clinical duties are revoked, and you are subject to investigation.” Arthur’s face instantly drained of color. He lunged at me, but the security personnel quickly subdued him. “Evelyn! You can’t do this! Leo has already been anesthetized inside, he can’t wait! You’re committing murder!” I looked down at him. “Me, committing murder? Arthur, you were the first to sacrifice my daughter’s life to appease your first love.” I turned to Director Thompson. “Where is the heart?” “Ms. Hayes, the donor organ has been urgently intercepted and is currently preserved in a thermal container. Ms. Lily’s operating room is prepared, and the top-tier specialist team from headquarters will arrive in five minutes.” I nodded, no longer looking at Arthur, and turned to walk towards Lily’s room. Behind me, Serena’s heart-wrenching cries echoed. “Arthur! Please save Leo! You promised me!” Arthur struggled like a caged animal. “Evelyn! Come at me! Don’t touch the child!” I paused, but didn’t look back. Come at you? Don’t worry, I will collect every single debt you owe Lily, with interest.

Lily’s surgery lasted a full ten hours. I sat outside the operating room, staring at the red light above the door, feeling completely drained. My assistant, Marcus Hill, handed me a hot coffee. “Ms. Hayes, Arthur and Serena caused a scene at the Medical Affairs Office and have now been escorted out by security. Serena fainted twice in the hospital lobby, attracting quite a few media outlets.” I took the coffee and scoffed. “What else can she do besides cry?” “Also,” Marcus adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, “I’ve found something about what you asked me to investigate.” He handed me a tablet. On the screen was Arthur’s financial record for the past two years. “Dr. Sterling has abused his position over the past few years, accepting tens of millions in kickbacks from pharmaceutical representatives. And…” Marcus paused, his tone turning somewhat contemptuous. “He not only bought Serena a lavish apartment worth three million dollars, but he also secretly transferred five million dollars from a medical trust fund specifically for Lily into Serena Thorne’s account.” I stared at the damning transfer records, my fingernails digging into my palms. Oh, Arthur, you truly are something. You used the power I gave you to enrich yourself, and you used my daughter’s life-saving money to support the woman you idealized. “Call the police,” my voice was icy. “File charges against him for embezzlement and misappropriation of funds. Transfer all evidence to the Economic Crimes Unit.” “Yes,” Marcus nodded, then hesitated slightly. “However, Serena seems to have been prepared. She just posted a lengthy article on social media, and it’s already trending.” I took the tablet and clicked on the trending topic. The hashtag was glaring: #HeiressStealsHeart I clicked it open to Serena’s post. Every word dripped with feigned sorrow. *I am a desperate single mother. My son, Leo, is seven years old and suffers from severe heart failure. We finally found a matching donor heart, but just an hour before surgery, it was forcibly taken away by a powerful wealthy woman.* *Because her daughter also needed a heart, she bribed hospital executives, brutally seizing my son’s only chance at life.* *My Leo is currently in the ICU, fighting for his life.* *Can money truly allow one to do anything? Is the life of an ordinary person not a life?* The post included a pitiful photo of Leo, covered in tubes, and another of her kneeling on the ground, weeping. The comment section had been overrun by angry netizens. *She’s so wicked! Can money really let you steal someone else’s heart?* *This is practically murder! Investigate this hospital! Investigate this rich woman!* *My heart goes out to this mother. That rich woman who stole the heart will surely get her karma!* Some people had even doxxed my identity, and online abuse was rampant. Marcus frowned, “Ms. Hayes, our PR department has already drafted a statement. Should we release it immediately?” “Not yet.” I tossed the tablet aside, my eyes cold. “Let her jump first. The further she falls, the more shattered she’ll be.” Just then, the operating room door opened. The lead surgeon walked out, took off his mask, and let out a long sigh of relief. “Ms. Hayes, the surgery was a complete success. Ms. Lily made it through.” At that moment, the tension I had held for ten long hours finally snapped, and tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. I covered my face, sobbing. Lily was alive. Now, it’s time for those who wanted her dead to face their own hell.

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On the fiftieth day after I donated a kidney to my mother-in-law, my husband, Marcus Thorne, had also been gone for a month. My surgical wound was severely infected and festering, but after emptying my pockets, I couldn’t even afford the cheapest anti-inflammatory medicine. As I lingered outside the hospital, a stranger stopped me. “Madam, I’m Kevin, Mr. Thorne’s new assistant. He asked me to deliver the restaurant’s booking confirmation for your review.” I stood in the cold wind, my mind a complete blank. Seeing that I didn’t take it, Kevin simply opened the document respectfully and held it out. “Tomorrow night is your and Mr. Thorne’s two-year wedding anniversary. The restaurant is already set up.” “Mr. Thorne’s exact words were, ‘As long as Scarlett Vance is happy, a few hundred million dollars is worth it.’” But I wasn’t Scarlett Vance. I dug my nails into my palms and spoke softly. “Got it. See you tomorrow night.” The next evening, I arrived at the most luxurious restaurant in the city. A gentle-looking woman holding a cat approached me. She looked at my pale face and spoke with pity. “You’re the girl Marcus sponsors, right? He said you gave up a kidney to save your family. Such a kind and dutiful girl.”

I forced a smile that was uglier than a cry, playing along with her words. “Yes, Marcus… he’s kind-hearted.” She didn’t notice the strangeness in my voice, only looked at me with more sympathy. My gaze fell on her neck, where a magnificent pink diamond necklace sparkled. My breathing hitched for a second. I had seen this necklace before. Three months ago, Marcus brought it home, all mysterious, and locked it in his safe. Curious, I reached out to touch it, but he snapped at me fiercely. “Don’t touch it! It’s for a big client, something worth tens of millions. If you break it, can you afford to pay?” At the time, I just thought he was stressed from work and in a bad mood, and I softly comforted him. Thinking back now, it was truly laughable. Gritting my teeth against the pain from my waist wound, I searched the banquet hall for Marcus. Instead, I saw several faces both familiar and strange. Several of Marcus’s uncles and relatives were in the center of the banquet hall, with plastered-on smiles, chatting with the celebrities and socialites around them. Five years ago, when Marcus and I got married, he claimed his hometown was too far for relatives to travel, so we didn’t even have a proper wedding reception. But today, for his anniversary with Scarlett, he’d invited all of the Thorne relatives. Scarlett saw me looking around and explained with a smile. “Marcus went to pick up his parents; they’ll be here any minute.” Hearing that, I froze for a moment, then gave a self-deprecating laugh. Marcus’s mother, Brenda, was suffering from end-stage kidney failure, and the doctor said only a kidney transplant could save her. Without a moment’s hesitation, I lay on the operating table and gave her one of my kidneys. After being discharged, I dragged my ailing body to wash and cook for them, treating them with the devotion I would my own parents. A month ago, Brenda held my hand, tears welling in her eyes, saying she was going to a nursing home out of state for rehabilitation therapy. “Evelyn, that place is a closed facility; to prevent infection, phones aren’t allowed. You just focus on recovering, don’t worry about us.” Marcus’s father, Arthur, chimed in from the side. “Yes, you’ve sacrificed so much for this family; we can’t burden you anymore.” Not only did I believe them, but to gather what they called the expensive therapy fees, I secretly went to the black market to sell my blood three times in one month, without Marcus knowing. The last time, I almost bled to death on the street. Brenda was casually using my kidney, taking the money I earned selling my blood, to attend her son’s wedding anniversary with another woman. Scarlett didn’t notice the immense hatred beneath my pale face and enthusiastically supported me. “Come, let me introduce you to Marcus’s friends.” She led me to the center of the banquet hall. As soon as we approached, a well-groomed socialite began flattering Scarlett. “Scarlett is truly blessed! Mr. Thorne isn’t just young and accomplished, taking his company public, he’s also spoiled you into becoming the happiest woman in the entire city.” Several socialites immediately agreed. “Exactly! I heard that in the two years you’ve been married, Mr. Thorne hasn’t even let you handwash a single piece of clothing.” Two years of marriage? So, in the third year of our marriage, he’d already started another life. Clutching my bleeding lower back, I felt like I was about to collapse. In the past month, Marcus would occasionally send texts. “Evelyn, take good care of your wound, don’t wander around.” “The company is in closed development for a new, crucial project. Wait for me to come back.” These caring words, now, felt like venomous snakes, coiling around my heart, squeezing the breath out of me. He said his company was facing bankruptcy, that he could only eat crackers to stave off hunger every day, that the cash flow had broken, asking me to mortgage our only property to fill the hole. I poured everything I had into it, taking on massive debts to support him. It turned out I had never truly known the man I shared my bed with for five years.

“Mr. Thorne is truly a big spender; he just acquired that prime piece of land downtown without batting an eye.” “That’s not all, I heard he even put fifty percent of his company’s shares in Scarlett Vance’s name. That’s true love!” Listening to the women’s envious voices, it was then that I truly woke up. All those massive debts Marcus spoke of were carefully woven lies. Scarlett’s face was flushed with shyness as she gently wiggled the massive diamond engagement ring on her hand. “Oh, stop teasing me.” A rich heiress grabbed her hand enviously. “Scarlett, don’t be modest. That island wedding two years ago, costing tens of millions of dollars, still hasn’t been surpassed!” So, they even had a wedding. Five years ago, I held my ID card, overjoyed at the thought of marrying him. But Marcus brushed me off with just one sentence: early stages of entrepreneurship required cutting costs. No wedding, no reception, no ring. Only a marriage license and a promise. “When I have money, I’ll definitely give you the most magnificent wedding in the world.” I stood amidst the elegantly dressed crowd, like a misplaced ghost. They were discussing Marcus’s financial empire, asking Scarlett for tips on how to keep a man. Scarlett shared generously. “Actually, I’m not good with money.” “Marcus set all the passwords for his bank cards to my birthday. He said his money was my money, and I could spend it freely.” There was another gasp of amazement. “Oh my god, that’s so romantic!” “Whether a man loves you or not depends on if he’s willing to spend money on you. Scarlett, you truly married the right man.” Scarlett smiled even sweeter. “He just loves doing things like this. Last month, he air-shipped hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of my favorite French black roses, and a while ago, he bought me an entire vineyard just to store my favorite red wines.” Yet, just the day before yesterday, Marcus was complaining to me about being broke in a text message. He said an important client needed to be ‘handled,’ and he desperately needed a hundred thousand dollars. He said he was at his wit’s end, begging me to find a way. I believed him, and I was even prepared to go to the black market again today to sell my blood one more time. Just then, Scarlett’s phone rang. Before answering, she handed me the snow-white cat she was holding. “Could you please hold Mimi for me?” The cat wore a valuable collar, its fur perfectly groomed; it was obviously looked after a hundred times better than me. Scarlett put the call on speakerphone in front of everyone. Marcus’s doting voice came through. “Sweetheart, is the air conditioning in the ballroom too strong? Go grab a shawl, don’t catch a chill.” Scarlett responded playfully. “I know, you’re such a nag.” Marcus chuckled on the other end. “I’m downstairs with Brenda and Arthur picking out your gift; we’ll be right up. You just wait for me.” The call ended, and all the women in the room gasped with envy. “Oh my god, Mr. Thorne is worth hundreds of millions and still so thoughtful—he’s a total wife-pampering maniac!” “A once-in-a-lifetime good man like that is impossible to find!” I held the cat and laughed, tears almost streaming down my face. A month ago, I had a massive hemorrhage after my kidney donation surgery and was in the ICU for two whole days and nights. Marcus merely had a nurse relay a message to me. “The company has an urgent meeting, and he can’t get away.” At the time, I believed him completely, even feeling guilty for not being able to share his burden. It turned out he wasn’t busy; he was just giving all his thoughtfulness and pampering to another woman.

I retreated into the shadows of the corner, holding the cat. The cat seemed to like me, gently rubbing itself against me in my arms. Inadvertently, I looked down and was surprised to find that what hung around its neck was not a regular pendant at all, but a blood-red gemstone, crimson throughout. My pupils constricted instantly; I recognized it at once. This blood-red gemstone was my mother’s relic. Three years ago, my mom was in a car accident, and on her deathbed, she personally placed this blood-red gemstone into my hand. She said it was a protective charm that would keep me safe for life. Later, Marcus said he’d been unlucky lately and needed something to ward off evil. Without hesitation, I gave him the only memento my mother left me, as proof of my love for him. My hands trembled as I touched the inner side of the gem. There was a small, knife-carved initial ‘E’ for Evelyn there. My mother had personally carved it for me when she was alive. This was the only memento my mother left in this world, and now it was a cat’s collar. Scarlett finished her mingling, came over with a glass of champagne, and sat beside me. She gently stroked the cat’s fur, a hint of pride in her voice. “Mimi was a bit scared recently and couldn’t sleep well at night, so Marcus specifically went to the black market and paid a high price for this blood-red gemstone, saying it was to ward off evil for Mimi.” For a cat’s sleep, he could casually trample on my deceased mother’s relic? I bit down hard on my tongue until I tasted blood, just to regain a shred of sanity. I forced myself to manage a smile. “He… he’s truly thoughtful.” Scarlett looked at my old clothes with pity. “Yes, that’s just how he is. He appears cold, but he’s actually very attentive.” “A year ago, I was feeling down because of my period, and he immediately dropped all his work and took me overseas for half a year of travel…” That year, Marcus told me he’d offended local criminal gangs, was forced to borrow money, even had a hit out on him, and had to go to another state to lie low. He told me not to tell anyone, to keep it strictly confidential. I believed him. Living in constant fear, I worked four jobs to pay off his so-called debts. One late night, while I was working a part-time job at a barbecue stand with my son Leo, I got into a conflict with a customer. To protect Leo, two of my ribs were broken, but I didn’t even dare to tell Marcus, afraid of distracting him. It turned out that while I was being beaten half to death, he was overseas with his mistress, enjoying the sun and sand. Scarlett didn’t seem to have any intention of taking the cat back, turning instead to chat with her best friend. “Look, why is Mimi so well-behaved today? She’s usually so fierce; she scratches anyone she doesn’t know.” I lowered my gaze, stroking the cat’s soft fur, and replied softly. “Maybe… I have a familiar scent on me.” Scarlett didn’t think much of it and said happily. “That’s great! You hold her for me, I’m going to touch up my makeup and I’ll be right back.” She lifted her skirt, gracefully gliding towards the powder room. I held the cat, my gaze fixed on the center of the stage. There, a massive flower wall made of the finest red roses was erected, bearing several dazzling, prominent letters. “Marcus Thorne loves Scarlett Vance, forever and always.” For his lies, I sold my blood, I donated a kidney. Yet he used my flesh and blood to throw such a grand ceremony for another woman.

My phone vibrated frantically in my pocket. It was a FaceTime request from Brenda. I immediately answered. On the screen, Brenda wore a luxurious haute couture gown I’d never seen before, dripping with jewels. Her face showed no trace of illness; in fact, thanks to good care, she was radiant. “Evelyn, why haven’t you transferred this month’s twenty thousand dollars for the nursing home yet?” I looked at her hypocritical face, not even having the energy to humor her. “No money.” She raised her voice. “No money? I don’t care what you do, you must transfer the money to me by tonight! I need it urgently here!” As soon as she finished speaking, she impatiently hung up the video call. I expressionlessly opened SnapChat. Ten minutes ago, she had sent me a voice message. “Evelyn, I just had a kidney transplant, and my body’s having a strong rejection reaction. The doctor said I need to buy a special foreign medicine; it’s very expensive, fifty thousand dollars. Go get a loan online and transfer it to me right away!” This entire family of vicious bloodsuckers! I trembled with rage but didn’t reply. Soon, a second voice message popped up. I opened it, and it was Brenda’s malicious cursing. “You ungrateful wretch! I spoiled you for nothing! My son marrying you was the worst luck imaginable! You won’t even give me fifty thousand dollars, you just want me to die! You ungrateful wretch, karma will get you!” Just then, Scarlett returned, lifting her skirt, her face with freshly applied, elegant makeup, smiling brightly. As she stood next to me, her phone rang. I clearly heard Marcus’s voice from the other end of the line. “Sweetheart, Brenda, to celebrate our anniversary, said she’s giving you a house in an excellent school zone as a gift! The transfer contract has already been signed!” It felt like something exploded in my brain. That house in the school district was supposed to be the only financial security my parents left for my five-year-old son, Leo! Brenda had always held onto the property deed, claiming she was keeping it safe so I wouldn’t lose it. I had asked her for it countless times, but she always made excuses. I never imagined she would take my son’s house and give it to his mistress! Scarlett quickly thanked her. “Thank you, Brenda! You really dote on me.” Brenda’s haughty and smug voice clearly came through the phone. “You deserve all of this! Our Thorne family daughter-in-law deserves the best! Alright, I’m not saying anything more, we’re coming up in the elevator now!” The call ended, and Scarlett reached out, just about to take the cat back. From her peripheral vision, she caught Marcus, Brenda, and Arthur stepping out of the elevator, and she immediately went to greet them with joy. I still held the cat wearing my mother’s relic. I looked in their direction and whispered softly, in a voice only I could hear. “Your wedding anniversary? I’m definitely giving you a big gift.” Marcus, in a perfectly tailored haute couture suit, escorted an equally radiant Scarlett towards the stage. All the lights in the hall began to focus on them. I walked onto the stage from the other side, still holding the cat. Just as Marcus picked up the microphone, ready to begin his heartfelt confession, I snatched the microphone from the host and calmly spoke. “Marcus, how is Brenda enjoying my kidney?”

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That year, when our relationship was at its worst, David cheated on me with a college student. The girl Photoshopped intimate photos of me with other men and sent them to provoke me. I went straight to her school, grabbed her by the hair, and beat her in the street. The crowd grew larger and larger. No one noticed an out-of-control car hurtling directly towards us. In that critical moment, David shoved Addison aside, leaving me to collapse in a pool of blood. As the agonizing pain spread through my body, I could no longer deceive myself. David, who once defied his family for me and promised to never leave my side… He truly had fallen for someone else. Ten years of love, now just bitter strangers. Perhaps I should have let go much earlier, instead of tormenting each other until we became utterly detestable. That was my last thought before losing consciousness. After surgery, I lay in the hospital for a week. The ward door opened, and my eyes automatically went to it. It was my son, Stockton. “Mom.” Stockton was only seven, but his small face held a maturity beyond his years. He called my name, his lips pressed thin, then handed me a signed divorce agreement: “This is what I had a lawyer draft for you. The terms are most favorable to you. When I gave it to Dad, Addison had just twisted her ankle. He was too worried to even glance at it and signed it immediately.” “While Dad still feels guilty, you can get more from the divorce. Sign it, Mom, stop acting out.”

A bitter taste rose in my heart, but I had no strength to retort. I got together with David when I was seventeen. My biological father was in prison for murder, and my stepfather was a gambling addict. That troubled upbringing meant David’s mother, Eleanor Smith, adamantly refused to accept me. To be with me, David endured severe physical punishment from his family. He broke ties with his family and lived with me in a cramped small rental apartment, promising me a better life. And he truly delivered. The once arrogant wealthy heir delivered food, worked as a salesman, and took on every odd job for me. To surprise me on my birthday, he even secretly worked hauling cement at a construction site after classes in college, leaving him with a permanent shoulder injury. When Stockton was three, our careers began to take off. Eleanor Smith, unable to resist David, finally let us come home. After enduring such difficult times, David’s heart changed. When I discovered his affair with Addison, I was in a daze for an entire day. Anger, fear, disgust, pain… all these emotions intertwined in my heart, intensifying both love and hate. I started creating endless drama. When David arranged huge fireworks for her, I went to her university and publicly called her out for her shamelessness, for breaking up a family. When David gave her credit for a project I had worked tirelessly on to bolster her resume, I denounced them as a disgusting pair in a meeting, a rotten pot with a rotten lid. When David bought her top-tier luxury jewelry and dresses, I cut up the dresses and called the police, demanding she return the gifts. The more I created a scene, the more David sympathized with her, and the more he felt compelled to compensate her many times over. The next time I publicly humiliated Addison, David rushed over to support her. He lit a cigarette, his eyes so cold they seemed devoid of emotion, and asked me: “Are you done making a scene? I told you, Addison is just a bit childish; no matter what, she won’t shake your position.” “You are my only wife. What more do you have to be unsatisfied about?” Back then, I thought I had to cling to this marriage, no matter how rotten, to make Addison an invisible mistress forever. But now, I just felt so tired… Seeing that I hadn’t signed, Stockton spoke again: “Mom, Addison is a better fit for Dad than you are. They look more like a family.” As if to confirm his words, he pulled out his phone and opened Addison’s Twitter, handing it to me. Addison’s Twitter was very active, filled with pictures of her happiness every day. There were gifts from David, photos of them together, and sweet moments from their vacations. The latest post had just been updated. In the Live photo, David had his sleeves rolled up, applying medicine to her. His usually defiant eyes were now incredibly gentle. In the background, I could hear his voice, full of doting affection, saying, “Of course I’ll be by your side forever.” The caption read: [With you, I don’t have to grow up.] After the car accident, the rescue team arrived quickly. David shielded Addison, and she only got a scratch. Even so, he was incredibly distressed, mobilizing all the resources of a private hospital for her to rest and recover. Meanwhile, during my week in the hospital, he never came once. The only news I got from him was when my attending doctor discussed my condition. David listened quietly, then coldly replied, “As long as she’s not dead,” and didn’t ask again. My heart felt like it was being pricked by thousands of fine needles, the pain gradually spreading through my limbs. I finally gave up, my trembling fingers signing the divorce agreement, and booked a flight to leave in half a month. Ten years of love and hate were too heavy, too painful, so I gave it all up. David, I release you, and I release myself.

After deciding to divorce, I clearly knew I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, fight for Stockton’s custody. After all, I temporarily lacked the ability to provide him with educational resources comparable to the Williams family. For this, I specifically set aside half a month, hoping to spend more time with him. Stockton’s first wish was to visit Monkey Mountain Zoo again. Tickets there were only two dollars, and the facilities were rudimentary. When David and I were broke, we often took him there to play. This wish wasn’t hard to fulfill, but I didn’t expect to run into David and Addison there. “Ms. Scarlett, did you find out David and I were here and follow us deliberately?” Addison’s eyes held thinly veiled contempt as she scanned Stockton and me. “And you even brought your child to compete for attention. How pathetic…” She could speak so carelessly because she knew David would support her. In the past, I would have certainly engaged her in a war of words. But now that I had decided to leave, who David liked or who he brought to relive memories had nothing to do with me. I calmly lowered my eyes, ignoring David’s implied warning and impatient gaze behind her, and led Stockton around them. But I underestimated Addison’s malice. As I was feeding the monkeys, Addison grabbed a small monkey’s paw and violently threw it off the fence. The mother monkey was enraged and immediately attacked us. I barely dodged its claws, and before I could steady myself, Addison shoved me hard from behind, sending me sprawling towards the fence. I quickly grabbed her wrist and pulled her in with me. Addison’s sharp screams echoed in my ears. When we were rescued, both our necks and arms were covered in monkey scratches. “David…” Addison, like an aggrieved child, threw herself into David’s arms, exposing the marks on her wrist from where I pulled her. “I just said a few words to Ms. Scarlett, and she retaliated by pulling me down too… I’m in so much pain…” David held her, gently patting and coaxing her. The tenderness and warmth in his eyes, when they landed on me, turned into suppressed anger and disappointment: “Scarlett, apologize!” He just believed her… Without even needing to hear my explanation, he was convinced I was to blame. A prolonged, stinging pain rose in my heart, making my fingertips tremble. “I won’t apologize,” I suppressed the ache in my heart, raising my eyes to firmly confront David. “She pushed me first; she got what she deserved.” “Truly the daughter of a murderer, lying without batting an eyelid,” David’s eyes were so cold they seemed devoid of emotion. “Addison is only nineteen. Though a bit childish, she’s inherently pure-hearted, unlike your twisted, calculating mind!” Those words were like a sharp knife, piercing deep into my heart. Indeed, those who once loved each other know best where to stab to inflict the most pain. It was David who, when I was shamed about my background, once cupped my face and earnestly told me: “Scarlett is the best Scarlett. You’re not just someone’s daughter. I know better than anyone what kind of person you are.” Now it was him, in front of our child, returning that very humiliation to me. Humiliation and stinging pain collided in my chest. I finally couldn’t bear it anymore, my eyes red as I questioned him aloud: “Do you have any shame saying that, David? She’s nineteen, so she can’t harm anyone?” “But I was only seventeen when I was with you! Was I born evil?!” “I have no shame? You were seventeen when you got with me, so you had a lot of shame, did you? If you had any shame, would you have thrown yourself at me?” David spoke slowly, every word punctuated, the contempt in his eyes tearing away my last shred of dignity. In that instant, it felt like a thousand arrows pierced my heart. Those words hurt too much. So much that I could barely stand, my face instantly turning deathly pale, my mind completely blank. What David said was true. When I was seventeen, I escaped that hellish home with him, avoided the fate of being married off by my mother for money, and successfully got into college. Because I felt so insecure, I proactively tried to hold onto him by giving myself to him. Back then, David didn’t touch me. He held me all night, his tears burning my heart, making it ache. He told me again and again that I didn’t need to do that, that he would cherish me and be good to me for life. Now… to protect another woman, he actually used that incident to mock me…

I never apologized to Addison. Stockton stood up for me, recounting the entire incident, but David dismissed it as a lie Stockton told to defend me. “Look at the wonderful son you’ve raised!” David pointed at Stockton, angrily questioning me. “So young, yet he lies without batting an eyelid. Are you trying to turn him into a murderer too?!” Addison’s cries continued without end, tugging at David’s sleeve and repeatedly complaining of pain. To appease her, David had me locked in the enclosure. The mother monkey, still furious, pounced on me. Its sharp claws tore fiercely across my arm, which I used to shield my face, leaving numerous bloody marks. The excruciating pain made me clench my jaw, suppressing a scream that caught in my throat, but my spine trembled involuntarily. It hurt so much… Stockton was still a child. Seeing my frantic, desperate attempts to escape, he burst into tears, struggling to get me out, but David’s men forcibly held him back. “Stockton, look closely! This is the consequence of harming others and lying! Don’t be as vile as your mother!” David finished coldly, then, taking Addison’s hand—who was smugly sticking her tongue out at me—he turned and left. I was locked in the enclosure for an entire night. The next morning, when the staff let me out, my arms were practically shredded, and my face bore several shallow and deep claw marks. Stockton had already been taken away by David. I was in extreme pain, my whole body trembling as I treated my wounds. Dragging my body, which was numb with exhaustion, I stumbled home. It’ll be okay. It’ll pass soon. I bit down hard on my lower lip, reassuring myself repeatedly. Soon I can leave… just a little longer… Because I had “misguided” Stockton, David sent him to the old mansion. It wasn’t until a week later that I received news from him. Stockton’s second wish was to eat a savory meat pie, the kind I often made for him and his father when we were struggling. When I took the meat pie to the old mansion, the servants stopped me. They awkwardly explained that Addison, as Stockton’s tutor, was giving him extra lessons, and I shouldn’t disturb them. Helpless, I could only ask them to deliver the meat pie on my behalf. But to my shock, that afternoon, I received news that Stockton was hospitalized due to an allergic reaction to the meat pie! Stockton was allergic to seafood, but there was no seafood in my meat pie… What went wrong… I was in a panic. When I arrived at the hospital, Stockton had just been stabilized. His little face was pale and bluish, and my heart clenched with pain, bringing tears to my eyes. “Ms. Scarlett, your acting is superb. It’s a shame you didn’t become an actress,” Addison pushed open the door, saw me, and immediately launched into an aggressive accusation. “Just because David ignored you and wouldn’t let you see Stockton, you put seafood in his meat pie to make him allergic? That’s such a vile trick, isn’t it?” Filled with irritation and worry, I had no intention of arguing with her, only muttering a low “Watch your mouth!” Regardless of the fact that I had already given up on David and was about to leave, even if I were still clinging to my position as Mrs. David, I would never harm my own child! “Is Addison wrong?” David followed Addison in, his voice low and full of anger, yanking me forcefully out of the ward. “Today at the old mansion, Stockton only ate the meat pie you sent. What more do you have to explain?!” “Using our child for attention, Scarlett, you don’t deserve to be a mother! You don’t even deserve to be human!” My wrist was red from his grip, and the unhealed wounds tore open, making my fingers tremble uncontrollably. Yet this pain was less than a tenth of what I felt inside. He actually believed I fed Stockton seafood just to put on a show! In his heart, I was really that despicable! Indignation and worry filled my heart. My eyes stung with anger as I gritted my teeth and said: “I told you it wasn’t me! Stockton is my child, how could I possibly…” David didn’t listen to my explanation. His angry eyes darkened, and he had his bodyguards push me downstairs, forbidding me from visiting. After multiple unsuccessful attempts, I had to sit by the fountain downstairs, hoping to find a chance to go up and see Stockton. However, I didn’t get my chance; instead, Addison showed up, wearing a smug look.

“Feeling down, Scarlett? David just doesn’t believe you.” Addison leaned closer, her eyes openly provocative. “You and that worthless child of yours… you don’t mean much to David, do you?” In an instant, it clicked. It was her! I suppressed an almost overwhelming rage and asked, “Was it you? Did you put seafood in the meat pie?” “It was me, so what? I…” Before Addison could finish, I slapped her hard across the face. My palm was numb and trembling, but I didn’t feel it, only staring intently at Addison, wanting to tear her apart. I could tolerate her usual targeting of me. I had decided to leave, and I would tolerate what I could, refusing to get entangled with her. But Stockton was my bottom line! Addison didn’t expect me to strike. She froze for a full two seconds, clutching her face, her beautiful features contorting into a snarl. She raised her hand to strike back, but when she caught sight of someone behind me, her movement abruptly stopped. “David…” She changed her expression in a second, putting on a tearful, on the verge of crying look, and threw herself into David’s arms. “I saw Ms. Scarlett lingering downstairs, so I thought she was worried about Stockton and came to persuade her, but then she suddenly hit me…” “A vicious woman like her, who would even harm her own child to compete for attention, how could she truly care about Stockton? She just wants an opportunity to put on a show of maternal love.” David hugged Addison, comforting her. His gaze, usually cold, turned icy as he looked at me. “Slap her back. This time, I won’t hold it against you!” He trusted her that much… Time and again, without even asking, he powerfully stood up for her. The words “put on a show of maternal love” echoed in my mind. My heart felt like it was being torn by a blunt knife, making my fingertips recoil. “David, why don’t you ask me why I hit her?” I spoke slowly, every word deliberate and serious. “Your mistress just confessed herself that she swapped the meat pie I made for Stockton and added seafood to it!” “Scarlett, your lying skills are truly as despicable as your character,” David scoffed coldly. “Although Addison is innocent and a bit mischievous, she always knows her boundaries and treats Stockton like her own child. How could she do such a thing?!” He stopped listening to my explanation and had his bodyguards restrain me. At David’s instruction, the bodyguards swung their arms, slapping me repeatedly across the face. My cheeks burned, quickly swelling, my mind went blank, and my ears rang incessantly. “You’re reluctant to do it yourself, so I have to get others to do it,” David said, walking up to me after the tenth slap. He looked down at me. “This is a warning to you. I will return what you did to Addison tenfold. Don’t let me see a next time!” Pain spread from my cheeks, but more than that, it was humiliation and disgrace. I collapsed onto the ground, utterly exhausted, watching David’s retreating back and Addison’s secretly smug eyes. My chest felt like it was stuffed with expanding cotton, and my eyes stung with tears. Don’t rush… I can leave in just one more week… Once I’m away from these rotten people and rotten situations, I can live my own life… Stockton woke up that evening. Seeming to know I would be leaving soon, he insisted on being discharged against the doctor’s advice and presented me with his third wish. He wanted to go to the amusement park I designed with me. This amusement park was the first major project I was responsible for after joining the Williams Group, and it was a sore spot for me. I poured my heart and soul into this project, drawing blueprints day and night, but the final credit was given to Addison, who just used it to pad her resume. So, after the amusement park was built, I never visited it once. But with my departure imminent, I naturally wouldn’t refuse Stockton. I spent the afternoon with Stockton at the amusement park, taking many photos of him and even showing him the hidden features of various rides. He was, after all, a seven-year-old child. His cool demeanor quickly melted away, his eyes bright and smiling. It wasn’t until night had completely fallen, and Stockton was tired from playing, that he sat down to rest in a small pavilion. I bought him an ice cream, which was usually strictly regulated. Just as I was about to tell him it was time to go home, the pavilion’s beam suddenly snapped, and it instantly collapsed. “Stockton!” My pupils constricted, and my heart seemed to stop along with time.

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My cousin Schumacher was getting married, but my wife refused to attend the wedding with me. I’d expected this—just like how she always found excuses not to visit my hometown with me. Though I was prepared, facing relatives’ questions at the wedding reception still left a bitter taste in my mouth. I’d long known that many people gossiped behind my back, saying I wasn’t man enough to even bring my own wife home. Some even whispered that I’d gotten divorced. I drank silently, coming to a decision. No need for rumors anymore. I pulled out my phone and called my wife. She hung up… hung up again… and again. [Can you stop? I’m busy] Faced with her attitude, I calmly typed: [Let’s get divorced] [Are you insane? You want a divorce just because I won’t go to Schumacher’s wedding?] [My sister’s visiting for the holidays. Can’t I spend time with her?] I used to try reasoning with her, telling her how I felt. She said she hated social obligations, but with her own family, she was always enthusiastic. Big events or small, I had to attend everything on her side. When it came to my side, she called it annoying. I’d tried reasoning too many times. I was done talking. [I’m serious. Think about what you want in the divorce, and I’ll state my terms too] [Split assets fifty-fifty. If you agree, we’ll do an uncontested divorce] I sent the two messages. [Are you crazy?] She replied with the same line again. I put away my phone with no intention of responding further. Over the next few days, she went silent, and I didn’t contact her either. On the last day of the holiday, she came home. Seeing my stern face, she said nothing. After setting down her things, she went into the bedroom and slammed the door hard. Moments later she stormed out angrily, holding divorce papers in her hand. “What is this supposed to mean?” She threw the papers at me. “Divorce.” “I want a reason.” “I’m tired. I don’t want to live with you anymore.” I looked at her calmly. “You’re leaving me for Schumacher?” She started crying. Her tears used to make me panic. Now, I ignored them. “We’re both adults. Can’t we be civilized about this?” “Civilized? You call divorce civilized?” Green tore up the divorce papers. “I’ll never divorce you. I can’t handle that kind of humiliation.” I got up and retrieved my pre-packed suitcase from the study. “You have three days to think it over. If you won’t agree to an uncontested divorce, I’ll file a lawsuit.” “Stop right there, Davis! What gives you the right to divorce me? What have I ever done wrong to you?” “Are you seeing someone else?” I glanced at her, too tired to argue. I just wanted to end this marriage as quickly as possible, even if it meant taking a financial loss. Less than two hours after I left home, my father-in-law Ant called, asking me to come back and talk. If we could divorce peacefully, I didn’t want things to get too ugly. I headed back quickly. Ant, my mother-in-law Bella, and Green’s sister Lavinia were all there. The whole family sat formally, like they were conducting an interrogation. Bella spoke first. “Davis, Green’s told us everything. You’re really going too far. You want a divorce just because she wouldn’t go home with you for your wedding?” “Do you think marriage is a joke? Don’t you take Green seriously at all?” I stayed silent, unwilling to engage in this pointless argument. Green and I had argued enough over the years.

Our sex life—her cold rejections. I’d complained many times. It never helped. My income—no matter how my salary increased, there was always someone earning more that she could use to put me down. And my time off work and holidays—I couldn’t have any recreational activities of my own. She’d always say I was lazy, greedy, sneaky, and lacked ambition. Five years of marriage, and she refused to have kids, constantly citing my lack of ambition and insufficient income. Living in that atmosphere every day, I couldn’t find any meaning in life. The thing was, to make things easier for herself, she’d taken a job paying two thousand a month where she could watch shows and scroll through videos all day. After work, she was either playing cards or getting beauty treatments. Shopping and traveling were mandatory on holidays. I didn’t accept this double standard. “Green hasn’t enjoyed a single day of happiness since marrying you. What right do you have to ask for a divorce?” Bella continued her tirade. I glanced at the gold bracelet on her wrist—I’d bought that. She and Ant had no income. I gave them living expenses every month. Every month, I gave them three thousand dollars. As for Green’s jewelry—I never missed Valentine’s Day, birthdays, or anniversaries. Not once in five years. I didn’t know what suffering they’d endured, or what hardships Green had faced with me. Perhaps the greatest hardship she’d suffered was drinking iced Americanos. Whenever I went back with Green, Bella never stopped talking—either about whose son-in-law made so much money in business or whose daughter acquired what nice things. Her family was a bottomless pit. I looked at Bella. “I came here to talk with you all. Can you shut your mouth?” Bella stood up, glaring. “How dare you! You dare tell me to shut up? Green, look at what you’ve found.” She pointed at me. “With us here, this is your attitude. God knows how you bully Green normally.” “If that’s your attitude, I’ll see you in court.” I stood to leave. “Stop right there! Is this how your parents raised you? Do you have any respect for us?” “Mom, please say less.” Green quickly stopped Bella. “Your parents should be here soon. We’ll discuss this when they arrive.” Ant finally spoke up. Divorce was a big deal—impossible to hide from my parents. Since they’d already notified my folks, we might as well sit down together and settle this. Shortly after I sat back down, my parents arrived. “Finally, you’re here.” Bella wore a stern expression. “Davis is absolutely terrible. You need to control him. I said a few words to him and he told me to shut up.” “This kind of disrespect for elders—only Green could tolerate him.” “Anyone else would have divorced him long ago.” My dad didn’t take the bait, just looked at me. “You’ve thought this through?” “Yes.” “Then divorce.” Bella’s expression darkened. “What do you mean? I called you here to mediate.” “Mediate?” My dad glanced at her. “I don’t see you trying to mediate.” “And speaking of disrespecting elders, does Green respect me and her mother-in-law?” “They’ve been married five years. Has she ever visited us?” “In all these years, has she ever called us Mom and Dad?” “Only the people who gave birth to me are Mom and Dad. Is it wrong that I don’t call you that?” Green lost her temper too. “Then divorce it is.” My dad repeated. “On this matter, I support Davis.”

“I thought you were reasonable people, that’s why I called you over.” Ant’s face darkened. “Since this is your attitude too, there’s no need to let Green suffer with you anymore.” Ant looked at me. “Davis, you can divorce Green, but you leave with nothing.” I ignored him, staring at Green instead. “If you agree to an uncontested divorce, we split assets fifty-fifty. If not, I’ll sue and fight for all the assets, leaving you with nothing.” “Fight for all the assets? Who the hell do you think you are?” Bella put one hand on her hip, pointing at me with the other. “How dare you even mention assets? Have you no shame?” “I’ve been too nice to you, haven’t I?” I stopped indulging her. “You have two daughters. Lavinia married far away, so you expect me and Green to support you in old age. You’re the shameless one.” “You… you… you…” Bella pointed at me. “Won’t our inheritance be yours when we die?” “Inheritance? What inheritance do you have?” I laughed bitterly. “Because you raised daughters, you retired early and started living off others.” “Now even your living expenses come from me, and you dare mention inheritance?” “And the car, house, jewelry—did Green go without any of them?” “If you haven’t learned to be human, you should die and reincarnate to learn again.” Seeing her face flush with anger, I turned back to Green. “I’m just waiting for one word from you. I want to divorce you as soon as possible.” “As long as you agree to an uncontested divorce, you get half the assets. If I sue, you won’t get anything.” “Davis, you’re bullying me.” Green wiped away tears pitifully. “You’re the one leaving me. You want the divorce. What right do you have to split assets?” “What have I done wrong to you?” “You just think I’m too old. You must be seeing someone else.” “Exactly.” Bella chimed in. “Divorce is fine, but you must explain why. If you can’t, you leave with nothing.” “You know perfectly well why I want a divorce.” I stared at Green. “Are you sure you want me to say it now?” “I don’t know. Say it right now why you want a divorce.” “I can tolerate anything about you, but not matters of principle. That’s why I want a divorce.” “What do you mean?” Green glared at me. “You don’t understand what I mean?” “I don’t understand.” Green stepped forward. “You must explain clearly.” I said coldly: “You cheated on me.” “Bullshit! You’re the one who cheated! Don’t slander me.” Green became agitated. “You need proof—you need evidence. Where’s your proof?” She rushed at me shouting, “You’re inhuman! How can you say such things? I’ll tear your mouth off!” Slap… I raised my hand and struck her face. In all our years of marriage, I’d never argued with her. When she was willful or threw tantrums, I’d always laughed it off. But on matters of principle, there could be no forgiveness. Actually, I didn’t want to hit her. I found her disgusting. I just wanted to end this marriage quickly, but facing Green’s fake innocence, I couldn’t hold back. That slap lit the fuse. “You dare hit Green!” Bella rushed forward, Ant followed, and Lavinia joined in too. My parents immediately entered the fray.

Numbers-wise, we were at a disadvantage. But the other side only had Ant as a male, so we gained the upper hand. All those years of pent-up frustration, I released through my fists and feet on Green. I found the chance to slap the domineering Bella several times. Finally, my dad and I teamed up to take down Ant and used my size 11 shoe to greet his face. I proved to Bella through action that I dared not only to hit Green, but her too. Whether it was dirty or not didn’t matter anymore. It felt great. Though feeling great came at a cost—the police took us all in. This kind of family conflict was hard to assign responsibility for. In the end, everyone got a verbal warning. This negotiation ended in physical combat. Clearly, an uncontested divorce was off the table now. Time to sue. Half a month later, the court arranged the first mediation. That day, all of Green’s relatives who could come showed up, clearly planning to get revenge through force. At the mediation, Green’s relatives looked menacing. Seeing this, my dad called my family’s relatives. I figured once mediation ended, another battle was inevitable. The mediator looked stern. “I know you’re all emotional, but today we’re here to resolve your conflicts.” “Davis, Green doesn’t agree to your divorce request, and she’s very upset about your accusation of her infidelity.” “If you have no evidence, she has the right to hold you accountable.” I looked at Green. “Since you won’t take the easy way out, today I’ll let all your relatives see your true face.” “Green, listen carefully. Before Schumacher’s wedding half a month ago, I installed cameras at home. Do you think I have evidence of your affair?” I looked at the mediator. “I have a video that can prove Green’s infidelity.” Green’s face went pale. “I agree to divorce. I agree to leave with nothing.” Too late. For people who don’t appreciate kindness, they must learn pain. I told the mediator, “I request to play this video publicly to prove I didn’t slander Green.” “No, you can’t!” Green panicked. “You heard her—Green says you can’t.” Bella joined in. “Green said you can’t.” Lavinia also shouted. Green’s whole family panicked. I watched silently. The expressions on Bella and the others’ faces made me realize they’d known about Green’s affair all along. “This is evidence proving my innocence.” I stood up. “It’s also key evidence for the divorce and asset division.” The mediator didn’t indulge Green and her family. The video was played on the spot. The day I went to Schumacher’s wedding, Green confirmed I wasn’t home. She brought her lover back to the house. The camera clearly recorded everything, including their conversation. “It’s more exciting at your place.” “Baby, I want something even more exciting. One day you should slip him some sleeping pills.” Hearing this dialogue, my dad immediately cursed. The scene erupted into chaos. “You violated my privacy rights! I’ll sue you!” Green shouted at the top of her lungs. The mediation couldn’t continue. Both sides left. Outside, Green pointed at me. “He violated my privacy and just insulted me. Beat him up!” Her relatives’ faces couldn’t have looked worse. “What a disgrace! We thought Green was really wronged.” “Turns out she’s shameless! She’s completely humiliated us, and now she wants us to beat Davis? You must be joking.”

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My dad died in a car accident when I was ten. Only later did I learn that the crash wasn’t an accident. The brakes had been tampered with. And the person who did it was my mom. My dad died never knowing his wife had already found another man. Less than three months after his death, she married that man, grooming their son to become his successor. She even stole my dad’s last composition, claiming it was her other son’s original work. Fifteen years later, I sat on the judging panel of an international piano competition. On stage, that “child prodigy” was playing my dad’s final piece. I pressed the stop bell. “That piece isn’t yours.” The microphone carried my voice to everyone in the hall. “I refuse to score you.” The hall erupted, camera flashes going off like a storm. Andrew’s face instantly went pale, his lips trembling as he looked at Molina in the audience. I saw Molina’s face twitch, but she didn’t react publicly. She just stared at me, a sinister glint in her eyes. The competition was halted. I left the judging panel and walked toward the backstage lounge. Before the door could close, someone pushed it open. Andrew stood in the doorway, his eyes red, his chest heaving. “How dare you?” His tone was arrogant, nothing like the “child prodigy” on stage. “How dare you interrupt me? Do you have any idea how long I prepared?” I stayed seated. “I don’t care how long you prepared. That piece isn’t yours, so I won’t score you.” “If it’s not mine, is it yours?” He sneered, growing more agitated. “I composed it myself! My mom personally guided me! Who do you think you are, saying it’s not mine?” I looked up at him. He didn’t know the true owner of the piece. He didn’t know his mother had stolen someone else’s posthumous work. And he certainly didn’t know that I was Molina’s first son. “I said it’s not, so it’s not.” My voice was calm. “The composition date, the structural logic, the harmonic progression of this piece are completely different from your usual style. Any professional judge would hear it.” “Bullshit!” he practically screamed. “You’re just jealous of me! You just want attention!” He slammed the door shut and left. I closed my eyes, my hand trembling. Not from fear, but from hatred. Fifteen years. My dad died in that “accident.” No one suspected anything, no one knew the brakes had been tampered with. But I found out. It took ten years, piecing it together, bit by bit. The old mechanic from that repair shop was still alive. He remembered someone giving that car “special maintenance” that day. The person he described looked exactly like Molina in her youth. My dad died never knowing. He didn’t know his wife had been with another man when she was pregnant. He didn’t know that man’s family wealth could elevate Molina to the top overnight. He just practiced the piano every day, composed, taught me, and eagerly awaited the concert that could change our lives. He got into that car and never came back. My phone screen lit up. A notification: Andrew’s studio released a statement, strongly condemning the judge for “maliciously disrupting the competition.” The comment section already had tens of thousands of posts. [Who’s this judge? Chasing clout, probably?] [Poor Andrew, he’s being bullied.] [Boycott this judge!] I turned off my phone. I knew this was just the beginning.

The next morning, three distinct knocks, neither too loud nor too soft, sounded at my hotel room door. I opened it, and a man stood there. In his early fifties, remarkably well-preserved, in a custom-tailored suit, a Patek Philippe on his wrist. Osmond. Molina’s husband, Andrew’s father, and the man she’d been with before she even divorced. “Judge Lewis, aren’t you going to invite me in?” He smiled politely, but there was no warmth in his eyes. I stepped aside, letting him enter. He sat on the sofa, crossed his legs, and surveyed the hotel room as if sizing up something of no value. “Judge Lewis, I’ll get straight to the point.” He took an envelope from his bag, placed it on the coffee table, and slid it toward me. I glanced down, an eight-figure sum. “That’s ten years’ worth of your judging income,” he said. “All you have to do is release a statement tomorrow, saying you misheard the piece that day and acted impulsively, and this money is yours.” “Additionally, the Conservatory will give you a visiting professor position. You won’t have to teach annually, just lend your name to the position.” I looked at him, saying nothing. He thought I was hesitating, so he added: “Judge Lewis, you’re a smart man. You should know that going against the Osmond family never ends well.” “Mr. Osmond,” I finally spoke. “The Osmond family, you say?” “My wife is an Osmond, my son is an Osmond. Is there a problem?” “And that piece?” I asked. “Are you sure it belongs to the Osmond family?” Osmond’s expression subtly changed, but he quickly regained his composure. “That piece is Andrew’s original work, and it’s copyrighted.” “Judge Lewis, if you can’t provide evidence, you’d best be careful what you say. Defamation carries legal consequences.” “Is that so?” I picked up the check, looked at it, then slowly tore it in half. Osmond’s face finally darkened. “Lewis, you’re testing my patience, aren’t you?” He stood up, looking down at me. “You think winning a few international awards means you can just waltz in here and call the shots? Let me tell you who truly runs things in this industry.” “The Osmond family?” I finished his sentence. “Glad you know.” “Then let me tell you something too,” I looked up at him. “I, Lewis, didn’t get to where I am today through anyone’s charity. You can’t touch me.” Osmond sneered. “Lewis, you’re too naive.” He picked up his bag, walked to the door, and glanced back at me. “Within three days, you’ll be crawling back to me.” The door slammed shut. I watched the door, my lips slowly flattening. Beg him? My dad never begged anyone. He didn’t even know Osmond existed. He only knew his wife suddenly became very busy during his struggling period, often not coming home. He thought she was focused on her career. He raised me alone, practicing piano, composing, teaching lessons, scrimping and saving. He never complained once. When he died, his bag still held a family photo. On the back, it read: “When Lewis grows up, we’ll go to Vienna together.” I took an archive folder from the drawer. Inside were the pieces of evidence I’d collected over the years. The mechanic’s recorded statement. Molina’s transfer records for purchasing brake fluid that year, through an intermediary, but the money trail eventually led back to her private account. And the original manuscript of the piece. My dad wrote it in an old notebook, the date clearly marked: three months before the accident. What he took with him that day was a clean copy. The original was safe at Grandpa Arthur’s. Molina didn’t know; she thought it was all destroyed. She didn’t know my dad had a backup. I turned to the last page of the manuscript. A line of small lettering read: “To my son, Lewis. I couldn’t be there to watch you grow, but I’ve left you my best music.” My fingers gently traced the words. Dad, rest assured. I won’t let anyone steal your music.

On the third day, Molina herself arrived. She didn’t knock; the hotel manager used a master key to open the door for her. She wore a sharply tailored business suit, her hair impeccably styled, her entire presence exuding “successful woman.” She stood in the doorway, looking at me as if I were a naive insect. “Lewis, let’s talk.” I sat by the window, not moving. She walked in, closed the door, and sat opposite me. “You know who I am, right?” “I do,” I said. “Molina, Dean of the Conservatory, renowned pianist.” “And what else?” “Andrew’s mother.” She nodded, crossed her legs, her tone like she was lecturing a junior. “Lewis, you interrupted my son during the competition and claimed that piece wasn’t his. Do you know what that kind of behavior is called?” “Upholding my principles,” I said. She smiled, a cold smile. “It’s called courting disaster.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I won’t beat around the bush. I don’t care if you have any evidence. But I’ve already looked into you.” She pulled out her phone and swiped a few times: “Your agent’s name is Collins, right? Your contract with him has three years left.” “His wife’s company happens to have a favor to ask of me. One word from me, and he’ll drop you.” “Your mentor, Professor Johnson, is seventy this year, not in the best health, and applying for a Lifetime Achievement Award.” “My committee decides who gets that award.” “And your next performance – your recital at the Vienna Concert Hall next month.” “The organizers are old friends of mine. If I tell them to cancel it, they won’t dare refuse.” She listed them one by one, her tone flat, as if reading a menu. “Lewis, I just have to lift a finger, and I can make you completely disappear from this industry.” “Do you believe me?” I looked into her eyes. This woman’s ruthlessness wasn’t an overt aggression, but a deep-seated contempt. She felt crushing me was like crushing an insect. “Dean Molina, are you finished?” I asked. Her brows furrowed slightly. “I’m telling you all this because Andrew is my son. If you touch him, you touch me.” “I’m giving you one last chance. At tomorrow’s press conference, you will publicly apologize.” “You’ll say you misheard the piece, that it was an impulsive act. Then, you’ll voluntarily resign from your judging position.” “What if I don’t?” She stood up, looking down at me. “Then you won’t have a place in this industry anymore.” “You think winning a few international awards makes you secure?” She scoffed. “Lewis, in this industry, there are more ways to make someone disappear than you can imagine.” “Molina,” I addressed her directly. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell the truth?” “The truth?” She laughed, a dismissive laugh. “With what? A few flimsy papers? A recording?” “You think those things can make any real waves?” She turned and walked toward the door, not looking back. “Tomorrow at 3 PM, Seattle Grand Hotel. Come or not, it’s your decision.” “However – if you don’t come, face the consequences.” The door slammed shut. I sat alone in the room, my hand trembling for a long time. Not from fear, but from hatred. Fifteen years. She stole my dad’s music, killed my dad, and propelled her other son to fame. Now, she was going to use my career, my mentor, my agent, to force me to bow down. She didn’t know who I was. When she abandoned me, I was already ten years old. Yet she didn’t even find me familiar. She didn’t recognize that the young man before her was the son she had with her first husband. But tomorrow, she would know.

After packing my things, I opened my phone. It was flooded with hate comments and criticisms. #Lewis Get Out Of Music# topped the trending list, with over 300 million views. The top Ins post was from a music critic with a million followers: “A judge like Lewis, utterly unprofessional, is a disgrace to the entire industry.” “Maliciously interrupting a performer to grab headlines, ruining a child prodigy’s future.” “I recommend all concert halls, agencies, and conservatories to collectively boycott him.” The comments below were all in agreement. [This kind of person dares to be a judge? How well-connected is he?] [I heard he has no background, just slept his way to the top.] [I always thought his competitions were rigged.] [Support Andrew! Support Dean Molina!] My agency released a statement. Not supporting me, but “suspending all collaboration with Mr. Lewis, pending investigation results.” Polite but unambiguous – they had dropped me. Collins didn’t answer my call, only replied with a WhatsApp message: “I’m sorry, I can’t do anything.” My mentor, Professor Johnson, sent a message through someone: “Lewis, don’t be impulsive. Just apologize and it will blow over. You’re still young.” I didn’t reply. I found a video Andrew had posted last night. He sat at the piano, his eyes red and swollen, his voice choked: “I don’t blame Judge Lewis. Maybe he was just tired, or misheard. My mom told me to learn to be forgiving.” “That piece truly is my own, the fruit of two years of painstaking effort. It makes me sad that someone claims it’s not mine, but I will prove myself with more compositions.” The comments flooded in: [Don’t cry, Andrew! We believe you!] [Kind boys have the most power!] [The Osmond family has such exemplary upbringing!] I almost laughed out loud. Two years of painstaking effort? That was my dad’s fifteen years of tireless work. I turned off my phone. Tomorrow, it was time to settle the score. The next day, Seattle Grand Hotel, third-floor banquet hall. By 2:30 PM, the entrance was swarming with reporters. Wearing a hat and mask, I entered through the staff entrance and found a seat in a corner. Exactly 3 PM, the Osmond family walked onto the stage. Molina was in a business suit, a solemn expression on her face. Osmond wore a dark suit, his eyes slightly red. Andrew, in a white shirt, hung his head, looking like a fragile white flower battered by the storm. Molina spoke first. She stood at the microphone, silent for five seconds, then bowed deeply. “First, I want to apologize to everyone concerned about this matter.” “It was my excessive trust in this industry that led to Andrew suffering undeserved hardship.” Someone in the audience shouted, “Dean Molina, you did nothing wrong!” She raised her hand, gesturing for silence, her voice low: “Andrew has loved music since he was a child. He started learning piano at four, performed on stage at eight, and composed his first piece at twelve.” “This piece, ‘Autumn Night Variations,’ he painstakingly refined for two whole years.” “Every note, a piece of his soul. Every modulation, a spark of inspiration from his late-night practice sessions.” “As a mother, I am proud of him.” Her eyes welled up as she said this. Applause broke out in the audience. Osmond took the microphone, his voice carrying a hint of anger: “I am just a father. My son was humiliated in front of a national audience; it pains me deeply.” “Lewis is also a man; he will have children someday. How would he feel if his children were treated this way?” “I ask for nothing else but justice.” He turned to Andrew, and the father and son put their arms around each other, patting each other’s backs in a show of mutual support. Andrew sighed, then managed a strained, bitter smile. “I don’t hate Judge Lewis. I just hope everyone stops criticizing him. He might truly have his own difficulties.” Someone in the audience shouted: “Andrew, you’re too kind!” “The Osmond family truly has an exemplary upbringing!” I sat in the corner, watching the three perform on stage. Every expression, every line, every pause was precise, as if rehearsed countless times. They weren’t holding a press conference; they were filming a movie. And I was the mere pawn, cast as the villain. The host stepped onto the stage: “Next, a representative from the Musicians’ Association will announce the decision regarding Lewis.” A middle-aged man with glasses stood up, unfolding a piece of paper: “After deliberation by the Musicians’ Association Review Committee, it has been decided to revoke Lewis’s qualification as an international piano competition judge.” “His ‘Annual Outstanding Young Musician’ title is rescinded, and all music conservatories and performing arts organizations are advised to suspend cooperation with him.” “Additionally, the Association calls on Mr. Lewis to acknowledge his errors, publicly apologize, and restore public trust.” A wave of sustained applause. Everyone stood up, except for me. I slowly removed my hat and mask, then stood up. “Wait a moment.” My voice wasn’t loud, but the banquet hall’s sound system carried my every word throughout the hall. The entire hall fell into a stunned silence. Hundreds of eyes turned to me. On stage, Molina’s pupils constricted sharply. Osmond’s tears instantly dried. Andrew’s smile froze. I faced all the cameras, walking step by step toward the stage. “Didn’t you say you wanted justice?” “I’ll give it to you.”

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When I went to replace my bank card, the teller casually mentioned that I had a quarterly patent income of $300,000 under my name. But as the patent inventor, I had never seen a single cent of it. Following the account trail, I discovered that over five years, my wife, Trent, had not only secretly transferred over $5.5 million in patent fees that rightfully belonged to me, but she had also been supporting a lover behind my back. When I confronted her, she looked at me with utter contempt: “What can you do besides tinker with tech?” Even her lover showed up at my door, tossing a check at me. “$50,000, stay away from Trent.” I looked at the despicable pair in front of me and suddenly smiled. They thought I was a pushover, a useless academic they could easily manipulate. They had no idea that everything they possessed was originally mine. It was 2 PM, and I stood at the bank counter, reporting my old card lost. I’d lost the card last week but hadn’t gotten around to replacing it. The teller took my ID, checked the system, and suddenly paused. “Sir, you have a regular deposit of patent licensing fees under your name. Would you like to link it to your new card?” I froze. “What patent licensing fees?” She turned the screen to show me. I squinted for three seconds, and my mind exploded. The screen clearly displayed: A regular quarterly deposit of $300,000, into a bank card under my name that I’d never seen before. The deposit history began five years ago and continued until now. Five years, twenty quarters, $6 million. My fingers began to tremble. I remembered five years ago, I was burning the midnight oil in the lab, tirelessly doing R&D. My wife, Trent, came to me with a stack of documents, asking me to sign. She said it was for registering a company, just going through the procedures, and needed my signature as a “tech partner.” I was so busy back then, I didn’t even lift my head. I just grabbed the pen and signed. She smiled and said, “Ethan, you just focus on your tech. I’ll handle the business side of things. You’re a tech guy; you don’t get business.” From then on, I was sidelined, becoming a nominal consultant. She never discussed company matters with me. Every time I asked, she’d say, “Don’t worry about it, it’s barely anything.” And now, this card received $300,000 every quarter. So, this was what she meant by “barely anything.” I took a deep breath. My hands stopped shaking. My mind had never been clearer. “Link it to my new card.” My voice was so calm it surprised even me. “From now on, every deposit should be transferred directly to my personal account.” She glanced at me, didn’t ask any more questions, and began the process. Five minutes later, the transaction was complete. At 7 PM, I returned home. The house was empty. Trent was still away on a business trip. She had gotten increasingly busy these past two years, traveling internationally at least once a month, saying she was “negotiating deals, meeting clients.” I used to believe her. Now, thinking back, what was she really busy with? I walked into her study and opened her computer. I tried the password three times; it was her birthday. I logged into her email and started sifting through her correspondence. The more I read, the colder my hands grew. Over the past five years, the company had signed seven patent licensing agreements. Every single agreement licensed my patents. And in the signature field, it was Trent’s name, every single time. My patents, my technology, she took them to sell for profit. Yet, she only gave me $1,000 a month for “living expenses,” claiming, “the company’s not doing well, we need to be careful with money.” A thousand dollars. I kept scrolling, finding a contact named “Kevin.” The email exchanges started two years ago. The content slowly shifted from “pleasant to work with” to “miss you,” “can’t wait for you to come back.” There were also a few photos. Trent was leaning against a man in a suit, smiling brightly, with the Eiffel Tower in the background. That was last year, when she said she was “going to France for an industry summit.” I stared at the photos, my knuckles turning white. Five years. She had lied to me for five years. I shut the laptop, leaning back in the chair, as the night deepened outside the window.

At 2 AM, the doorbell rang. Someone was frantically ringing the bell and pounding on the door. I rose from the sofa, walked slowly and deliberately to the door, and opened it. Trent stood outside, her hair disheveled, eyes red, dragging a suitcase, breathless. She had clearly taken a cab straight from the airport. “Ethan… Ethan, have you lost your mind?!” She stormed in, grabbing my collar. “Why did you touch that card?! Do you even know what you’re doing?!” I looked down at her hand clutching my collar and smiled. “Trent, I was just about to ask you, what kind of money is on that card?” She paused, her eyes flickering. “That’s… that’s the company’s operating capital! If you mess with it, there will be huge problems!” “Company’s operating capital?” I pushed her hand away, my voice calm. “A quarterly patent licensing fee of $300,000 is the company’s operating capital?” Trent’s face changed. “You… how did you know?” “I also know that you and Kevin were managing those patent fees for me, right?” She took a step back, her expression flustered, but quickly regained her composure. She looked at me, slowly sat on the sofa, and lit a cigarette. I had never seen her smoke before. “You went through my emails?” she asked. “Yep.” She exhaled a puff of smoke and smiled. It wasn’t a guilty smile, but a relieved one. “Good.” She leaned back against the sofa, looking at me, her eyes devoid of guilt, only a strange frankness. “Ethan, what do you want to know?” “I’ll tell you.” “Kevin isn’t just a client. We’ve been together for two years.” She tapped the ash from her cigarette, her tone as flat as if she were commenting on the weather. “You didn’t know anything for these past five years, and you seemed quite happy, didn’t you?” I clenched my fist, my knuckles turning white. She glanced at me and stubbed out her cigarette. “So stop making trouble.” “It’s useless for you to link that card back. The patent licensing agreement has the company’s seal on it, not your personal one.” “You won’t get it back that easily.” She stood up, patting down her dress. “You’re just a techie; you don’t get business, and you certainly can’t win this fight.” She dragged her suitcase into the master bedroom and shut the door. I was left alone in the living room. I stood rooted to the spot, feeling a chill run through me. She didn’t even bother lying to me anymore. The next morning, I left for work. As I reached the entrance of my apartment complex, a black Porsche pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, and a man in sunglasses smiled at me. “You’re Ethan?” I stopped. “Who are you?” He took off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of narrow eyes. “Kevin. Kevin Matthews.” My blood rushed to my head. He leaned against the car door, sizing me up, a playful smirk on his lips. “Trent told me you made a scene yesterday. I came to check in and have a chat.” “Nothing to chat about.” I turned to leave, but he spoke calmly behind me. “Ethan, I mean no harm.” “Honestly, I admire you. Your tech work is truly excellent.” “But you know, just having technology isn’t enough.” “Your patents, without Trent’s business operations, aren’t worth a dime.” I stopped. “So?” “So, I’m here to make you an offer.” He walked up to me, pulling a check from his suit pocket. “$50,000. You cancel the new card link and stop meddling in company affairs.” He held the check out to me. I stared at that check. I barely made $15,000 a year. This was five years of my salary. But those patents had earned $6 million in five years. He was offering $50,000 to get rid of me? “No.” Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Ethan, don’t be foolish.” He took back the check and patted my shoulder. That touch sent shivers down my spine. “Go home and think about it. This offer won’t be available again.” He got into his car, the engine roared, and he sped away. I stood there, clenching my fists.

At noon, I didn’t go to work. Instead, I went to the local Intellectual Property Office. After two hours of searching, I found the crucial information. The seven patent licensing agreements listed “Trent Technologies” as the licensor. But in the patent holder section, it clearly stated: Ethan. This meant the company only had the right to operate and use the patents, but the ownership of the patents remained with me. The agreement Trent had me sign back then only “licensed” the patents for the company’s use. And there was a clause in the licensing contract: the patent holder had the right to terminate the license at any time. I hadn’t even read it when I signed it years ago. But now, this clause was my biggest trump card. If I terminated the license, all of Trent Technologies’ product lines would lose their technical foundation overnight. $1.2 million in patent fees a year? They wouldn’t get a single cent. That afternoon, I visited a law firm, finding a lawyer who specialized in intellectual property. “Adriana Hayes, what’s the process if I want to terminate a patent license?” Adriana Hayes reviewed the contract and nodded. “According to Article 11 of the contract, the patent holder can terminate the licensing agreement with sixty days’ written notice. The other party has no right of veto.” “So, I just need to send a lawyer’s letter, and sixty days later, the company can’t use my patents anymore?” “Correct.” “Good.” I drafted the lawyer’s letter, but I didn’t send it immediately. I would wait until all my chess pieces were in place before making my move. Leaving the law firm, I stopped at an electronics store. I bought a professional voice recorder, palm-sized, capable of continuous recording for seventy-two hours. Back home, I slipped it into my shirt pocket. From today on, I would record every word Trent and Kevin said. The more arrogant they were, the better it would look in court later. I didn’t make a scene. I went to work and came home as usual every day, and I didn’t even mention the new card again. She thought I’d caved. On the fifth day, she probed me, “Ethan, have you thought things through about that card?” I sat on the sofa watching TV, not even looking up. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t understand business. Why bother messing around?” She sighed in relief and smiled, sitting next to me. “That’s what you should have thought earlier. Just focus on your tech, I’ve got everything else handled.” I smiled, but said nothing. She picked up her phone and walked onto the balcony to make a call. I perked up my ears. “Mm… don’t worry, he hasn’t done anything else… Right, he’s just a naive academic; scare him a little, and he’ll back down…” Her voice drifted in intermittently with the breeze. “When are you coming back from your business trip? I miss you…” I gripped the remote control, my knuckles white, but my face showed nothing. The voice recorder in my pocket quietly did its work.

On the eighth day, my mother-in-law, Clara, arrived. Clara walked in and got straight to the point. “Ethan, Trent told me about the scene you made a while ago.” She sat opposite me at the dining table, hands clasped, her face full of impatience. “What are you unhappy about? She feeds you, she takes care of you, she never lets you worry about company matters.” “You’re just a tech guy; why are you so nosy?” I paused, a forkful of food midway to my mouth. “Mom, I was just curious; I didn’t mean anything else.” “Curious?” Clara sneered. “You signed the papers, you got what you were supposed to get. Don’t go overstepping your bounds.” Trent, sitting nearby, tried to smooth things over, smiling. “Mom, that’s enough, he gets it now.” Clara glared at me. “Good that he gets it.” She pulled a card from her purse and slapped it on the table. “This is the new allowance card Trent got you. From now on, it’s $1,400 a month. That’s $400 more than before, pretty generous, wouldn’t you say?” $1,400. My patents made $1.2 million a year, and they gave me a raise to $1,400, acting like it was a huge favor. I picked up the card and smiled. “Thank you, Mom.” Clara nodded, satisfied. “That’s more like it. A man should be grateful for what he has and not make trouble.” After dinner, Trent walked Clara downstairs. I sat at the dining table, turning the $1,400 card over and over in my hand. On the tenth day, I received a message from Adriana Hayes. “Mr. Ethan, I looked into Trent Technologies’ corporate registration filings for the past three years.” “I found that three months ago, the company added a new shareholder: Kevin, holding 25%. His capital contribution method was ‘technical investment’.” I stared at the screen, a cold laugh escaping my lips. Technical investment? Using my technology, what kind of investment was he making? They kicked me out, claimed my technology as their own, and even let my wife’s lover use my patents to gain equity. What a masterful deception. On the fifteenth day, everything was as usual. Trent came home on time every day, cooked, cleaned, and occasionally acted sweet with me. The better she acted, the more disgusted I felt, but I kept it in. Because there was one last step remaining. That afternoon, I received a call from Adriana Hayes. “Mr. Ethan, all the documents are ready. Come over, and we’ll do a final review.” I took half a day off and went to the law firm. On Adriana Hayes’s desk, a thick stack of files was spread out. “Let’s go through them.” She pointed to the first document. “First, the letter of counsel for patent license termination.” “Second, the formal complaint submitted to the court.” “Third, the divorce petition.” I looked at the three documents and took a deep breath. “And this.” I pulled the voice recorder from my pocket and placed it on the table. “Over these fifteen days, I recorded more than seventy hours of content.” “This includes Trent’s confession about her relationship with Kevin, her admission of concealing patent income, and Kevin’s own statements to me.” Adriana Hayes listened to a few key recordings, her eyebrows raising higher and higher. “Mr. Ethan, these recordings are fully admissible as evidence in court.” She closed the folder and looked at me. “Are you sure you want to leave no room for retreat?” I smiled. “Adriana Hayes, it’s been five years.” “They embezzled over $5.5 million from me, stole my technology, slept with my wife, and still think giving me $1,400 for living expenses is a huge favor.” “Even today, they still think I’m just a naive academic who can’t stir anything up.” I stood up. “Then let them see how I stir up a storm.”

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