Author: Momo Chan

1 To get back at the golden girl who made my high school a living hell, the second graduation ended, I stole her photos and dove into online dating. I scored eight boyfriends at once, each one a totally different type. By day, I worked shifts at the local convenience store. By night, I flipped on a voice changer and flirted with them. As college move-in day drew near, I dumped them one by one with the flimsiest excuses. Block, delete, clean sweep. When I got to the very last guy, he was stammering into his mic, nervously asking to meet up in real life. I hit him with pure ice. “I don’t do timid men. We’re done.” I blocked him instantly, dropped my phone, and sank into bed with a satisfied sigh. Suddenly, floating lines of glowing text hovered right before my eyes. [LMAO this side character is unhinged! The lengths she goes to just to mess with the main girl!] [Her absolute worst scheme was just catfishing guys with the lead’s pictures.] I clutched my phone, my head throbbing with pure rage. The girl who called me a trashy orphan, dumped leftover cafeteria grease on my head, and tried to strip my clothes off in front of everyone gets to be the “main girl”? [Honestly though, she’s so tragic. She was supposed to be the real Belmont heiress…] My eyes snapped open. The golden girl’s last name was Belmont. … The floating comments kept scrolling across my vision like a live stream playing directly inside my brain. [She has no idea she’s the true Belmont heiress.] [She was kidnapped as a baby! Her birth mom went into severe depression, and if they hadn’t adopted the current lead, the mom wouldn’t have survived.] [The Belmont parents never gave up searching. They still remember her birthmark. Any time they hear of a girl with a crescent-shaped red mole on her shoulder, they travel out to check in person.] [They spent eighteen years doing charity work just to build good karma for her safe return.] The massive revelation slammed into my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t abandoned. I had parents who loved me. They had never stopped searching for me, chasing down every single rumor no matter how small. And Giselle Belmont, the mean girl who had spent three years tormenting me, was nothing more than an adopted substitute. I lay on that creaking cot all night, staring at the cracked ceiling while memories of high school flooded back. Freshman year, Giselle stood at the podium in a designer dress I couldn’t even name, introducing herself with effortless grace. I sat in the back corner by the window, wearing a faded uniform, the strap of my cheap sandals bound together with three layers of clear tape. When she walked past my desk, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Later I realized she was disgusted by the faint scent of mothballs clinging to my clothes. At first, she maintained her image as a gentle, charitable rich girl. Until the day of orientation camp when we were changing clothes in the locker room. She pushed the door open and caught sight of the red, crescent-shaped mole beneath my collarbone. Everything changed after that. She treated the entire class to high-end French dining, casually mentioning she was sick of eating it. Meanwhile, I hid in the cafeteria eating ninety-cent noodles, thinking a splash of soy sauce was absolute luxury. When it was my turn for classroom duty, she accidentally knocked over an ink bottle and forced me to scrub the floor on my knees. During gym class, she tripped me during the half-mile run, then pretended to help me up while loudly claiming I was just clumsy. She and her clique called me a charity case, mocking me for having no family and barely scraping together tuition. I had no proof to report her because she covered her tracks flawlessly. For three miserable years, I was forced to endure her cruel glare, wrapping myself in oversized clothes, barely daring to show my face. I swallowed my anger for three long years. The only revenge my teenage mind could cook up after graduation was using her photos to catfish guys, making her future boyfriends think she was a serial player. Now the floating comments were telling me that everything Giselle enjoyed belonged to me. Her last name, her wealth, her status, every step she took while stomping on my dignity, belonged to me. [If only she’d go reclaim her family! She’d never be bullied again, and she wouldn’t have to worry about tuition or rent.] I touched the smooth skin below my collarbone. She had targeted me so relentlessly because she knew she wasn’t blood. She knew her adoptive parents were still searching for their biological daughter, and she was terrified of being cast aside. So she treated any girl with a red mole on her shoulder as a mortal threat. A cold smile spread across my face. Catfishing a few guys with her pictures was far too light. I could make her pay a much steeper price. 2 I didn’t rush off to claim my real parents right away. Instead, I poured all my energy into my part-time job to save up for tuition and expenses. On orientation day at the university, I ran straight into Giselle again. “Sienna!” She jogged over with a bright beam, her voice loud enough to echo down the entire hallway. “We ended up in the same dorm hall! What a crazy coincidence! Is your suitcase heavy? Let me help you with it!” She reached out for my battered suitcase with practiced warmth, as if three years of petty malice had never happened. I smiled softly and handed the heavy bag over. “Thanks so much, Giselle.” She froze for a fraction of a second, clearly caught off guard by my smooth cooperation. [Look at the lead putting on her angel act again. Doesn’t she get tired?] [She just wants a ugly duckling around to make her look like a swan.] [The funniest part is that the side character’s catfishing actually worked! One of the guys showed up on campus looking for Giselle, calling her a heartless ghoster.] [Giselle is losing her mind right now. She has her eyes set on the sole heir of a billionaire family, so her reputation needs to stay squeaky clean.] I smirked inwardly. I played along perfectly. As Giselle hauled my heavy suitcase, I followed right behind her with soft words of gratitude. When she offered to make my bed in front of our new roommates, I handed her tissues to wipe her sweat. In front of everyone, she declared, “We went to high school together, so we know each other inside and out.” I nodded beside her, agreeing with a sweet, docile smile. Our roommates looked at us with envy, gushing about how close we were. That was Giselle’s first shield in college. To rebuild her persona as the flawless campus darling, her very first step was using a poor classmate to highlight her own generosity and wealth. I was the perfect prop. At the freshman welcome gala, Giselle took a seat right next to me. Before the opening act even finished, she launched into her routine. “Do you know Jasper Sinclair? The sophomore heartthrob? His family is insanely wealthy. Half the girls in our department are dying to get his contact info, but he shuts everyone out.” “Did you get it?” I asked, feigning curiosity. Giselle let out a subtle, triumphant laugh. “He actually added me himself. He came up to me out of nowhere, asking what I like to do, even asking if my throat had ever been injured or anything…” She touched her delicate neck, smiling radiant satisfaction. “See? He even paid attention to small details like that. He’s totally into me, isn’t he?” [I am dying of laughter! Jasper is literally trying to figure out if she’s the girl who catfished him LMAO!] Giselle missed my strange expression and continued her boastful chatter. “Do you think he’s going to make a move soon? I was worried I wouldn’t find anyone up to my standards in college, but I get scouted on day one! I guess when you’ve got it, you…” Her sentence cut off abruptly as a tall, icy-looking guy walked up to our row. “Giselle Belmont. Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you.” Giselle perked up instantly, shot me a playful wink, and floated after him like a delicate butterfly. I stayed in my seat, staring at the back of Jasper’s head. A memory suddenly flashed through my mind. A raspy, panicked voice over a late-night voice call: “Baby, please don’t leave me! I have super thick skin, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t toss me away…” That desperate voice overlapped perfectly with the icy wall of a man standing right in front of me. I almost burst out laughing right then and there. It was him. The absolute last guy I had dumped, the poor soul I had ghosted without a single word of explanation. He had tracked down Giselle to verify something, while Giselle genuinely believed her charm was working magic. I felt zero guilt for fooling Jasper Sinclair. I only felt pure, unadulterated joy waiting for Giselle’s inevitable downfall. 3 Jasper was no fool. The girl he had talked to online complained about cafeteria staff having shaky hands, gushed about convenience store skewers being better than fancy restaurant food, and vented about bizarre customers from her evening shifts. The real Giselle, on the other hand, only ever talked about three things: how much her handbag cost, the per-person price at high-end dining spots, and which powerful executives her dad was doing business with. So Jasper began looking elsewhere. When he walked into the campus convenience store where I worked my night shift, the floating text went wild. [He already knows Giselle isn’t the girl! Now he’s just roaming around the convenience store.] [He looks at literally everyone like they’re his ghosting ex. He’s like a heartbroken widow!] [He’s testing the side character now! After all, whoever used Giselle’s name and photos had to be someone close to her!] When I scanned his energy drink at the register, I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Behind Jasper’s stony, aristocratic face, he was probably losing his mind every single day. Giselle, meanwhile, was ready to explode. She had assumed Jasper was already in her pocket, another admirer bound to bow down before her. Instead, the prize was slipping through her fingers. She watched in disbelief as Jasper shifted his “coincidental” encounters from her to me. From the convenience store to the study hall to the track field, he seemed to pop up wherever I was. After three days of brooding, she finally cornered me in the cafeteria. “Sienna. You and Jasper Sinclair have been awfully cozy lately.” I slowly swallowed my soup. “I haven’t really noticed.” Giselle’s smile twitched for a split second. “You’re a penniless charity case. Don’t go delusional thinking a guy like him would ever look at you.” I gave a helpless shrug. “Then go get him yourself. It’s not like I have him on a leash.” Giselle choked on her rage and stomped off. From that day on, whenever Jasper “happened” to run into me, Giselle would miraculously spawn a short distance away, glaring daggers. I purposefully dropped a few subtle details from the past while chatting with Jasper. His eyes lit up instantly. His suspicion grew stronger by the second. He was almost certain I was the voice behind his screen. “Why did you…” I looked at his hesitant, handsome face. Jasper was undeniably drop-dead gorgeous, stupidly rich, and surprisingly devoted. But the hatred inside my heart ran far too deep. I wasn’t going to spare anything or anyone if I could use them to my advantage. [Jasper is kind of pitiful though.] [Pitiful my ass! Is he more pitiful than the female lead’s victim? She catfished him for two months without taking a dime of his money or anything physical. What did he lose besides a little pride?] [Exactly! While he was sipping fifty-dollar pour-over coffee, Sienna was drinking tap water!] [Next month is the university anniversary gala! Her birth parents are attending as major donors! If only they could reunite!] I stopped paying attention to Jasper’s awkward attempts at small talk and headed straight to the student center to sign up as an anniversary host. Since I didn’t have fancy performing arts training, hosting was my best shot at standing on that stage. A few days later, the results were posted. Giselle strolled into our dorm room with a dazzling smile. “Congrats, Sienna! I heard you got picked as one of the stage hosts!” I was honestly surprised. Everything had gone suspiciously smooth. “This is the centennial celebration, so tons of VIP guests are attending. Since it’s your first time hosting, you need to look presentable.” Giselle leaned in close, her voice dripping with affectionate concern. “I have a couture gown in my closet that would look stunning on you. Why don’t I lend it to you?” Our roommates swooned with envy. “Sienna, your friend is amazing! Borrowing a real couture dress?” “I’ve never even seen couture in real life! Giselle is so generous!” “They were high school besties, of course she doesn’t mind!” Their praise satisfied Giselle immensely. [DON’T ACCEPT IT! Giselle is setting a trap! She bought itching powder and lined the entire inner dress with it!] [Once she puts it on, she’ll break out in hives and scratch herself raw on stage! Her reputation will be completely destroyed!] [And the gala is being live streamed in 4K! The recording will be saved in alumni archives forever!] [Just reject her! The school provides rented gowns for hosts anyway!] I simply offered a sweet, innocent smile. “Sure! Thank you so much, Giselle.” 4 Giselle delivered a stunning dusty pink gown to my room shortly after, repeatedly reminding me that I absolutely had to wear it for the gala. I agreed enthusiastically, then promptly sealed the dress inside a heavy-duty garment bag and never touched it again. On the afternoon of the centennial gala, the backstage dressing room was chaotic. When Giselle pushed open the door, her eyes landed on me. I was wearing a simple, elegant sapphire-blue dress. “Why aren’t you wearing my gown?” Her tone carried a sharp edge of anger. “The fit wasn’t quite right,” I said with an apologetic smile. “Thank you though! I’ll make sure to get it dry-cleaned and returned to you.” Giselle’s eyes flickered, and she quickly smoothed her expression. “It’s fine. That blue one looks nice too. Good luck out there!” Ten minutes later, I stood in the wings waiting for my cue. Giselle came walking through the crowded hallway holding an open tub of body paint. With a sudden, clumsy stagger, she slammed right into me, spilling dark paint all across my chest. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” It was textbook bad acting. I froze in place while everyone around us turned to stare. “I didn’t mean to!” Giselle projected her voice across the room. “I tripped on someone’s bag, I am so, so sorry!” Passersby rushed over with paper towels and makeup remover. Someone mumbled under their breath, “What good is an apology? She has to go on stage in three minutes!” I didn’t blow up. “I’ll just modify it.” I reached into a nearby prop kit, grabbed a sharp pair of fabric shears, and sliced right through the stained neckline with a clean snip. I trimmed the fabric along my collarbone, transforming the high-neck gown into a dramatic off-the-shoulder cut. My entire upper chest and shoulders were instantly exposed. Right beneath my right collarbone, a distinct, crescent-shaped red mole stood out against my pale skin under the bright lights. I stood up and spun around in front of the mirror. The raw edge sat perfectly below my neck, looking like an intentional, modern design. The remaining paint flecks wiped away easily with cleansing wipes. A few female crew members gathered around, gushing with praise. “Wow, your hands are so quick! That looks ten times better!” “The original neck was a little stiff, but this looks so regal!” “If I hadn’t watched you cut it, I’d think it came like that!” I smiled gently, securing the altered seam with hidden safety pins so it wouldn’t shift on stage. Giselle stared at the red mole, her jaw clenched so tight her muscles bulged. She had a cello solo scheduled tonight. Both of her parents were sitting in the front row. If they saw Sienna Lane… “Ruining a rental dress provided by the university means you’ll have to pay for it out of pocket,” Giselle warned coldly. The surrounding students shifted uncomfortably, eyeing Giselle with sudden dislike. She claimed it was an accident, yet now she was rubbing salt in the wound. “It’s not a rental,” I replied with a calm smile. “I bought this dress off a secondhand app for twelve dollars.” Giselle’s face paled. She realized how terrible she sounded and tried to backpedal, but I gave her no chance. I took my microphone, passed right by her shoulder, and stepped out onto the massive stage under the glare of high-definition 4K broadcast cameras. The spotlights locked onto me, illuminating the crescent red mark clearly for the entire audience. [HER PARENTS ARE LOOKING AT THE SCREEN RIGHT NOW OMG!] [HER MOM IS IN THE VIP FRONT ROW! SHE SAW THE MOLE!] Mrs. Evelyn Belmont, who had been making polite conversation with the university dean, suddenly froze. Her eyes locked onto the giant screen, and her voice began to tremble uncontrollably. “Nick… look at the stage. The host’s shoulder…” Mr. Nick Belmont fought back his rising panic, his voice thick with emotion. “We need to speak to that girl. Right now.” 5 Backstage, Giselle frantically typed out a text to Jasper. “Sienna is unbelievable. She deliberately cut her dress to show off her chest and shoulders. Who is she trying to lure in?” In the past, she had talked mess about me constantly, and Jasper had always remained silent, never taking the bait. This time was different. A reply popped up instantly. “I think she looks stunning. And I really dislike the way you talk about other women. Let’s delete each other.” Before she could process it, her screen refreshed. User has enabled privacy settings. You are no longer contacts. Giselle stared at her phone in absolute disbelief. She had spent three whole months working on Jasper. Everyone on campus believed Jasper was pursuing her, a rumor she had intentionally fed through vague smiles and subtle hints. Now, she was dumped before they were even official, cast aside without a single explanation because he had never belonged to her in the first place. What drove her truly insane was that Jasper had blocked her specifically to defend me. Giselle shook with violent fury. I was walking toward the private dressing room, reaching up to detach my lapel mic and receiver. The room was completely empty, everyone else was still out front watching the show. The moment Giselle slipped inside, she locked the heavy door behind her. Without a word, she reached over and pressed the power button on the microphone pinned near my chest. Seeing the small indicator light go dark, she rested against the vanity table, looking down at me with pure, unadulterated contempt. “Sienna, do you really think showing off a bit of skin is going to get you a ticket into a rich family?” I kept my head down, staring at the mic receiver, saying nothing. It was a defective piece of equipment I had picked up at a flea market. The wiring was reversed. When the light was on, it was muted. When the light went dark, it was live. Both body mics were patched directly into the main auditorium sound system. Before stepping on or off stage, I always adjusted the toggle. Dealing with Giselle required attention to every microscopic detail. “Are you deaf? I’m talking to you.” Believing no one was listening, she threw away her polished mask entirely. I raised my head, my eyes rimmed with sudden red. “Giselle… I don’t understand…” Giselle let out a harsh sneer. She felt completely secure. She had verified there were no security cameras, no witnesses, and she had personally switched off my microphone. She didn’t have to play the benevolent heiress anymore. “Did you think Jasper looking at you meant he actually liked you? A wealthy guy like him just finds a trashy orphan like you entertaining. Once he gets bored, he’ll toss you in the gutter. Who do you think you are?” I remained silent, tears welling up in my eyes. “And the hosting spot?” She poked her index finger hard against my shoulder. “You think you won that on merit? I told the student council president to pass you!” “I just wanted to see you put on a pretty dress and stand on that stage, breaking out in hives and scratching yourself like a dog live on camera.” She pulled her hand back, her tone dripping with genuine disappointment. “Too bad you knew you didn’t deserve good things and bought a cheap secondhand rag instead.” My voice cracked into a soft sob. “Why do you hate me so much… I thought you changed… I thought you weren’t the person you were in high school…” “Why would I change?” Giselle snorted in disgust. “A lowlife like you was born to be stepped on by me. Didn’t three years of high school teach you your place?” As she spoke, she grabbed the collar of my dress and yanked down violently. Two safety pins popped, and the fabric tore with a loud rip. “I’ll shred this garbage right now so you have to walk out naked!” “Giselle, stop!” I screamed, struggling back. “If you do this here, aren’t you afraid people will find out?” Giselle glared down at my panic, enjoying every second. “Nobody will ever believe you! Everyone knows we’re best friends. I was just helping my sweet friend change into a better dress…” She yanked again, trying to tear the seam completely. A deafening BANG echoed through the room as the heavy dressing room door was kicked open. [THE OUTSIDE WORLD HAS COMPLETELY EXPLODED OMG!]

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1 My brother went into cardiac arrest. I called Greyson twenty-seven times before he finally answered. “One hundred thirty-six thousand dollars? Harrington funds are for commercial growth, not your family’s bottomless pit. Start a crowdfunding campaign. I’ll send the link. You’re an adult, Norah. Stop relying on others to clean up your mess.” Numb with cold outside the ER, I returned to our estate at 2 A.M. for my brother’s records. Through the study doors, I heard Greyson speaking tenderly to his assistant. “Order a four-hundred-thousand-dollar pink Porsche Panamera for Jasmine. Put it on the corporate account. She scraped her knee today. Scars don’t suit a young girl. Have it drive her daily.” Jasmine was an intern of seventeen days. Spotting me in the hallway, Greyson nodded approvingly. “Adults solve their own problems. I donated ten dollars to your crowdfunding page, by the way. I had to show some support for my wife.” I gave a hollow reply and walked into the study. Clarity struck like a blow. He had the resources. I simply wasn’t worth the expense. I pulled the divorce papers from the drawer and signed my name, stroke by stroke. From this moment on, we were strangers. … When Greyson’s ten-dollar donation cleared, my brother Lucas saw his heart rate drop below twenty for the third time. The nurse rushed toward me, her voice panicked. “Mrs. Harrington! He needs to be moved to the hybrid operating room immediately. We need the initial deposit of one hundred thirty-six thousand dollars cleared right now.” I stared at my phone screen. Donor: Greyson Harrington. Amount: $10. Note: Adults must learn to carry their own weight. I dialed his cell again. When he finally answered, his irritation spilled through the speaker. “Norah, how long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?” “Lucas went from ventricular tachycardia to fibrillation,” I rasped, my throat raw. “The doctor said any further delay will cause brain hypoxia. Please, loan me the money. I will sign a formal promissory note.” He let out a dry, dismissive laugh. “Do you have any idea how much your brother has cost over the years? Harrington capital drives enterprise, Norah. It is not an endless treasury to keep your family on life support.” Inside the trauma bay, someone shouted, “Prepare the defibrillator!” My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor. “He is only twenty-two years old. I am begging you.” “Begging will not change reality. People need to face consequences. You cannot dump your financial risks onto others every time life gets hard.” The line went dead. A second later, a text arrived with a link to a public assistance form. Then came the notification for his ten-dollar contribution. 2 At two-thirty in the morning, I returned to the estate to retrieve Lucas’s medical history files. The main hallway was dark. Greyson stood near his study doorway, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “Forget the waiting list at that Swiss rehabilitation clinic. Pay extra for the VIP expedited track. Jasmine scraped her ankle today. A girl should not have to live with scars. Book her for the full scar-restoration package while she is there.” He hung up, noticed me standing by the stairs, and frowned. “Why are you back?” “To get his old medical records.” He extended a hand toward the folder in my grip. “How is he doing at the hospital?” “Still in critical care.” He hesitated for a second. “I already made a donation.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Ten dollars?” His face darkened. “The amount is irrelevant. What matters is the gesture.” So ten dollars was his idea of a meaningful gesture. “And what about Jasmine?” I asked softly. “She scrapes her ankle, and you buy her a VIP spot at a private clinic in Switzerland?” Greyson’s eyes turned sharp and cold. “Jasmine is different. Her older sister saved my life. Her family sacrificed for me.” “So Lucas’s life has to yield to hers?” “Stop dragging your brother into every conversation!” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Nadia died in that warehouse fire years ago! Can your family stop using sickness and guilt to bleed me dry?” The words slammed into my chest like a blunt blade. Perhaps realizing he had crossed a line, he retrieved a first-aid kit from the cabinet and gently applied a bandage to my cracked fingernail. “Pain is manageable, Norah. Do not turn your pain into an excuse to make demands.” Years ago, when Harrington Corporation faced a massive liquidity collapse, Greyson was hospitalized with severe gastric bleeding. I stayed by his bedside for three days and three nights without sleep. Every hour, my phone vibrated with calls from aggressive creditors. I spent those nights holding a wet cloth to his forehead with one hand and begging investors for loans with the other. I secured every penny through sheer desperation. I weathered those dark nights so he would not have to. When he finally woke up, he gripped my hand and whispered, “Norah, I owe you my entire life.” Over time, he gave his gratitude to the Ross family, his gentle patience to Jasmine, and reserved only cold, condescending lectures for me. I pulled my hand back, walked into the bedroom, and retrieved the divorce decree. I had revised those documents many times before. The first time was when he abandoned our anniversary dinner to attend Jasmine’s birthday party. The second time was when he casually referred to Lucas as a long-term financial liability. Tonight, the final thread snapped. I signed my name at the bottom. Norah Prescott. My hand did not tremble as the ink dried on the paper. The next morning, I did not go to the registrar office. I went straight to the law firm beneath the Harrington corporate tower. Mr. Bennett, my attorney, reviewed the file line by line. “Are you certain you want to proceed with a litigated divorce?” I nodded without hesitation. “Yes. We can attempt mediation, but do not let him stall.” At ten-forty, a text from Greyson popped up on my screen. [Jasmine is getting her ankle evaluated today and she is feeling anxious. Stop acting out. We will talk at home tonight.] I stared at the message for a moment before typing back. [If you want to talk, contact my attorney.] He called immediately. I declined the call, switched my phone to silent, and headed straight back to the ICU. 3 Lucas was awake, an oxygen mask fitted tightly over his pale face. When his eyes caught mine, a dim spark lit up his expression. “Sis,” he rasped softly. I leaned over his bed, gently brushing his hair back. “Does it hurt?” He shook his head, then looked past my shoulder. “Did Greyson come with you?” I tucked the heavy blanket around his shoulders. “He is busy with work.” The faint light in his eyes dimmed, but he quickly forced a soft smile. “He runs a massive company. It makes sense that he is busy.” My throat tightened so much it hurt to breathe. Lucas had always admired Greyson. He used to say Greyson was like a lighthouse, that as long as you could see a faint beam of light in the dark, you could endure anything. Only now did I realize that light was never meant for us. It was a spotlight, shining brightly on the Ross family, on his corporate empire, on every respectable person in his inner circle. It never once touched the dark corner where we stood. That afternoon, the hospital accounting desk issued an urgent payment notice. I took my mother’s heirloom jade bangle, my father’s vintage pocket watch, and the diamond engagement ring Greyson had bought me, laying them out on the counter of a downtown pawn shop. The shopkeeper evaluated the items quietly. “In a hurry?” “It is to save a life,” I said. He offered a price far below market value. I did not bother to negotiate. When the clerk tried to run my card for the remaining balance, the machine beeped red. A transaction failure notice flashed on my phone screen. My supplementary card had been restricted. Category blocks: Medical Institutions, Pawn Services, High-Value Wire Transfers. Minutes later, Greyson’s executive assistant called my line. “Mrs. Harrington, Mr. Harrington noted that you are currently under emotional distress and might make impulsive financial decisions. He placed a temporary risk management hold on your cards. He mentioned that you need to practice better long-term asset allocation.” I gripped the receiver tightly, my knuckles turning white. “Tell him I will be handing a record of this action directly to my divorce attorney.” Half an hour later, my online medical campaign was flagged. System Alert: [Your campaign has been suspended due to reports of exaggerated medical claims and unauthorized celebrity brand association.] The platform support agent confirmed that an official corporate account had filed a verified complaint. The claim stated that I was weaponizing my status as the spouse of the Harrington Corporation CEO to gain public sympathy, severely damaging corporate reputation. I stared at the ten-dollar donation sitting at the bottom of the frozen page, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. Greyson would not offer help. And he would ensure no one else could, either. That evening, he walked into the hospital ward holding a stack of high-interest medical financing forms. “The credit limit on this medical loan is substantial,” he said, setting the papers on the bedside table. “Sign it, and the funds will be released today. Also, delete that fundraising link immediately.” I looked at him coldly. “Why?” “You are my wife. Publicly begging for money ruins the reputation of Harrington Corporation.” “My brother is dying, and your primary concern is brand image?” His brow furrowed into a deep crease. “My concern is preventing you from degrading yourself into a beggar! Pawn shops, high-yield loans, public charity, why do you resort to these dramatic scenes instead of managing things properly? Why must you always demand resources from me?” “Because you are my husband,” I said flatly. He scoffed. “A husband is not an automated teller machine.” “And a wife is not a high-risk asset for you to manage and restrict.” His expression turned instantly hostile. “Norah, you are becoming unbearable.” “I used to believe that if I endured everything quietly, you would feel a little empathy,” I replied in a low voice. “Then I realized that my silence only made it easier for you to walk all over me.” I picked up the loan documents and tore them down the middle, page by page. “I will find my own way.” Greyson glared at the torn paper on the floor. “Then you had better remember this moment. Do not call me in the middle of the night crying for help.” 4 After he slammed the door shut, Lucas opened his eyes. He looked at the torn paper scattered near the trash bin and spoke in a frail whisper. “Sis.” “Yeah?” “Six years ago… the person who pulled Greyson out of that burning warehouse was not Nadia Ross.” My hand froze over the water glass. “What did you just say?” “It was me,” Lucas whispered, his breath raspy. “I was sixteen. I went into the fire and dragged him out.” I stood frozen beside his bed. After that catastrophic fire six years ago, everyone claimed Nadia Ross had saved Greyson’s life. Nadia died from her injuries, and Greyson transformed his guilt into an eternal obligation toward the Ross family. Meanwhile, Lucas had returned home that night coughing up blood, suffering from severe smoke inhalation and permanent myocardial damage. He told me he had simply inhaled smoke near the perimeter. He begged me not to tell my new husband. I grabbed his trembling hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?” A faint, tired smile touched his lips. “You had just married into his family, Sis. If I came forward then, it would have looked like we were demanding a reward. Nadia was dead, and dead people cannot defend themselves.” My throat burned with unspeakable pain. “So you stayed quiet for six years?” “I never planned to hide it forever,” he murmured, staring up at the harsh fluorescent lights on the ceiling. “I guess it is just too late now.” I placed my hand gently over his mouth. “Stop talking nonsense.” He crinkled his eyes softly. “Sis… I would really love a glass of warm water.” I hurried out to the nurse’s station to fill the pitcher. As I rounded the corner of the corridor, a delicate voice called out to me. “Norah.” Jasmine Ross stood near the VIP elevator, a small square bandage neatly taped over her right ankle. She was holding a leather folder from the private rehabilitation center. Looking at that tiny piece of gauze, a surge of absurd bitterness hit me. Lucas was lying in a standard ward, denied basic medical hardware over a missing deposit, while she occupied a VIP recovery spot for a minor scrape. I stopped in my tracks. “Six years ago, at the logistics warehouse… did your sister actually step foot inside those flames?” Jasmine’s face paled for a fraction of a second before her lips trembled into a wounded pouts. “Norah… how could you speak about my deceased sister like that?” Her voice was not loud, but it carried perfectly across the quiet hallway. Right on cue, her phone rang. Jasmine picked up, her voice instantly dropping into a delicate, tearful whine. “Greyson… I am fine. Norah was just asking me a few questions about my sister.” A few seconds later, she held the phone out toward me. Greyson’s voice hit my ear like a frozen blade. “Norah, are you harassing Jasmine now?” “I am asking about the fire,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “What actually happened that night.” “I warned you never to bring up Nadia!” he growled. “She sacrificed her life! Must you drag a dead woman into your petty, calculating schemes?” Calculations. Always calculations. I let out a soft, mirthless breath. “Greyson, if you wake up one day and realize you knelt at the wrong grave, repaid the wrong debt, and protected the wrong person… what will you do?” He sneered through the speaker. “That day will never come. I know who pulled me out of those flames.” The line snapped shut. Jasmine lowered her phone, wiping away an imaginary tear. The timid expression on her face vanished, replaced by a cold, triumphant smile. “Norah, you need to learn your place. Some debts belong to people who know how to keep them.” I met her gaze evenly. “Stolen debts always burn the hands that hold them.” 5 That evening, I returned to the estate to retrieve my official identification documents. Jasmine was lounging on the velvet sofa, her leg propped up on a plush ottoman. Greyson was crouching beside her, carefully unwrapping her bandage. When I stepped through the foyer, Jasmine flinched and drew her foot back. “Norah… please do not misunderstand. Greyson was just saying the hospital dressing was too rough.” Greyson did not bother to offer an explanation. I walked past them without a word, entered the master bedroom, and gathered my passport, marriage certificate, and the original copies of the property collateral agreements I had signed years ago to rescue his firm. Greyson followed me inside, closing the door firmly behind him. “Are you truly taking this to court?” “Yes.” He gripped my wrist tightly. “Lucas is still in the ICU. If you blow everything up right now, who is going to back you financially?” I looked up into his eyes. “I do not need your backing. I just need you to stop standing on my neck.” From the living room, Jasmine’s soft voice drifted through the door. “Greyson… my ankle is throbbing again.” Greyson’s hand unclasped from my wrist almost instantly. In that final second, the last lingering echo of hope inside me died completely. I returned to the hospital that night. On Lucas’s pillow lay a small scrap of paper with his shaky, uneven handwriting. [Sis, if I do not make it through this, please stop begging him.] [I just want you to be okay.] I crumpled the paper tightly in my palm and sat by his side until dawn. Two days later, Lucas suffered a third critical collapse. The attending physician informed me that he required immediate placement on a temporary circulatory assist unit. There was only one available console left in the hospital inventory. Another patient was next in line, waiting for payment confirmation. If we could not clear the deposit within forty minutes, the unit would be reallocated. Cost: One hundred thirty-six thousand dollars. My bank accounts remained frozen. The funds from the pawn shop were entirely depleted. The crowdfunding page was still under audit. I sat in the stairwell, scrolling down my contact list until my finger stopped at Greyson’s name. I knew I should not call. But through the heavy doors behind me, my brother was losing his fight against time. The first call went unanswered. The second was rejected. On the third attempt, the call connected. The background was loud with activity, the sharp clinking of crystal glasses, loud applause, and Jasmine’s delighted voice ringing out. “Greyson, am I truly eligible for this corporate honor?” Greyson’s warm laugh carried through the line. “Your sister would be proud of you.” I held the phone tightly to my ear. “Greyson.” The noise on his end quieted slightly. “What now?” “Lucas needs a circulatory assist device right now. I am short one hundred thirty-six thousand dollars. I will sign a formal loan agreement.” He did not ask about my brother’s condition. Instead, his tone turned icy. “Did you call because you know I am attending the Ross family memorial gala tonight?” I froze. His voice boiled over with suppressed anger. “Today is the anniversary of Nadia’s passing. Jasmine is representing her family publicly for the first time. Are you calling right now just to make a scene and humiliate me in front of everyone?” Listening to the blaring alarms down the hall, I found myself completely speechless. My brother was fading away on an operating table, and his only concern was that my desperation was embarrassing him at a party. “If it were Jasmine lying in that bed waiting for equipment right now,” I asked softly, “would you hesitate?” Silence hung heavy on the line. The silence was an answer in itself. A moment later, he spoke coldly. “Jasmine would never use an illness to manipulate me.” I closed my eyes. “Greyson, you will regret this.” He let out a harsh laugh. “The only thing I regret is that on the night I agreed to marry you, I missed Nadia’s final phone call. Stop testing my patience, Norah.” He hung up. A nurse burst through the double doors at the end of the hall. “Mrs. Harrington! The doctor needs you to sign the high-risk consent form immediately!” The doctor handed me the clipboard, his face grim. “If we cannot secure the assist device, the surgical risk spikes dramatically. You need to be prepared.” My hand trembled as I signed my name. My phone chimed again. It was Greyson. His voice had softened slightly, as if he were finally condescending to offer a crumb of patience. “I had my assistant contact a private credit lender. The interest rates are higher, but the approval process is fast. Go sign the paperwork.” I looked at the red warning lights outside the operating room. “The hospital needs the funds right now, not tomorrow.” He was quiet for a second before sighing. “Then there is nothing more to be done. Everyone has their own fate to accept.” The moment those words left his mouth, the double doors burst open once more. “Family! The patient has gone from fibrillation to complete asystole!” My phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the linoleum floor with a sharp clatter. The speaker was still on. Greyson’s voice floated out into the hallway. “Norah? Stop pretending you cannot hear me.” Inside the trauma bay, voices screamed over the alarms. “Start chest compressions!” “Epinephrine, one milligram!” “Push it now!” Twenty minutes later, the doors opened slowly. The lead surgeon pulled down his surgical mask, his face pale. “Mrs. Harrington… we did everything we could.” When they rolled Lucas out, his face was covered by a white sheet. I tried to step forward. My feet felt as though they were nailed to the floor.

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I was born deaf and mute. My entire relationship with my boyfriend existed through typed messages on our phones. Wanting to surprise him on our anniversary, I secretly bought a pair of high-tech glasses that transcribed ambient speech into real-time text directly onto the lenses. While waiting for him to get off work, I decided to try them on in the bathroom after my shower just to admire myself. I never expected two lines of text to flash across the display: “Bro, when are we moving in?” “Don’t rush. Wait till she comes out. Be careful this time. We can’t end up playing her to death like the last one!” 1 At first, I thought the glasses were malfunctioning. But the next two transcribed sentences sent me plummeting into an icy abyss. “Man, when she was trying on outfits earlier, I could barely hold myself back!” “It was just a nurse costume. Get a grip, you pathetic bastard!” Reading those words, a terrifying chill shot from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head. Today was my one-year anniversary with my boyfriend. Besides the glasses, I had bought a seductive nurse outfit, hoping to give him an unforgettable night. I never dreamed that while I was trying it on, two twisted predators were hiding inside my home. The fact that they dared to communicate so openly meant they knew I was deaf and mute. It also meant their presence here was no random act of violence. It was a calculated ambush. “Bro, you talk big, but you were drooling too…” “Shut your mouth!” “Heh. She’s gorgeous and her body is insane. Shame she’s a mute and can’t scream. Still, way better than that kindergarten teacher from a few days ago!” The kindergarten teacher! My knees went weak, and I nearly collapsed onto the wet tiles. A few days ago, a young female teacher in the industrial district was brutally raped and murdered. Her naked body had been covered in horrific wounds, her fingernails caked with wood splinters. Before being strangled to death, she had endured unspeakable torture. The killer was still at large, plunging the entire city into panic. I never imagined these two monsters hadn’t fled the city. Worse, they had chosen me as their next target. I couldn’t just sit here and wait to die. I needed to call the police immediately. Then terror struck me. My phone wasn’t in the bathroom. I had left it on the living room table. “Why is she taking so long? Bro, should I go check on her?” “Stay put! Idiot, last time you moved too early and almost spooked the target. Wait until she drinks the medicine before we move!” The medicine? I suddenly remembered the mug of hot flu medicine I had brewed right before stepping into the shower. It had been too hot to drink, so I left it to cool on the dining table. They must have spiked it with sleeping pills. A spark of clarity pierced my panic. As long as I hadn’t consumed that drink, I was safe. They were waiting for the drug to take effect. Holding my breath, I turned off the shower and dried myself off. I even took my time tapping toner onto my face, forcing myself to sound normal. When I reached for my clothes, I realized my nightgown was still sitting on the bed in the adjoining bedroom. I had no choice but to step out completely bare. The bedroom was dimly lit by a faint nightlight. I scanned the room casually. The only place big enough to hide a human body was under the bed. Even though I forced myself not to look directly down, my peripheral vision caught it anyway. My blood ran cold. Under the edge of the bed frame, I saw half a face. A single eye gleamed with filthy desire, and a bright red tongue was slowly licking a pair of dry lips. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. Walking calmly to the bedside, I grabbed my nightgown and pulled it over my head. The moment the hem brushed my legs, I felt a wave of skin-crawling warmth near my ankles. A hand was hovering inches from my bare flesh. One quick snap of that wrist, and I would be dragged down into an inescapable nightmare. Fortunately, I pulled the gown down fast. Trembling internally, I walked out of the bedroom and headed toward the dining table. This spot was out of their direct line of sight. I snatched my phone and instantly sent a silent text to emergency services. The reply came quickly: Officers were dispatched, estimated arrival in twenty minutes. I needed to find a safe place to hide. Twenty minutes. Surviving twenty minutes in a small apartment with two ruthless murderers was impossible. I had to escape. To reach the front door, I would have to walk right past them. I needed a bulletproof excuse to open that door. Three seconds later, I grabbed the kitchen trash bag and walked steadily toward the entrance. Predictably, they noticed. “Bro, why is she throwing out trash now? Did she see me earlier? Is she trying to run?” By the time those words flashed on my lenses, I was already at the door. Just as I reached out, thinking freedom was within my grasp, another line of text popped up: “What are you scared of? We’ve got someone posted outside. She’s not going anywhere!” 2 My hand shook so violently I almost dropped the doorknob. Memory flooded back to an hour ago. I had picked up the package containing these glasses at the delivery locker and put them on immediately. I lived on the neglected outskirts of town. To get home, I had to walk through a pitch-black, narrow alley without streetlights. The moment I entered the alley, text had appeared on the lenses: “Thump, thump, thump (Footsteps).” It was impressive technology, capable of picking up sound cues. I found it novel, so I softened my pace. Yet the glasses kept transcribing. Then, the words shifted: “Bro, she’s almost home.” I had turned around, but the alley behind me was empty. I assumed the sound came from behind the courtyard walls along the path, so I paid it no mind. It wasn’t until I reached my building and passed under a streetlamp that I noticed two shadows stretched out on the pavement behind me. Someone had stalked me all the way to my front door. And that person was standing right on the other side of the frame. I dug my fingernails into my palms, forcing myself to stay composed. I had already picked up the trash bag. I had to open this door, or they would know something was wrong. Grit my teeth, I pulled the door open. The hallway sensor light flickered on, revealing a dark figure standing right on the threshold. A thick, heavy hand reached out directly for my throat. My heart stopped beating. The next second, the hand grabbed my wrist gently and held a phone screen in front of my eyes. [Where are you going?] Relief flooded my chest as I recognized the phone cover. It was my boyfriend. Before I could process it, he gently guided me back inside and seated me at the dining table. He typed quickly: [I’ll take out the trash. Drink your medicine and rest. You’re sick.] He was as gentle and attentive as always. Seeing him turn toward the door, panic seized me again. I grabbed his sleeve. We couldn’t separate now. I typed back frantically: [Babe, I want to go out for tacos instead.] I didn’t dare tell him about the killers in the house, terrified he might react recklessly and provoke them. [You have a cold. Let’s do it another day. I brought your favorite braised pork ribs, I’ll heat them up for you.] [No, today is our anniversary. We need to celebrate properly.] He reached out and gently ruffled my hair. [You usually hate eating out. What’s going on with you tonight?] Tears stung my eyes. Even though he was a few years older, he had always taken care of me with meticulous patience. Two sentences in, and he already knew something was off. Just as I opened my mouth to figure out how to warn him, alarm bells suddenly shattered my thoughts. My boyfriend always used spaces instead of punctuation marks when texting. Always. The man sitting in front of me had typed every single comma and period with flawless precision. This man was not my boyfriend. 3 I glanced down at his hands. Thick veins bulged across the dark skin, utterly unlike my boyfriend’s softer, plumper hands. Because they had similar builds, and because he wore a black face mask under the dim hallway lighting, I hadn’t realized it right away. He typed another message, prompting me: [Talk to me. What’s wrong with you today?] I forced my tears back and pouted playfully: [It’s our one-year anniversary! I wanted to give you a special surprise!] He pressed on: [What surprise?] As he typed, the cuff of his jacket shifted slightly. A smear of fresh blood stained the dark fabric. It belonged to my real boyfriend. My stomach churned, tears threatening to spill over. I typed out carefully: [I bought a super sexy outfit. I’m going to put it on right now so you can see.] I grabbed the nurse costume off the chair and turned toward the spare bedroom. His hand clamped down around my wrist like a iron vice. Through the dim light, his eyes held no warmth whatsoever. [Don’t rush. Drink your medicine first. It’s getting cold.] There was no escaping this. I gave a heavy nod, picked up the mug, and gulped the lukewarm liquid down in one go. Then I hurried into the spare bedroom and threw the lock. Setting my phone down, I sent him a quick text: [I’m going to do my makeup. No peeking!] The moment he replied with a playful emoji, I pulled a thick duvet over my head and shoved two fingers deep down my throat. A minute later, staring at the vomited mess on the bedding, silent tears streamed down my face. My real boyfriend was dead. And I probably wouldn’t survive long enough for the police to arrive. We were quiet, harmless people who had never wronged a soul in our lives. Why was this happening to us? Text flashed across my glasses again: “Nice work, Rick. You played him like a fool. Where’d you hide his body?” “Can’t tell you that, Boss. I hid him somewhere so good nobody will ever find him.” Reading those words, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and stood up. My boyfriend had cared for me for over a year. I couldn’t let him die without even leaving a body behind to be laid to rest. I had to survive. “Fine, you get the credit this time. You get to go first with the girl.” “Thanks, Boss. When do we go in?” “The sleeping pills take five minutes to hit. Give it a little longer.” They really had spiked the drink. I checked the time. I had less than three minutes before they realized I wasn’t falling asleep. The police wouldn’t make it in time. I had to rely on myself. The only exit left in this bedroom was the window. I lived on the third floor. There were no ledges or pipes to step on outside. Jumping meant death. Bedsheets! I could tie the sheets together into a makeshift rope. I yanked the sheets off the bed and tied them tight, but when I dropped them out the window, they were far too short. Suddenly, a lit window directly across the alley caught my attention. These old townhouses were built extremely close together. The distance between my window and the opposite building was less than five feet. If someone on the other side reached out, they could easily help me cross! Even better, the tenant living across was a polite man named Mr. Warren, who had moved in just a few days ago. I had helped him carry some boxes on his move-in day, and he had been so grateful that he added me on messaging, promising to buy me dinner sometime. He could save me. I threw several small items across the gap, bouncing them off his glass, but there was no response. Was he not home? No, the lights were clearly on. Even if he stepped out, he had to be nearby. Desperate, I pulled out my phone and messaged him: [Mr. Warren, please help me! Come home quickly!] Sweat slicked my hands as I waited, terrified he was too busy to check his phone. To my shock, his reply came back almost instantly: [What happened? What’s wrong?] Before I could type another word, the glasses flashed a new line of transcribed speech: “Boss! She just texted me!” 4 My scalp went completely numb. The polite, soft-spoken Mr. Warren was one of the killers. “What did she send you? Let me see… Damn it, this bitch found us out!” A sudden shudder ran through me, and I whipped around. The wooden bedroom door rattled violently as heavy boots slammed against it. “She locked the door from the inside! She’s trying to run! Move out of the way, I’ll kick it open!” If they broke through, I was dead. I had to gamble everything on one crazy bluff. I scrambled onto the bed, pulled up my skirt, snapped a quick selfie, and hit send. The violent thudding against the door abruptly stopped. “Wait, Boss! She sent me another message. It’s a photo! What the hell does this mean?” In the photo, I had pulled up my hem to reveal my bare legs. Under the low light, my eyes were half-lidded, painted with heavy, seductive desire. “Boss… I think she’s trying to hit on me.” “Don’t be an idiot! She asked for help earlier, she obviously knows we’re here!” “Hold on! Let me ask her. She can’t run anywhere anyway, what’s the harm? Boss, please, just let me reply!” A second later, my phone buzzed. [What is this picture supposed to mean?] Seeing that notification, my frantically pounding heart slowed just a fraction. He was my last sliver of hope. If I couldn’t hook him, I was dead. I deliberately waited a few painful seconds before replying: [Mr. Warren, do I look pretty?] The glasses immediately transcribed his vocal reaction: “Hahaha! Forty years on this earth, and a woman is finally coming on to me… Boss, watch me play hard to get!” My phone buzzed again: [You’re very pretty. But I deleted the photo. You have a boyfriend, you shouldn’t be doing this.] I typed back instantly: [Don’t talk about that useless loser! He wouldn’t even take me out for dinner on our anniversary… I don’t know why, but I feel so tired and dizzy right now. Every time I close my eyes, I just see you carrying those boxes without your shirt on… so manly… Mr. Warren, can you come help me?] Even without hearing his voice, the transcribed text conveyed his mounting excitement clearly. “Damn, she’s so desperate! Boss, Rick, I’m begging you guys, let me go first tonight! I want to feel what it’s like when a girl actually wants me!” “I still think she’s playing you.” “Screw off! Look at these muscles, what woman doesn’t want this? Boss, come on, please?” “Whatever. If something goes wrong, don’t blame me.” “She’s trapped like a rat, she can’t escape! Heh!” A moment later, his text arrived: [This isn’t right… How am I supposed to help you?] [I don’t know, I just miss you… It feels terrible… But my boyfriend is still out in the living room. Never mind, forget I said anything…] [Don’t wait! Stay right there, I’ll lure him away and come straight to your room!] [I’m so sleepy… You better hurry…] A few seconds passed before his final message popped up: [Okay, he stepped outside for a moment. Open the door quickly, I’m right outside.] [Wait, Mr. Warren, are you serious?… Okay, I’m opening it now…] I suppressed a wave of nausea, drew a sharp breath, and walked to the door. I didn’t open it right away. Instead, I peered through the tiny gap under the frame. Sure enough, there was only one pair of shoes standing there. This was the critical moment. The instant I unlocked the door, a completely nude Mr. Warren lunged inside, wrapping his thick arms around me and pressing his foul, reeking mouth toward mine. I twisted my head away to dodge his lips, reaching behind his back to throw the lock again. Blinded by lust, he didn’t even notice. He shoved me roughly toward the bed, his dirty hands grabbing at my body. Enduring intense disgust, I let him push me, guiding his weight step by step toward the open window. When my back hit the window sill, I suddenly pivoted, pinning him back against the frame. Because he was short, he instinctively yielded to my movement, stepping backward until he was sitting precariously on the low ledge. Just as he grinned, expecting me to service him, I summoned every ounce of strength I had and shoved him backward with all my weight. Text flashed across my lenses: “Aaagh!” Then, absolute silence. 5 By the time I crawled under the spare bedroom’s bed, the remaining two men realized something was wrong. Text flickered wildly across my glasses. “What happened? Rick! Open the damn door! Speak up, you bastard!” “Boss, move back, I’m kicking it in!” “BANG!” “Boss, look! There’s a rope made of bedsheets tied to the frame! That bitch… she tied the sheets together! Rick! Boss, look down there, there’s a shoe on the pavement! The bitch jumped!” “Rick! That bastard… If he survived that fall, I’m going to kill him myself!” “Boss, we need to move now! If the cops show up, we’re all done for!” “Don’t panic. You stay and guard the front door! I’ll go down and check. Falling from this height, even if she’s alive, she couldn’t have crawled far!” The leader wasn’t completely fooled. He had left one man behind at the main door. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t escape the apartment, but I could stay hidden until the police arrived. However, this spare bedroom was no longer safe. Once the leader ran downstairs, I slithered out from under the bed on all fours. Checking to make sure the living room was clear, I crawled into the master bedroom and squeezed beneath the main bed frame. The most dangerous place was the safest place. They would never expect me to loop back into the main bedroom. Despair was easy to endure; it was the agonizing tick of hope that burned away at my sanity. I checked the time on my phone every five seconds. On the thirteenth check, the glasses picked up approaching footsteps in the hallway outside. Barely a minute had passed. Had they come back already? Or was it the police? The transcribed words shattered my hope. It was the killers. “Boss, you didn’t catch her? How could she move so fast?” Curiously, the leader didn’t answer right away. After a heavy pause, his transcribed speech appeared: “Third, come here. Pull on this sheet rope.” I didn’t understand his motive, but the dread in my chest flared back up. “See that? It came loose with one light tug… Did you see anyone leave through the front door while I was downstairs?” “No! I stood right by the entrance the whole time. Nobody came out.” “She didn’t jump. She’s still inside this apartment.” That single sentence was like a sledgehammer crushing my ribs. “Bitch! Trying to play me… Is she here? No! Not here either. Looks like she isn’t in this room.” I was trapped. The two bedrooms faced each other directly. Once they finished searching the spare room, the master bedroom was next. I pressed my back as far into the dark corner beneath the headboard as possible, squeezing against the wall. It wasn’t enough. The moment they crouched down to look, they would spot me instantly. I needed to distract them. Using my boyfriend’s phone, I sent a text straight to the leader: [I already called the cops. They’ll be here any second. You guys are dead!] Sure enough, a dark shadow froze right in the doorway of the master bedroom. “Boss, she just texted me.” “What did she say?” “Read it yourself… Boss, maybe we should just run. What if she really did call the police…” “SMACK!” “Use your brain! She’s a deaf-mute! How the hell could a mute call emergency services?” The shadow stepped back and disappeared into the hallway. A few seconds later, the glasses displayed another string of words: “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I know you can hear me. Listen close: when I catch you, I’m going to skin you inch by inch! Third, text her and ask where she’s hiding.” Reading that, a strange realization clicked in my head. He was smart enough to figure out I could hear them, yet stupid enough to ask where I was hiding, as if I would tell him. Just as I pulled up the police dispatch confirmation screenshot to send him a final bluff, the entire room plunged into pitch darkness. The main breaker clicked off. The killer had cut the power. 6 In total darkness, if I dared to send a message, the screen’s light would give away my position instantly. But if I remained silent, it would confirm I was still hiding in the apartment. Worse, my nightgown was so sheer it did nothing to block the glow of a screen… While I panicked, the leader issued his next order: “No reply yet? She’s definitely still in the apartment. You search the master bedroom, I’ll check the living room. I’m skinning her alive tonight!” “Boss, I really think we should leave. What if the cops show up?” “Shut up! You want Rick to have died for nothing?” “He was led around by his dick, he deserved it…” “SMACK! Shut up and go search!” “Fine.” It was obvious the third guy was reluctant. His boots stopped near the foot of the bed for a few seconds, but he didn’t lower himself to check underneath. Instead, he shuffled toward the wardrobe. Now was my chance. While his back was turned to open the closet doors, I muted my phone, pulled up Rick’s contact, and hit the voice call button. Rick had undressed right near the spare bedroom doorway earlier. His phone was sitting on the floor out there. “Boss! Rick’s phone is ringing! Is it that woman calling?” The third guy rushed out of the room to search for the ringing phone. I seized the opening, sent the police dispatch screenshot to his phone, and added a message: [Your time is up. Enjoy prison.] Seeing the image, the third guy panicked. “Boss! Look! Look at this, she really did contact the police! We have to go! She’s definitely already escaped!” “Bullshit! If she had escaped, she’d try to trick us into thinking she was still inside so we’d get caught! Are you stupid?” Reading those transcribed words, I wanted to punch myself. Why hadn’t I thought of claiming I was still inside to lure them to stay? “Boss, look at the time! The twenty minutes are almost up! Even if she’s still here, we’re running out of time. Let’s leave now and come back for her later!” “Fuck you! Since when do you tell me what to do?” The glasses transcribed a rapid series of harsh slaps. “I’ve killed plenty of people, and I’ve never been played by a woman! If I don’t slaughter her tonight, I won’t sleep a wink! You won’t search? Fine! I’ll search myself!” “Boss, you’re crazy! If you won’t leave, I am! Have fun getting caught!” The third guy’s heavy footsteps hurried toward the front door and disappeared. Only the leader remained, walking heavily into the master bedroom. “I know you’re in here. Come on out. Don’t count on the cops saving you, you can’t run! What do you say? Will you come out yourself… or should I come find you?” He wasn’t bluffing. Police cars couldn’t drive into these narrow, dense alleys. Even with GPS tracking, navigating this maze on foot would take time. They wouldn’t locate this exact door instantly. I had to fight for my life. My fingers wrapped around a heavy iron pipe I had pulled from under the bed frame earlier. I braced myself. The second his head lowered, I would drive it straight into his face. “Not in the closet… then you must be under the bed.” A large hand gripping a butcher knife pressed down against the floorboards. Slowly, his dark head ducked down beneath the frame. I instantly flipped my phone flashlight to maximum brightness, blinding him point-blank. While he raised a hand to guard his eyes, I thrust the iron pipe forward with everything I had. He caught it effortlessly. Under the harsh white glare, his eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted into a grotesque, jagged grin. “Found you, sweetheart.”

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1 I have mild prosopagnosia, commonly known as face blindness. My fiancée, Amy, always treated my condition like a running joke. She loved teaming up with her best friend, Becca, and my supposed best friend, Jack, to test me in crowded places. During art exhibits or shopping trips, they would throw on identical masks and challenge me to pick Amy out of a crowd. If I guessed wrong once, I had to pay for dinner. If I guessed wrong twice, Amy would cross her arms and sneer: “We’ve been together for five years. Do you ever actually look at my face?” Today, during our wedding photo shoot, they decided on a whim to play another round of “Find the Bride.” A dozen women dressed in identical white bridal gowns stood in a line with their backs to me. Jack nudged me forward, urging me to use my instincts to pick Amy out. I stood there, my hands frozen at my sides. Jack took my wrist, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Don’t press him, guys. Amy isn’t even in the lineup.” The room erupted into laughter. On the nearby vanity table lay a note Amy had left behind: If you can’t even recognize your own fiancée, figure out how to host tonight’s rehearsal dinner by yourself. I read the note, pulled out my phone, and called the venue to cancel tonight’s rehearsal dinner. A face I could never recognize was a face I no longer wanted to look at. … After canceling the event, I forwarded the confirmation slip to the wedding planner. The coordinator asked over the line, “Mr. Sean, the ballroom and floral arrangements are completely set up. Canceling now incurs a thirty percent cancellation penalty. Are you absolutely sure?” “I am sure. Refund the remaining balance to my account.” “Does Miss Amy know about this?” “There is no need to notify her.” I hung up, grabbed a cab, and returned to the condo I owned. The moment I unlocked the front door, Becca’s voice drifted out from the living room. “Amy, I lost the bet! I can’t believe he came back in less than two hours!” Amy laughed softly. “I told you he couldn’t handle the venue staff on his own. He can’t even recognize a face, let alone organize a rehearsal dinner. In the end, he’s always going to come back and crawl to me for help.” The three of them were huddled around the coffee table eating hotpot. Amy’s jacket lay crumpled on the floor. Jack was wearing my custom red engagement suit. I had ordered that suit half a month ago and had the tailor adjust the fitting three separate times. Becca pushed her phone toward Amy. “A bet’s a bet. I’ll cover your pre-wedding getaway. Pick whatever hotel you want.” Jack stood up and reached for my shoulder. “Sean, you’re back! Amy just wanted to teach you a lesson. Don’t let a stupid game ruin your rehearsal dinner.” I stepped back, dodging his hand. “The dinner is canceled.” Amy dropped her chopsticks. “What did you say?” “I just called the wedding coordinator. The ballroom reservation is canceled.” “Who gave you permission to cancel it?” “I signed the contract, and I paid the deposit.” Amy marched over, reaching into her pocket to snatch my phone. “Sean, there’s a limit to throwing tantrums! I told you to go to the venue alone to build your confidence. If you can’t even handle a simple setup, how are you going to be a husband?” I put my phone securely inside my bag. “You weren’t at the venue. Who was I supposed to rehearse an engagement with? Myself?” “I was just going to be a little late. If you had found the venue on your own, I naturally would have shown up.” “The note you left explicitly said to figure it out myself.” “That was said in anger! Are you seriously telling me you couldn’t tell?” I looked down at the jacket on Jack’s shoulders. “Take it off.” Jack gripped the lapels. “What?” “That is my engagement suit.” “I was just trying it on! Since the dinner is canceled, letting it sit in the closet is a waste anyway.” “That suit was tailored to my exact measurements. Doesn’t it feel uncomfortable on you?” Amy grabbed Jack’s arm to stop him. “Don’t take it off. Keep wearing it. He doesn’t know what’s good for him, so stop coddling him.” I swallowed the bitter nausea rising in my throat. “So my clothes are just available for him to wear whenever he wants?” “He’s your brother, not a stranger!” “Then what about my fiancée? Can he borrow her whenever he wants, too?” Amy’s face darkened instantly. “Watch your mouth! Jack and I are completely innocent. You have a filthy mind, so you see filth in everything.” She took a step closer, her voice laced with sharp authority. “Sean, apologize to Jack right now. Do that, and I’ll pretend this little stunt with the rehearsal dinner never happened. Tomorrow I’ll take you to buy our wedding bands.” Amy raised her hand to pinch my face playfully, but I took a sharp step backward. Her hand froze in midair, her tone dropping an octave. “Your face blindness is an illness you’ve enabled for way too long. If you don’t fix it now, what happens when we have kids? Are you going to pick up the wrong child from daycare? We do all of this for your own good!” Becca dropped a piece of cooked beef into Jack’s bowl. “Just ignore him. When he gets hungry, he’ll come out to eat on his own.” Amy pointed toward the kitchen. “Go get a bowl and chopsticks. The financial loss from canceling the dinner comes out of your personal account, and tomorrow you will reschedule with the wedding planner.” I didn’t answer. I turned around and walked straight into the bedroom. I locked the door behind me, pulled my suitcase from the closet, and placed my property deed and passport inside. Laughter soon erupted from the living room again. Becca asked, “So are we still going on the single’s trip?” Amy replied, “Of course we are. He made such a mess today, so letting him stay home and reflect on his behavior is for the best.” I dialed the number for a real estate agent. “Hello, I want to list my condo for sale. Urgent sale.” The agent asked, “Is anyone currently residing in the property?” “Starting tomorrow, you can bring buyers to view the place at any time.” The agent verified the property records. “Mr. Sean, you are listed as the sole owner, but there is an outstanding mortgage. We can transfer the title under escrow, but an urgent sale means dropping the asking price slightly. Can you accept that?” “Yes. Find a buyer within three days if possible.” “With such a tight timeline, the price might need to go even lower.” “As long as the legal procedures are solid, you can negotiate the price.” After sending over my property documents, I logged into my company’s internal portal. A managerial position had opened up at our southern branch to lead a new independent project. It was over six hundred miles away, and the application deadline was midnight tonight. I submitted my transfer request and set my start date for three days from now. I turned off my phone, packed my laptop, my legal documents, and a few changes of clothes. The next morning, I wheeled my suitcase out of the bedroom. Amy stepped into the hallway, blocking my path. “Who are you trying to impress with that suitcase? Planning to run back to your family to complain again?” “I’m going to the office.” “You bring a suitcase to work?” “It contains project files.” My phone buzzed with a text from the real estate agent: A client was coming to inspect the condo in thirty minutes. The agent already had the single-use digital lock code I provided. I needed Amy out of the apartment. “Let’s go.” Amy smirked. “See? Was it really that hard to be reasonable yesterday?” When we arrived at the luxury jewelry store, I realized Becca and Jack were already waiting inside. Jack walked up with a wide smile. “Sean, don’t get the wrong idea. Amy said having extra eyes would help give better recommendations, so I came along.” Amy handed my suitcase to a store clerk for safekeeping. “Jack has better taste than you. We’re going to wear these wedding bands for a long time, so what’s wrong with having him help take a look?” The sales associate laid out several sets of rings on a velvet tray. “You two can try them on for size first.” Just as I reached out my hand, Jack pointed to a display case nearby. “Amy, isn’t this watch gorgeous?” Jack strapped the luxury watch onto his wrist and looked at me. “Sean, what do you think?” “If you like it, buy it yourself.” Amy frowned instantly. “Is that how you talk? So you’re giving Jack an attitude over a simple gesture?” Jack immediately unbuckled the strap. “I don’t want it anymore. Please don’t fight because of me.” Becca pressed the watch box down firmly. “Amy bought it for you, so just take it. Sean ruined his own rehearsal dinner, and he still has the nerve to grudge a watch?” Amy pulled out her black card. “Box it up.” “What about our wedding bands?” I asked quietly. “With your current attitude, do you really think you deserve to have me buy you a ring?” She completed the transaction and handed the gift bag straight to Jack. “When you learn how to respect people, then we’ll buy the rings,” she said coldness in her eyes. “Respect who?” I countered softly. Jack glanced outside the glass store front. “Yesterday’s game wasn’t finished. There are plenty of people here in the mall, so let’s test you one more time. If you can pick Amy out of the crowd, I’ll give this watch back to you.” Amy agreed immediately. “Deal. If he gets it wrong again, he can forget about having a wedding for the rest of his life.” Jack had already raised his phone camera. “Sean, I’ll record it for you this time.” I didn’t move an inch. Jack pointed the lens directly at my face. “Don’t be nervous. Amy is right here in the mall. You’ve been together for five years, so you can definitely recognize her.” “I’m not playing.” Amy unbuttoned her coat and handed it to Becca. “He’s just afraid of losing. We are playing today whether he likes it or not, otherwise he’ll never fix this defect of his.” A few shop assistants from a women’s boutique downstairs were all wearing identical black trench coats. Amy put on a face mask, slipped off her signature bracelet, and let Becca lead her into the group. Before walking off, she looked back at me. “We’ll be right outside three storefronts down. If you’ve ever actually looked at me, there’s no way you’ll get it wrong.” Jack started recording. “Sean, go ahead.” “I told you, I’m not playing.” He stepped in front of me, blocking the exit. “You can’t run away every time you face a problem. We’re doing all of this just to help you become a bit more normal.” “I have mild prosopagnosia. I am not abnormal.” “I didn’t mean it like that. But if you can’t even recognize your own fiancée, Amy gets hurt too.” “She gets hurt, so she wants you to record video footage of me failing to mock me later?” Jack lowered his phone slightly. “I just wanted a memory. Once you’re cured in the future, looking back at these videos will just feel funny.” “Delete all the old videos.” “They’re already posted in the group chat, how am I supposed to delete them?” “You never had my consent to post them.” “We’re all friends here, it was just a joke! Why do you always take everything so seriously?” A sharp pain twisted in my stomach, and cold sweat broke out across my forehead. The sales associate poured a cup of warm water and handed it to me. “Sir, why don’t you take a seat first?” Jack raised his phone right back up. “Sean, stop acting like you’re sick. Amy is still waiting for you. It’s only three stores over, just walk past and take one look.” The sales associate stepped firmly between Jack’s camera lens and my face. “Sir, this gentleman explicitly stated he does not want to participate. Why are you still filming him?” “We’re his friends! He has face blindness, and we are helping him!” “Knowing he has face blindness and forcing him to identify people in public—you call that helping?” The smile vanished from Jack’s face. “This is our private business, it has nothing to do with you.” Jack clutched the jewelry bag tighter. “You don’t understand the situation at all! Sean agreed to the test himself, we didn’t force him!” I looked at him coldly. “When did I ever agree?” Amy and Becca walked back into the store. Amy demanded the moment she stepped inside, “Why didn’t you come look for me?” “Because I didn’t want to.” “I stood there for fifteen minutes, and you didn’t move a single step?” Becca pointed an accusing finger at the sales associate. “Were you the one driving a wedge between them just now? This is between Amy and her fiancé, who are you to stick your nose in?” The associate stood her ground. “He was clearly physically unwell, yet you were still pressuring him to play games. If something happens to him, are you going to take responsibility?” Amy swept a cold glance over me. “He’s an expert at playing the pity card. Whenever he gets the answer wrong, he puts on this exact miserable face.” “I am not acting.” “Then prove it to me. Go out there and try right now.” “I won’t go.” She turned her head and commanded me coldly, “Apologize to Jack, then go find me. If you can’t recognize me today, you can walk all the way home by yourself.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from the real estate agent popped up: The buyer accepted your asking price and has paid the earnest deposit. I’ve sent over the official contract for your digital signature. I opened the document and signed my name on the final page. Once the digital contract submitted, the agent called me directly. “Mr. Sean, the buyer is in a hurry and wants to take possession as soon as possible. The remaining mortgage will be cleared through the escrow account, and we can handle the title transfer on your behalf.” “Proceed.” “How should we handle the furniture?” “Leave everything to the buyer.” “There are personal belongings of someone else inside the unit. Are you sure you don’t need to inform her?” “The contract specifies a clear deadline for vacating the premises. Handle it according to the legal terms.” I hung up, walked over to the counter, and took my suitcase back from the clerk. Amy stepped directly in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going now?” “I have business to take care of.” “Finish today’s test first!” “I won’t.” “Then forget about buying the rings! And don’t bother coming to tonight’s single’s party either!” I walked right around them and headed straight out of the jewelry store. Amy didn’t chase after me. Her voice echoed coldly from behind: “Let him go! He can’t even recognize roads properly. In half an hour, he’ll be calling me begging for help.” I got into a taxi and immediately received a message from my company’s HR department: Sean, your transfer request has been approved. The southern branch requires you on-site as soon as possible. What is the earliest you can report? I can report tomorrow. The project is urgent, so the company will reimburse today’s flight ticket. I checked the flight schedule—there was a flight departing in two hours. I booked it on the spot. Amy called my phone, but I let it ring. Notifications flooded our four-person group chat. Amy typed: No need to wait for him. Tonight we go to the lounge. Let him reflect outside by himself. When he learns his lesson and apologizes, then he can come back. Becca replied: I’ve already booked the hotel. Next week we head straight to the resort for an early getaway. Amy: He ruined the rehearsal dinner, so he lost the right to go. Just the three of us. Upon reaching the airport terminal, the wedding coordinator called me one last time. “Mr. Sean, Miss Amy called inquiring about the rehearsal dinner. She refused to accept the cancellation and demanded we reinstate the booking.” “I signed the contract. She has no legal right to reinstate it.” “She also insisted that you bear the full penalty fee.” “Deduct it from my deposit.” “The remaining balance will be refunded within seven business days.” “Understood.” After completing check-in, I handed my luggage over to the airline staff. Group chat notifications were still flashing. I tapped the settings button and left the group chat permanently. Amy’s call came through again. This time, I answered. “Sean, where the hell did you run off to?” “Is there something you need?” “Get over to the lounge right now! Jack is willing to forgive you. Apologize to his face, and we can put today behind us.” “I am not coming.” “Don’t throw away my patience! The condo is our home. If you don’t show up tonight, don’t bother coming back to sleep!” “Okay.” Amy paused, caught off guard. “What do you mean ‘okay’?” “It means exactly what I said.” “Are you hiding somewhere crying again? I’m telling you, that trick doesn’t work on me anymore! If you’re so tough, don’t ever come back!” “Got it.” I ended the call, systematically deleted Amy, Becca, and Jack from my contacts, and added all three numbers to my block list. When the boarding call sounded over the speakers, I powered down my phone. Right before the plane lifted off the tarmac, a final message arrived from the real estate agent: Mr. Sean, the buyer will inspect the property tomorrow morning and change the digital locks. Is that acceptable? I typed back two simple words: It is.

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Jason stole my diary. He flaunted it in the dorm. “Helen wasn’t even that hard to get. Took me three months to seal the deal. Weren’t you guys dying to know what she scribbles in this thing every day? Let’s read it together.” His roommates crowded around him, hyping him up. “Bro, obviously she’s writing pages of love confessions about you.” He flipped to the first page. [I agreed to date Jason just so I could be a little closer to him.] He flipped to the second page. [Why did he have to be Jason’s roommate?] The entire dorm went dead silent. 01 When Jason came to find me, he looked like he was about to be sick. I knew immediately that he had read my completely fabricated diary. Hilarious. That’s what you get for being a thief. Hope it eats you alive. I let out a cold, cynical laugh in my head, but on the outside, I kept my smile impossibly sweet and pure. “Jason, what brings you here?” He just stared at me. A few heavy seconds passed before his voice dropped into a low, strained register. “Helen, you’re my girlfriend now. I want to introduce you to my roommates.” I immediately plastered a look of sheer joy onto my face, pretending not to notice that his expression was darker than a thundercloud. “Really?” I asked, lacing my voice with the perfect amount of nervous excitement. “I finally get to meet your friends?” Jason ground his teeth together. “Yeah. We’re getting dinner tonight.” I paused, biting my lip as if I’d just remembered something terrible. “But I have my shift later…” He whipped out his phone without a second thought. A notification popped up. He had just CashApped me twenty grand. “Call in sick,” he demanded. “Tell them you have an emergency.” I immediately hit refund and put on a mask of righteous refusal. “I can’t take your money. How could you even ask me to?” He sent it again. I refunded it again. He sent it a third time. Finally, after Jason aggressively added a note saying “Voluntary Gift” and snatched my phone to forcefully accept the transfer, I let the charade end. Taking a highly satisfying mental screenshot of my new bank balance, I looked up at him with teary, moved eyes. “Jason, you’re so good to me.” 02 I am a student at St. Jude’s Academy. I am also the absolute poorest scholarship student on this entire campus. Jason, on the other hand, is one of the wealthiest blue-bloods wandering these halls. His specific dorm room is practically the academy’s own untouchable elite squad. They even have an unofficial fan club. Jason’s biggest daily struggles consist of deciding whether to fly to London or Paris for the weekend, or whether he prefers scuba diving or snowboarding. My daily calculations are vastly different. I have to figure out how to maintain my spot for the highest academic grants, calculate how many part-time shifts I can physically survive this month, and meticulously maintain my persona as the fragile, innocent girl-next-door. The persona is crucial for getting sympathy and maintaining friendly terms with the student body, so I don’t end up bullied and ostracized like the poor girls in teen movies. On top of that, I have to mentally track which food delivery coupons are stacking, which stores offer free birthday freebies, and the exact rotation of grocery store discount days. This is the life of the poor. Tedious, exhausting, and endless. Originally, Jason and I minded our own business. We existed in parallel universes. That was until some ridiculous rumors started floating around campus. People whispered that I was impossible to get. That some guy chased me for six months and failed. They also said I wrote in a diary every single day, and that it held my deepest, darkest secrets. My reaction? Pure confusion. First of all, I had no idea who this mystery guy even was. I didn’t know anyone was chasing me, period. The second a lecture ended, I was already sprinting out the door for work. If people talked to me, I usually just smiled, nodded blankly, and let the words go in one ear and out the other. As for the diary I supposedly wrote in every day? It was my accounting ledger. I’ve had a habit of meticulously tracking my expenses by hand since I was a kid. But those rumors somehow piqued Jason’s interest. Not only was he obsessed with finding out what was in my “diary,” but he also made a bet with his roommates about how many months it would take to get me into bed. I rejected him time and time again. He remained relentlessly, aggravatingly persistent. Then came the breaking point. Jason showed up at the upscale restaurant where I waited tables, paid a customer under the table to humiliate me, and then dramatically stepped in to play the hero. That was the moment I snapped. After my manager tore into me, I walked back out to the dining floor, my uniform still damp and smelling of spilled soup. Under Jason’s watchful gaze, I clenched my jaw tight enough to crack a tooth, forced a trembling, grateful smile, and said softly, “Thank you, Jason.” You don’t want to be a decent human being? Fine. You can be my personal ATM instead. 03 Jason took me to a high-end French bistro. When we arrived, all three of his roommates were already seated at a plush corner booth. Even though they tried to hide it, I could feel the sheer weight of their stares burning into me. People are so predictable. None of them actually liked me, but the second they thought I was secretly in love with one of them, and that I only used Jason to get closer, their fragile male egos and morbid curiosity skyrocketed. The smugness radiating off them was practically suffocating. A bunch of voyeuristic trust-fund brats. I cursed all three of these bored rich boys to hell and back in my head, but my face remained a mask of polite shyness. I even added a micro-detail, gently pulling my hand out of Jason’s grip. It was the ultimate subtle giveaway of a girl terrified to hold her boyfriend’s hand in front of her true crush. Jason felt it instantly. His expression darkened again. He grabbed my hand back, lacing our fingers with a bruising grip, though his voice remained sickly sweet. “Helen, these are my roommates. You’ve probably seen them around campus.” I nodded, pressing my lips into a tight line, completely refusing to speak. Knowing Jason, I knew he would never confront me openly. First, his ego could never handle admitting he snooped through my diary. Second, he definitely felt played and was currently burning alive with the need to figure out which roommate was the “him” in my entries. Third, the sheer competitive drive. The moment he realized I was into his roommate, I stopped being a casual bet and transformed into a prize he had to keep at all costs. Men. So predictable. Rich or poor, they’re all the same. Their thoughts are broadcasted right on their faces, decoded in a fraction of a second. As we reached the table, Jason was still burning holes into the side of my head, trying to track my eye movement to guess which roommate I was swooning over. But why would I ever give him the answer? I didn’t look at a single one of them. Instead, I looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Jason, aren’t you going to sit down?” Jason remained entirely speechless. 04 The atmosphere at the table was wound tighter than a snare drum. Oliver broke the silence first. “Jason, we haven’t ordered yet. Why don’t you see what Helen… uh, what your girlfriend wants.” Oliver had these bright, golden-retriever eyes, strong features, and dimples when he smiled. He exuded this effortless, sunny optimism. I honestly didn’t blame him. If my family owned ten historic estates in the city center, I’d be pretty damn optimistic too. He slid a leather-bound menu toward me. The page was a dizzying blur of French culinary terms. I couldn’t recognize a single dish. I could, however, read the numbers on the right. One appetizer cost my entire month’s rent. The sheer audacity of the prices was making me want to eat the rich. I gently pushed the menu back, offering a timid smile. “I’ve never had any of this before. You guys can just order for me.” Oliver took it back. “Alright, Jason, you take the lead. You definitely know what she likes.” Jason had absolutely no clue what I liked. All he knew was that I usually inhaled whatever was put in front of me. But I knew exactly what to do. I had done my homework. The files uploaded by their unofficial fan club were highly detailed. Jason loved mangoes. But Oliver was deathly allergic to them. So, I furrowed my brow slightly and whispered to the waiter, “Excuse me, none of these dishes have mango in them, right?” The table plunged into silence once more. Jason stared at me. Oliver stared at me. I looked around, the picture of pure confusion. “Is something wrong? I just asked because I can’t eat mangoes.” Before Jason could even open his mouth, I delivered the checkmate. “Jason, you didn’t know?” Under my soft gaze, Jason completely froze. He couldn’t admit he didn’t know. After all, his current persona was the deeply devoted boyfriend who had spent months winning my heart. But if he claimed he knew, it would be a blatant lie. Because I just made it up. I love mangoes. I literally drank a massive mango slushie this morning. Oliver, quick on his feet, smoothed things over. “Wow, what a coincidence. I’m allergic to mangoes too.” I sent a silent prayer of gratitude to the senior girls in the drama club for all the acting tips they’d shared. I also thanked the universe for the few indie film extras gigs I did for cash. I lowered my eyelashes, sitting in quiet stillness for a long moment. When I finally lifted my gaze, I let my eyes meet Oliver’s, making sure my expression was unbearably soft and tender. When he finished speaking, I murmured, “Yeah. What a coincidence.” In reality, my peripheral vision was working overtime, scanning all three guys across the table. Look down, look up at Oliver. Look down, look up at Sebastian. Look down, look up at Zane. I made sure no one felt left out. Everyone got a dose of the lovesick gaze. Three parts lonely, three parts admiring, two parts melancholic, and two parts restrained. My eyeballs were practically cramping, but it was hands down the Oscar-winning performance of my life. Oliver stiffened. He looked completely out of his depth. He shifted out of his relaxed, leaning-back posture, sitting up straight. Then, he shot a covert, highly disapproving glare at Jason. 05 Jason was sitting right next to me. From his angle, he completely missed the visual masterpiece of my eye acting. But he didn’t miss my physical acting. Like right now. Before the food even arrived, I very naturally reached over and moved the cup of hot tea away from my own placemat, sliding it across the table. Jason stopped moving and stared at me. I looked straight past him. “President, shouldn’t you take your medicine first?” Sebastian was the student council president of our academy. At St. Jude’s, where the students practically ran the administration, he was basically the local emperor. Sebastian wore silver-rimmed glasses. He had this classically handsome, refined face. He looked like old money personified, always impeccably polite, but keeping a freezing distance from everyone around him. In short, he was a massive snob. But again, I understood him. If I were the sole heir to a global Fortune 500 conglomerate, I’d be even more insufferable than him. Jason snapped at me, “What medicine? What are you talking about?” I let my eyes linger on Sebastian, holding his gaze. Jason was clearly losing his mind. The muscle in his jaw was practically vibrating as he shot Sebastian a lethal, “so it’s you” glare. “I tried out for the student council recently, but…” I started, letting my voice trail off into a melancholic sigh. I left plenty of blank space for their imaginations to run wild. A few seconds later, I visibly pulled myself together, forcing a bright, brave smile. “So, I found out the President has a bad stomach.” There was absolutely zero correlation between those two statements. I did try out for the council. And the reason I didn’t get in was that I failed the very first round of interviews. I had applied for the position of Council Secretary, which was basically the emperor’s right hand. I took the application incredibly seriously. I even quit two of my part-time jobs just to prepare. I was absolutely determined to get that role. First, as secretary, I would be second-in-command. I could walk around St. Jude’s like I owned the place. Second, I would only ever have to suck up to Sebastian. If anyone else tried to boss me around, I could just drop a “the President needs me” and watch them back off. Third, I was usually too busy to care about extracurricular credits. I literally pulled weeds on campus for extra cash. But working directly for the council? My academic credits would be maxed out effortlessly. Fourth, and most importantly, I figured I could slowly win over the masses, stage a coup, or just wait for Sebastian to graduate early, leaving me as the new reigning monarch. Who wouldn’t be tempted by that kind of power? I certainly was. I even studied Sebastian’s files meticulously. He had gastric issues. The classic, generic CEO stomach illness. I made sure to memorize it, knowing it would be a perfect tool for kissing up to him later. But despite scoring first place on the written exam, I was booted in the first interview. Because I couldn’t compete with the girl who had just donated a million dollars to the council’s event fund. She was the president of Sebastian’s fan club, throwing endless piles of cash just to breathe the same air as him. I tossed and turned all night after that, genuinely wondering if I got plastic surgery to look like Sebastian, someone would throw a million dollars at me too. I watched the sunrise and still couldn’t let it go. But Sebastian definitely knew nothing about this. He could never have guessed my dark, treasonous plans to usurp his throne. Right now, he just looked slightly stunned. His pale tea-colored eyes locked onto mine, a complex swirl of emotions shifting behind his lenses. After a long pause, he said, “Thank you.” I immediately blurted out, “…You never have to thank me.” Jason looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. His eyes were practically shooting lasers, glaring at Sebastian. Meanwhile, I simply lowered my head, murmuring softly, “You’re all Jason’s friends. It’s the least I can do.” Then, I secretly reached out and hooked my pinky finger around Jason’s. His blazing fury froze solid on his face. He whipped his head toward me, only to find me smiling at him, my eyes curved in a crescent, looking utterly, innocently sweet. Jason was rendered completely speechless. He silently turned his head back toward the table. But he didn’t unhook his pinky from mine. 06 Jason’s final roommate was Zane. He had the kind of face that practically invited trouble, possessing the sharp, striking bone structure of a runway model. Even though he always looked halfway to sleep and dressed like he couldn’t care less, slipping on a plain white tee made him look like he was headlining a designer campaign. Because of this, he sat at the very top of the academy’s “Most Smashable” list. I have no idea who invented that list, but they were a genius for finding a loophole in the school’s strict anti-gossip firewall. Back then, Zane and Sebastian’s fan clubs were in an all-out turf war over the number one spot. I took fifty bucks from my desk-mate, guiltlessly rejected the class rep’s aggressive lobbying, and cast my vote for Zane. My desk-mate claimed Zane was incredibly laid-back, easily the most approachable guy in their elite circle. She even showed me his social media. He replied to almost every single comment. But my eyes were entirely locked on the actual content of his post. Zane had uploaded a screenshot casually mentioning that his mutual funds had a solid return that month. The string of zeros was blinding. I counted them one by one. Tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, millions… twenty million. I took a moment to imagine a reality where my monthly passive income was twenty million dollars. If that were me, I would love absolutely everyone on this earth. I would be entirely devoid of negative emotions. But Zane genuinely had real problems. His father had four wives and three sons. His mother was the first wife, but she was the least favored. His father never gave him an ounce of paternal love, only cold, lifeless money. I felt deeply sorry for him. Because if someone handed me that much cold, lifeless money, I would gladly offer them the most scorching, passionate fatherly love imaginable. So, for a long time, whenever I looked at Zane, my gaze was filled with warm, parental affection. That was until Jason decided to make my life hell, and my hatred officially extended to their entire suite. I hope every single one of these entitled, meddling snobs rots. 07 During dinner, Zane and I barely exchanged a single word. Not until I excused myself to the restroom. When I walked out, Zane was leaning against the tiled wall, watching me. He must have just splashed water on his face. His dark hair was slightly damp at the edges, a stray drop of water tracing the sharp line of his brow bone. I immediately averted my eyes, playing the skittish fawn. “Zane.” He looked thoughtful for a second before a slow, easy smile spread across his face. “Helen. We aren’t total strangers, are we?” I quickly ducked my head, kicking into high gear with my performance. I hid my hands behind my back, pinching my own fingertips until the knuckles turned white. We had actually crossed paths before. One of my old part-time jobs was at a late-night diner right next to the luxury racing club he frequented. Every time he finished burning rubber on the track, I was still on shift. “Haven’t seen you around lately,” he noted. I was genuinely surprised. We had barely exchanged three sentences back then, yet he actually remembered me. “It wasn’t a good fit,” I replied vaguely. Why else does anyone change jobs? The pay wasn’t good enough, obviously. And I had found something that paid more. But Zane’s imagination clearly took a wild detour. His expression shifted into something incredibly subtle. He asked, “Then back then… why were you always still there every time I left?” I wanted to scream. Because I was on the clock! I had to wait to clock out, or I would have been gone hours ago! But Zane was staring at me with intense, searching eyes. I took a few seconds to let the silence stretch, then lifted my gaze to meet his, making sure my eyes looked devastatingly earnest. “If you saw a light still on when you were leaving… did it make you feel a little happier?” According to my research, Zane was notorious for wasting electricity. His penthouse was always blazing with lights, burning brightly through the entire night. Combining his background, his deep-seated family trauma, and his whole vibe, I made an educated guess: the guy was terrified of the dark. Just like stomach ulcers, nyctophobia was apparently a must-have fashion accessory for the ultra-rich. Sure enough, Zane’s casual posture faltered. He looked completely caught off guard. Before he could recover, I walked right past him. Just as I passed his shoulder, I paused my steps and let my voice drop to a breathy whisper. “I just want you to be happy, Zane.” 08 After dinner, Jason walked me back to my dorm. He immediately started fishing for information. “So, my roommates aren’t too bad, right?” I nodded, then rose slightly on my tiptoes, leaning close to him. Whatever he was about to ask died in his throat. He watched, mesmerized, as I reached up, my arm brushing his neck, and plucked a stray fallen leaf from his hair. We were standing dangerously close. His breathing hitched, his eyes dropping to stare at my face. I smoothly pulled the leaf back, hiding it in my palm, and looked up at him with a bright, adoring smile. “Your friends are great, Jason. But to me, you’re the best.” He didn’t speak for a long time. This arrogant, high-and-mighty heir had clearly never been in a real relationship. Even after we officially started dating, he hadn’t even held my hand properly, too obsessed with figuring out how to steal my diary. He was a decent thief, sure, but in the game of pure, romantic manipulation? He was way out of his league. I would bet my life he had never dealt with a move like this before. “I’ve never had food that expensive before,” I added softly. “Thank you for spending so much on me.” “What do you usually eat, then?” he blurted out. I stayed quiet. Something seemed to click in his head, and a flash of regret crossed his face. When he had been “chasing” me, eight out of ten times he bumped into me, I was eating from a cheap takeout styrofoam box. The other two times, I was choking down convenience store rice balls or discounted bread. The dining halls at St. Jude’s were notoriously overpriced. But I didn’t see the problem. What’s wrong with boxed lunches? There are elite-tier boxed lunches out there. The one I frequented was a hidden gem I had struck gold with—cheap, delicious, and massive portions. The owner always slipped me extra crispy pickled cucumbers and radishes, and since I paid for a monthly meal plan, she gave me a massive discount. But Jason clearly didn’t share my culinary worldview. He looked instantly agitated, pulling out his phone and aggressively tapping the screen. “You’re my girlfriend now. Stop eating that garbage,” he said, his voice gruff. “Take the money. If I’m busy, buy yourself something decent. When I’m free, I’ll take you out.” Garbage? It had carbs, a protein, and a vegetable! I mentally apologized to the sweet lunch lady on his behalf. On the surface, I slipped perfectly into my fragile, hesitant persona. After a few rounds of weak protests, I reluctantly accepted the transfer. “Honestly, just eating with you makes me happy,” I said. “Even instant noodles would taste amazing.” Then, I reached into my bag and pulled out a small plastic Tupperware container, handing it to him. Inside was a bizarre, lumpy mango concoction that looked like a culinary disaster. “I can’t eat mangoes, but I know they’re your favorite,” I said softly. “I tried making this this morning. It doesn’t look great, and I wasn’t even going to give it to you… you can just throw it away if you don’t want it.” It really did look terrible. It was the leftover pulp and absolute dregs from the mango slushie I had made myself that morning. I had meant to throw it in the trash but forgot. As I handed it over, my sleeve slipped down just enough to reveal a cluster of faint, red spots on my wrist. It looked exactly like an allergic reaction. —During dinner, when Oliver mentioned that people with severe allergies break out in hives just from touching the fruit, inspiration struck. I had rushed to the bathroom and drawn them on with a red pen. Jason’s gaze zeroed in on my wrist. He went totally mute. Only after I frantically yanked my sleeve down, playing the part of someone trying to hide her sacrifice, did he finally let out a low, rough “Yeah.” “I’m going to head up now, Jason,” I said. “See you tomorrow.” “See you tomorrow,” he echoed. I walked up the stairs and stopped at the third-floor landing, peering out the window. Sure enough, Jason was still standing by the entrance, frozen like a statue. Then, the statue moved. The statue opened the container and started eating my biohazard waste. The statue looked like it wanted to gag, but it powered through, swallowing the disgusting mush down. Two minutes later, my phone buzzed. Jason: Thank you, baby. It was delicious. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I let out a sharp, breathless laugh. Feeling guilty? Feeling regret? Heart bleeding for me? Realizing you’re a complete monster? Oh, honey, we are just getting started. Jason, you absolute amateur.

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I paid my private security three hundred grand a year, and he just slapped me across the face in front of twenty people. After he struck me, he looked right at my wife. Valerie was holding a glass of red wine. she smiled at her so-called guy best friend. “Are you less angry now?” Her best friend adjusted his platinum cufflinks and gave a satisfied nod. I did not feel the pain in that moment. All I felt was the crushing realization that in this marriage, I was treated worse than a stray dog. I clenched my fists. I decided right then and there that starting today, I was taking back every single thing I had ever given her. Piece by piece. 1 When the slap landed on my left cheek, I did not hear the crack of the impact. What I heard was the collective gasp of everyone in the room. There were over twenty people in the VIP lounge. Some were my business partners. Some were Valerie’s socialite girlfriends. The rest were friends brought by Dominic, her platonic guy best friend. Bruno hit hard. When you pay a bodyguard three hundred thousand dollars a year, you expect them to pack a punch. My head snapped forty-five degrees to the side. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. I did not move. I stared at the highly polished marble floor. It reflected my face perfectly. The left side of my jaw was already swelling. “Adam, are you okay?” someone whispered. It was my executive assistant, Simon. He stood a few feet away, his face pale with shock and fury. I slowly lifted my head. Valerie was lounging on the velvet sofa, her legs crossed, a red stiletto dangling from her heel. She tilted her wine glass, gesturing toward Dominic. “Well? Do you feel better?” Dominic, wearing a tailored cashmere coat, smoothed out his cuffs with agonizing slowness. “Barely,” he chuckled. “Tell your husband to watch his attitude next time. I do not like the way he looks at me.” I shifted my gaze to Valerie. She did not even glance my way. Her eyes were entirely glued to Dominic. I knew that look all too well. It was pure, desperate flattery. She looked at him not like a friend, but like a master she was terrified of upsetting. Bruno stood next to me. His head was bowed, his massive hands trembling slightly. “Boss, I am so sorry,” he muttered under his breath. “Mrs. Valerie said… if I did not hit you, she would make you fire me and blacklist me from the security industry.” I did not look at him. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth with my thumb. I stood up straight. The room was so dead silent you could hear the hum of the AC unit. My business partners were staring at their phones or their shoes, desperately avoiding eye contact. Not a single person spoke up for me. Of course they did not. In their eyes, Adam being a total pushover for his wife was old news. I had tolerated it for three years. It started when Valerie first called me a useless coward in front of our friends. It escalated when she used my credit card to buy Dominic a birthday present. It peaked when she kicked me out of our master bedroom and forced me to sleep in the study. I endured it for three entire years. I genuinely believed that if I compromised enough, I would eventually earn her respect. I thought that if I drowned her in wealth and luxury, she would wake up and realize who actually loved her. But tonight, she ordered the bodyguard I paid for to slap me across the face. In front of twenty people. Just to stroke another man’s ego. I took a deep breath. The string that had been pulled taut in my chest for three years finally snapped. “Simon,” I said. My voice was eerily calm. My assistant immediately stepped forward. “Yes, Boss.” “Bring the car to the underground garage. Wait for me there.” “Understood.” As Simon turned away, I saw his knuckles turn white from gripping his phone so hard. I did not spare Valerie another glance. I turned on my heel and walked out. From behind me, Dominic let out a loud, mocking laugh. “He is leaving? He does not even have the guts to say a word? Valerie, your husband is such a…” “Dominic,” Valerie interrupted, her voice dripping with amusement. “Leave it. That is just how he is. I am used to it.” Just how he is. Used to it. I did not break my stride. I walked out of the lounge, down the corridor, and stepped into the elevator. As the steel doors slid shut, I reached up and touched my left cheek. It was hot and swollen. Did it hurt? Yes. But the pain in my chest was infinitely worse. It felt like a vital organ had been violently ripped out of my ribcage. I stood in the elevator for a few seconds. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Lawyer Reed. Be at my office tomorrow morning at ten.” “Adam? It is late. Did something happen?” “I am getting a divorce.” The line went dead silent for two seconds. “…Understood. I will be there at ten.” I hung up. My heartbeat was steady. Steadier than it had been in three years. 2 I did not go home that night. I had Simon drive me to corporate headquarters. I slept on the leather sofa in my office. Well, I tried to sleep. Mostly, I just stared at the ceiling and thought. When did my marriage to Valerie become this toxic? Probably two years ago. Right around the time Dominic entered the picture. Dominic was a trust fund kid who studied abroad and ran a mediocre import business. He was smooth-talking, well-dressed, and endlessly charming. Valerie swore they were just college buddies. A purely platonic friendship. I believed her. Then this “platonic friend” started taking my wife out for dinner, coffee, and art exhibits three times a week. I brought it up once. Valerie smashed my favorite coffee mug against the wall. “Can you stop being so insecure? He is my friend! Are you just paranoid that everyone wants to sleep with me?” I dropped the subject. Later, she started using my supplementary black card to buy Dominic gifts. An eight-hundred-dollar leather belt. Twelve-hundred-dollar designer sneakers. A thirteen-thousand-dollar Rolex. I gently told her it was inappropriate. Valerie just gave me a look of pure disgust. “You make millions. What is wrong with spending a little pocket change? Dominic has helped me through so much. I cannot even buy him a thank-you gift? You are so cheap it is embarrassing.” Cheap. I kept my mouth shut. Not long after, I was evicted from my own bedroom. Her excuse was that I snored and ruined her sleep. I had never snored a day in my life. I was just exhausted. My company was closing a massive acquisition, and I had pulled all-nighters for two weeks straight. My body was giving out, and I might have snored a few times. She could not tolerate it for a single night. I moved my clothes into the study. From that moment on, our marriage devolved into a business transaction. She spent my money, lived in my penthouse, drove the cars I bought, and swiped her way into the elite country clubs I paid for. And what was my return on investment? Public humiliation. Being treated like a servant by her male best friend. Getting slapped by my own payroll security. I sat up. The sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was getting light. Seven-thirty in the morning. I booted up my laptop and pulled up every single financial asset tied to Valerie. Real estate. The riverfront penthouse. Market value: three million dollars. I bought it before we got married, so it was legally mine. But I had added her name to the deed after the wedding as a gesture of love. Vehicles. A Porsche Cayenne and a Mercedes G-Wagon. The Cayenne was her daily driver. I bought the G-Wagon because she complained the Porsche did not look intimidating enough on the road. Both were registered in her name. Credit cards. Three platinum supplementary cards. Total credit limit: five hundred thousand dollars. Her average monthly spend was roughly forty thousand. Memberships. Golf clubs, luxury spas, the equestrian center. Annual fees totaled over a hundred grand. I went through the spreadsheets line by line. Over the last three years, I had blown nearly five million dollars on Valerie. Five million dollars. And it bought me a slap in the face. At exactly eight o’clock, Simon knocked and walked in. He brought black coffee, a breakfast sandwich, and a fresh dress shirt. He took one look at my bruised face but said nothing. I changed my shirt and took a bite of the sandwich. “Simon.” “Yes, Boss.” “I have three tasks for you today. Top priority.” “Name them.” “First, call the bank. Cancel all three of Valerie’s supplementary credit cards immediately. Cut them off.” Simon blinked in surprise. Then he gave a firm nod. “Done.” “Second, the Porsche and the Mercedes. I paid for both in full. Look into the legal paperwork required to transfer the titles back or impound them.” “Understood.” “Third, contact the property management at the penthouse and sync with the legal team. I am initiating the process to remove her name from the deed.” Simon looked up at me. There was a very complex emotion swirling in his eyes. Relief? Vindication? Probably both. “Adam,” he paused carefully. “Once I pull these triggers, Valerie is going to wage a nuclear war.” I leaned back in my chair and touched my swollen cheek. It still throbbed. “I know.” “Are you… absolutely sure?” “It has been three years, Simon.” I looked him dead in the eye. “I was slapped in public. I have never been so deeply degraded in my entire life.” “I was hit by a man I pay. Ordered by my own wife. Just to make her little toy boy laugh.” “Tell me, what exactly is left to hesitate about?” Simon did not say another word. He nodded sharply and walked out to execute my orders. At ten o’clock on the dot, Lawyer Reed arrived. I gave him a brief rundown of the situation. He adjusted his glasses. “Adam, if we go to litigation with your current financial paper trail and evidence… you have a massive advantage.” “Explain.” “The penthouse is a pre-marital asset. Even though her name was added, if we can prove she is at fault in the marriage…” “I can prove it,” I said. I pulled open my desk drawer and slid a flash drive across the desk. “This contains two years of her credit card statements, wire transfers, and a few… highly inappropriate chat logs.” Reed took the drive, raising an eyebrow. “You have been building a case this whole time?” I shook my head. “No. I just have my banking alerts turned on. Every time she wired money to Dominic, my phone pinged. I just never deleted the emails.” “Also,” I paused. “The VIP lounge last night had security cameras. The footage of the assault should still be on their servers. Subpoena it.” Reed stood up and extended his hand. “Adam, consider it done. I am taking this case.” We shook on it. After he left, I poured myself a glass of scotch and sat by the window. The morning sun was blinding. For the first time in three years, I felt like I could finally breathe. My phone vibrated on the desk. It was Valerie calling. I watched it ring for a few seconds. I did not answer. A minute later, a text popped up. “You did not come home last night? Where the hell are you?” Not a single ounce of concern. Just pure, entitled interrogation. I flipped the phone face down. I took a sip of scotch. Do not panic yet, sweetheart. The show is just getting started. 3 Around eleven-thirty, Valerie’s second text came through. “My card is declining. What is going on? Fix it right now.” Still barking orders. She had spoken to me exactly like this for three years. Never a discussion. Never a polite request. Just commands. I left her on read. At noon, the third text arrived. “Adam, what the hell are you doing?! I am at the salon, and my card keeps getting rejected. Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?” Humiliating. I get slapped in the face in front of my peers, and that is fine. But her card getting declined at a hair salon is a tragedy. I put my phone away and went down to the corporate cafeteria to grab lunch with Simon. Halfway through my steak, my phone rang again. It was not Valerie. It was Bruno. I debated for a second, then picked up. “Boss.” Bruno’s voice was low, like he was trying not to be overheard. “What do you want?” “Mrs. Valerie told me to ask you why the cards are frozen.” I cut a piece of steak, put it in my mouth, and chewed slowly. “Bruno, do you honestly think you have the right to pass messages for her?” Dead silence on the other end. “Boss, about last night… I am truly sorry. I just…” “Save your apologies,” I cut him off. “You made your choice. But you are a grown man. You know choices have consequences.” “You are no longer on my payroll. You are fired.” “Boss, wait!” “I will not sue you for breach of contract. Just disappear.” I hung up. Simon watched me, looking like he wanted to say something. “Spill it.” “Bruno has been with you for three years…” “Yes. Three years.” I put my fork down. “And in those three years, I treated him like family. I paid for his mother’s surgery out of pocket. I covered his little brother’s college tuition.” “But he still chose to hit me.” “I do not care what his excuse was. He raised his hand against me.” Simon nodded solemnly and went back to his food. At two o’clock, I went back to my office. I had seven missed calls from Valerie. I ignored all of them. At two-thirty, she sent a massive paragraph. “Adam, what is your problem? Are you throwing a temper tantrum over that tiny little joke yesterday? Can you grow up? It was a prank! Dominic did not even care, why are you being so dramatic? Unfreeze the cards right now, I have a spa appointment tomorrow.” A tiny little joke. A prank. I stared at those words until my vision blurred. Having her husband assaulted by a hired guard in front of twenty people. To her, it was a joke. I let out a long, slow exhale. I typed a reply. “We will talk when I get home.” I dropped the phone on the desk. I picked up a pen and grabbed a notepad. I wrote down my action plan. Step 1: Cut off all financial supply. Done. Step 2: Reclaim the vehicles. Step 3: Remove her name from the real estate. Step 4: Audit and reclaim all massive wire transfers made during the marriage. Step 5: Divorce. I reviewed the list. Then I added one final line at the bottom. Make her realize what losing me actually means. At five o’clock, I left work early. I drove straight to the penthouse. It was a two-hundred-square-foot luxury condo overlooking the city skyline. It cost me three million. The custom renovations cost another half a million. Every piece of Italian furniture, every chandelier, I picked out myself. I unlocked the door and walked in. Valerie was pacing the living room, looking furious. She was wearing a silk robe, her hair messy, yesterday’s makeup smeared under her eyes. When she saw me, she practically lunged forward. “Adam! You finally showed up! What the hell kind of game are you playing?!” I calmly took off my shoes, slipped on my house slippers, and sat on the sofa opposite her. I stared at her with zero emotion. “Sit down.” She froze. She was definitely not used to this tone. In the past, my voice was always soft, compromising, and pleading. Not today. She frowned, crossing her arms as she sat down, her foot tapping aggressively against the rug. “Speak. What is going on?” “Your cards are frozen.” “I know they are frozen! I am asking you WHY!” “Because I called the bank and froze them.” Her eyes went wide. “Excuse me?” “All three supplementary cards are canceled. Permanently. They will not be reactivated.” Valerie opened her mouth, but no words came out. Then she let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Is this a joke?” “No.” “Adam, have you lost your mind?” Her voice shrilled. “You are doing this over that stupid little incident last night…” “Stupid little incident?” I cut her off. My voice was not loud, but the sheer venom in it made her flinch. She had never seen me look at her like this. Cold. Absolute, freezing detachment. “You ordered the man I pay to protect me, to slap me across the face in front of a room full of my peers.” “Just so you could impress your little boy toy.” “And you call that a ‘stupid little incident’?” Valerie’s lips parted. “You… you are just being insecure! Bruno barely even touched you, your face is barely even…” “Valerie.” My voice dropped an octave. She instinctively shut her mouth. “Take a very close look at the left side of my face.” I turned my head. My jaw was visibly swollen, and a dark purple bruise was blooming near the corner of my mouth. She glanced at it, her eyes flickering with something like guilt, but she instantly looked away. “Well, you cannot just cut me off! How am I supposed to buy anything? You are my husband, providing for me is your job!” My job. Hearing those words fall from her lips made my three years of patience feel like a pathetic comedy. “Starting today,” I stood up, towering over her. “It is not just the cards.” “The cars, the house, every single asset I funded out of my own pocket. I am taking it all back.” Valerie looked completely paralyzed. “What are you talking about?” “I want a divorce.” The words hit the floor like a live grenade. The living room went deathly silent. Valerie sat frozen on the sofa. Her expression morphed from shock, to disbelief, and finally, to explosive rage. “A divorce?” She jumped to her feet, screaming so loud her voice cracked. “Who gave you the right to divorce me, Adam?! Are you sleeping around? Do you have another woman on the side?!” I turned and walked toward the master bedroom. No, the study. The study had been my bedroom for three years. “My lawyer will contact you. If you refuse to settle, we will take this to trial.” “You…!” A loud crash echoed behind me. She had grabbed a crystal vase off the coffee table and hurled it at the wall. I did not look back. I walked into the study and shut the door. I locked it. I sat down at my desk. My heart was steady. My hands were perfectly still. I felt absolutely zero regret. My phone buzzed on the desk. It was a random number. I answered it. “Adam?” It was Dominic. I leaned back in my chair. “What do you want?” “Valerie just called me crying,” he said. He sounded incredibly relaxed, almost amused. “Are you not overreacting a little bit? We were just drunk and having fun last night. You are a grown man, why are you being so sensitive?” I stayed silent for three seconds. “Dominic. Listen to me very carefully.” “Yeah?” “From this second forward, whatever happens between you and Valerie is none of my business.” “If you want to be her sugar daddy, step up.” “She burns through forty grand a month. If you can afford to keep her, you have my deepest respect.” The line went completely silent. I ended the call. I blocked his number.

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I fought tooth and nail to escape the human traffickers. But my little sister was left behind. My mother called me a cold-blooded monster. My father cut off my allowance and threatened to kick me out of the house. And my childhood sweetheart, the man who promised to marry me, locked me out in the dead of winter on our wedding night. Temperatures dropped well below zero. I froze to death on the unforgiving asphalt. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the rusted van. The day we were kidnapped. 1 I waited over a decade for my wedding with Noah. At four in the morning, the makeup artist joked that having my parents by my side would calm my pre-wedding jitters. But when they finally arrived at the venue, they were dressed entirely in mourning black. It was a grotesque contrast to the romantic pastel florals decorating the hall. My mother stared at me with eyes as cold as ice. “Your sister is still missing, and you expect us to celebrate? We haven’t had the stomach for a wedding in years. Every time we look at you, we remember how you abandoned her to save your own skin. It makes us sick. Do you have any conscience left at all, you ungrateful brat?” I froze, the breath knocked out of my lungs. Years ago, my sister was taken, and I barely escaped. I dragged my bloodied, bruised body all the way home, desperate to collapse into my parents’ arms and just cry. Instead, I was met with absolute disgust. “How do you have the nerve to come back alone? You’re the older sister! Why didn’t you protect her? Having a daughter like you is a disgrace.” They never found her. From that day on, I ceased to exist to them. They stopped asking about my grades. They skipped my parent-teacher conferences. The dining table only ever had two plates set. My bedroom became a storage closet for junk, and my framed photos were tossed into the trash. The cruelest part was the financial cutoff. They refused to pay my tuition or even buy my groceries. I worked three part-time jobs just to survive, sleeping barely four hours a night. I used to tell myself it was just their grief talking. I thought the pain of losing a child had temporarily blinded them. I was wrong. Years had passed. And on the most important day of my life, they still chose to carve my heart out with their venomous words. Blinking back the burning tears, I looked up at the altar. Noah was waiting for me. We had grown up together. He was a sickly kid, constantly bullied in school, and I spent nine years being his fierce protector. The day we graduated high school, he held my hands and made a solemn vow. “You protected me for nine years, Riley. Now, I’m going to protect you for the rest of our lives.” He was my true family. Even without my parents’ blessing, I thought I still had him. Trembling with nerves and hope, I stepped up to the altar, waiting for the man I loved to slip the ring onto my finger. Instead, his hand cracked across my cheek. The slap echoed through the silent chapel. “I’ve waited years for this,” Noah hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “I’m doing this for the woman I actually love. If you weren’t such a selfish coward, she wouldn’t be out there suffering. Actions have consequences, Riley. I hate you.” My bouquet hit the marble floor. My knees buckled, and I collapsed right there in my white gown. My dream wedding was nothing but a meticulously planned humiliation. That night, he threw me out into the street. The blizzard was howling, temperatures dropping deep into the negatives. I was wearing nothing but a thin silk nightgown. Even my own parents refused to open their door when I dragged myself to their porch, pleading for shelter. With nowhere left to go, the winter claimed me. I died curled up on the frozen concrete. Then, I blinked. I was back in the suffocating darkness of the kidnappers’ van. The two men had just stepped out to grab smokes from a gas station. In my past life, my sister Lily and I used this exact window of time to whisper a plan. We pretended to be unconscious, waited for them to lower their guard, and fought our way out. I made it. But after running for miles, I realized Lily had frozen in terror and never left the van. I refused to let history repeat itself. The men climbed back in. Lily and I kept our eyes shut, playing dead. Half an hour later, they dragged us out to hand us over to a buyer. Just like last time, I let out a feral scream and launched myself forward. But this time, I didn’t run for the trees. I tackled the man holding Lily. The distraction worked. She broke free and sprinted into the woods. The trafficker was furious. He kicked me hard in the ribs. “You got a death wish, crazy bitch? Was it worth it? She didn’t even look back at you!” Blood filled my mouth, coating my teeth in a metallic tang. But I just tilted my head back and laughed. My ticket to a billionaire empire was right here. 2 On the night I was thrown out in my past life, a massive news story was broadcasting on every billboard in the city. The White family, the wealthiest dynasty in the state, had finally found their missing heir after a decade. They had offered a hundred-million-dollar bounty for his safe return. By some twisted stroke of luck, Lily had been sold to the exact same rural household where Rowan White was trapped. When people saw the news, the gossip spread like wildfire. “Can you believe that girl got sold to the same house as the White heir? Talk about a golden ticket. The Whites could make her royalty with a snap of their fingers.” “I heard the family bought luxury penthouses in every major city just hoping he’d come home.” “Hell, they said whoever brings him back practically gets the keys to the entire White empire.” Luck had landed right in Lily’s lap. But because of the trauma from his kidnapping, Rowan suffered from severe hysteria. His mind was shattered. He acted like a shell of a person. Lily despised him. She called him a r*tard, bullied him relentlessly, and beat him whenever she was frustrated. When the black SUVs finally rolled in and his true identity was revealed, Lily dropped to her knees, sobbing and begging for his forgiveness. But Rowan’s mind had cleared. He looked at her with pure disgust and threw her off him. The whole city laughed at her stupidity. “Imagine having a billionaire heir right in front of you and treating him like garbage. Bet she’s crying blood now.” “Some people are just born losers. You could hand her a diamond, and she’d throw it in the mud.” Remembering those words, I looked at the boy sitting across from me in the damp cellar. His eyes were vacant, his expression entirely hollow. I swallowed hard. This guy wasn’t just a person. He was a walking gold mine. I leaned in close, keeping my voice soft and hypnotic. “Your name is Rowan. Your real home is by the ocean. Your parents have been tearing the world apart looking for you. Listen to me, and I promise to take you home.” He muttered the word “home” under his breath, staring blankly at the dirt floor. The evening sun bled through the cracked window. Even buried under dirt and malnutrition, his sharp jawline and striking features were impossible to hide. A single ray of light caught his dark eyes. Slowly, he nodded. My heart hammered against my ribs. I started massaging his temples, working down to his neck, shoulders, and the pressure points in his feet. I wanted to soothe his frayed nervous system. I had picked up this holistic acupressure technique from an old physical therapist back in high school. The old man was a miracle worker who had helped plenty of veterans with severe PTSD. Just as I hoped, the tension melted out of Rowan’s muscles, and he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. For the next two years, Rowan and I played a dangerous game of survival. His adoptive mother was a nightmare. She bought him hoping for a son, only to realize his mind was broken. She took all her bitter resentment out on him, which was exactly why his trauma never healed in my past life. She eventually scraped enough money together to buy me, hoping I’d give her a grandson. Unfortunately for her, she bought the wrong girl. I made sure her twisted dreams never came true. As the months dragged on, her temper grew violently short. “Did I pay good money for a barren hen? You’re nothing but bad luck.” I just smirked in the shadows. Whenever she raised a hand to strike Rowan, I threw myself in front of him and took the hit. Whenever she ordered him to break his back in the fields, I snatched the tools from his hands and did the labor myself. When she starved him, I stole food from the kitchen and fed him in secret. Every single night, I gave him acupressure therapy and fed him herbal remedies I scavenged from the woods. Then, one morning, exactly two years later, Rowan sat up in bed. The fog in his eyes was gone. They were sharp, intelligent, and crystal clear. He was back. Rowan smuggled us out of that hellhole the very next night. When we walked into the towering glass lobby of the White Corporation, his identical resemblance to his father sent shockwaves through the entire board of directors. The White patriarch immediately wired an astronomical sum into my bank account and promised to fulfill any request I had. Rowan didn’t say a word to the press. Instead, he quietly transferred his entire share of the company into my name and promised me the most magnificent wedding the city had ever seen. I went from freezing in the gutters to being treated like absolute royalty. Looking into Rowan’s fiercely loyal eyes, I knew he was nothing like Noah. Wedding preparations began immediately. One afternoon, while I was at an exclusive bridal boutique trying on gowns, I heard a sickeningly familiar voice drifting from the fitting room next door. “Noah, baby, it really is destiny that we made it to the altar.” Noah chuckled, his voice thick with affection. “If Riley hadn’t been kidnapped, I might have missed out on you completely.” Lily giggled, a sweet, poisonous sound. “Then I hope she never comes back. Honestly, nobody wants to see her again anyway. Everyone’s so much happier without her.” It was almost laughable. Noah and I had been promised to each other since we were kids. I thought we were deeply in love. I had no idea they had been sneaking around behind my back for years. My kidnapping didn’t ruin Noah’s life. It just made things more convenient for him. Then, I heard my father. The man who rarely smiled let out a booming laugh. “Who cares if Riley comes back? You two are a match made in heaven. If she ever shows her face, she can just stand back and watch how happy you are.” My mother chimed in, agreeing warmly. What a perfectly happy little family. In my past life, when Lily went missing, they blamed me until the day I died. But this time? I had been kidnapped for two entire years. They didn’t put up a single missing person flyer. They didn’t ask the police a single question. We shared the same blood. How could a mother and father be so utterly, disgustingly biased? I ground my teeth together, grabbed the velvet curtain of their fitting room, and ripped it back. I stepped right into their little family reunion. Lily screamed and fell backward onto the plush carpet. My parents, who had been lounging on the velvet sofas, shot up in pure horror. Noah stood completely frozen, his eyes wide enough to fall out of his skull. Before I could even open my mouth, my mother’s shock morphed into fury. She marched forward and slapped me hard across the cheek. “You heartless wretch! If you managed to crawl back, why didn’t you call us? Do you have zero respect for this family?” Lily scrambled up, eyeing my dress with a mix of suspicion and greed. “That gown looks expensive. Did you latch onto some old sugar daddy to survive?” Noah looked slightly guilty at first, but after hearing Lily’s comment, his gaze turned judgmental. He looked me up and down with deep disappointment. “Even if I don’t love you anymore, Riley, you shouldn’t degrade yourself like this.” Lily immediately flagged down the boutique manager. She pointed at me and threw a tantrum, demanding I take the dress off so she could try it on. The manager took one look at the red handprint blooming on my cheek and looked like she was about to pass out from pure panic. But Lily was oblivious. She actually reached out and tried to yank the delicate lace off my shoulder. The manager shrieked and shoved herself between us, shielding me with her own body. “Ma’am, please step back! This gown is completely bespoke, designed specifically for Miss Riley. It is a one-of-a-kind masterpiece, and it is priceless!” Lily crossed her arms and scoffed. “Excuse me? Are you implying I can’t afford it?” Noah adjusted his cuffs, trying to look wealthy. “It’s just a dress. How much could it possibly be?” My mother looked at me with absolute disdain. “Riley, it’s just a piece of fabric. You’re the older sister. Isn’t it your job to give things up for Lily?” There it was again. Give it up. Because I was older, I had to bleed for her. In kindergarten, Lily couldn’t make friends, so my parents forced me to give her my friend group and isolate myself. In elementary school, there was a field trip I had been looking forward to for months. Lily wanted to go, so they secretly called the school and swapped my name for hers. By high school, I wore the same threadbare uniform every single day because they had given all my extra sets to her. And now, they wanted me to strip off my own wedding dress and hand it over. They wanted me to hand over my entire life to her.

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1 My fiancé Alex insisted on marrying me despite his entire family’s furious objections. I grew up counting pennies, while he was the sole heir to one of Manhattan’s wealthiest old-money empires. He used to hold my face in his hands, his eyes burning with absolute certainty, and tell me I was the only woman he would ever love. He swore he just wanted a simple life with me. Everyone in our circle told me I had hit the jackpot. They said I had found true love. I believed them. Until Alex’s birthday. I finished my business trip early and rushed back to the city, wanting to surprise him at his penthouse. Instead, I unlocked the door to find him tangled up with my best friend. Alex had Harper wrapped tightly in his arms. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his voice thick with affection. “With Judith gone, I finally get to take care of you. You have no idea how much I missed you.” Harper giggled softly, leaning into his chest. “We finally have the place to ourselves,” Alex murmured, burying his face in her neck. “You have no idea how exhausting it is putting on an act for her every single day. You owe me a massive compensation for my hard work.” … Those words carved out my insides. I stood frozen in the foyer, my lungs forgetting how to take in air. To marry me, Alex had gone to war with his family. When his mother threatened to disinherit him and groom his younger cousin for the CEO position instead, Alex didn’t even flinch. He told her I was his soulmate and he would rather be dead than live without me. Now, he was standing in our living room, calling our entire relationship an exhausting act. His Persian cat trotted over from the corner, rubbing affectionately against my ankles with a soft purr. The sound made Harper look up. She froze. My eyes drifted to her wrist. She was wearing a braided wooden bead bracelet. My fingertips went numb. Last year, Alex got into a horrific wreck while racing his sports car. Terrified of losing him, I flew to a secluded monastery in the mountains and climbed nine hundred and ninety-nine stone steps on my bleeding knees just to get that protection bracelet blessed by the monks. A month later, he apologized and said it got snagged on a door and snapped. I offered to go back and get him another one. Alex laughed it off, calling it superstitious garbage. He said he hated wearing cheap accessories anyway. Seeing me standing there, all the color drained from Harper’s face. She scrambled out of Alex’s embrace and rushed toward me, her voice trembling. “Judith, what are you doing home so early?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “I got violently ill this morning and had no one to call. I reached out to Alex because I was desperate. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to panic while you were working!” My voice came out hollow and cold. “Since when does a fever require a make-out session to diagnose?” Harper’s pale face somehow turned even whiter. “It’s not what it looks like!” “Please don’t misunderstand,” she pleaded, grabbing my sleeve. “He was just using his forehead to check my temperature because I couldn’t find a thermometer!” I looked at her, letting out a dry, bitter laugh. Did she really think I was completely brain-dead? My gaze swept across the living room and landed on the coffee table. A framed Polaroid of Alex and Harper, cheek to cheek, sat right next to the remote. Harper followed my eyes and immediately launched into another frantic excuse. “There’s this married guy at work who won’t stop harassing me! I told him I had a boyfriend, but he wouldn’t believe me. I begged Alex to take a fake couple photo with me just so I could show it to the creep at the office. I was going to tear it up tomorrow, I swear!” She started crying, huge tears rolling down her cheeks. “Judith, you have to believe me. I’m your best friend. I would never betray you.” Alex, who had been completely silent, finally walked over and pulled Harper behind him, shielding her from me. He reached for my suitcase, his face slipping effortlessly back into the gentle, loving mask I knew so well. “You always hate wearing those heels on flights. Come on, let me help you take them off and I’ll rub your feet.” He crouched down, reaching for my ankle. But the moment his fingers brushed my skin, Harper let out a tiny, wounded gasp and turned her face away. Alex’s hands froze. He immediately stood up and took two steps back. He turned to me, his tone shifting into polite detachment. “You should probably head to a hotel for the night. Harper is still really sick, and I need to drive her back to her place and make sure she’s settled.” I stared at the cold distance in his eyes and cut straight to the point. “What were you two doing just now?” Alex frowned, looking annoyed. “Harper just explained everything to you.” I smiled, though my chest felt like it was caving in. “Alex, are you both just actively insulting my intelligence right now?” The moment those words left my mouth, Harper burst into dramatic sobs. “Judith, I just felt so awful and wanted a tiny bit of comfort. I’m so sorry if I crossed a boundary. Please, I’m apologizing to you, just don’t be mad at him.” Alex’s brow furrowed, a flash of genuine heartache crossing his face as he looked at her crying. I stood in the center of the beautiful apartment we shared, overwhelmed by a bone-deep exhaustion. I had worked hundred-hour weeks, sleeping barely three hours a night, just to close my project early so I could fly back and celebrate his birthday. And my reward was finding out my entire life was a lie. I looked at Alex, my voice barely a whisper. “We’re done. Let’s break up.” Alex’s head snapped toward me, his eyes wide. “Judith, the wedding invitations are already out. You can’t just throw out a word like ‘breakup’ over a stupid misunderstanding.” I slid the custom diamond ring off my finger and shoved it into his chest. “Keep the ring.” The room fell into a suffocating silence. I didn’t waste another second looking at them. I turned on my heel and walked out the door. Alex took a step forward to chase me, but Harper suddenly let out a loud, devastated wail. “Alex, how did things get this messed up?” Alex stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around, pulling Harper tightly into his chest, whispering soft comforts into her hair. The moment I got to a hotel, I posted a brief message on my social media announcing the cancellation of the wedding and the end of our relationship. I didn’t sugarcoat the reason. Within minutes, my phone blew up. Our entire friend circle was in absolute shock. Harper obviously saw the post. My phone started vibrating endlessly with her calls and messages. “Judith, please don’t be impulsive! You can’t just cancel a wedding like this!” “Pick up the phone! I already explained everything, why won’t you just trust me?” “Take the post down right now! Do you know how bad this makes me look? What are people going to think of me?” I blocked her number without a second thought. An hour later, an unknown number called me. I picked it up, and Harper’s hysterical sobbing blasted through the speaker. “Judith, I’m on the roof of your apartment building! I’m so sorry for everything. Please, just tell me you forgive me.” She took a ragged breath. “If you don’t forgive me right now, I’m going to jump.” Through the phone, I could hear the howling of the wind. I sprinted up the stairwell of my building and pushed the heavy metal door open to the roof. Harper was standing on the very edge of the parapet, swaying dangerously over the drop. Before I could even speak, Alex burst through the stairwell doors behind me, his face pale with absolute terror. He lunged forward and physically dragged Harper away from the ledge, throwing them both onto the concrete roof. “Are you out of your damn mind?” Alex screamed, shaking her by the shoulders. “If you jumped, what the hell was I supposed to do?” Harper sobbed harder, clinging to his shirt. “I just wanted to apologize! I needed Judith to forgive me! Everyone on Instagram is calling me a homewrecker and a slut! I can’t live like this!” Alex turned his head and glared at me. His eyes were practically spitting daggers. “She is supposed to be your best friend, Judith! Are you really going to force her to kill herself over your petty jealousy?” I stared at him, finding the entire situation absolutely absurd. “What does her wanting to die have to do with me?” The second the words left my mouth, Harper violently shoved Alex away and threw herself toward the ledge again. I sidestepped, and she tumbled over the low wall. Alex screamed, his voice cracking with raw panic. He scrambled down the stairs like a madman. I had already called emergency services the second she threatened me on the phone. The fire department had inflated a massive rescue cushion on the street below. Harper was perfectly fine, aside from a few minor scratches on her arms. Alex hovered over her on the sidewalk, trembling as he checked every inch of her body for broken bones. When he finally realized she was safe, he let out a massive breath. He carefully scooped her unconscious body into his arms to carry her to his car. Before he walked away, he turned to me with a look of pure venom. “If she suffers any lasting damage from this, I swear to God I will destroy you.” I stood on the sidewalk, my heart stinging as if it had been repeatedly pierced by needles. Even though I already knew the truth about them, Alex’s blatant favoritism still felt like a physical blow. I was his fiancée, yet I meant absolutely nothing compared to her. Against my better judgment, I took a cab to the hospital. I sat alone on a plastic chair in the sterile hallway, looking at the bloody crescent-shaped scratch marks Harper’s acrylic nails had left on my wrist during her little stunt. I quietly dabbed antibiotic ointment onto my skin. Alex walked out of her room and stopped when he saw me. His eyes dropped to my bleeding wrist. His dark brows pulled together. “How did you get hurt?” He reached out to inspect the scratches, his tone softening, instantly reverting to the gentle fiancé I thought I knew. “Harper is stable. You don’t need to worry anymore.” He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “The only reason I spend so much time with her is because she’s your best friend. There is absolutely nothing romantic between us. I only took care of her today because I knew you would want me to. “Stop throwing a tantrum, Judith. The wedding is still on. You know exactly how much blood I shed fighting my family for you. I sacrificed everything to make you my wife. How could you just abandon me?” He paused, lowering his voice into a coaxing whisper. “I’ll buy you that historic brownstone in Brooklyn. The one you loved. You’ve always wanted to move your mom out of her old neighborhood, right? Consider it an apology for the misunderstanding today. I’ll put the deed entirely in your name. You know I hate seeing you upset.” I looked at him, feeling a wave of intense disgust. Did he honestly think this was about real estate? Alex continued, completely oblivious to my silence. “But I do have one condition.” “This entire mess started because of your social media post. Harper nearly died because of you. You need to go in there and give her a sincere apology. She has no family in the city. I want you to stay at the hospital and nurse her back to health. It’s the perfect opportunity for you two to clear the air. “I’m doing this for your own good, Judith. I’d hate to see you throw away a lifelong friendship over nothing.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Wow. You really are so generous. Always looking out for me.” Months ago, I told him I wanted to buy a small condo for my mom so she could retire comfortably. I planned to use my own savings and explicitly told him I didn’t want a dime of his money. But Alex had frowned, looking deeply disappointed. “Judith, my mother already thinks you’re a gold digger. If you empty your bank accounts to buy property for your mother right before the wedding, my family is going to think you’re extremely calculating, secretly securing an escape route in case we divorce.” I hadn’t wanted to make his life harder, so I abandoned the idea entirely. My mom stayed in her rundown apartment. But now, to protect Harper’s reputation, he was casually offering me a multi-million-dollar brownstone. And he had the nerve to package it as an act of love. He really did think I was an absolute idiot. I looked him dead in the eye, my voice turning to ice. “Alex, I already told you I am not marrying you. We are broken up. Do you lack basic reading comprehension?” “If you care about her so much, you stay here and play nurse. Why the hell should I be her unpaid maid? And I will rot in hell before I apologize to her.” Alex’s patience finally snapped. His face darkened with irritation. “Stop being so incredibly ungrateful.” “She threw herself off a building to prove her innocence! She almost lost her life! She values your friendship so much, and you’re acting like a cold-blooded sociopath. You deliberately dragged her name through the mud, making the whole world think she’s some home-wrecking slut, and you think you don’t owe her an apology?” I stared right through him. “I don’t owe her a damn thing.” “You two created this mess. You want to talk about innocence? If she isn’t the other woman, why were your lips on her face?” Realizing his gaslighting wasn’t working, Alex’s jaw clenched in fury. “I won’t let you do this for free. I will write you a blank check. Name your price. Just go online, tell everyone you made the whole thing up, and clear her name. I will give you anything you want.” Without a word, I unscrewed the cap of the iodine bottle in my hand and splashed the dark brown liquid straight across his pristine designer shirt. I turned and walked away. I should have seen the red flags years ago. I was just too blind and stupid, letting myself get played for a fool. Alex cared about Harper’s tears more than he ever cared about my heart. Behind me, Alex shouted, his voice echoing down the hall. “You are going to regret this, Judith!” I walked back to my apartment, standing alone by the window, watching the city lights flicker below. I remembered the very first time I met Alex. I was grabbing coffee near my office building. He bumped into me, spilling my iced latte all over my silk blouse. He immediately asked for my number to pay for the dry cleaning and insisted on taking me to dinner to apologize. I told him not to worry about it. The next day, he was standing in the lobby of my building with a massive bouquet of imported roses. He looked at me with that charming, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Judith. I actually bumped into you on purpose. I’m just a little clueless when it comes to dating, and I couldn’t think of any other excuse to talk to you.” Looking at his handsome face, my foolish heart had skipped a beat. Alex didn’t know this, but I had recognized him instantly. He was the golden boy of my university, two years above me. I had harbored a massive crush on him back in college. I thought the universe was finally giving me a miracle. We started dating. Everything felt like a dream. A few months later, Harper practically dragged me to a bar, grinning mischievously. “Judith, there’s this amazing guy in my social circle I need you to meet.” When she introduced Alex, I was shocked, but thrilled. I thought it was destiny that my boyfriend was already friends with my best friend. Looking back now, the breadcrumbs were everywhere. The next afternoon, I went back to the hospital to pick up a prescription for my mother. As I passed the emergency stairwell, a familiar voice caught my attention. It was Harper. “Alex, Judith already knows about us. What are we going to do? Is she still going to marry you?” “If she calls off the wedding, what happens to us?” Alex’s voice was low and steady. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she goes through with it.” “Judith is naïve. I’ll just throw some money at her, say a few sweet things, and she’ll fall back in line.” Harper sniffled, a hint of desperate hope in her voice. “Why don’t you just let her go? We can get married right now. I don’t care what your family thinks, I’m not afraid of them as long as I have you.” Alex shot the idea down immediately. “No. I need to marry Judith first. My mother is a vicious elitist. She will never accept a girl without a massive trust fund. I need to let her take all her rage and hatred out on Judith.” “Once my mother has tortured Judith for a few years and gotten it out of her system, I’ll file for divorce. By the time I bring you home as my second wife, my mother will be too exhausted to put up a fight.” “I refuse to let my mother treat you like trash. I need Judith to absorb all the damage. It’s the only way to guarantee you’ll have an easy, peaceful life in my family.” I stood frozen in the hallway, the blood in my veins turning to ice. So this was the grand master plan. Through the crack in the door, I watched Harper stand on her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. She let out a breathy sigh. “You’re so good to me, Alex. You really planned out our entire future.” Alex wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly it looked like he wanted to merge their souls. They stayed tangled together for a long time. Finally, Alex pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes with burning intensity. “You know I love you, Harper. Everything I do with Judith is just a performance. Every move I make is to protect you.” I stood in the sterile white hallway, and a sudden, sharp laugh clawed its way out of my throat. Alex’s head snapped toward the door. He saw me standing there. All the blood vanished from his face. “Judith.” I gripped the plastic pharmacy bag in my hand, turned my back on them, and walked away.

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I wrapped up my corporate project in London early and flew straight back to the States. I didn’t tell a soul. I originally planned to swing by my little sister’s private high school to pick her up and give her a massive surprise. But the second I walked up to the back doors of the school auditorium, I overheard a group of girls laughing viciously. “Ann is completely shameless. Her mom is literally just a maid sponsored by the Frost family, and she walks around acting like she is some elite heiress.” “I know, right? Chloe Frost is way too nice. Her family literally feeds and houses Ann, and she doesn’t even have the decency to be grateful.” “I heard Ann even tried to steal Chloe’s spot for the state academic decathlon. Poor kids are always so manipulative.” My blood ran cold. Ann is my biological sister. Chloe is the daughter of our family’s live in housekeeper. But somehow, the entire prep school was under the absolute delusion that Chloe was the Frost family’s second daughter, and that my actual sister was a charity case. I pulled out my phone and dialed my lead corporate attorney in New York. “I need you to launch a full background investigation.” “I want to know exactly who stole my little sister’s identity while I was out of the country, and how long they have been getting away with it.” 1 I stared down at the text message my sister had sent me two hours ago. “Hey Molly, my school is hosting a charity symposium today. I’m going to be speaking on stage as a student volunteer!” I tapped the privacy glass dividing the luxury SUV. “Change of plans. Take me to St. Jude’s Preparatory Academy.” St. Jude’s was the most exclusive, astronomically expensive private high school in the state. When our parents originally enrolled Ann there, they specifically requested a strict privacy protocol. Only the Headmaster and the Board of Directors had access to her actual family background. My dad always said, “Children shouldn’t be defined by their family’s net worth.” My mom agreed. “It is better to keep a low profile. It is safer that way.” The symposium had just wrapped up, and students were filtering out of the auditorium in small groups. A few girls were gossiping near the exit. “Did you see the way Ann stood on stage today? I swear, she actually thinks she is a Frost.” “How could she possibly be a Frost? Chloe already told us. Ann’s mom used to be a maid for the Frost family. The Frosts just felt bad for her, so they sponsored her tuition.” “Chloe is honestly an angel. If a parasite like that lived in my house, my parents would have kicked her to the curb years ago.” Another girl let out a mocking scoff. “And did you see her outfit? So plain and boring. Who is she trying to impress with that ‘innocent poor girl’ aesthetic? If it wasn’t for the Frost family’s charity, she would never even step foot in St. Jude’s.” Just then, a girl wearing a pristine white designer blazer walked out of the auditorium doors. Someone immediately handed her a customized iced latte. “Chloe, your speech was absolutely amazing today!” Chloe offered a soft, demure smile. “Oh, stop. I didn’t do anything special. I was just speaking on behalf of my family’s foundation.” “You are way too humble! The Frost family is famous for their philanthropy. No wonder you are so classy.” Chloe lowered her eyelashes, her voice dripping with manufactured sweetness. “Please don’t say things like that. If Ann hears you, she will just get upset again.” The expressions on the surrounding girls’ faces instantly turned hostile. “Why the hell would she be upset? Your family basically pays for her entire life.” “Seriously. She always gives you such a nasty attitude.” “Chloe, you are way too soft. You let people walk all over you.” Chloe. The daughter of our housekeeper, Martha. When Chloe was little, she lived with Martha in the staff quarters attached to the Frost estate. My sister, Ann, always had a heart of gold. Whenever she got something new, she would immediately share half of it with Chloe. I distinctly remembered the day Chloe first arrived at the estate. She hid timidly behind Martha’s apron, looking up at me with wide eyes, softly calling me “Molly.” I finally spotted Ann. She was walking out of a side exit, her head completely lowered, looking incredibly small. I didn’t immediately walk over to her. If Ann saw me right now, she would panic. Her biggest fear in the world was causing trouble for our family. I turned on my heel, walked to the end of the corridor, and stopped a guy who was walking by himself. “Excuse me, do you have a second? I’m visiting from another school. I overheard some people talking about the Frost Foundation. Is that Chloe Frost’s family?” The guy gave me a quick once over. Seeing that I didn’t look like a strict teacher or an angry parent, he relaxed his shoulders. “Yeah, exactly. She’s the youngest daughter of the Frost family.” I offered a polite smile. “Are you absolutely sure about that?” “Duh. It’s not exactly a secret.” He pointed out the window toward the VIP pickup lane. “A massive Frost family SUV drops her off every morning. Her Instagram is flooded with pictures inside the Frost mega mansion. Catered galas, private chauffeurs, estate managers… she has it all.” He paused, lowering his voice like he was sharing an inside secret. “But honestly, she is super low key about it. She never explicitly brags. Whenever people call her the Frost heiress, she just blushes and tells us to stop making a big deal out of it.” “What about Ann?” I asked smoothly. The guy’s expression instantly soured. “Oh, her? Word is Chloe’s family sponsors her tuition. Chloe is a saint; she practically babysits her. But Ann is incredibly toxic. She always walks around with a massive chip on her shoulder, acting like everyone owes her something.” When I got back into the luxury SUV, I immediately dialed my executive assistant in New York. “I need a complete digital forensics sweep on a girl named Chloe. I want the last three years of her social media archives, every IP address linked to anonymous posts on the St. Jude’s student forum, the GPS logs for the family vehicles, and the security access logs for her mother, our housekeeper Martha.” My assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Ms. Frost, has something happened?” I stared out the tinted window of the SUV. Heavy raindrops began sliding down the glass. Near the auditorium doors, Ann was standing entirely alone, holding a cheap umbrella. Meanwhile, Chloe was surrounded by a massive entourage of admiring students as she climbed into the back of a pristine Frost family SUV. That specific SUV was originally dispatched today to pick up my sister. My voice dropped to absolute zero. “No, nothing happened.” “Someone just decided they don’t want to live anymore.” 2 Chloe was incredibly manipulative. She never made absolute, verifiable statements. She took our family SUV to school. When classmates asked, “Is that your family’s car?” She would smile warmly and say, “The driver just happened to be heading this way today.” Everyone immediately assumed that meant the driver worked for her family. She wore a vintage cashmere coat that Ann had given her out of pity. She would casually adjust the designer cuffs in front of her friends. “My mom is always complaining about how messy my walk in closet is. She keeps threatening to donate my clothes if I don’t wear them.” She posted a selfie inside the massive Frost estate greenhouse. The caption read: “Mom is yelling at me to come inside for dinner.” In the corner of the photo, she deliberately captured a sliver of the dining room’s antique crystal chandelier. That specific chandelier was a one of a kind piece my mother won at an exclusive auction in Milan. She attended the annual Frost Corporate Charity Gala. In reality, she was only allowed in the building because she followed Martha and the catering staff through the service entrance. Yet, she managed to sneak into the main ballroom and snap a photo. In the background of the shot, you could clearly see the back of my father’s head as he spoke with the Board of Directors. The caption read: “Forced to listen to boring adult business talk again.” The next morning, my assistant emailed me a massive encrypted dossier. Sitting in the study of my luxury hotel suite, I scrolled through the pages, my blood pressure spiking with every click. On the St. Jude’s anonymous student forum, there was a burner account that had been posting consistently since freshman year. “Is it just me, or does a certain ‘sponsored’ charity case act incredibly entitled?” “Imagine living in the guest quarters of your benefactor’s estate and actually thinking you own the place.” “Let’s expose the girl who uses someone else’s money to get into St. Jude’s, and then treats her actual sponsor like trash.” The posts never explicitly named Ann. But they always included subtle, cropped photos of Ann’s silhouette, her backpack, or her assigned desk. In the comments, people constantly asked if the posts were about Ann. The original poster would reply: “I never named names. If the shoe fits, wear it.” The IP address and the recovery phone number linked to that burner account matched Chloe’s personal cell phone perfectly. Then came the screenshots from the class group chats. A student had texted: “Chloe, why does your family even sponsor Ann? She acts like she completely despises you.” Chloe had replied with a sad, teary eyed emoji. “Please don’t say that guys. Ann isn’t a bad person, she is just a little insecure.” “She grew up around us, so she probably just really wants to fit in and feel like she belongs.” “My mom always tells me I need to be the bigger person and let her have her way.” I scrolled to the very end of the dossier and found the academic decathlon records. Last year, during the National Bio Modeling Competition, Ann had spent three grueling months compiling an incredibly detailed binder of study notes. Out of the goodness of her heart, she let Chloe photocopy them. A week later, Chloe stood at the front of the classroom, using those exact notes to explain complex bio models to the rest of the class. The students praised her for being a genius. She just laughed softly. “It’s nothing, really. Ann struggles with the foundational stuff, so I tutor her all the time. I just threw these notes together to help her out.” That year, Ann scored the absolute highest in the school’s preliminary rounds. But the school’s sole recommendation slot for the state finals was given to Chloe. The official reasoning on the school’s document was: “Demonstrates superior peer leadership and serves as a better holistic representative of the Academy.” I stared at that specific line of text until my eyes burned. Then, I picked up my phone and dialed the head of the science department. “Who is speaking?” “Hello, I am Ann’s older sister. I’m calling to get a better understanding of her academic standing and overall situation at the school.” The teacher paused for a long moment. “Ah, Ann. Well, her grades are certainly impressive, but her personality is quite… difficult. She is incredibly withdrawn. We have been trying to counsel her, to teach her the value of gratitude. She really needs to stop aggressively competing with Chloe.” I let out a dark, humorless laugh. “Competing?” “Exactly,” the teacher sighed heavily. “Chloe’s family has provided Ann with so many unbelievable opportunities, but Ann completely lacks self awareness. Whether it comes to academic decathlons or extracurricular resources, Ann always acts like she is entitled to the absolute best.” “And why exactly shouldn’t she be?” The teacher was visibly stunned by my tone. “That is not what I meant. It is just that given her… specific socioeconomic background, the administration prefers she maintains a lower, more stable profile. Chloe, on the other hand, is…” She caught herself and stopped talking. I finished the sentence for her. “She fits your stereotype of a Frost heiress much better, doesn’t she?” Dead silence on the other end of the line. I hung up the phone. Half an hour later, I drove to Ann’s off campus apartment. To spare her the exhaustion of commuting from the main estate, my parents had purchased a luxury condo near the school. On paper, it was registered under the Frost Foundation’s real estate portfolio. It was another layer of privacy protection. But according to the vicious rumors spreading through the school, it was “the charity housing the Frost family provided for the maid’s daughter.” The second the door unlocked, Ann froze in the entryway. “Molly?” Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. But almost immediately, sheer panic washed over her face. She frantically looked past my shoulder into the hallway. “Why are you back? Do Mom and Dad know? Did you go to the school? Did anyone see you?” My heart completely shattered. I stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. “Ann, look at me. Tell me exactly what you are so terrified of.” Her entire body went rigid. It took her a long time to whisper, “I’m not terrified.” I pulled back slightly, locking my eyes onto hers. “Then look me in the eye and explain why Chloe is taking our family’s SUV to school.” The color violently drained from her face. “Molly…” “Explain why she stole your spot in the academic decathlon.” “Explain why the entire school thinks you are the maid’s daughter.” Her lips trembled violently, and the tears finally spilled over. “I tried to explain,” she choked out. “But nobody believed me.” 3 Ann’s explanation was a chaotic, heartbroken mess. When they both enrolled as freshmen, Ann and Chloe actually commuted to school together. At that point, Martha had been working as a housekeeper for the Frost family for over a decade. My mother, appreciating Martha’s loyalty and feeling sympathetic that she was raising a daughter as a single mom, arranged for Chloe to attend St. Jude’s under a Frost Foundation scholarship. The Frost family covered her tuition, uniforms, textbooks, and all associated fees. In the beginning, Ann was genuinely thrilled. She thought having someone she knew at the intimidating prep school would mean she wouldn’t have to face it alone. Eventually, classmates started asking how they knew each other. Before Ann could even open her mouth, Chloe jumped in with a bright smile. “We grew up together! We are practically family.” Technically, the statement wasn’t a lie. But it allowed the listeners’ imaginations to fill in the blanks. The very first time a classmate referred to Chloe as “the Frost heiress,” Chloe didn’t correct them. She just acted incredibly bashful and whispered, “Please don’t call me that out loud, it will make Ann feel super awkward.” From that moment on, Ann became the awkward burden. Whenever Ann tried to clarify the situation, Chloe would grab her hand in front of everyone, her eyes immediately welling up with tears. “Ann, are you mad that I got into St. Jude’s with you? I know you hate it when people compare us.” The surrounding classmates would instantly rush to defend Chloe. “Ann, you are being completely psycho right now.” “Chloe literally didn’t even say anything bad about you.” “She goes out of her way to take care of you, and this is how you treat her?” Ann tried to fight back a few times. But every single time, Chloe weaponized her tears. Over time, the entire student body became absolutely convinced that Ann was a jealous, bitter, manipulative parasite who couldn’t stand seeing her benefactor succeed. When Ann finished the story, I only asked her one question. “Why didn’t you call me?” Ann stared at the floor. “You were overseas managing the Foundation’s international expansion, and Mom and Dad were drowning in a massive corporate merger. I honestly thought it was just a stupid high school misunderstanding that would eventually blow over.” “And then what happened?” Her fingers twisted into her shirt fabric. “Then… Martha came to talk to me.” Martha had specifically come to the condo to drop off some homemade soup. She sat on the expensive leather sofa, letting out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Ann, sweetheart, I know you feel wronged. But please try to understand how hard this is for Chloe. She grew up without a father. She has always felt so inferior. Now that everyone mistakenly thinks she is part of the Frost family, it is the very first time in her entire life she feels respected.” Ann had replied, “But they are actively bullying me.” Martha grabbed Ann’s hands, her eyes pleading. “You have always been the sweetest, most understanding girl. You have a father, a mother, and an older sister who worship the ground you walk on. What does Chloe have? Absolutely nothing. She is just borrowing a tiny sliver of your light. It’s not like she is actually stealing anything from you.” Ann went silent. Martha pushed harder. “Besides, your parents specifically told you to keep a low profile. If you blow this out of proportion and cause a massive scandal, aren’t you just creating a huge headache for Mr. and Mrs. Frost?” Ann’s ultimate weakness was her desperate fear of being a burden to our family. So, she swallowed the humiliation and stayed silent. Listening to this, a suffocating rage built in my chest. Ann’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Molly, am I just completely pathetic?” I reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “The only pathetic person in this room is me.” If I had just bothered to ask her how things were going. If I hadn’t blindly believed that forced anonymity was the ultimate form of protection. My sister wouldn’t have been drowning in this toxic nightmare all by herself for three years. That night, I drove straight back to the main Frost estate. Martha wasn’t in the main house. She had been demoted last year to manage the storage logistics for the outer estate properties, but her security clearance hadn’t been fully revoked yet. I ordered the estate manager to pull the comprehensive security and vehicle logs from the last three years. The manager’s face turned completely ashen as he scrolled through the data. “Ms. Frost, this is entirely my negligence.” I didn’t yell at him. He wasn’t the only one who had been negligent. The Frost family had grown too comfortable treating Martha like a trusted, loyal retainer. And sometimes, treating someone like family is the exact mistake that invites a parasite into your home. At 1:00 AM, my assistant forwarded me a fresh batch of intel. Chloe had just posted a new update on her social media. It was a selfie of her sitting perfectly in the front row of the St. Jude’s auditorium. The caption read: “True kindness should always be cherished. See you all at the symposium.” Someone commented below: “Chloe, are you going to be speaking on stage for the Foundation’s open house day?!” She replied: “I am just doing what is expected of me.” I stared at the screen, a dark, freezing smile forming on my lips. She had absolutely no idea. When the Foundation’s open house day arrived, I was going to hand her the ultimate gift. 4 The next morning, I personally called the Headmaster of St. Jude’s. “Headmaster Davis, this is Molly Frost.” There was a noticeable pause on the other end before his voice shifted into a tone of exaggerated warmth. “Ms. Frost! It is an absolute honor. Have you returned from London?” “Just got back.” I cut straight to the chase. “I am aware that St. Jude’s is hosting its annual Foundation Open House next week. I would like to integrate the Frost Global Education Foundation’s core presentation into your main event. I require the attendance of the entire student body and faculty. My keynote will focus on educational equity and the ethical boundaries of corporate sponsorships.” The Headmaster agreed instantly. I casually added one final detail. “I will be announcing a new tier of scholarship recipients, as well as conducting a comprehensive public review of our past sponsorship case studies.” Headmaster Davis laughed heartily. “Excellent! That will be a phenomenal educational experience for our student body.” After hanging up, I instructed my corporate legal team to contact the school’s administration to authorize a partial release of classified records. Ann’s identity was to be declassified solely regarding her immediate family lineage. Her specific security details remained strictly classified. Chloe’s scholarship records, however, were fully declassified for public review. When Chloe initially enrolled, she signed a legally binding Frost Foundation scholarship contract. Buried in the fine print was a specific clause: “The Recipient is strictly prohibited from fraudulently assuming the identity of the Benefactor for personal gain, and shall not propagate defamatory or fabricated information detrimental to the Benefactor or their affiliates.” At the time, it was just standard legal boilerplate. Now, it was the exact weapon I needed. That afternoon, Martha showed up at my hotel suite. She stood nervously in the entryway, clutching an insulated thermos, wearing her trademark submissive, motherly smile. “Miss Molly, why didn’t you tell anyone you were coming back? I rushed over to bring you your favorite homemade soup.” I remained seated on the velvet sofa, entirely unmoving. “Martha, your intel network is surprisingly efficient.” Her smile faltered slightly. “Everyone at the estate is just so thrilled you are home.” I locked eyes with her. “How is Chloe doing at St. Jude’s?” Her eyes darted nervously to the side. “Oh, she is doing wonderfully. It is all thanks to the Frost family’s incredible generosity. Without you, we would be nothing.” “Is that right?” I tossed my phone onto the glass coffee table. The screen was locked on the screenshot of Chloe’s latest social media post. Seeing the photo, the color drained slightly from Martha’s face. I asked, “Were you aware that the entire student body believes Chloe is the youngest daughter of the Frost family?” Martha immediately deployed a heavy sigh. “Miss Molly, I swear I have scolded her about this. But you know how teenagers are… she just wanted to feel a little special. Besides, she never explicitly claimed to be a Frost. It was just a silly misunderstanding by her classmates.” “And the fact that Ann is being violently bullied and labeled as a maid’s daughter? Is that also just a silly misunderstanding?” She went completely silent. After a long pause, she murmured, “Ann has always been so soft spoken. She doesn’t like conflict. In a few years, when they all graduate, everyone will forget this ever happened anyway.” I let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “So your brilliant solution was to force my sister to endure psychological torture until graduation?” Martha’s eyes instantly filled with crocodile tears. “Miss Molly, I have broken my back working for the Frost family for over a decade. I have bled for this family. Chloe doesn’t have a father. She just desperately wanted a tiny shred of respect. Your family literally has the world in the palm of your hands. Would it really kill you to share just a tiny bit of your status with her?” I stood up slowly. “Respect isn’t something you can borrow.” “And if you steal it, you’re just a thief.” Her face turned ashen white. I closed the distance between us, standing inches from her face. “Martha, I am giving you exactly one opportunity. Before 9:00 AM tomorrow, you will ensure that Chloe issues a public retraction and a formal apology to Ann. She will return every single item she stole. She will delete every single defamatory post she manufactured.” Martha bit her lip hard. “Miss Molly, is this really necessary? She is just a child…” “She is three months older than Ann.” Martha choked on her words. I continued, my voice lethal. “And don’t bother trying to cover for her. I have the IP logs for her burner accounts, the GPS routing for the vehicles, and the security footage of you abusing your storage clearance.” The thermos in her hands shook violently, spilling hot soup onto the expensive carpet. “Miss Molly…” “9:00 AM tomorrow.” I turned my back to her. “Not a second later.” Martha didn’t agree. Thirty minutes after she left my suite, Chloe uploaded a brand new post. “Some people are born with the entire world handed to them, yet they will ruthlessly destroy anyone who dares to step into the light.” The photo attached was a pitch black square. The comments flooded in, filled with aggressive sympathy. “Chloe, don’t let them break you!” “Is that psychopath trying to ruin your life again?” “She is absolutely repulsive. Your family gives her everything, and she treats you like garbage.” I took high resolution screenshots of everything and forwarded them straight to my legal team. “Add this to the litigation packet.” The lead attorney replied instantly: “Confirmed.” Some people will never learn until the absolute final second, genuinely believing their pathetic tears are an impenetrable shield. Then I was going to shatter that delusion. When faced with ironclad evidence, tears don’t make you look like a victim. They make you look like a clown.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “599302”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Ever since I was little, I loved taking things apart. The best part? I could put them back together like nothing ever happened. After graduation, I was broke. Armed with this odd little talent, I landed a high-paying job as a live-in caregiver. Word on the street was my employer was paralyzed from the waist down, deeply brooding, and had already driven away seven previous caregivers. Since he and I were around the same age, his mother decided to give me a shot. Before I went into his room, she kept warning me, “Sweetheart, keep your head down, speak less, observe less, and just focus on your work.” I nodded. But just as I reached the door, I heard the deadbolt click from the inside. Her face drained of color. She started pounding on the door in panic. “Sebastian, open the door! Don’t scare Mom like this!” The butler fumbled with the spare key for ages, but the lock wouldn’t budge. As everyone spiraled into chaos around me, I pulled a bobby pin from my hair. “Um… do you mind if I give it a try?” The second the door swung open, my breath hitched in my throat. The golden boy I used to harbor a secret crush on back in high school was sitting right there in a wheelchair. When our eyes met, he froze too. Then his face turned stone cold. “Get out.” 1 My dad was a legend in our neighborhood, known far and wide as the appliance whisperer. He could fix anything, except broken hearts. I grew up as his little apprentice. While other kids were taking piano lessons, I was taking apart rice cookers. Dad always felt guilty about it, wishing he had the money to send me to fancy extracurriculars. But I genuinely had a knack for fixing things. Anything that ended up in my hands, if it could be taken apart, I could repair it. Disassembling stuff built my physical strength, and fixing it sharpened my mind. I loved figuring things out, turning junk into something useful, and making useful things even better. Other parents prayed for their kids to become doctors or lawyers. My dad? He just prayed to God every single day that whatever I broke today was a small trinket, not something he couldn’t afford to replace. When I graduated from college, my classmates all headed off to big tech firms or major metropolis centers. Dad hoped I would chase those big city dreams too. Every time we video-called, he looked like he wanted to say something, then held back. I knew he missed me, but he was afraid of holding me back. So on graduation day, I packed my bags and hopped on the first train home. The moment I arrived, I caught a group of local thugs making trouble at our shop. Growing up, I had seen this scenario a million times. Dad was insanely skilled, but he charged next to nothing. Dishonest vendors who sold cheap appliances couldn’t make sales, so they dumped all their frustration on our shop. Back then, they were cowardly, smashing our windows in the middle of the night. Dad was gentle and timid, but I was not. Even as a kid, I would march out the next morning swinging a plastic toy staff, demanding justice. To make sure I didn’t hit the wrong person, I ended up beating up every notorious young delinquent on our block. As soon as I stepped inside the shop today, one of those grown-up delinquents had his dirty boot slammed right on my dad’s workbench. “Old man, just accept it,” he sneered. “Sign the agreement early, it’s better for everyone.” I marched over and slapped the back of three thugs’ heads in one swift motion. The impact rattled my own palm. “What the hell! Who…” The guy spun around, eyes widening in terror. “Sum… Summer! You’re back!” Only then did I notice the contract on the bench. It was a shop transfer agreement. The thugs were trembling, almost falling to their knees in fear. “Summer, please, help us convince your dad! The manufacturer said if he just hands over the shop, they’ll cover the victim’s medical bills!” Victim? Compensation? My brows pulled together in a tight scowl. That was when I learned those greedy bastards had set a trap for my dad. They hired a scumbag to pull a scam, claiming the kettle coupler my dad replaced was defective. They said it sparked the moment it was plugged in, scaring an elderly relative so badly she ended up in the hospital. The other side came prepared with forged evidence and a slick lawyer, demanding forty thousand dollars in compensation. If we couldn’t pay, we had to surrender the shop to them for free. My dad wasn’t just fixing appliances all his life, he was maintaining his integrity. He barely made a dollar or two on repairs, and after raising me, he had virtually no savings. With the old lady still lying in the hospital, Dad felt trapped into paying, but there was no way he could satisfy their outrageous extortion. Afraid of burdening me, he hadn’t uttered a single word, bearing the crushing weight all by himself. I knew how much this shop meant to him, how hard he fought to keep his conscience clean. I yanked open the shop’s front door and pointed at the thugs. “Get the hell out. I will figure out the money.” “If any of you dare to come back and cause trouble, I won’t just slap you, I’ll drag you out in pieces!” 2 Dad was consumed by guilt. The man who used to smile so warmly in my memories now looked completely broken. He felt his stubborn honesty had dragged me into this mess. When a parent faces the storm, if their child doesn’t stand beside them, who will? I patted his shoulder, forcing a bright smile. “It’s fine, Pop. Trust me, every dark tunnel has an exit.” Later, sitting outside the shop sucking on a Popsicle, panic finally began to set in. Forty grand. Where in the world was a fresh graduate supposed to get forty thousand dollars? Was a sugar daddy going to magically fall from the sky and hand me a briefcase full of cash? Sighing, I scrolled through a job hunting app. My finger paused on an opening right here in the city: Live-in Caregiver. Ten thousand dollars a month. I almost dropped my Popsicle. Good lord. The magic briefcase really just dropped into my lap. It wasn’t until I arrived at the estate that I realized high pay always comes with a catch. The young master had been in a horrific car accident a few years ago. Ever since, he had become deeply withdrawn and aggressive, driving away seven caregivers in a row. Seeing that I was around his age, his mother, Mrs. Bennett, agreed to give me a shot. Before taking me to his bedroom, she reminded me repeatedly, “Sweetheart, don’t stare at his legs. Speak less, observe less, and just do your job.” I nodded. But the moment we stepped up to his door, I heard the deadbolt lock from the inside. Mrs. Bennett panicked, terrified he might do something drastic. She pounded on the door frantically. “Sebastian! Sebastian, open the door! Don’t scare Mom like this!” The butler fumbled with the master key for minutes, but it wouldn’t open. With everyone running around like headless chickens, I pulled out my hairpin. “Um… let me give it a try?” The fastest locksmith would take at least half an hour. Desperate times called for desperate measures, so they scrambled out of my way. Picking a bedroom lock was child’s play for me. I slipped the hairpin into the keyhole, gave it a quick twist, and clicked the mechanism open. I pushed the door open, and the second I saw the man inside, my breath caught in my throat. A face I knew all too well was trapped in that wheelchair. His spine was straight, desperately clinging to the last shreds of his dignity. But his head was lowered, those once-dazzling eyes hollow and devoid of life, filled only with a quiet, bleak despair. My feet felt glued to the floor. I stared at him, my mind spinning in utter disbelief. He was the golden boy I secretly loved back in high school. Brilliant, wealthy, and impossibly kind. Sebastian froze when he saw me. I knew he didn’t remember me. He was simply shocked that someone had picked his lock so fast. His pale, strikingly handsome face instantly turned cold. Across all those years of distance and memory, his voice sounded unfamiliar now. I heard him speak. “Get out.” 3 The people behind me surged into the bedroom. Sebastian realized what they were about to do, his pupils dilating in sudden horror. Before he could even fight back, the staff expertly unfastened the restraint straps on his wheelchair armrests and bound his wrists tight. His feet were secured the exact same way. He let out a desperate, gut-wrenching howl like a trapped beast. “Mom! Stop this! Just let me go, please… let me end it!” Someone injected a sedative into his arm. Mrs. Bennett’s eyes brimmed with tears. She gently caressed her son’s reddened wrists, though her gaze remained resolute. “Sebastian, don’t hate Mom… I just can’t bear the thought of losing you.” The drug took effect rapidly. His eyes went blank, a single tear slipping down his cheek before he lost consciousness. In the formal living room, Mrs. Bennett slid an envelope full of cash across the table with her left hand and a contract with her right. “Summer, I am very impressed with you. If you’re willing to stay, I will raise the salary to twenty thousand a month.” “As you can see, Sebastian’s physical disability is nothing compared to his psychological trauma.” “He keeps trying to end his life. I had to beg him to stay with me for just another six months. If he’s still in this much agony by then… I’ll let him go.” Her voice cracked with a sob. “Summer, if you don’t want to take the job, I’ll pay you for two weeks right now as a thank you for saving his life today.” Only six months left to live? Without a second thought, I pushed the cash envelope back, grabbed the pen, and signed my name on the contract. The moment I finished signing, regret hit me. You acted way too impulsively, Summer! You didn’t even read the contract! It’s not like you still have feelings for him after all these years… Right? No way. Absolutely not. I sat there shaking my head violently, chanting in my mind: I’m doing this for twenty grand a month! Twenty grand a month! At this rate, I only need to work four months to pay off my dad’s debt. Yeah, that’s it! I muttered under my breath, “I’m strictly in it for myself. I’m out of here in four months.” Mrs. Bennett couldn’t hear what I mumbled. Tears spilled over again as she grasped my hand, sobbing uncontrollably. “Thank you, Summer. Thank you so much!” 4 The family doctor said the dosage given to Sebastian would only keep him asleep for two hours. Timing it carefully, I went up to his room right before he was due to wake up. On his nightstand sat a strange custom calendar. I flipped through it. The pages only went up to December twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve. I remembered what Mrs. Bennett said about promising him six months. So… his deadline was Christmas Eve. Sebastian lay on the bed with his eyes closed, his face pale from a long absence of sunlight. Yet that face was still sharp and devastatingly handsome, just as I remembered. The boyish softness was gone, replaced by a refined, mature edge around his brow and eyes. He was terribly thin, though, so thin it made my heart ache. I was lost in thought when I noticed his brows pulling together. Fine beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead, his breathing growing ragged as if caught in a terrible nightmare. I quickly went into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and ran it under warm water. The moment my fingertips touched his skin, his hand shot up and clamped around my wrist. I flinched, looking down. Sebastian had opened his eyes. They were bloodshot, pupils unfocused, completely detached from reality. His grip was impossibly strong, squeezing my wrist until it throbbed with pain. I nearly swore out loud. Damn it, I’m going to end up in the ER before I even see my first paycheck! When I used to have night terrors as a kid, my dad would hold my hand tight and whisper over and over that he was there, that I didn’t need to be afraid. Sighing, I imitated my dad, calling out softly. “Sebastian?” He didn’t respond, just clutched my hand like a lifeline. His upper body curled inward instinctively, but his lower body wouldn’t obey, causing him even greater distress. I hesitated for a moment, then reached my free hand under his blanket, gently supporting his waist to turn him onto his side. “Sebastian, it’s okay. I’m here. Don’t be scared.” Whether it was the curled posture or the soothing words, his rapid breathing gradually leveled out. Yet he never let go of my wrist. When his eyes fluttered open again, clarity slowly returned to his gaze. His eyes tracked down to our locked hands. As if scorched by fire, he snapped his hand back. I quickly pulled back my numb wrist, secretly shaking it out. His voice was raspier than before. “Who allowed you to touch me?” I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Honest to God, you were the one holding on for dear life.” His expression darkened. He hit a button by the headboard. “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?” Before I could answer, a knock sounded at the door. The butler stood at the threshold, out of breath. “Young Master, you’re awake…” So that button was a panic alarm to call staff. I frowned. They came fast. They weren’t going to install one of those for me to be on call twenty-four seven, were they? High pay really does come with high stress! “Young Master, this is Miss Summer, the new live-in caregiver hired by Madam.” “She will be looking after your daily needs from now on.” Sebastian refused to cooperate. “I don’t need her. Tell her to leave.” The butler looked caught in an awkward position, his eyes darting between Sebastian and me. If he didn’t tell me to leave, he’d offend the young master. If he told me to leave, he’d offend the mistress. I put on a casual front. “It’s fine. Even if I step out, I can always get back in.” Sebastian glared at me, his tone dropping several degrees colder. “What do you mean by that?” “Literally what I said. Picking this bedroom lock is a walk in the park for me.” Realization dawned on him. I was the one who picked his lock this morning. “Ha. People with far more experience than you couldn’t last two weeks here. You’ll quit within a week.” I grinned. “Well, that leaves us with a whole week, doesn’t it?” “You!” The butler couldn’t suppress a slight smile. He glanced back and forth between us, settling his gaze on me. “Miss Summer, I’ll leave it to you to bring the Young Master down for lunch. I’ll head down to the dining room to set up.” 5 Sebastian was stubbornly uncooperative. He loathed my touch, shifting his own body into the wheelchair with sheer willpower. When the chair moved forward, I assumed he was heading out for lunch. Instead, he rolled over to the bay window and froze. He sat there like a melancholy statue. I leaned against the glass and looked out. Nothing special, just a bed of half-withered flowers sweltering in the sun. “Sebastian, let’s go eat.” He didn’t even glance at me, completely ignoring my presence. I crouched down beside his wheelchair, inspecting the restraint straps installed on the armrests and footrests. A heavy, intense glare bore down on me from above. “Summer?” “Summer, what do you think you’re doing?” Seeing my hands touch the straps, his voice turned sharp and frantic. “Summer! If you dare to tie me up, you’re fired today!” “Summer, are you listening to me?” “Summer, get out of my room! Out!” So noisy. I reached for the buckle, gave it a firm squeeze and twist, and the strap popped right off. I unclipped the footrest straps just as easily. As the two restraint straps dropped to the floor, his eyes trembled. His furious struggle vanished, replaced by an incredulous question. “You… you’re not tying me down?” I dusted off my hands and met his gaze. “You’re not crazy. Why would I tie you up?” He bit his lip, his pale face remaining guarded, but his fingers gripped the armrests so hard his knuckles turned white. “Don’t think this means I’ll cooperate with you… Summer!” He let out an unexpected gasp. His cold, aloof composure shattered instantly. I had scooped him up into my arms, holding him firmly, and even tossed him gently like a sack of flour just to tease him. “No worries. I’ll find a way to make you listen.” “And just so we’re clear, I didn’t remove those straps to bargain with you. I just hate seeing anyone forced through that kind of misery.” “So you don’t have to obey me, but if you have a shred of kindness in you, please make my job a little easier. I’m begging you.” He turned his head away, refusing to look at me. Sighing, I placed him back in the wheelchair and pushed him toward the door. Just as we crossed the threshold, I heard his voice, soft as a feather. “Okay.” 6 The fact that I successfully brought Sebastian downstairs for lunch caused quite a stir among the staff. Everyone tried to act casual, but after lunch, once I settled Sebastian in for his afternoon nap, they swarmed me the second I stepped out of his room. “Summer, you’re amazing! This is the first time since his accident that he came down for lunch on time.” “Right! Before this, he’d either come down super late or refuse to eat altogether.” “We used to reheat his food three times before giving up and cooking a fresh meal to bring up to his room.” In my memories, he was someone who always considered others. He was never like this. Had the accident completely altered his personality? I asked softly, “How did he end up in a wheelchair?” The room fell quiet for a moment. One of the maids lowered her voice. “A car crash.” “Her name and that incident are absolute taboo in this house. Summer, just keep it to yourself, never bring it up in front of the Young Master or Madam.” “It happened the year he was heading abroad for college. That girl… what was her name again? Sienna, right, Sienna.” My heart skipped a beat. Sienna. A name I knew all too well. Our high school beauty, and Sebastian’s rumored girlfriend. They came from similar wealthy backgrounds, grew up together as childhood sweethearts, and everyone said they were a match made in heaven. “Let me tell you,” another maid chimed in. “Young Master and Sienna were supposed to fly out together. On the day they were heading to the airport, Young Master had already arrived when Sienna called him. She claimed something came up and begged him to pick her up.” “Young Master didn’t think twice. But on his way to get her, his car got broadsided. And guess what? After the accident, that girl didn’t visit him even once. She just went abroad by herself. Ah, our Young Master used to be such a bright, cheerful boy…” “Summer, whatever you do, never mention her name in front of him.” So it was because of Sienna? I nodded automatically, though a sudden, bitter ache flooded my chest. Forget it, Summer. How many years has it been? You can’t possibly still hold a torch for him. You’re his employee now, nothing more. Just do your job, save up enough money, and leave as soon as possible. Ever since the crash, Sebastian had become deeply reclusive. After observing him for a few days, I noticed he spent most of his time sitting by the window, staring blankly outside. Curious, I followed his gaze one afternoon. Outside was just a flower patch, half-withered under the scorching sun. While he was resting, I took a walk down to the garden. The sprinkler system was clogged with thick limescale. No wonder half his view was blooming while the other half looked sad and dying. I grabbed a piece of thin wire and meticulously cleared out every single nozzle on the sprinkler heads. Whenever I got hands-on with fixing things, I lost all track of time and surroundings. I didn’t even notice the curtains on the second-floor bedroom window sliding open. 7 After fixing the sprinklers, I turned my attention to Sebastian’s wheelchair. The butler mentioned it was a custom import from overseas, featuring state-of-the-art tech. But no one realized that sitting in it for long stretches was actually uncomfortable. I pulled a screwdriver from my pocket, crouched down, and began inspecting the frame. Sebastian’s brow twitched. “Summer, what are you doing?” I didn’t have time to answer. My fingers traced the axle, the wheels, then moved to the footrests and armrests. Just as I suspected, the adjustments were all off. No wonder he hated going outside. His main mode of transportation was misaligned. First, the center of gravity was wrong. Sitting like that for hours would wreak havoc on anyone’s lower back. Second, the footrests were set too high, leaving his thighs suspended without proper support. The armrests were an inch too tall as well, forcing his shoulders into a permanent, strained shrug. These micro-flaws were invisible to an outsider, but torture for someone stuck in the chair all day. “Summer, what are you fixing?” “Don’t waste your time. If you break a part, we’ll have to order replacements from Europe…” He was still resisting, grumbling from the seat. I tightened the last screw, stood up, and wiped my brow. “Try moving forward.” Skeptical, Sebastian operated the controls. His expression shifted instantly. “You… you know how to fix this too?” “This is nothing. I was fixing color TVs when I was three.” Once the wheelchair was sorted, I noticed the estate’s accessibility ramps were poorly constructed. These things were meant to be tailored to the user’s specific needs. But since Sebastian rarely went out, they had been neglected for years. I modified the last slope in the garden, smoothing out the concrete, and stuck a crude handwritten sign at the base. “What are you doing now?” Sebastian had rolled out without me realizing. His gaze wasn’t on me, but on the crooked wooden board. Wet Concrete. Do Not Step. He stared at those words, a flicker of shock washing over his usually stone-cold eyes. For the first time, ripples broke through his calm facade. “Upgraded the hardware and software around the yard,” I said, dusting off my heavy-duty work gloves and walking over to pat his shoulder. “That way, whenever you feel like coming out, the path is wide open.” Assuming his shock was gratitude, I grinned. “If you think I did a good job, feel free to give me a raise, Boss.” Sebastian looked up at me. His eyes held an emotion I couldn’t quite read. It shifted from doubt to sudden realization, and finally into something firm and intense. He asked, “Summer… have we met somewhere before?” I froze on the spot, my heart hammering against my ribs.

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