Author: Momo Chan

I was a ghost-hunting streamer, famously a total scaredy-cat. My genuine, over-the-top reactions to being terrified were what hooked my audience. To challenge the most haunted abandoned hospital in the city, I shelled out big bucks to hire a retired special forces soldier as my bodyguard. But the guy who showed up was lean and pale, with a dark, brooding gaze that made him look more like a ghost than any ghost I’d ever seen. During the livestream, he suddenly grabbed my wrist, flashed an eerie grin at the camera, and said, “Look, everyone, she’s trembling with fear. How cute.” The comments section exploded instantly: [Is this bodyguard the Ghost King?!] [Streamer, run!] My agent sent an encrypted DM, her voice practically trembling: “It’s over! He’s an undercover agent from a rival platform! He’s ‘The Reaper,’ that streamer with ten million followers! He’s here to ruin you!” Staring at his face, identical to the college senior I’d secretly crushed on for three years, my heart turned to ice.

I was an outdoor ghost-hunting streamer, known in the industry as ‘Chloe the Daring.’ My haters, though, affectionately called me ‘Screaming Chloe.’ As the names suggested, my livestream style was all about authenticity. Other ghost-hunting streamers went looking for ghosts; with me, the ghosts usually found me. Other streamers’ comment sections were filled with ‘Jump Scare Warning,’ while mine usually read ‘Protect Our Chloe!’ I couldn’t help it. I was just naturally sensitive to the supernatural, with a special constitution. Growing up, I’d encountered more bizarre things than I could count. Add to that my pathetic courage – one fright, and my screams could shatter glass. I was a literal screaming machine on legs. Over time, thanks to this ‘authentic, no-holds-barred’ cowardice, I actually carved out a niche in the highly competitive streamer world, gaining a loyal following of my adoring ‘troll-fans’ who loved watching me get scared senseless. To give back to my fans and hit next month’s KPIs, I decided to go big or go home – livestreaming an exploration of the city’s most infamous haunted location, the abandoned Blackwood Asylum. Rumor had it, many people had died there, and the place was suffused with dark energy. Anyone who went in either lost their minds or became catatonic, and even stray dogs steered clear. It was truly the ultimate local horror legend. As soon as the news broke, my livestream exploded. [OMG! Chloe, are you serious?! That place is no joke!] [My grandma said something evil is sealed in that hospital’s basement; it’s been cursed since it was built!] [Can’t wait! Already got my recorder ready to make Chloe’s screams my new alarm!] [Protect our Chloe! Let’s crowdfund for some adult diapers for the streamer!] Looking at the screen full of comments, I remained calm on the surface, but internally, I was freaking out. Of course, I knew the place was creepy! But I’d already hyped it up; I had to go whether I liked it or not. For the sake of my life and my KPIs, I gritted my teeth and shelled out a huge sum to hire a retired special forces soldier from a company claiming to be the industry’s best security firm. His profile stated he was six foot three, a master of combat, with an iron will. He’d once fought a bear bare-handed and was nicknamed ‘The Enforcer.’ Looking at the photo of the muscular guy with bulging muscles and piercing eyes, I nodded in satisfaction. With ‘The Enforcer’ by my side, forget ghosts, I wouldn’t even be scared if a T-Rex showed up! On the day of the livestream, I deliberately arrived half an hour early to wait for my ‘Enforcer’ at the hospital entrance. When the appointed time arrived, a discreet black SUV pulled up in front of me. The car door opened, and I rubbed my hands together excitedly, ready to greet the embodiment of my security. Then, I froze. The person who stepped out was a man. He was tall, but ‘muscular’ was definitely not a word I’d use to describe him. Dressed all in black, his frame was lean, and his skin was a cold white that looked like it hadn’t seen sunlight in years. He had slightly long black hair that partially obscured one eye, while the other, visible eye was incredibly dark, like a bottomless pool of cold water, carrying an unwavering gloom when he looked at someone.

This… this was my ‘Enforcer’? He looked more like a Vampire Count who’d just emerged from a gothic castle, honestly. I stood frozen, stammering, “You… hello, are you Mr. Vance from the security company?” He lifted an eyelid and glanced at me, his gaze so chilling it sent a shiver down my spine. From his throat, he emitted a faint ‘hmm,’ which counted as an answer. I looked at him, then at the photo of the muscle hunk on my phone, plunging into deep self-doubt. “Um… Mr. Vance, is there… a slight discrepancy between your photo and your actual appearance?” I carefully phrased my words. “You look rather… refined. Not quite like the bare-handed bear fighter described in the profile.” At my words, the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch, but the curve was so slight it was almost invisible. “Oh, it was Photoshopped,” he said, concise and to the point. Me: (Speechless) No, seriously, dude. You didn’t just Photoshop a picture; you Photoshopped a whole different person! You look like you’re barely strong enough to open a jar, and they Photoshopped you into a bear fighter? This is fraud! I immediately pulled out my phone, ready to call the security company to complain and demand a refund. “Wait,” he said suddenly, his voice cold and clear, like ice cubes clinking in a glass. He took a step closer. I’m five foot ten, and I still had to tilt my head back slightly to look at him. The huge height difference created an invisible sense of oppression, and the chilly aura around him grew even stronger. “Your livestream is going to be late,” he reminded me. I checked my phone; it was a string of non-stop calls of doom from Brenda, my devil agent. I jolted. There was no time to worry about refunds. If I didn’t start streaming soon, this month’s bonus would be gone! “Fine,” I conceded, but still nervously looked him up and down. “Mr. Vance, are you sure you can handle this? There are real ghosts in there.” He didn’t answer, just stared at me with those pitch-black eyes, making my skin crawl. I felt like I hadn’t just hired a bodyguard; I’d hired an extra ghost for myself. Biting the bullet, I turned on my livestream equipment. The moment the camera light flashed on, I instantly switched from a scaredy-cat to my confident ‘Chloe the Daring’ mode. “Hello, hello! My amazing fam, I’m here! Thanks to my top supporter for the rocket! Today, we’re challenging the legendary Blackwood Asylum!” I forced a professional smile at the camera, then turned it to the man beside me. “For everyone’s safety… no, for *my* safety, I specially hired an elite bodyguard, Mr. Vance!” The comments section instantly scrolled to life. [!!! This bodyguard is so hot!] [He’s hot, but why does he look so frail? Chloe, are you sure he can fight ghosts?] [I feel like he’s scarier than a ghost… those eyes, *shivers*…] [Hey, don’t talk trash, that’s called the cool, aloof type! Obsessed, obsessed!] I cleared my throat, forcefully trying to salvage my reputation. “My fam, don’t judge a book by its cover. Mr. Vance is a man of few words, but fierce – that’s how all the true masters are, understand?” Damon Vance, my ‘unfortunate’ bodyguard, remained expressionless throughout, like a statue devoid of emotion. We walked, one in front of the other, through the asylum’s main entrance. A stale, musty smell, mixed with the sharp scent of disinfectant, hit us, instantly making me uncomfortable. The hallway was dimly lit, with large patches of paint peeling off the walls, revealing dark red brick underneath, like dried bloodstains. I swallowed hard, feeling goosebumps crawl all over my back. “My fam, we’ve now entered the main building, and as you can see, the environment here is… remarkably ‘preserved,’” I said, my palms sweating as I gripped my powerful flashlight tighter.

I subtly shuffled back a step, wanting to be closer to my ‘Enforcer’ for some sense of security. Turns out, he was even quieter than me. He walked so silently that several times when I turned around, I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Mr. Vance,” I whispered, lowering my voice. “Could you please make some noise when you walk? Scaring people like that can literally kill them!” He tilted his head, his pitch-black eyes looking exceptionally creepy in the dim light. “Ghosts think the same thing,” he murmured. Me: (Speechless) The comments section had already lost its mind laughing. [Hahahaha! The bodyguard guy totally knows how to mess with the streamer!] [I ship this pair so hard! One screams, one tells ghost stories!] [Chloe: I hired you to protect me, not to scare me!] I took a deep breath, telling myself to be professional and not let a weird bodyguard affect my emotions. We reached the door of a patient room, marked ‘Intensive Care Unit.’ The door was ajar, and faint, almost imperceptible crying drifted out. My legs instantly turned to jelly. “My fam, did you hear that? There’s a sound!” I said, feigning calmness, while frantically hinting at Damon with my eyes. —Dude! Go! It’s your time to shine! Damon received my signal, nodded, and then… walked around behind me, positioning himself *behind* me. Me: (Confused) “What are you doing?” I was dumbfounded. Without changing his expression, he said, “Protecting you.” “How are you going to protect me from *behind* me?!” “If a ghost comes from behind, I’ll spot it first.” I nearly laughed in exasperation. What kind of twisted logic was that?! Just then, a loud *clatter* suddenly came from the patient room, like something had been thrown to the floor. “AHHH—!” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My scream echoed through the entire hallway, and I instantly jumped, clinging to Damon like an octopus. The comments section flooded again. [HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!] [An iconic scene is born! Streamer’s new accessory!] [Why does the bodyguard guy look so calm, like he’s even enjoying it?] I clung tightly to Damon’s neck, burying my face in his shoulder, trembling like a leaf. Damon’s body was cold; I could feel the chill even through his thin clothing. But he was incredibly steady; with a whole person clinging to him, he didn’t even sway. He freed one hand and gently patted my back, a gesture that was surprisingly comforting. Then, he leaned close to my ear, his voice low enough for only us to hear: “Chloe, if you don’t get down, I’m going to throw you in there.” Wait… what did he call me? Chloe? I snapped my head up, staring at him in horror. My real name was known by almost no one except my family and my agent! To protect my privacy, I’d always used my stage name, ‘Chloe the Daring.’ How did he know my name? My heart skipped a beat, and an ominous premonition suddenly arose. Before I could think it through, he’d already grabbed my wrist, forcibly peeling me off him. His strength was astounding; my wrist throbbed where he squeezed it. “Don’t be scared,” he said, looking at me. The corner of his mouth curved into a noticeable smile for the first time, but it made my blood run cold. “I’ll go in with you to take a look.” With that, he pulled me toward the patient room where the strange sound had come from. I struggled desperately, but his pincer-like grip made me utterly unable to move. “No! I’m not going! Let go of me! Help!” I screamed my lungs out.

He, however, suddenly turned his head toward the drone camera still livestreaming behind me, and flashed an eerie smile. “Look, everyone,” his voice, clear through the microphone, echoed across the entire livestream, “she’s trembling with fear. How cute.” The livestream exploded instantly. [OMG! This bodyguard is the Ghost King?!] [So possessive! What kind of forced romance plot is this?! I’m totally shipping it!] [Streamer, run! I feel like he’s going to sacrifice you to a demon!] Just then, my phone vibrated wildly. It was an encrypted DM from Brenda, my agent. I opened it, and there was only one line, but every word slammed into my skull like a hammer. Brenda’s voice was trembling: “It’s over! Chloe! Run! He’s an undercover agent from a rival platform! He’s ‘The Reaper,’ that streamer with ten million followers! He’s here to ruin you!” The Reaper?! My mind buzzed, as if a bomb had just exploded inside it. The Reaper, real name unknown, was the ace horror streamer from the rival platform, known for being calm, hardcore, and never, ever screaming. They said he could catch snakes bare-handed, eat bugs raw, and sleeping in a graveyard was like going home for him. He was widely recognized as the ultimate competitor in the industry, and my sworn enemy. But him… how could he possibly… I snapped my head up, looking at his face again. Lean and pale, gloomy eyes, a high nose bridge, thin lips pressed together… That face… It was identical to the face of the student council president I’d secretly crushed on for three years in college – Damon Vance, the senior who always wore a white shirt and smiled gently in the sunlight… Identical! Back then, I was just a nobody, too timid to even confess my feelings to him. After graduation, he vanished without a trace. I thought he’d gone abroad for further studies and become some kind of social elite. How did he end up as a rival streamer, here to sabotage my career?! My heart froze solid. It was over. Not only was my career doomed today, but my first love was going down with it. I was completely stiff, my mind blank, letting ‘The Reaper’—no, Damon—drag me into that eerie patient room. The room was a mess, a lonely iron bed sat in the center, its sheets covered in dark brown stains. The source of the loud noise had been a metal basin, fallen to the floor. “See? Nothing.” Damon released my wrist, his tone as flat as if he were commenting on the weather. I looked at the red marks on my wrist from his grip, then at his utterly expressionless face, a mix of sorrow and indignation churning inside me. He ruined my livestream, messed with my feelings, and now he wanted to torment me?! Overwhelmed by grief, I forgot all about my livestream persona, pointing a finger at his nose as I began my accusations: “Damon Vance! You liar! You’re no bodyguard, you’re The Reaper! What do you want by sneaking in here? Do you want to make a fool of me? Do you want me to be humiliated in front of millions of people?!” Damon raised an eyebrow at my words, seemingly surprised that I knew his identity. Not only did he not deny it, but he calmly admitted: “Yes.” That single ‘yes’ plunged into my already battered heart like an ice blade. I was trembling with rage: “You… you’re shameless! Why are you doing this to me? I have no past grievances with you, so why use such low-blow tactics?” “No past grievances?” He chuckled lightly, stepping closer to me. “Chloe, your memory is truly terrible.” I backed away repeatedly as he advanced, until my back hit the cold wall, with nowhere left to retreat. “Have you forgotten sophomore year, at the freshman welcoming party, who swapped my speech that I’d prepared for half a month with a presentation on ‘The Secret Lives of Earthworms?’” Me: (Speechless)

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My husband blamed me for standing in the way of his big future. He wanted a divorce. But on our way to the courthouse to finalize it, we got into a car crash. When I opened my eyes again, we were both back in time, to the year his childhood sweetheart invited him to start a business abroad. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He went overseas with her. I didn’t try to stop him. I just kept my job packing packages. Seven years later, he was a new business mogul, swimming in fame and fortune. And I was still packing packages. When we met again, he had his arm wrapped around his childhood sweetheart’s waist, mocking me, covered in dust and scrapes. “Seven years, and you’re still a pathetic mess, like you’ve been living on the streets!” I just walked past him, ignoring his words. It was at the business finance center’s speaking event. Marcus was back in the country. After seven years, he’d transformed into the CEO of a listed company, a man of fame and fortune, absolutely dominating the scene. As I walked into the conference center, all sorts of big-shot CEOs were swarming around him, eager to shake his hand. Many of them were our old classmates from the university entrepreneurship base. “Marcus, you sly dog, you’re the biggest success story in our class!” “Yeah, seriously! Just a few years, and you’re a CEO! Back in college, I always knew you were destined for greatness, and look at you now! Your grades were stellar, and you were always so driven. I knew you were something special from the start!” “I even heard you invested five million into our old university. That’s insane! I should’ve gone into business with you!” “Marcus isn’t just capable, he’s also dashingly handsome. And I heard your current girlfriend is a gorgeous heiress, spill the beans! How did you two get together? Give us some tips!” Marcus lowered his head and gave a slight smile. “It was just fate.” Then I heard them mention me. “How did things end with you and Scarlett? I remember you two were inseparable in college, so in love.” Marcus’s expression stiffened for a second, then he chuckled lightly. “Our values just didn’t align.” Seeing he didn’t want to talk about it, they didn’t push him. Their attention shifted to his gorgeous heiress. “Are we finally going to meet your stunning girlfriend today?” A shallow smile played on Marcus’s lips. “She’s here too, just went to the restroom. Should be out soon.” Just then, his gorgeous heiress, Celeste, strutted over in her stilettos and settled in beside him. A few classmates gasped like they’d never seen a gorgeous woman before. After a quick cleanup of the mud and scrapes on my arms, I straightened up and walked in with my head held high. One classmate recognized me first. “Holy crap, Scarlett! Speak of the devil!” “Scarlett, our class queen, came to the business lecture too!” “Come on, class queen, come chat with us!” “What happened to you? You’re covered in dirt, and your arms are all messed up. Did you fall somewhere?” I politely gave a few generic replies. Then I turned and met Marcus’s eyes. He frowned, sizing me up from head to toe, his eyes practically screaming ‘disgust’. He was wearing a custom-tailored black suit, his hair styled perfectly—it looked freshly done—like a refined prince. Celeste, sitting next to him, was draped in an expensive mink fur coat, clinging to his arm, nestling into his shoulder, like a delicate, sleeping beauty. They looked like a picture-perfect power couple. Then there was me. My white dress was stained dark with mud, and my arms were covered in bruises. But I didn’t care. I nodded a greeting to them and found a random seat. The lecture still had a little while before it started. I quickly texted my assistant to bring me a change of clothes. Then I buried my head in my phone, listening to their gossip. “I’ve been waiting for this business lecture for ages!” “Tell me about it! This is Liam and his powerhouse wife’s exclusive business secrets! Who wouldn’t want to hear that?!” “I heard Liam and his wife only started their business after they got married. They built their empire from scratch, and in less than three years, they’d amassed a fortune worth hundreds of millions.” “And I also heard Liam loves his wife so much, he even handed over the chairman position to her!” “That’s right. Liam doesn’t let anyone mention his wife online; he keeps her fiercely protected. And his wife is super low-key; she rarely appears in public. No one has even seen her until now! Today, we’re lucky enough to witness this business elite goddess.” “I’m so jealous! They truly are a legendary couple in business! I want to marry a man like Liam!” “And I want to marry an elite goddess like his wife!” My assistant brought the clothes. As I was about to head to the restroom to change, I ran into Marcus on the way. He was leaning against the doorframe, by the entrance. It seemed like he was deliberately waiting for me. But I had no desire to interact with him, so I just ignored him and walked past. To my surprise, he spoke first, calling out to me. “You’re not still packing packages, are you? Seven years, and you’re still a pathetic mess, like you’ve been living on the streets. You haven’t even bought a car, still taking taxis!” “You’re a grown woman, stumbling like a clumsy fool on the street. Aren’t you embarrassed?!” I turned around and, facing that familiar yet strange face, replied firmly: “That’s my business, and it has nothing to do with you.” Marcus clicked his tongue, his face flushing with irritation. “Scarlett, your mouth is still as stubborn as ever! No ambition!” “I know, you must be absolutely kicking yourself now!” I said, “Regret? What do I have to regret?” Hearing my counter-question, he scoffed, a sneer on his face: “Still playing tough, huh? I knew it, you’re nothing without me!” “But I’m not some heartless brute. Given our seven years of marriage, if you just swallow your pride a little, maybe I can offer you a prestigious, high-flying job.” “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need it.” With that, I turned and walked away. He was still yelling behind me, his voice echoing. “Scarlett, don’t be ungrateful! When that day comes, and you regret it, don’t come crawling to me!” “You want to act all high and mighty? Let’s see how long you can keep that up!”

Beg him? Why would I beg him?! Listening to his arrogant tone. It brought back memories of our first life. In our first life, Marcus and I got married right after graduation. After marriage, we started our own business. Soon, we had a small package delivery studio. My daily task was to pack packages. I thought life was pretty good. But in the end, it all fell apart because of human nature. Just before we got married, Celeste had invited Marcus to start a business with her overseas. I didn’t want to go abroad, so he refused. Later, Celeste returned to the country, not only with vast wealth but also as the CEO of a listed company. Marcus felt like he’d missed out on a fortune. His eyes turned red with envy. After a few days of feeling down, he sought out Celeste. This time, she was still willing to take him abroad to develop his career. Marcus was ecstatic. He came back demanding we sell the package delivery studio we’d spent years building. But I wouldn’t let him, and I firmly refused to go abroad with him. He flew into a rage, smashing the entire studio, howling like a mad dog. “Why won’t you go?! This is such a golden opportunity to make money, why aren’t you valuing it?!” I clutched the package box in my hands tighter. “We’ve been working and researching here for years. Victory is just ahead! As long as we keep at it, we’ll make something great!” “Besides, we haven’t failed! The studio expands every year, our quality of life gets better every year. Why can’t you just stick with it?!” After hearing my words, he exploded in anger. “Stick with it? This pathetic little operation, you want me to stick with *this*?!” “Every single classmate and friend who graduated with us is now a CEO rolling in cash, with thousands of employees working for them. I feel like a nobody standing next to them!” I said, “Why would you think that? Who gives a damn about what you’re doing? Everyone’s got their own lives to live. No one’s obsessing over you!” He wouldn’t listen, continuing to argue: “It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t refused to go abroad back then, I’d be a multi-millionaire CEO by now!” “Why would I be stuck managing this pathetic little workshop?!” My eyes widened in shock, unable to believe he could say such a thing, blaming his perceived failure on me. “You blame me? I never stopped you back then! How can you blame me? These past few years, besides packing all the packages every day, I’ve been doing laundry, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of our three-year-old. I’ve become a total wreck! Marcus, what have I ever done to wrong you?!” He seemed even angrier than me. “What else can you do besides pack packages?!” “Are you willing to live like this for the rest of your life?!” “Scarlett, I’m asking you one last time. Are you coming with me or not?!” “If you don’t, then we’re getting a divorce!” I stood frozen in place. For a moment, I felt ridiculous. Seven years of hard work, and the result was a divorce. “What’s wrong with this? Our life is already better than many families. We already have a seven-figure sum in savings. What more do you want?!” Hearing my words, Marcus’s expression was defiant, with a hint of ruthlessness. “What good is a seven-figure sum?! My classmates, their villas are worth seven figures, their sports cars are worth seven figures! Tell me, what can we even do with that?!” “Marcus, opportunities aren’t just abroad. As long as you have determination and capability, opportunities are everywhere. Our little venture isn’t a lost cause…” He violently kicked over the shelving unit, his face turning ashen as he cut me off. “Enough!” “If you won’t go, I will!” “I shouldn’t have married you in the first place. You ruined my big future!” “A stagnant woman like you, Scarlett, you’ll never achieve anything substantial! You deserve to be a miserable, worn-out housewife forever! I’d be embarrassed to be seen with you!” “Just look at Celeste, she’s capable, beautiful, and knows how to make money!” “You’re not even a fraction of what she is!” Hearing those words, tears streamed down my face. I had to take care of our kid, do housework, and help out at the studio every day. I was constantly busy, turning myself into a worn-out wreck, and he started to resent me. “So that’s how pathetic I am in your eyes.” “You know she likes you, and you’re still going with her?” He knew Celeste liked him. Even before we got married, Celeste had pursued him for three years, but he never agreed, ultimately choosing me. Marcus looked arrogant. “Why wouldn’t I go?! Love means nothing when money’s on the table!” “Let’s just part ways peacefully! A stagnant woman like you, content with mediocrity, you’ll just pack packages for the rest of your life. You’ll never have your day in the sun!” “You have no ambition, but don’t you dare stand in my way!” Seven years of marriage. I thought he was a man who only had eyes for me, a loyal and unwavering man. Turns out I was wrong. But just as we were on our way to the courthouse, a large truck suddenly crashed into us. Our car immediately caught fire, accompanied by the ringing explosion. When I opened my eyes again, we had both been reborn. This time, he didn’t hesitate and went abroad with Celeste. And I, like in my first life, opened a small package delivery studio. Only this time, I didn’t have to take care of a child, or do laundry, cook, or mop floors. I could devote myself fully to my work, fulfilling the dream I hadn’t completed in my previous life. Marcus said I had no ambition. Funny! My ambition was no weaker than his.

I had just changed clothes when my husband called. “Sweetheart, my assistant told me you were hit by an old lady’s tricycle and fell into the mud when you got out of the car. Are you hurt? I’ll pick you up to go to the hospital after I’m done with work, okay?” His worried and urgent voice came through the phone. It instantly warmed my heart. I replied to him in a sweet, soft voice: “I’m fine, just a little scratch, no big deal.” “Even a little scratch isn’t okay. You have to go to the hospital after the lecture.” “Okay, okay! Whatever you say.” “Good girl. I’ll be there soon. See you later!” I hung up the phone, a sweet smile still on my face. It wasn’t until I reached the entrance of the conference center that Celeste called out to me. “Scarlett, where did you go? Come over and chat with us.” She quickly got up and pulled me to a seat by the wall. Then she blocked the exit seat with her body. She asked me, “Scarlett, where have you been working these past two years?” Her voice was light and airy, but her eyes were full of mockery. It was obvious she wanted to embarrass me. But I had nothing to hide. I told her honestly, “Packing packages.” The few female classmates around were mostly Celeste’s acquaintances. Hearing my answer, their eyes filled with disdain. “Weren’t you packing packages seven years ago? How are you still packing packages now?” I said, “That’s all I know how to do.” The room immediately burst into laughter. Their laughter was a bit wild, as if packing packages was some shameful job. I didn’t bother stooping to their level. But Celeste was like a leech, clinging to me. “Scarlett, us women, we need to be independent and ambitious, dare to realize our own value. Look, our peers are driving luxury cars, living in mansions, and their monthly income is what you make in several years. And you, you’re still taking a tricycle with old ladies!” “See, aren’t you embarrassing for us women?!” “This lecture is so grand, they let any random cat or dog in here, it’s really lively!” She clearly disliked me, finding subtle ways to mock me. It was all because back in college, she chased Marcus for three years. But Marcus only had eyes for me and never gave her a second glance. From then on, Celeste hated me. Now that she finally saw me, of course she had to get her revenge. The people around me also smirked mockingly. “I heard that Liam, the big boss, met his wife through packing packages. Maybe Scarlett will meet her Liam too.” “Exactly, Scarlett, you can do it too!” “If you can’t achieve success on your own, then just marry a good man and live a life of ease and comfort.”

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I spent a decade by Khalil’s side, helping him build his empire and rule the underworld. Then, out of nowhere, he married someone else behind my back. I overheard him joking with his most trusted men, “Make sure Harlow never finds out about my wife, or she’ll blow up, and we won’t be able to calm things down.” For ten years, I was his rock through every storm. He promised that once he left the life of crime, he’d make a home for us together. But now, as he turns his life around and goes legit, those promises have vanished into thin air. I didn’t raise hell or confront him this time. Instead, I found myself in the company of someone new—a devoted companion—and decided to give him a chance. Standing outside Khalil’s office, I listened to the laughter resonating from the lounge down the hall—Khalil and his closest confidants, bantering away. Yahya’s voice rang out teasingly, “Boss, did your wife ring up again yesterday?” A deep, magnetic laugh followed—Khalil’s voice, “She’s constantly on edge, worried some temptress will steal me away.” His tone turned serious, “You are my most trusted allies. Keep my wife a secret from Harlow.” It felt like a punch to the gut. Bjorn’s hesitant voice piped up, “What if Harlow finds out? She’s stuck by you, risking it all for ten years.” Khalil’s voice turned frosty, “Ten years, big deal.” “Great partner, sure, but marriage? Not a good match.” “The company’s evolving. I need a wife who can open doors to high society, not someone tangled in old battles.” “Besides, she can’t have kids anymore. What would become of my legacy? Charity? How laughable.” I stood frozen, ice running through my veins. Memories of that stormy night five years ago hit me like a tidal wave. I was at the hospital for a check-up when Yahya’s call came through, “Harlow! Khalil’s been jumped!” I didn’t wipe off the ultrasound gel. Just threw on my coat and raced there. Khalil was surrounded, his dark suit drenched in blood, left arm hanging limp. The bald leader lunged at his throat with a knife. Instinct took over—I threw myself in front of Khalil, taking the blow. Turning, I blocked another knife aimed at him. Moving an inch would’ve meant his heart pierced. Before I blacked out, I saw Khalil’s eyes, frantic. His voice rang in my ears, “I swear on my life I’ll never betray you…” When I came to in the surgery room, the doctors broke the news: I lost the child and might never conceive again. Khalil sat beside my hospital bed, an IV in his hand, “When this life of battles ends, we’ll get married.” “I’ll tell the world you mean everything to me.” But now, the laughter from down the corridor mocked me awake from my daydream. Those promises and tears seemed to have died with our unborn child in that storm. Khalil’s magnetic voice continued, “Harlow’s got nothing on my wife. Meeting her showed me what a real woman is.” “Soft as water, especially in bed—it’s a whole different experience…” His words slithered into my ears like poison. “Harlow…” He laughed derisively, “She’s like a block of wood, always fighting among men. You’ve seen her wield a knife, right? Tougher than any man, not a hint of femininity.” Khalil took a swig of whiskey, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “I regretted sleeping with her from the start.” “Scarred all over, harsh to touch, unlike my wife’s soft skin.” A chorus of crude laughter erupted from the lounge. My stomach churned as I recalled his first touch, fingers tracing the scar on my belly, calling it a badge of battle. Looking back, his gaze might’ve been pride in conquering a fierce woman, not love. Suddenly, Yahya’s laughter stopped, “Boss, you say all that, but if Harlow finds out…” “What? Can’t I speak the truth?” Khalil slammed his glass down, “She’s just a barren hen, thinking I’d marry her?” My teeth chattered. I wanted to walk away, but my legs felt like lead, unable to decide which foot to move first. “Want to hear the real kicker?” Khalil’s voice was lowered, filled with malicious excitement, “She still thinks I’ll marry her. Every time we’re together, she asks, ‘When are we getting married?’ It drives me crazy…” Bjorn chimed in, concern in his voice, “Boss, secrets don’t keep forever. If Harlow finds out, what’s your plan?” Khalil sneered, swirling his glass, the amber liquid catching his steely gaze. “Why rush? I’ve got it all planned.” His voice dropped, “Next Wednesday’s the final handover with the Phoenix gang; I’m sending Harlow.” Yahya sat up straight, “Boss, Phoenix wants her gone; they hold a grudge…” “Moreover, they’re plotting something for the handover; I’m worried about Harlow’s safety…” Khalil interrupted, smiling cruelly, “Let her step on the mine.” “Phoenix wants her gone, I’ll give them the chance. When she’s in danger, I’ll swoop in to save her, a repayment for saving me.” “Then, I’ll announce my marriage. I doubt she’ll dare trouble my wife again.” I held my breath, afraid to make a sound. Bjorn hesitated, “But she’s been with you for so long, what if…” Khalil lit a cigarette, his face hidden by smoke, “I won’t let gratitude bind me. I just want to be good to my wife now!” He blew out a smoke ring, casually adding, “Next Wednesday, keep quiet. I’m settling this score with her, ending the marriage talk.” I backed away, my legs heavy like lead. The man I shielded with my life now prepared to throw me to the wolves. The fire that burned in me for ten years suddenly went out. I accidentally knocked over a vase in the corridor. The shattering porcelain halted the laughter from the lounge. Khalil bellowed, “Who’s there?” I ducked into the emergency stairwell, ascending one flight before slipping into the elevator. Ten years of whispers and vows through crisis had become the roadblocks in his quest for happiness. My phone buzzed in my pocket—a message from Khalil, “Harlow, where are you? Did you stop by the office today?” With trembling fingers, I almost told him I’d been there, that I’d heard it all. But I hesitated, deleting what I’d written, typing instead, “I don’t want repayment of that empty gratitude. I’m leaving.” Deleted again. In the end, I sent nothing. I stuffed my phone back in my bag and wiped my tears, feeling numb. If you want us to settle the score, I’ll grant your wish. Khalil returned three hours later. “Harlow?” His voice was deliberately gentle, probing. I sat blankly in the living room, but as I turned, a smile was already on my face. “You’re back? I made your favorite chicken soup with sweet potatoes in the kitchen.” His eyes lingered on me for a moment, his Adam’s apple moving slightly. “Where were you this afternoon? You didn’t answer any of my messages.” I moved toward the storage cabinet, catching a glimpse of his tense jawline in the reflection of the glass door. “I went to pick up your birthday gift. Once I got back, I got busy with dinner and forgot to reply.” When I revealed the Rolex watch from its box, I saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes. I fastened the watch onto his wrist. “Next Thursday is Thanksgiving, and it’s also the day you retire. It’s a big double celebration.” His voice was a bit hoarse. “Did you spend all your savings on this watch?” I secured the clasp. “Sincerity can’t be measured in money, Khalil.” I suddenly looked up, meeting his gaze directly. “Is there anything you need to tell me?” The air grew thick with tension. Emotions swirled in his eyes—partially moved, partially conflicted. Just when I thought he might say something, the phone rang, breaking the moment. All the unspoken words faded away with the ringing, and the light in my eyes slowly dimmed. He answered quickly, masking the emotions that had just surfaced. I could only hear a woman’s voice on the other end, asking him when he’d be home, promising a surprise for the evening. His expression brightened instantly, filled with anticipation. He hung up quickly and turned to me, “Something’s come up with the crew. I need to handle it. I’ll make it up to you later.” He hurried out, leaving only the aftershocks of a closing door. I stood frozen at the entrance, feeling my entire body grow rigid. Soon, it was time to meet with Judah Franklin’s crew. Khalil’s call came through beforehand, “Harlow, this is the last deal. I don’t trust anyone else; only you.” I stood by the large window, gazing at the overcast sky outside, a faint, forlorn smile stretching across my lips. “Alright.” I replied softly, my voice steady, “I’ll be there on time.” Whether it was to repay a debt or step into the unknown, I was ready. 2 a.m., international waters. Judah’s ship approached slowly. The deck was crowded with people, a mass of shadows under the moonlight, knives flashing menacingly in the night. Judah stood at the bow, grinning widely, “Miss Thompson, long time no see.” I nodded slightly, signaling my men to bring the cargo onto the deck. “Inspect the goods.” Judah ordered his men to check the shipment, but as soon as the cover was lifted, he shouted, “Open fire!” Bang! Almost simultaneously, Judah’s crew attacked from all sides! “Miss Thompson! We’ve been ambushed!” My men shouted in panic, but Khalil had sent too few people; we were quickly cornered! Bullets whizzed past as I dodged a fatal shot, raising my hand to take down an oncoming enemy. But there were too many, and we were pushed back. “Retreat!” I yelled, “Everyone to the speedboats!” My men quickly retreated while I covered them, running out of ammunition fast. Just as I was about to jump onto a boat, a bullet pierced my shoulder from behind! Pain exploded instantly as I staggered and turned back, only to see Nikolai, one of Khalil’s men, slowly lowering his weapon, his eyes cold. I lost my balance, plunged into the sea, and the cold water swallowed me whole. Staring up at the ocean surface, I saw in the distance Khalil’s ship speeding toward me. He finally came. To play out his tale of settling scores. But I no longer needed him.

I once thought Frank Tucker was the love of my life. Convincing my family to accept our extravagant wedding was a significant challenge. My parents even planned to launch a billion-dollar True Love Jewelry line on our wedding day. But just a week before the ceremony, Frank dropped a bombshell, insisting he needed to marry Celeste Armstrong first to fulfill a promise to her late mother, his first love. “For Celeste’s sake, everything else can be put aside,” he said impatiently. “If money is your concern, why don’t you just find someone else to marry?” It dawned on me then that in his world, both I and my career were always secondary to his romanticized vision of Celeste. Resolute, I turned around and called my family, “Sam, keep the wedding as planned but find me another groom.” On the day I went to try on wedding dresses, I waited a long time outside Autumn Saunders’ company before she lazily descended the stairs. As soon as we got into the car, she tossed me a necklace. “Celeste wanted me to give this to you. She felt awkward at the funeral yesterday because of you. Maybe you should find some time to apologize.” The necklace was obviously a promotional gift; I had seen it in Frank’s online shopping cart days ago. I replied indifferently, “I don’t want it.” Frank frowned. “Why are you upset now? You embarrassed her by stating I’m not her fiancé at the funeral, and she didn’t even hold a grudge. She even thought to send you a gift, and you’re being ungrateful?” The Frank who once stood by me was gone; now he cherished someone else. Frustrated, he opened the car window. After a long silence, seeing no sign of appeasement from me, he finally relented, “Fine, I’m accompanying you to the bridal fitting today, so let’s not argue.” It was the first time all year he had conceded anything. At the bridal shop, the staff greeted us warmly: “Mr. Tucker, Miss Hicks, your twenty custom wedding gowns and suits are ready.” But Frank’s mind was elsewhere; his eyes were glued to his phone, urgency evident on his face. Catching my look, he quickly put his phone away and, with a trace of apology, said, “Addison, something’s come up with Celeste. I need to leave right away. Try on the dresses yourself and pick a suit for me as well. I trust your judgment.” With that, he hurriedly hailed a cab, leaving me alone. The staff approached, tentatively asking, “Miss Hicks, would you like to personally choose the suit?” I pulled my gaze back from the door and nodded. Of course, I needed to choose a suit, but it wasn’t for Frank Tucker. After all, the groom had changed. “Sam, keep the wedding as planned but find me another groom.” Sam was incredulous, “You’re calling off the wedding?” “No, he wants to marry someone else,” I replied with a bitter smile. I had navigated so many familial hurdles to be with Frank, gaining my parents’ approval and tying the launch of our jewelry line to the wedding day. Now, all efforts seemed in vain. Sam paused for a long time before saying, “That leaves Josiah Hicks. His family has been pressuring him lately, and he’s been seeking a bride.” I frowned. Josiah was my arch-nemesis. On the day of our engagement, he foretold that my dream wedding would crumble, and ironically, here we were. With time running short, I could only say, “Then him. See if he’s interested. If not, I’ll figure something else out.” Sam quickly responded, “No need to ask. He’ll definitely agree.” “What?” Before I could probe further, Sam muttered something and hung up. After selecting wedding dresses, I got into a car to go home, expecting Frank wouldn’t return all night. But as dinnertime approached, there he was. He walked briskly up to me, holding a takeout box. “I went across town to get this for you, late-night snacks from Harry’s.” I looked at the ravioli in front of me. There were three fewer than usual, and one had a bite mark—clearly someone else had eaten it. Half an hour ago, I had seen Celeste post on Instagram, sharing the same food I now held. “My man didn’t forget to grab me a late-night snack. Thanks, love!” I put down my fork, suddenly losing my appetite. “I don’t want to eat. Just toss it out.” Frank looked annoyed but held his tongue and sat next to me to complain. “You have no idea how upset Celeste was today. Her parents went over to her house, berating her for having no money and no decent dowry. She was so upset she cried.” “Celeste just returned from abroad and doesn’t have much money. I thought your dowry could help her out.” His presumptive tone made my stomach churn. I looked at him with a sardonic smile, “So it’s my job to provide the dowry for your wife?” No wonder Celeste Armstrong would go to such insane lengths, even digging up her own mother’s grave just to frame me. It turns out her supposed death was all a charade. I texted Frank Tucker: “Celeste’s mom isn’t dead. Check the email I sent you for the truth.” Whether he reads it or not is no longer my concern. Josiah Hicks personally booked my flight for three days later. When Frank came back, he found me packing. Half of my clothes were strewn about; some were earmarked for New York. “Why are you packing?” Frank asked, his tone tinged with suspicion. “I’m just relocating,” I replied casually. He paused for a moment, not grasping the reality, and continued, “The company is in New York. We’ll need to settle there after the wedding, so it’s good to get a head start.” Finishing his statement, he shot me an intense look. “You should apologize about Celeste’s mom soon. Don’t put me in a tough spot—how about doing it on the wedding day?” With that, he tossed his phone onto the table and went off to find his ID; he and Celeste were getting their marriage license today. He didn’t return until late that night. When I checked my phone, there was already a message from Celeste. She’d sent a picture of her and Frank in matching outfits, lying side by side in bed. I shut my eyes, trying to suppress the ache in my heart. I suppressed the surge of emotions and switched off the phone. All night, it buzzed every hour with Celeste sending videos of her and Frank, each one more mocking than the last. The next morning, Josiah messaged me. “Addison, the flowers have bloomed. You can return whenever you wish.” Attached was a photo of two marriage licenses next to a vibrant red rose. I hadn’t expected him to keep the plant I’d given him so long ago. A strange emotion bubbled up inside me. I replied with a simple, “Okay.” As I set my phone aside and began organizing my work files, Frank showed up again, packing his everyday essentials. “I’ll be staying with Celeste for a few days to help with wedding preparations. She’s swamped, handling it all by herself. Make sure you’re prompt for the wedding the day after tomorrow.” After talking, he launched into a long explanation, insisting he was just going to assist and asking me not to cause any trouble. “I won’t be attending,” I said, my gaze lowered. After last night, any lingering affection I had for him had evaporated entirely. Seeing my composed demeanor, an inexplicable panic swept over Frank. He hesitated. But recalling Celeste’s insistent pleading, he relaxed his grip on the phone. How could Addison, who loved him so deeply, ever let something go off track? Feeling assured, he breathed a sigh of relief and disappeared from my view without further argument. Watching his back as he left, I dialed a number. That evening, a helicopter landed in the town square. A man approached me. “Ms. Hicks, your helicopter is ready. It will transport you safely to New York in half an hour.” I nodded, handing him an envelope. “Deliver this to the wedding tomorrow. It’s my wedding gift to the bride and groom.”

The maître d’ approached with that look—pity barely masked by professional courtesy. “Another glass of champagne, Mrs. Montgomery?” I shook my head, forcing a smile that felt like cracked porcelain. “No, thank you. I’m sure my husband will be here any minute.” We both knew it was a lie. The anniversary dinner reservation had been for 7:30 PM. The delicate watch on my wrist—a wedding gift from Chris—now read 9:17. Around me, Boston’s elite dined in intimate pairs, their laughter and conversation forming a backdrop that only amplified my solitude. The candle between the two place settings had burned down significantly, wax pooling on the pristine tablecloth. The small gift box wrapped in silver paper sat untouched beside my plate, corners perfectly aligned the way Chris preferred things. Beside it lay the cream-colored envelope containing my handwritten letter—words I’d rewritten a dozen times, trying to breathe life back into our marriage. I reached for my phone, tucked discreetly in my clutch beneath the table. No missed calls. No apologetic texts. Just silence—the kind I’d grown accustomed to over three years of marriage. My finger hovered over Chris’s name, but pride kept me from calling. Again. Instead, I opened Instagram, a habit born of masochism more than hope. The first post stopped my breath. There he was. My husband, his strong arm wrapped protectively around Jamie Collins’s slender waist as he guided her through the sliding doors of Boston General’s emergency entrance. Her head rested against his shoulder, face contorted in apparent pain. The caption read: *Chief Montgomery to the rescue! Even America’s Sweetheart @JamieCollinsRN needs a hero sometimes. #NightShiftDrama #BostonGeneral* The timestamp: 7:15 PM. Fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet me. I zoomed in on the image, studying the details like a pathologist examining tissue. Chris’s expression—concern etched across his handsome features, but something else too. A tenderness I hadn’t seen directed at me in… I couldn’t remember how long. Jamie’s designer blouse, perfectly pressed despite her “sudden illness.” The way her manicured hand clutched at his lapel. The comments scrolled beneath: *OMG they’re so cute together!* *Wasn’t tonight his anniversary? Awkward…* *Poor Evelyn Parker always waiting somewhere LOL* I set my phone down with trembling fingers, heat rising to my cheeks. Everyone knew. The entire hospital staff, their social circles, probably half of Boston’s upper crust—all watching this slow-motion car crash that was my marriage. The waiter approached again, this time without words as he cleared away the untouched champagne flute and the bread basket that had gone stale. His eyes flicked to the gift and letter before looking away quickly. “I’ll take the check,” I said softly. “Dr. Montgomery already arranged to have the dinner charged to your account, Mrs. Montgomery. Standing instructions.” His voice was kind, which somehow made it worse. Of course. Chris had set up automatic billing for our anniversary dinners. Efficient, like everything else about him. Except showing up. — The morning light streamed through the penthouse windows when I returned from my sister’s apartment. I hadn’t been able to face our empty bed last night, not after sitting alone in that restaurant, not after those photos. The silence of our home greeted me—pristine surfaces, designer furniture, the curated art pieces that decorated walls but somehow never made this place feel warm. I set my keys in the crystal dish by the door, the soft clink echoing through the space. That’s when I saw it. Draped carelessly over the back of our Italian leather couch—a camel-colored scarf with the distinctive Burberry pattern. Not mine. I approached it slowly, as if it might rear up like a snake. My fingers brushed the cashmere, still carrying the faint warmth of its owner. I lifted it to my face, inhaling involuntarily. Floral notes with a hint of something spicy. Unmistakably feminine, unmistakably not my signature scent. The perfume lingered in the air too, I realized—not just on the scarf. It hung in our living room like an invisible intruder. I followed the scent, my legs moving mechanically toward our bedroom. The bed was made—our housekeeper’s work, not Chris’s. But one of the decorative pillows was slightly askew, the duvet not quite perfectly aligned. Something inside me—something that had been bending and bending for three long years—finally snapped. I stood in our pristine living room, the Burberry scarf clutched in my trembling hand as I heard the front door open. Chris strode in with the confidence of a man who owned the world—tailored suit, not a hair out of place, his surgeon’s hands holding nothing but his phone and car keys. No gift. No apology. “You’re home,” he said, his tone suggesting mild surprise rather than guilt. He set his keys in the crystal dish beside mine, the soft clink echoing between us. “I found this.” I held up the scarf, watching his face for any flicker of recognition or remorse. “And there’s perfume in the air. Perfume that isn’t mine.” His expression remained impassive, but something hardened in his eyes. “What exactly are you implying, Evelyn?” “I’m not implying anything. I’m asking why Jamie Collins’s scarf is in our living room, and why our bedroom smells like her perfume.” My voice was steadier than I expected, fueled by three years of swallowed hurt. Chris sighed—the patronizing sound he reserved for patients who questioned his medical judgment. “That’s Jamie’s? She must have left it when the surgical team met here last week for the quarterly planning session. You were at your mother’s charity event, remember?” I hadn’t known about any meeting in our home. “And the photos of you bringing her to the ER last night? During our anniversary dinner?” The words scraped my throat on their way out. His face softened into something resembling concern, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “She collapsed after her shift. What was I supposed to do, Evelyn? Let her suffer because we had dinner plans?” “You could have called.” “I was busy saving someone who needed me.” He stepped closer, placing his hands on my shoulders. They felt heavy, not comforting. “Honestly, this jealousy isn’t like you. Jamie is my resident, nothing more. Perhaps you should talk to someone about these… insecurities.” The suggestion that I needed therapy for noticing the obvious made something cold settle in my stomach. I stepped back, his hands falling away. “I waited for two hours,” I said quietly. “And I’m sorry about that.” He wasn’t. “But this paranoia needs to stop. It’s beneath you, and frankly, it’s beneath us.” Us. As if we were still a team. As if there had ever been an “us” beyond the merger of our family names and bank accounts. I watched him walk away, disappearing into his study without another glance at the scarf still dangling from my fingers. — The Boston General Foundation Gala glittered with wealth and ambition. Crystal chandeliers cast diamond-like reflections across the ballroom as Boston’s elite mingled, champagne flutes in hand. At our table near the stage, I sat alone while Chris worked the room, his charismatic laugh carrying across the space. “Mrs. Montgomery, you look absolutely stunning tonight,” Dr. Weiss’s wife said, settling into the chair beside me. Her eyes held the same pity I’d seen in the maître d’s. I smiled politely, smoothing the silk of my emerald gown. “Thank you. And please, call me Evelyn.” Chris finally returned to our table just as the hospital director took the stage to introduce him. He squeezed my shoulder briefly—a public display of affection for watching eyes—before straightening his bow tie. “And now, I’m pleased to introduce our Chief of Surgery, the visionary behind Boston General’s upcoming West Wing expansion, Dr. Christopher Montgomery.” Applause rippled through the room as Chris ascended the steps to the podium, his smile dazzling under the spotlights. I clapped mechanically, the diamond wedding band on my finger catching the light. “Thank you all for your continued support of Boston General,” Chris began, his voice commanding the room. “Tonight’s contributions will—” A commotion from the side of the stage interrupted him. Jamie Collins, resplendent in a form-fitting silver dress, swayed dramatically, one hand pressed to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she called out, voice breathy and weak. “I feel faint…” Without hesitation—without even a glance in my direction—Chris abandoned his speech mid-sentence, rushing to her side. The microphone picked up his concerned murmur: “I’ve got you, Jamie.” Every eye in the ballroom shifted from them to me, watching for my reaction as my husband guided his resident to a chair, kneeling beside her with tender attention. I remained perfectly still, my face a practiced mask of composure while something inside me calcified into resolve. This would be the last time Christopher Montgomery made me a spectacle of pity. I sat across from Marcus in his office, the morning light filtering through the blinds and casting striped shadows across his polished desk. His eyes—kind but shrewd—studied me as I slid the folder of documents toward him. “You’re certain about this?” he asked, his voice steady and calm as always. “I’ve never been more certain of anything,” I replied, surprised by the steadiness in my own voice. Three days had passed since the gala, since Jamie’s theatrical swoon and Chris’s reflexive abandonment of his speech to rush to her side. Three days of silent meals and separate bedrooms. Marcus nodded, opening the folder to review the withdrawal forms I’d already filled out. “The West Wing expansion is his pet project,” he said, not a question but a statement of fact. “Without your family’s backing, it stalls immediately.” “I know.” A small smile played at my lips. “That’s rather the point.” He met my gaze, his expression professional but with an undercurrent of approval. “I’ll process these personally. The first transfers should complete by tomorrow.” I picked up the Mont Blanc pen he offered, feeling its weight in my hand. Each signature felt like reclaiming a piece of myself—Parker funds that had been funneled into Montgomery dreams without so much as a consultation. One elegant stroke after another, I signed my maiden name. Evelyn Parker. Not Montgomery. Parker. “There will be questions,” Marcus warned gently. “From the board, from Chris.” “Let there be,” I replied, capping the pen with a satisfying click. — The text message came three days later from Olivia Chen, a nurse I’d always exchanged pleasantries with during hospital functions. We weren’t close, but there had always been a quiet respect between us. *I think you should see this. I’m sorry.* Attached was a screenshot of what appeared to be an accidental group text Jamie had sent to several hospital staff members before quickly deleting it. But not quickly enough. The image showed Chris, unmistakably Chris, shirtless in what was clearly not our bed. The timestamp: 2:17 AM last night. While I’d been sleeping alone in our penthouse, believing he was working a late shift. I stared at my phone, waiting for the tidal wave of pain to hit. Instead, I felt an odd sense of validation. Proof. Finally, irrefutable proof that I wasn’t paranoid, wasn’t imagining things, wasn’t—as Chris had suggested—in need of therapy for my “insecurities.” *Thank you, Olivia,* I typed back, my fingers steady. Her response came quickly: *Are you okay?* I considered the question, truly considered it. Was I okay? No. But I would be. *I will be,* I replied honestly. — The doorman called up just after midnight. “Mrs. Montgomery, there’s a courier with a delivery for you. He insists it’s urgent.” “Send him up, please, Thomas.” Minutes later, I signed for a manila envelope with no return address. The courier—a young man with tired eyes—nodded respectfully before disappearing back toward the elevator. Inside the envelope: eight high-quality photographs. Chris and Jamie at an intimate restaurant in Cambridge, his hand covering hers on the table. Chris and Jamie entering a hotel that wasn’t Boston General. Chris kissing Jamie against her car in a darkened parking garage, his wedding ring clearly visible on the hand cupping her face. I spread the photos across our dining table, studying each one methodically, as if they were evidence in a case I was building. Which, in a way, they were. My laptop hummed to life as I created a new, encrypted folder. I scanned each photograph, saved it, and labeled it with the date visible on the timestamp. Then I gathered the physical copies, returned them to the envelope, and locked them in my personal safe—the one Chris didn’t have the combination to. Someone was watching them. Someone wanted me to know. As I closed my laptop, my phone lit up with a text from Chris: *Surgery running late. Don’t wait up.* I smiled to myself, a cold, determined smile that would have surprised anyone who thought they knew Evelyn Parker-Montgomery. *No,* I texted back. *I won’t wait.*

I sat in the plush leather chair of Sean’s law office, my body still aching from the miscarriage three days ago. The cramping hadn’t stopped completely. Neither had the bleeding. The doctor had advised bed rest, but Sean’s lawyer had made it clear—today was non-negotiable. “Mrs. Harrington, please sign here… and here.” The lawyer’s voice was clinically detached as he slid the divorce papers across the polished mahogany table. His finger tapped impatiently at each yellow tab. I couldn’t look at Sean. In the ten years we’d been married, I’d memorized every expression that crossed his face. Today, I couldn’t bear to see which one he wore—contempt, perhaps, or worse, nothing at all. Instead, my gaze drifted to Natalie Benson, perched beside him like a bird of prey. Her red-lacquered nails rested possessively on his forearm, her diamond bracelet catching the light. My bracelet. The one Sean had given me on our fifth anniversary. “June.” Sean’s voice finally broke the silence. Cold. Distant. A stranger’s voice. “The sooner you sign, the sooner we can all move on.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “I should remind you, Mrs. Harrington, that should you choose not to sign today, Mr. Harrington is prepared to contest any custody arrangements for future children and—” “Future children?” The words escaped me before I could stop them. My hand instinctively went to my abdomen, still tender from the loss. “I just lost our baby.” Natalie’s lips curled into a smile that never reached her eyes. “Well, that simplifies things, doesn’t it?” Sean didn’t even flinch at her cruelty. He just stared at his watch, as if my grief were an inconvenience, a meeting running overtime. “Sign the papers, June,” he said flatly. “Or you’ll leave with nothing.” My hands trembled as I picked up the pen. Each signature felt like another piece of myself being carved away. With the final stroke, ten years of marriage—of loving Sean, of building a life with him, of sacrificing everything I’d ever wanted—was reduced to a stack of legal documents. The drive back to our apartment—no, Sean’s apartment now—was a blur of rain-slicked streets and blurry traffic lights. My chest felt hollow, as if something vital had been scooped out. When I reached the door, my key still worked. Small mercies. But inside, everything had changed. The closet in our bedroom stood open, emptied of my clothes. The bookshelves had been purged of my novels and textbooks. Even the photographs had been removed from their frames, leaving ghostly rectangles on the walls where our memories had once hung. In the living room, cardboard boxes were stacked neatly, labeled in a handwriting I didn’t recognize. “June’s Things.” “Kitchen—June’s.” “Miscellaneous.” A note sat on the kitchen counter, Sean’s precise handwriting unmistakable: *June, The movers will collect these boxes tomorrow. You have until noon to vacate the premises. Your access to our joint accounts has been temporarily suspended pending the finalization of our divorce. —Sean* No goodbye. No acknowledgment of our decade together. Just logistics. A soft knock at the door startled me. When I opened it, Mrs. Chen from across the hall stood there, her kind face creased with concern. “I saw the movers earlier,” she said softly. “They left these by the door.” She held out a pair of worn ballet flats—my favorite shoes for padding around the apartment on Sunday mornings. That night, I sat on the bathroom floor, the cool tiles pressing against my legs. The bottle of sleeping pills Sean had gotten prescribed for his insomnia sat in my palm. How many would it take? Would it hurt? “June?” The voice was so achingly familiar that for a moment, I thought I’d imagined it. But when I looked up, he was there in the doorway—Sean. Not the Sean who had sat across from me in that sterile law office, but Sean as he had been when we first met. Eighteen years old, with warm eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Hair slightly too long, falling across his forehead in that way that had made my heart stumble the first time I saw him. “Sean?” My voice cracked. He knelt beside me, and when his hand touched mine, it was warm but somehow not quite solid—like touching sunlight through a window. “What are you doing?” he asked gently, his eyes fixed on the pill bottle in my hand. Morning came with cruel persistence. I hadn’t slept—not really. The pills remained uncapped beside me, a temptation I’d resisted only because of him. Because of young Sean, whose impossible presence had somehow anchored me through the darkest hours. I dragged myself to the bus stop, my belongings stuffed into a single suitcase. Mrs. Chen had offered her couch, but pride—the last thing I owned that Sean couldn’t take—made me refuse. The bus lurched forward, and I clutched my phone, scrolling through credit card applications. Each rejection notification felt like another door slamming shut. *Insufficient credit history. Application denied. Unable to verify income.* ‘They’re making a mistake,’ came a soft voice beside me. I looked up to find young Sean sitting there, his eyes warm with concern. In the harsh morning light, he seemed more substantial than he had in the bathroom darkness, yet still somehow ethereal—like a photograph coming to life. ‘What are you?’ I whispered, earning a concerned glance from an elderly woman across the aisle. He smiled that crooked smile I’d fallen for a lifetime ago. ‘I’m here because you need me to be.’ His hand covered mine as another rejection flashed across my screen. Though I couldn’t truly feel his touch, something warm spread through my fingers. I bit my lip hard, fighting back tears that threatened to humiliate me further in this bus full of strangers. ‘You’ll figure this out,’ he said quietly. ‘You always do.’ The bus jolted to a stop, and when I looked again, the seat beside me was empty. — ‘You came!’ Sarah Evans exclaimed, her surprise poorly concealed as she air-kissed my cheeks at the law firm’s holiday party entrance. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d… well, you know.’ I smoothed down the borrowed dress—a castoff from Mrs. Chen’s daughter. Too tight across the chest, too loose at the waist, but it was black and unremarkable. Perfect for disappearing. ‘I appreciate the invitation,’ I lied, scanning the room for Sean. This was madness, coming here. But I needed to speak with him about the accounts. About the future. About anything that might give me closure. The party hummed with expensive conversation and tinkling crystal. I sipped champagne that tasted like ashes, nodding at former friends who suddenly found the appetizer table fascinating when they spotted me. David Miller, the managing partner, tapped his glass for attention. ‘If I could have everyone’s moment, please! We have something special to celebrate tonight.’ The crowd parted, and there they were—Sean and Natalie, her arm possessively wound through his. She wore red, vibrant as a fresh wound against the sea of conservative black and navy suits. ‘To new beginnings,’ David continued, raising his glass. ‘And to the future Mr. and Mrs. Harrington!’ The room erupted in applause. My champagne glass froze halfway to my lips. ‘And because a picture is worth a thousand words,’ Natalie’s voice cut through the congratulations, ‘we’ve prepared a little slideshow of our journey.’ The lights dimmed. The projector flickered to life on the wall behind them. And there I was—pale, hollow-eyed, curled in a hospital bed. The date stamp showed three days ago. My miscarriage. My private agony, projected six feet tall for everyone to see. ‘Oops,’ Natalie giggled, feigning embarrassment as gasps rippled through the crowd. ‘Wrong folder!’ The room spun. Faces blurred into masks of horror and morbid fascination. I stumbled backward, knocking into a waiter, sending a tray of glasses crashing to the floor. The shattering sound broke whatever spell had frozen me in place. I fled. — ‘Sean!’ I called out, my voice echoing in the parking garage beneath his firm the next morning. He was walking toward his car, briefcase in hand. He turned slowly, his face a perfect mask of indifference. ‘June. You shouldn’t be here.’ ‘The accounts,’ I said, my breath forming small clouds in the December air. ‘They’re empty. All of them.’ ‘Yes.’ No explanation. No apology. ‘How am I supposed to—’ ‘You should check your credit report,’ he interrupted coolly. ‘The mortgage, the car loans, your student debt—they’re all in your name now.’ The ground seemed to tilt beneath me. ‘You can’t do that.’ ‘It’s already done.’ He checked his watch. ‘Anything else?’ A sleek black limousine pulled up behind him, its tinted window rolling down to reveal Natalie’s smirking face. ‘Sean,’ I whispered, searching for any flicker of the man I’d married. ‘Why?’ He turned away without answering, sliding into the limo beside her. As they pulled away, I caught a final glimpse of Natalie’s triumphant smile through the darkened glass. Standing alone in the cold garage, I realized with sudden clarity that the man I’d loved was truly gone. And in his place was someone I no longer recognized—someone capable of destroying me without a second thought. I stared at the ceiling of Chris’s spare bedroom, watching the shadows from passing cars slide across the cracked plaster. The mattress smelled faintly of mothballs and something else—a lingering scent of my brother’s military life, perhaps. After the parking garage confrontation with Sean, I’d had nowhere else to go. My credit cards were maxed out, my accounts emptied, and my name was now attached to debts I hadn’t even known existed. “You can stay as long as you need,” Chris had said when I showed up at his door, suitcase in hand, eyes swollen from crying. His apartment was small—a one-bedroom converted to two by adding a wall that didn’t quite reach the ceiling—but it was clean and warm. Military precision evident in the perfectly made bed, the precisely aligned shoes by the door. I rolled onto my side, wincing at the hollow ache that still lingered in my abdomen. The physical reminder of everything I’d lost. “Hey, you up?” Chris’s voice came softly through the thin door. When I didn’t answer, he pushed it open anyway, his wheelchair barely fitting through the narrow frame. “Brought you something.” He wheeled over to the bed and handed me a battered leather journal. The cover was worn smooth at the corners, the pages yellowed with age. “What’s this?” I asked, running my fingers over the soft leather. “My therapist gave it to me when I came back from Afghanistan. Said writing down the next steps, no matter how small, helped make the impossible seem possible.” His eyes, so like mine, held no pity—just quiet understanding. “Thought you might need it more than I do now.” I clutched the journal to my chest, tears threatening again. “I don’t know what the next steps even are, Chris.” He gestured to the wall behind me, where his service medals hung in a simple frame. “When they first put me in this chair, I couldn’t see past the next hour, let alone the next day. But you keep going. One step, then another.” He reached out and squeezed my hand. “You’ll rebuild, June. And I’ll help you.” — The nonprofit where I’d worked before my marriage to Sean was housed in a converted Victorian in Capitol Hill. I’d spent three happy years there before leaving to support Sean’s career move to New York. Now, back in Seattle with nothing but desperation, I hoped they might remember me fondly. “June Parker!” Maria Sanchez exclaimed when I walked into her office. “Or is it Harrington now?” “Parker,” I said firmly. “It’s Parker again.” Maria’s warm brown eyes softened with understanding. She’d been my supervisor years ago, and time had added silver to her dark hair but hadn’t diminished her kind smile. “Well, Ms. Parker, your timing is impeccable. We just got funding for a new community outreach position. The pay isn’t spectacular, but—” “I’ll take it,” I interrupted, then flushed. “I mean, I’d like to apply. If that’s possible.” She laughed. “Let’s start with an interview, at least. How’s tomorrow?” I left feeling lighter than I had in weeks. The next day, I wore my only remaining professional outfit—a navy skirt suit I’d managed to grab before the movers came—and answered Maria’s questions with growing confidence. By the end, her smile told me everything I needed to know. “We’ll be in touch very soon,” she promised, walking me to the door. Three days later, a terse email arrived: *Dear Ms. Parker,* *Thank you for your interest in our Community Outreach Coordinator position. After careful consideration, we have decided to pursue other candidates whose qualifications better align with our current needs.* *We wish you the best in your future endeavors.* I stared at my phone in disbelief. The interview had gone perfectly. Maria had all but offered me the job on the spot. Before I could stop myself, I was dialing her number. “June,” Maria answered, her voice tight. “I was hoping you’d call.” “What happened?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady. A long pause. Then: “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but… Natalie Benson called our executive director yesterday. Sean’s firm is our biggest donor, and she made it clear that if we hired you, they would withdraw their support.” The phone nearly slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. “She did what?” “I’m so sorry, June. We can’t lose that funding—we’d have to close our doors.” After we hung up, I sat on Chris’s fire escape, watching the sun sink behind the Seattle skyline. The metal was cold through my thin pants, but I barely noticed. First my marriage, then my home, my financial security, and now even the chance to work—all systematically stripped away. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I turned to find young Sean sitting beside me, his legs dangling over the edge of the fire escape. In the fading light, he looked almost solid. “Do you remember our first date?” he asked, his eyes reflecting the deepening twilight. “The coffee shop near campus,” I whispered. “You spilled your latte all over my economics textbook.” He smiled, and suddenly I wasn’t on the fire escape anymore but sitting in that crowded university café, watching eighteen-year-old Sean frantically blot at my ruined book with napkins, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he was promising, his eyes—so warm then, so full of life—meeting mine across the table. The memory shifted, and we were dancing in the spring rain on the empty quad, my sundress plastered to my skin, his laughter echoing across the deserted campus. Then we were lying on a blanket in the darkness outside Madison, watching the Perseid meteor shower streak across the summer sky. “Someday,” he whispered, taking my hand, “I’m going to give you the world, June Parker.” The memories faded, leaving me alone on the cold fire escape, tears streaming down my face. The contrast between those cherished moments and my current reality was almost too painful to bear. “Why are you showing me this?” I asked the empty air where young Sean had been. But there was no answer, only the distant sound of traffic and the hollow ache of everything I’d lost.

He Left Me To Die, Then Begged For My Love I nourished a beast-hybrid bodyguard with my very lifeblood. For six years, I cherished him, poured out my entire heart, only to receive a single cold declaration in return: “Don’t ever think you can tame me.” During the Great Beast Uprising, he shielded another girl, letting me be trampled underfoot. He was *my* bodyguard, for crying out loud. Yet he always, *always* abandoned me. He even coiled his scorpion tail tightly around my throat, forcing me to use my precious blood to revive that girl. He didn’t know that every drop of blood I shed meant a piece of my life force withered away. He didn’t know this was my final breath, my last remaining lifespan. “Aurora, I swear I’ll make it up to you, I’ll be everything you want. Please, save her.” The arrogant beast-hybrid, who had always scorned submission, finally knelt before me, acknowledging me as his master. My fingers were fading, turning translucent against the light. “But… there was no ‘us’ anymore. No future.”

Ryder’s scorpion tail thrashed wildly, his eyes glazed over, consumed by pure bestial rage. He was in a frenzy. “Ivy…” Even then, with me bleeding out, he still whispered *her* name. I let him bite into my arm. Only when my blood flowed down his throat did he slowly calm. “Thank you…” I didn’t whine or complain about the pain like I usually would. Instead, I pushed him away, wiping the remaining blood onto a withered plant. The dry, shriveled leaves instantly burst back to life. Another chunk of my life force had drained away. “I’m moving near the lab. You’re my bodyguard; you have to come with me.” Ryder flinched. “But…” “I feed you my blood every month, Ryder. It’s not so you can run off to deal with Ivy’s wild episodes.” His chest was covered in love bites and hickeys. I forced my gaze away, my eyes burning with unshed tears. The accusation was on the tip of my tongue. But it twisted, becoming a threat instead. “Don’t forget your duty. If anything happens to me, the Federation won’t let any of you off the hook.” The world had ended. The ecosystem was shattered, and food plants were on the brink of extinction. I was the Federation’s only botanist. “Understood.” Ryder lowered his gaze. “I’ll go out first, then.” As he reached the door, I called out to him. “Ryder, what do you think we are to each other?” He stopped. His broad shoulders shrugged. His tanned muscles tensed, and on his waist, the indelible mark of a ‘discarded genetic experiment’ was still visible. If I hadn’t risked half my life to save him back then, he’d be long dead. “Employer and bodyguard. You give me blood; I protect you.” It was the answer I expected. No matter how much I gave, his heart wouldn’t hold even an ounce of space for me. Why force it? He wasn’t Julian. He wouldn’t cherish me, not truly. No matter how much he looked like him, he wasn’t him. Tears blurred my vision. I tried to wipe them away, but my fingertips were already fading, turning translucent. “I might not be able to pay your salary anymore.” **I’m fast disappearing.** Ryder didn’t take it seriously. “Then I’ll just find another employer.” He took long strides and left, leaving the door ajar and me, quietly sobbing. I always joked with him. But this time, it was real.

I’d just woken up, and Ryder was already standing by the front door, ready to go. “Your clothes are all here. The files are organized too.” His brow was slightly furrowed, and his strong, bony fingers pushed back a stray lock of hair as he meticulously checked the luggage. “The calming incense got a bit damp, so I didn’t bring it. I’ll buy you a new one later.” “I packed your plushie in a separate bag…” “Throw it away.” I said flatly. That plushie, Ryder had given it to me. It was meant for Ivy. She refused it, and then he just passed it on to me. The pathetic thing was, I’d treasured it. Ryder paused, looking stunned. “Why? Didn’t you like it? Just keep it…” This was the first time he hadn’t obeyed my order. “Ryder!” The girl skipped into the small yard, light on her feet, and threw herself into Ryder’s arms. “Thank you so much for yesterday! I came to thank you in person.” Ryder stiffened, his hands hovering awkwardly, unsure where to place them. His ears, unseen by her, burned bright red. His scorpion tail was held high, as if afraid to accidentally hurt her. I glanced at the back of my hand. Last night, his venomous stinger had grazed me, leaving my hand red and swollen, almost breaking the skin. Perhaps I was just used to it, but I barely felt any pain. “Oh! Is this that plushie I didn’t want?” Ivy picked up the beautifully wrapped plushie, examining it. “How did it get here? Did you give it to Aurora?” Ryder glanced at me. He hesitated. “Uh… no.” I turned my face away, my hand hanging by my side unconsciously clenching. He said, “I just forgot to throw it out when I was home. It’s trash, really.” His scorpion tail flicked. The plushie was sent flying into the overflowing trash bin. Its soft, plush face, still plastered with a cheerful smile, rolled into the depths, becoming soaked and soiled. “I knew it! Why would you give my unwanted junk to Aurora?” Ryder’s eyes flickered to my pale face, a tremor running through his pupils before he quickly looked away. I couldn’t tell if it was guilt, or a flicker of pain. He was afraid Ivy would misunderstand. So he chose to hurt me. And, of course, what comparison was there between us? Even gifts, I only got what she didn’t want. I unclenched my hand. My palms were marred with crescent-shaped indentations from my fingernails. “Throw away all my luggage. I’ll buy new things.” “I don’t want any of it anymore.” I looked at Ryder. “And that includes you, Ryder. I don’t want you anymore.”

I applied to the Federation for a new bodyguard. “Are you sure?” The Commander chuckled. “Ryder is the one you risked half your life to save, Miss Aurora. It took half your blood, you know.” “And where you knelt and begged before the Elders, green grass has sprouted. I bet that beast-hybrid doesn’t know that, does he?” “That failed genetic experiment, he wasn’t worth risking your life for.” “Oh, I forgot. He looks just like your childhood sweetheart, Julian. No wonder…” I was determined. I would replace Ryder and never be entangled with him again. The next day. My new bodyguard from the Federation arrived. It was a tiger beast-hybrid, even taller and more imposing than Ryder. His long, snow-white tail curled around my luggage. “Greetings, Miss Aurora.” I cleared out the room I’d prepared for Ryder and let the tiger beast-hybrid move in. I was explaining his duties when the doorbell rang. I didn’t open it. Ryder waited for a while, assuming no one was home, and tried the passkey himself. “Password incorrect.” He thought he’d misheard. He tried again. “Password incorrect.” He began to pound on the door. I was tired of it. I told the tiger beast-hybrid to get rid of him. A thunderous crash shook the entire house. I rushed out to find Ryder and the tiger beast-hybrid locked in a furious brawl, tearing down the very front door in their struggle. “Stop it!” Ryder looked up, his jealousy so thick it felt like it could drip from his eyes. His scorpion tail plunged forcefully into the tiger beast-hybrid’s side. I heard a strangled gasp, and the tiger beast-hybrid crumpled, his skin visibly turning purplish-blue. “Are you insane?!” I slapped Ryder across the face. His head snapped to the side, a few drops of blood flying. Only then did I notice the bloody gouge on the back of his head where the tiger beast-hybrid had clawed him. “Who is he?” Ryder glared, his eyes fixed on the other man. “My new bodyguard.” I helped the tiger beast-hybrid up, swiftly cut my arm, and pressed it to his lips, letting him drink. Ryder’s eyes went crimson. “I’m your bodyguard.” His defiance deflated. He stood there, utterly lost, especially when I offered no response. Even his scorpion tail drooped. “I’m your bodyguard…” “You can’t protect me,” I said coldly. “Get out.” He stood rooted to the spot. Perhaps realizing how terrible he’d been before, his lips trembled, unable to form a single word of protest. “I can…” “I promise I’ll protect you properly from now on, I’ll protect you with my life…” The glass reflected Ryder’s face, his jaw tight, his gaze locked onto me. He didn’t even blink, despite the blood streaming into his eyes. “Give me another chance.” The tiger beast-hybrid stirred. He pushed past me and bolted for the door, terrified of another sting. “Aurora, no one’s better suited for this job than me,” Ryder took a step forward. “I *can* protect you.” I was silent for a long moment. I looked at him. “You said you’d protect me with your life.” Ryder nodded frantically, like a bobblehead. “I promise.” I could feel my life force slipping away. I was inexplicably exhausted, sleeping longer and longer hours. Even the plants in the lab weren’t responding to my touch as they used to. “I’m tired. I’m going home.”

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I was bound to a system. It told me I was the female lead in a sweet romance novel, and my childhood friend was the male lead. But the story had gone off track. The system demanded I win over the male lead, achieve a sweet ending, and save the world. Yet, after three years of trying to pursue him, Jaxon detested me. The moment he saw me, his face was filled with impatience. He even frequently hurled insults my way. Finally, after I approached him proactively one more time, he said: “You act like such a simp, constantly clinging to me. It’s genuinely sickening. I like Luna. Can’t you just like someone else?” “Host, detecting you have one opportunity to change your target. Would you like to switch?” “Switch! Switch immediately! Switch right now! I should have switched ages ago!” I instantly replied to the system. Whatever the reason for changing targets, I was immensely grateful. “Host, please wait. Retrieving data…” I waited intently for the system’s reply. Completely ignoring the dog-like human beside me. Jaxon was handsome, with a wild aura. His big, bright eyes were so clear and soulful, he could make a brick wall seem romantic. But at this moment, his slightly reddened thin lips curled in scorn, spitting out cruel words without mercy. “You always act like some kind of stalker, following me around and obsessing over me. It’s disgusting. Do less of that from now on.” “Ah, yes, yes, yes.” The disgust in Jaxon’s eyes deepened. He turned his head away, as if I were something dirty, beneath his notice. I secretly rubbed my hands together, buzzing with anticipation, waiting for the system to churn out a new target for me. Jaxon and I were childhood friends. We’d known each other since we were five, and it had been sixteen years. When I first learned Jaxon was my target, I was secretly happy for a long time. At five, Jaxon protected me from other kids bullying me. He didn’t say a word and took on three of them, then got a good beating. Even though he lost badly, I was completely unharmed. At eight, I fell out of a tree in the wilderness and hurt my leg. Jaxon cried the entire way as he practically dragged me home. Though I ended up more injured from the dragging, he didn’t abandon me when I was scared. At fourteen, my first period started, and I was so mortified I couldn’t even bring myself to go to the restroom during class. It was him who took off his jacket to cover me and, blushing, went to the supermarket to buy me pads. … Before I turned eighteen, I was the only girl in Jaxon’s circle. Back then, he genuinely treated me so, so well. I liked him. I thought he liked me too, at least a little bit. I imagined if Jaxon was the target, we’d quickly achieve our happy ending. Never thought… Three years. A full three years. His favorability for me just kept plummeting, and honestly, mine for him did too. It must be in the negatives by now. I sincerely prayed in my heart. “Oh, all-powerful deities, Buddha, Saints above, please, please, grant me a normal, handsome guy, at least 6 feet tall, with a killer physique for a target!” “I’d willingly trade thirty years of Jaxon’s life for it!” Jaxon said impatiently, “I’m never going to be with you in this lifetime. Now get lost.” I didn’t even clearly hear what Jaxon said, just casually brushing him off, “Mm, okay, okay.” I focused on my silent prayer, this one just my safety net. “God, please grant me a normal target. I, your humble servant, would trade thirty years of Jaxon being forced to eat kale for it. Amen.” Jaxon looked at me for a moment, slightly surprised, then disdainfully turned away again. Jaxon’s friend, Leo, came to find him: “Jax, Luna, the campus queen, is waiting for us in the VIP booth. Let’s go!” “Alright.” Leo: “Jax, I just heard Elara say she’s not going to bother you anymore. You really don’t care?” Jaxon scoffed, “Do you believe that? It’s just a new trick to get my attention.” “You watch, in a few days, when that doesn’t work, she’ll be sticking to me like glue again.” “She loves me too much to let go.” Leo: “That’s our Jaxon, always knows how to handle his women.” “Enough. Why are we talking about her? It’s disgusting.”

Standing in place, I stared at the system panel. “Host, your new target is Caleb.” Caleb was the school’s academic genius, smart and from a good family. He and Jaxon were hailed as the school’s male idols. He was the secret crush of countless girls at school, but because he was so outstanding, few dared to confess. Most importantly, Caleb was over 6 feet tall, handsome, I hadn’t seen his physique but it must be good, and he had no rumored relationships, completely single. I laughed out loud in delight, deciding I’d visit a temple and light some incense when I got a chance. I had to properly thank all the deities. I started gathering information on Caleb’s whereabouts, planning to orchestrate a casual encounter. I heard Caleb was at the library. I found a pretty floral dress, put on light makeup, and tied my hair into pigtails. Going for a pure and innocent vibe. I grabbed a book I’d borrowed before, planning to use returning it as an excuse to make an impression on Caleb. But just as I was about to head out. I got a call from Jaxon. He immediately started giving haughty orders: “Luna wants desserts from the Sweet Haven. Go buy a few, and pair them with some boba tea. Deliver them within half an hour.” I wasn’t angry at all. Honestly, if I truly let myself get angry with Jaxon, I’d probably explode and become a walking drama bomb. “Jaxon, find someone else or go buy them yourself. I’m busy, I don’t have time for you.” Jaxon completely ignored me, finished his spiel, and hung up: “Hurry up, I’ll only wait half an hour. Even when you’re playing hard to get, know your limits.” Psychopath, narcissist, self-absorbed jerk. Ugh, such a turn-off!!! I cursed him under my breath and blocked his number. Not having to deal with Jaxon the Maniac, watching him throw a fit, was simply wonderful. Finally, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting stress-related illnesses anymore. At the library, I pretended to stand there returning a book, but my eyes were scanning nonstop, trying to pinpoint Caleb’s location. Soon, I found him. It wasn’t that my eyesight was exceptional; it was that Caleb practically glowed, and his handsomeness was on a whole other level compared to everyone else. I secretly made a decision to work on my complexion when I got back. Otherwise, standing next to him, I’d just be the background, like a firefly next to a street lamp. Alright, next up, the approach. The most inconspicuous yet noticeable accidental encounter in a library is probably standing on opposite sides of the same bookshelf as Caleb, pulling out a book, and then our eyes meeting. When our eyes met, I should subtly smile. It was both sweet and romantic, and easy to execute. Ugh, darn it, that trick wouldn’t work. The school bookshelves were double-layered; you’d have to pull out two books to make eye contact. The chances of Caleb and I simultaneously pulling out opposing books and achieving that “across the bookshelf eye contact” feat were too low. And if I pulled a book after he did, just to meet his eyes, it would be too obvious. Gotta think of something else. Got it! The bookshelves are so tall; it’s perfectly normal for me not to reach a book. Caleb is such a tall, strong guy; he’d probably be happy to help a delicate girl like me grab a book, right? As long as he helps, we’d have a connection, an excuse to talk to him, ask for his help, invite him to dinner. One thing leading to another, we’d get to know each other, and feelings would develop. Hey, if it works, it works. Once I had a plan, I immediately put it into action. I walked to a bookshelf not far from Caleb, randomly picked a book, and began to stand on my tiptoes, reaching for it, putting on a full show of being able to touch it but not quite grab it. But after reaching for a while, no one came to help. I subtly turned my head, using my peripheral vision to see what Caleb was doing. Only to find that spot empty. I stepped back from the bookshelf and saw Caleb already seated in the reading area. I inwardly grumbled that he was so oblivious. I went to the fiction section and picked out a romance novel that suited my taste.

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After I started dating Leo, my Good Luck System suddenly vanished. Meanwhile, his childhood friend, Brittany, rocketed from dead last in her class to number one. She even won a ten-million-dollar lottery, earning everyone’s envy. But my life became a nightmare. I was constantly drained and plagued by bad luck. That’s when it hit me: Leo had transferred my Good Luck System to his childhood friend. I confronted them, but Leo just shrugged. “Chloe, you had such an amazing system and weren’t using it properly. I transferred it to Brittany so it could be put to good use!” Brittany was even more arrogant. “Wondering why you’ve been so unlucky lately? Because I also have a Bad Luck System.” “If you don’t want to die, I suggest you shut up.” I just smiled. They didn’t believe me, but my Good Luck System had a specific rule. Abusing it would lead to a backlash. Plus, the Good Luck System had chosen me as its true owner. What was mine would always be mine. I was just waiting for the day they’d regret everything!

Even after I stopped arguing, Brittany wouldn’t let me leave. She declared she was going to teach me a lesson and ordered Leo to do it for her. “Leo, it’s our first day together. Why don’t you personally give her a little lesson?” Leo hesitated for a second, then nodded. In less than a moment, my insides screamed with pain. Leo completely dropped his simp act. His voice was condescending. “Chloe, how does it feel to be in excruciating pain?” “They say cancer pain is the absolute worst kind. My grandpa had it. Now, you’re experiencing it for him, so I guess I can feel like I’m doing something good for my family.” I grabbed Leo’s sleeve, my hatred boiling. I wanted to tear him apart. He let me pull him closer, taking a perverse pleasure in my agony. “You honestly thought I pursued you because I liked you? I just wanted to confirm if that Good Luck System was really yours.” “Chloe, I never liked you. I hated that aloof attitude of yours.” The torment left me speechless. I watched Brittany lean against Leo’s shoulder, her voice soft. “Leo, you don’t blame me for making you use your last transfer ability, do you?” Leo ran a hand through Brittany’s hair, a doting smile on his face. “Of course not. I know what you’re thinking. This way, no one can ever take your Good Luck System away.” “This ability only had two uses anyway, and both were well spent.” Brittany’s smile grew wider. She confidently promised Leo, “Leo, don’t worry. I’ll share my good luck with you.” As she promised, Brittany didn’t forget to trash-talk me. “I would never be as selfish as Chloe!” “She actually said abusing the Good Luck System would cause a backlash! She must think we’re idiots!” They gazed at each other, lovingly, right in front of me. Just then, a classmate ran over to say the awards ceremony was starting and told Brittany and me to head over. Brittany vanished in an instant. This was a national math competition. The department faculty had been counting on me, really grooming me to win. But on the day of the competition, I tripped over absolutely nothing and missed the whole thing. Brittany came back with the trophy. The department threw an awards ceremony, and Brittany became the faculty’s new darling. I walked with heavy steps, my forehead beaded with sweat from the pain. Brittany rushed over to support me, exclaiming, “Oh my god, Chloe, are you sick? Do you need a doctor?” The department head immediately looked at me with concern. After all, I was still one of their star students. Seeing me like this, they immediately called the school nurse and took me to the infirmary. Brittany smirked, telling the department head, “Chloe, the award ceremony is starting and you’re sick? What a coincidence. The doctor will know if you’re really ill when they get here.” In that instant, I understood Brittany’s game. This transferred pain wouldn’t show up in any medical tests. The department head would just think I was faking illness to skip the ceremony. Suddenly, the Good Luck System’s voice echoed in my mind. “Host, Brittany is trying to harm you again!”

My eyes lit up. The pain in my body significantly lessened with the Good Luck System’s words. “You… you mean you’re coming back?” I was so excited I stammered. The system’s voice was low, “Not yet, Host, but soon. Brittany just needs to abuse me one more time before I can return.” “But she’s been using me too much these past few days, so the backlash is coming for her soon!” “Oh, and guess what? Brittany’s Bad Luck System has already been subdued by me! It can’t come out and help Brittany cause any more trouble.” My heart swelled with joy, and a smile unconsciously curved on my lips, even as the pain washed over me again. I cried out a few times, but before I could ask if it could ease my suffering, the school nurse arrived. Brittany dragged Dr. Alex over to me. “Dr. Alex, can you tell if Chloe is genuinely sick?” Dr. Alex’s voice was cool and steady. “She’s not sick.” Brittany got the answer she wanted and raised her voice. “Aha, Chloe! You’re faking it! Just because I won, you’re intentionally trying to skip the award ceremony, aren’t you?” The department head looked at me strangely. Dr. Alex scoffed. “Brittany, didn’t you hear my tone just now? How would I know what illness she has without examining her?” “Why are you so eager to say Chloe is faking it?” Brittany was stumped. The department faculty realized their mistake and quickly told Dr. Alex to take me for an examination. The dean cleared his throat. “Well, then, let’s postpone the awards ceremony for another day.” Brittany stood there, dumbfounded. Dr. Alex took me to the examination room. I was about to thank him for what happened earlier when he pulled out a bottle from a cabinet, poured out a pill, and quickly popped it into my mouth before I could react. It melted instantly on my tongue. I didn’t even have a chance to spit it out. Before I could question him, the pain in my body vanished. I stared at Dr. Alex, wide-eyed with surprise. “I’m all better!” He gave a slight smile. “No need to thank me. I have a Special Healing System.” Our eyes met. I understood what Dr. Alex meant and muttered to myself, *So many people are binding systems these days.* But I really was lucky. *I wonder if Brittany will be furious when she finds out!* As I thought that, a gust of wind swept by. The bottle of medicine Dr. Alex had placed on the table was snatched by Brittany, who then swallowed its entire contents. Right after that, Leo rushed in, breathless. “Dr. Alex, please check Brittany! She’s not feeling well!” Entering the room, Leo also saw Brittany, who had just downed the whole bottle of pills. He frowned, a hint of accusation in his voice. “Brittany, why are you taking random medicine?” Brittany was drenched in cold sweat. She pointed at Dr. Alex. “He cured Chloe!” Leo didn’t stop her, but his gaze at me was filled with resentment. Ten minutes later, Brittany’s furious roar echoed through the room. “Chloe, you poisoned me!”

Brittany’s loud shout drew the department faculty, who hurried to the scene. Brittany was already slumped on the floor, her face contorted in pain. I looked at Dr. Alex, who shrugged and said four words: “I can’t help her.” I almost burst out laughing. I knew Brittany was suffering from the backlash. Leo knelt beside her, gazing at her with loving eyes. “Is the medicine not working?” Brittany was sweating profusely, shaking her head frantically. She turned to the faculty. “Teachers, please control Chloe! She’s going to kill me!” The teachers didn’t question me. Instead, they asked Dr. Alex to examine Brittany. After a thorough check, Dr. Alex presented the results to everyone. The conclusion was that Brittany was perfectly healthy. Brittany became even more convinced I had harmed her. “It was Chloe! Chloe tricked me into taking this medicine!” “Chloe, you must be in unbearable pain too right now, you’re just faking it to trick me into taking the medicine!” I sneered. “Brittany, words mean nothing. I could say you’re slandering me!” “There’s surveillance in this room. It’ll be clear who’s lying and who has ill intentions.” The department faculty nodded and had the surveillance footage pulled up. After watching it, Dr. Alex spoke. “Chloe had a headache, and this is headache medicine. Who knew Brittany would snatch it and take it all herself?” Brittany’s face turned beet red as she tried to argue, “You’re lying! You clearly said you had a Special Healing System, and besides, Chloe’s ‘illness’ wasn’t a headache at all!” Brittany was spiraling out of control. The faculty members were normal people; they had no idea what a “system” was. After Brittany’s prolonged tantrum, even the most patient department faculty couldn’t help but get angry. “Brittany, while the department is pleased you won an award, that’s no excuse for you to target Chloe like this!” “The award ceremony doesn’t need to be postponed. It’s canceled altogether.” The faculty didn’t linger. Only Chloe, Dr. Alex, Brittany, and Leo remained in the room. Hatred flickered in Brittany’s eyes. She once again demanded to know what I had “poisoned” her with. I stated the truth again. “I told you, it’s the backlash from abusing the system, isn’t it?” Brittany still didn’t believe me. Her eyes narrowed. “Chloe, you’re a classic case of not seeing the coffin until you’re in it!” “Since we were classmates, I’ll let you choose how you die.” “Do you want to be crushed by something falling from a height, run over by a car, or stabbed by thugs?” I smiled faintly. “Sorry, I choose none of the above.” Brittany still didn’t realize her Bad Luck System was gone. “You don’t get a choice!” “If you don’t choose, I will. Let’s go with getting run over. That’ll be a beautiful sight.” “People like you don’t deserve to live!” I was about to tell Brittany to stop dreaming when a voice cut in. “Yeah!” A crowd of classmates suddenly poured into the room. They surrounded Brittany, united in their resentment towards me. “Brittany, we just heard what happened. We totally believe Chloe hurt you.” “Yeah, Chloe’s so selfish. She’s nothing like you, Brittany, so kind and beautiful.” … I looked at each person speaking: Ashley, my desk-mate, and Jessica, my childhood friend. They used to be my best friends. After Brittany won the lottery and handed them a few crumbs, they all turned on me and sided with Brittany, isolating me instead. Yet, I had never treated them badly before. I never even used the Good Luck System to win a lottery myself. I only used it a handful of times, always to help others. Brittany, her face pale from the backlash, lifted her chin, basking in their compliments. Leo lifted his eyelids slightly and addressed the students surrounding Brittany. “Since you all think Chloe is so despicable, why don’t you beat her up and let Brittany vent her anger?” Ashley and the others hesitated. Brittany’s face darkened. “You won’t even help me with something this small? Are you not truly my friends? You can forget about getting any more favors from me in the future!” Ashley and the others began to step closer to me. Beyond disheartened, I spoke calmly. “If Brittany is so great, why doesn’t she share her good luck with all of you?” Ashley and the others froze. When Brittany won the lottery with the Good Luck System, she gave Ashley and the others benefits every day.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “297263”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance