Author: Momo Chan

Right before freshman year, my parents set up a mystery envelope challenge, claiming it was a test of our independence. Two envelopes sat on the table. One held a monthly allowance of two thousand dollars. The other held the Zero Dollar Survival Challenge. “Whoever draws zero dollars isn’t allowed to come home crying about being broke for the next four years.” In my past life, I drew the zero-dollar card. For four years, my classmates treated me like trash, and I barely survived on extra ladles of soup from the cafeteria staff. Meanwhile, my younger brother flaunted brand-new clothes and the latest iPhones every week, telling everyone I was great material for an inspirational struggle story. It wasn’t until graduation day that I discovered the truth. Both envelopes had contained the Zero Dollar Survival Challenge. Reborn back to the day of the draw, I smiled and pushed the envelopes toward my brother. “Mom and Dad love you the most. You go first, Kevin. Don’t let me steal your good luck.” 1 My mother, Freya, sat on the sofa, a gentle smile plastered across her face. “Elijah, Kevin, you’re both heading off to college soon. Your father and I prepared a little test for you.” My father, Richard, slid two white envelopes across the coffee table. “One contains a monthly allowance of two thousand dollars. The other is the Zero Dollar Survival Challenge. Which one you get depends entirely on fate.” Kevin sat beside Mom, his freshly styled hair gleaming under the chandelier. His lips curled upward, the arrogant look of a boy who had been favored by destiny his entire life. In my previous life, Mom had subtly nudged the envelope on the left half an inch toward me. This time, before her hand could even move, I snatched the envelope on the right and stuffed it directly into Kevin’s palm. “Mom and Dad love you the most. You go first, Kevin. Don’t let me steal your good luck.” The living room fell dead silent for a moment. Kevin’s smirk froze on his face. Mom instinctively looked at Dad. Dad frowned, his brow furrowing into deep creases. “You’re the older brother. You should yield to your younger brother. Since when does the younger brother pick first?” I pressed the envelope firmly against Kevin’s fingers. “Dad, didn’t you just say it’s up to fate? Does fate care who was born first?” Mom immediately jumped in to smooth things over. “Elijah, don’t be so rigid. It’s just a game.” “Then all the more reason for Kevin to draw first,” I replied, staring straight into Kevin’s eyes. “He’s always been lucky. He scrapes by on exams and still wins academic awards. He enters mall raffles and walks away with free phones. His luck won’t fail him today.” Kevin didn’t dare open it. His fingernails dug into the paper edges, his face turning pale second by second. Ash from Dad’s cigarette dropped onto his trousers, but he didn’t bother brushing it off. His voice turned heavy and grim. “Kevin, open it.” Kevin looked up, his eyes rimmed with red. “Dad, I don’t want to play anymore.” Mom instantly wrapped her arms around him, cradling him like a fragile child. “If he doesn’t want to play, he doesn’t have to! He’s still young, why are you scaring him like this?” In my past life, when I drew the zero-dollar card, nobody said I was still young. I was terrified back then too. I asked if I could redraw, and Dad smashed his glass mug right at my feet. “Life doesn’t give you second chances! Stop throwing a tantrum the moment things get tough!” Yet now, when it was Kevin’s turn, he merely sniffled, and Mom looked at him as if he had suffered the greatest tragedy in the world. I reached out and picked up the other envelope from the table. “Fine, I’ll open it for him.” “Elijah!” Dad slammed his palm onto the heavy oak table. The coffee table shook violently, sending a bowl of fruit spilling onto the rug. I froze my hand in midair. The gentle facade on Mom’s face completely vanished. “Elijah, what is wrong with you today? Why are you intent on making everyone miserable?” “Didn’t you two say this was a test of our independence?” I placed the two envelopes side by side. “If we don’t open them, how do we test anything?” Kevin bit his lip, tears cascading down his cheeks. “Elijah, do you hate me that much? I just wanted to go to college happily.” Mom glared at me with pure venom. “Look at what you did! You scared your brother to tears!” Dad stood up, snatched the envelope from Kevin’s hand, and shoved it hard against my chest. “Fine! You draw! You’re the sensible one, aren’t you?” The sharp corner of the paper jabbed painfully into my palm. I looked down and let out a quiet chuckle. “Dad, didn’t you just say it was all up to fate?” Dad’s face turned thunderous. “I told you to open it, so open it!” Those words were identical to what he said in my past life. I slowly tore open the top of the envelope. Unfolding the white sheet inside, six words written in bold black ink stared back at me. Zero Dollar Survival Challenge. Mom let out a long, audible sigh of relief. Kevin stopped crying immediately. He buried his face into Mom’s shoulder, peeking out at me with half an eye that practically danced with secret glee. Dad cleared his throat, regaining his stern composure. “Since you drew it, we stick to the rules.” I placed the paper on the table. “What about Kevin’s envelope?” Mom reached across the table, attempting to swipe the remaining envelope away. I slammed my hand down, pinning it beneath my palm. “To be fair, let me open this one too.” Dad’s heavy hand slammed down right over the back of my wrist. The bones of my hand crushed against the hard wooden table, sending a sharp, numbing pain shooting up my arm. He glared down at me, leaning in close, his voice dripping with malice. “Elijah, don’t push your luck.” Kevin lifted his head from Mom’s shoulder and whimpered, “Elijah, stop making a scene. Dad’s blood pressure is spiking.” I looked at him calmly. “If you’re so worried about his blood pressure, why didn’t you open the envelope yourself?” Kevin’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed red before turning ghostly pale. Mom slapped my arm hard. “Enough!” Dad crumpled the unopened envelope in his fist, pulled out the coffee table drawer, and shoved it inside. The soft click of the lock turning felt like an iron curtain dropping. My heart turned entirely cold. Dad pointed a thick finger at my face. “Starting tomorrow, figure out your own living expenses. This family will not give you a single dime.” Mom helped Kevin up, guiding him toward his bedroom. As she reached his door, she turned around, her eyes cold. “Elijah, if you have any decency left in you, stop taking your anger out on your brother.” Right before closing his bedroom door, Kevin silently mouthed two words at me. Serves you right. 2 The next morning, Mom laid out four sets of place settings on the dining table. In front of Kevin sat fried eggs, crispy bacon, and a steaming bowl of fresh shrimp porridge. In front of me sat a single bowl of hard, leftover rice from two nights ago. Dad sat reading the morning newspaper, not even bothering to lift his head. “Since you want to be independent, it starts today.” Mom slid a crisp blue debit card next to Kevin’s hand. “Kevin, there’s five thousand dollars in here for your initial college supplies. If it’s not enough, just let Mom know.” Kevin offered a bright, sunshiny smile. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll make sure to spend it wisely.” After speaking, he deliberately turned his head toward me. “Elijah, do you want me to lend you a hundred bucks? You’ll have to write me an IOU, though. Independence means even brothers keep clear accounts.” Mom patted his shoulder in playful scolding. “Oh, stop teasing your brother.” I picked up the bowl of cold rice and swallowed a mouthful. The hard, dried grains scratched against my throat like coarse sand. Dad flipped his newspaper with a crisp snap. “Elijah, don’t feel mistreated. Hardship builds real character. You’ve always been tougher and more resilient than Kevin. Your mother and I trust you.” In my past life, that single phrase, “we trust you,” crushed me for four grueling years. I remembered the night I had a fever of a hundred and four degrees. I called Mom, asking if she could transfer fifty dollars so I could go to the urgent care clinic. She had said, “Elijah, you need to learn how to budget. Don’t come running to your family the second you run out of cash.” Right after she hung up, Kevin posted a photo on Instagram showing off a brand-new designer wool scarf. His caption read: Mom and Dad were worried I’d catch a cold, so they insisted on sending me two thousand dollars to buy something nice. At the breakfast table, Kevin casually stirred his porridge with a silver spoon. “Elijah, don’t be discouraged. The boba shop near my campus is hiring. You could go ask for a job.” Mom nodded in agreement. “Yes, part-time work builds great work ethic.” I set my bowl down. “Then Kevin can go build his work ethic too.” Kevin immediately pouted. “My course load is super heavy, and I’m joining the student union! Where would I find the time?” Dad slammed the newspaper onto the table. “He’s different from you. His health is delicate.” “He came in first place in the eight-hundred-meter dash at the school sports meet last month.” Silence descended upon the dining room. Mom frowned heavily. “Elijah, why are you always targeting your brother? His weak constitution isn’t news. As his older brother, do you have no empathy?” Kevin had been born a month premature, spending his first few weeks in an incubator. From that day forward, his “delicate health” became his lifelong free pass. He could steal my birthday cake because his delicate health made him crave sweets. He could rip up my academic competition certificates because his delicate health made his emotions fragile. He could blast his speakers at maximum volume the night before my SATs because his delicate health required relaxation. And if I so much as knitted my brow, I was labeled an ungrateful, heartless brother. The doorbell chimed. A delivery driver stood at the door, holding three massive cardboard boxes. “Delivery for Kevin.” Kevin practically leaped out of his chair, not even bothering to slip his shoes on properly. The boxes were sliced open to reveal a brand-new flagship phone, a top-tier tablet, designer sneakers, and a plush white cashmere coat. Mom helped him snip off the tags. “A young man out in the world shouldn’t be looked down upon.” Kevin waved his new phone right in front of my face. “Elijah, can you still use that ancient phone of yours? Isn’t the screen completely shattered?” My old phone was a hand-me-down Mom had replaced two years ago. The charging port was loose, and the battery died the moment it hit thirty percent. Before I could speak, Dad chimed in. “As long as it can make calls, it’s fine. Don’t fall prey to vanity.” Kevin slipped into the white cashmere coat, twirling around in front of the hallway mirror. “Does it look good?” Mom smiled so wide the corners of her eyes crinkled. “My boy looks handsome in anything.” I stood by the entryway, putting on my worn shoes, preparing to head out to print materials for my student loan application. Mom suddenly called out to me. “Elijah, give me your ID card.” “What for?” “Your father’s company needs to update employee dependent information.” In my past life, I handed my ID over without a second thought. Later, when the university audited financial aid applications, I searched my bags frantically but couldn’t find my ID, causing me to miss the deadline for the first round of grants. I looked at her outstretched palm. “I can just take a picture of it and send it to you.” Mom’s expression darkened instantly. “Guarding your ID against your own parents? Where is your conscience?” Dad walked out from his study. “Hand it over.” Kevin leaned against the doorframe, smirking playfully. “Elijah, you’re not afraid Mom and Dad are going to take out a high-interest loan in your name, are you? Have you been watching too many crime dramas?” Mom’s hand reached straight for my backpack strap. I took a step backward. “I’ll keep it myself.” Dad raised his arm and delivered a harsh, ringing slap across my face. My head snapped to the side, my ear ringing with a deafening buzz. Kevin covered his mouth, though his eyes sparkled with pure delight. Mom yanked my bag away, unzipping it and fishing out my ID card. “We raised you for eighteen years, and we can’t even hold onto your ID for a day?” She held the plastic card tightly between her fingers. I reached out to grab it back. Dad seized my wrist, his grip so brutally tight it felt as though he intended to crush my bones. “You dare fight back?” He snatched the ID from my hand and passed it to Mom. “Keep it safe. Don’t give it back until after he leaves for campus.” Mom turned and walked into her bedroom. Kevin strolled over to my side, whispering in a voice only I could hear. “Elijah, give up. The more you fight, the more Mom and Dad despise you.” He gently poked my burning, reddened cheek with his finger. “Look at that. What a lovely shade of red.” 3 On the third day after my ID card was confiscated, I visited the local community services office to inquire about a proof-of-hardship document. The clerk flipped through the official forms. “We need your official ID, your family household registry, and your parents’ proof of income.” I stood before the counter, my knuckles white as I gripped my backpack straps. “I don’t have my original ID on me right now. Can I use a photocopy of the household registry?” The middle-aged woman lifted her eyes. “Honey, these documents require physical verification of the originals. Are your parents refusing to give them to you?” An older man standing in line behind me glanced over. The pity on his face felt harder to stomach than blatant mockery. I lowered my head. “I’ll figure something out.” As I walked out of the building, Mom’s call flashed on my screen. “Where are you?” “At the community office.” Her voice spiked into a shrill screech. “What are you doing at a place like that? If the neighbors find out my son is applying for low-income assistance, where are your father and I supposed to hide our faces?” “I don’t have any money for food or supplies.” “Didn’t we tell you to be self-reliant?” “I need the hardship verification to process my federal student loans.” Silence hung on the line for a few seconds. Mom suppressed her fury, her tone icy. “Elijah, are you doing this on purpose just to humiliate us? Your father just got promoted to department head. If you go around begging for poverty certificates, what will his colleagues think of him?” So their fragile social standing mattered far more than my college education. Mom continued, “Get home right now. Kevin needs to buy suitcases, and you need to carry his bags.” I hung up the phone. A text message from Kevin popped up immediately. Elijah, Mom said you went to the community office to play the victim card? You really know how to throw a scene. The next text was a photo. He was standing in front of a luxury boutique fitting mirror, surrounded by designer shopping bags. Hurry up and get over here! I can’t carry all this stuff myself. I didn’t go. When I returned home late that afternoon, the living room was cluttered with new suitcases, clothes, and shoe boxes. Mom sat on the sofa, her face stormy. “I told you to help your brother carry his bags, and you couldn’t even pick up the phone.” Dad was sipping tea. “He hasn’t even set foot on a college campus yet, and his wings are already fully grown.” Kevin shrank into the corner of the couch, his eyes reddened. “Mom, Dad, don’t blame Elijah. He probably just thinks I spent too much money.” Mom’s heart melted instantly. “You’re spending your parents’ money, not his!” I glanced at the discarded price tags on the floor. A single jacket cost twelve hundred dollars. A single rolling suitcase cost fifteen hundred dollars. That money alone could have fed me through four years of college. Dad lifted his chin. “Come over here and apologize to Kevin.” “I did nothing wrong.” The heavy porcelain teacup slammed onto the glass table. “Your brother leaves for campus tomorrow! He wanted you to spend his last day at home with him, and you pull this arrogant attitude?” Kevin said softly, “Elijah, if you don’t want to apologize, forget it. I know you drew the zero-dollar card and feel it’s unfair.” Mom glared at me. “Kevin sticks up for you at every turn, and what do you do? Look at him like he’s your mortal enemy every single day!” I remained silent. Dad stood up, pulled a sheet of paper from the desk drawer, and threw it onto the table. “Since the rules were set, put it in writing.” The commitment letter was already printed out. The text stated that I voluntarily accepted the Zero Dollar Survival Challenge during my college years, pledged never to request living expenses from my parents, and promised that any personal financial difficulties would not affect the family’s normal life. At the bottom right was a line reserved for my signature. In my past life, I signed it. Dad had claimed it was just a harmless family ceremony. Later, when I collapsed in my dorm from severe stomach bleeding caused by starvation, my resident advisor called my parents. Dad simply texted a photo of this commitment letter to her. The boy is fiercely proud and insists on relying solely on himself. From that moment on, whenever my advisor looked at me, her eyes held only helpless disappointment. I pushed the paper back. “I’m not signing this.” Dad grabbed a wooden feather duster from the stand and whipped it hard across my calves. The summer shorts offered zero protection. A thick, burning red welt exploded across my skin instantly. Mom frowned slightly, but made no move to stop him. “Elijah, just sign it and be done with it. Why force your father to lose his temper?” Kevin began to sob softly. “It’s all my fault. Maybe I should just share half my allowance with Elijah.” Dad immediately turned to comfort him. “This has nothing to do with you.” When he turned back to face me, his features were twisted in pure disgust. “Look at your brother, and then look at yourself!” The second blow struck my leg. I bit my lip hard, refusing to flinch or step back. Dad was breathing heavily. “Are you signing it or not?” Footsteps sounded outside the front door as a neighbor walked by, pausing for a second. Mom immediately rushed over to pull the curtains shut. “Richard, keep your voice down!” So she wasn’t afraid of me being hurt. She was only afraid of the neighbors hearing. I picked up the pen from the table and pressed the tip onto the paper, tracing my name letter by letter. Elijah. The final stroke tore right through the paper. Kevin wiped his tears, walked over from the sofa, and picked up the signed commitment letter. “Elijah, your handwriting is really nice.” He handed it to Dad with a sweet smile. “Dad, keep this somewhere safe, or Elijah might try to back out later.” Dad folded the paper neatly and placed it in the deepest compartment of his desk drawer. The lock clicked shut. 4 On the day move-in started, Kevin left in Dad’s car. The trunk was packed to the brim with luggage, and the passenger seat held a three-tier custom bento box Mom had spent all morning preparing. My entire life was packed into a single, frayed canvas duffel bag. Inside were two sets of worn clothes, a pair of faded sneakers, and the twenty-dollar bill Mom had tossed at me the night before. “For your bus fare and first week of meals,” she had said. “Make it last.” Kevin leaned out of the car window, grinning. “Elijah, your campus is only two subway stops away from mine! Come visit me on the weekends!” Mom added quickly, “Elijah, make sure you check on your brother when you have time. He’s on his own for the first time, and we’re worried about him.” I stood by the entrance of our residential complex, clutching my canvas bag. The scorching sun turned the concrete ground blindingly white. Dad honked the horn impatiently. “Take the city bus. Don’t waste money on a taxi.” As the car pulled away, Kevin waved his hand out the window. The brand-new watch on his wrist caught the sunlight, flashing painfully into my eyes. The registration line at my university was miles long. When it was finally my turn, the senior student handling my paperwork paused, looking over my file. “You haven’t paid your tuition, housing fees, or textbook fees yet.” “Can I request a deferment? I’m applying for federal student loans, but my paperwork is still being processed.” The senior looked helplessly at the resident advisor standing nearby. Her name was Ms. Harper, a woman in her early thirties who spoke in a calm, deliberate tone. “Process his orientation first. Give him a week to clear the balance.” Just as I breathed a sigh of relief, a girl standing behind me let out a quiet chuckle. “Oh, so you’re Elijah!” I turned around to see a girl holding her phone, displaying a screenshot of Kevin’s recent social media post. In the photo, Kevin sat on his plush dorm bed, captioned: My brother started his Zero Dollar Challenge today too! I hope he doesn’t struggle too hard. Mom and Dad said this is the best form of character building for him. In the comments section, someone asked: They really aren’t giving him a single dime? Your parents are brutal. Kevin replied: My brother wants to prove his independence, so we’re respecting his choice! I stared at those words, my fingertips turning icy cold. The girl scanned my worn canvas bag from top to bottom. “Pretty inspiring story.” Another guy joined in. “People still manufacture these self-reliant personas nowadays? He’s not just trying to scam the school for hardship grants, is he?” Ms. Harper frowned, her voice turning stern. “Students, refrain from baseless gossip.” The guy shrugged. “His own brother posted it, Ms. Harper. It’s not like I made it up.” That evening, I was making my bed in my six-person dorm room. My five roommates had already set up black-out bed curtains, desk organizers, and sleek storage units. My bed frame was completely bare. Even the thin mattress topper was a discarded item left behind by a senior. One of my roommates, Jason, offered me a bag of chips. “Want some?” I shook my head. “Thanks, I’m good.” He glanced at my exposed legs. “What happened to your calf?” The dark red welt hadn’t faded yet. I pulled my pant leg down. “Just scraped it.” The dorm door suddenly swung open. Kevin stood at the threshold holding two cups of expensive boba tea, flanked by three guys from his own campus. “Elijah, I came to see you!” He placed one of the boba cups on my desk. “I bought you the cheapest item on the menu. That doesn’t count as breaking your challenge rules, right?” The guys behind him burst into snickers. One of them stared at my empty bed in genuine shock. “Dude, did you seriously not buy anything at all?” Kevin sighed dramatically. “My brother has immense pride. Mom and Dad tried to give him money, but he flat-out refused.” I lifted my head and looked him dead in the eye. “When did Mom and Dad ever try to give me money?” He blinked, putting on an innocent look. “Elijah, don’t be like that. Didn’t you sign the commitment letter yourself?” The room went dead silent. Kevin pulled out his phone, tapping the screen to reveal a high-resolution photo. It was the commitment letter. My signature was crystal clear. The photo had been taken on Dad’s mahogany study desk. Kevin showed his phone to Jason. “My brother insists on relying entirely on himself. I honestly respect him so much for it.” Jason’s expression shifted awkwardly, and he didn’t take the phone. Kevin walked over to my desk, lowering his voice to a whisper. “If you’re really desperate for cash, you can do my laundry. I’ll pay you per piece.” I looked at his neatly styled hair. “Did you come all the way to my campus just to say this?” “Of course not.” He smiled, nudging the boba tea closer to my hand. “Mom told me to pass along a message. Don’t go around airing family business at school. It’s embarrassing.” With that, he turned to leave. As he reached the door, he paused as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh right, Elijah, Mom said she’s keeping your ID card for now so you don’t lose it. If you need anything processed, just tell me, and I’ll beg her on your behalf.” The door clicked shut. Silence hung heavy over the dorm. Condensation dripped down the plastic cup of boba tea, slowly soaking into my unpaid tuition invoice on the desk. 5 During my first week, I landed a job washing dishes in the back kitchen of the campus cafeteria. Seven to ten every night, fifteen dollars an hour, plus a free meal of leftover food. After soaking my hands in greasy water for three hours straight, my fingernails reeked of harsh dish soap. On Friday night, Kevin sent me a text. Elijah, come over to my campus right now. I didn’t reply. He called me immediately. “If you don’t come, I’ll tell Mom to contact your resident advisor.” Background noise blasted through the speaker, music, laughter, and shouting. I took off my apron and caught the last subway line to his campus. Kevin was waiting outside his dormitory building, wearing his plush white cashmere coat. Two massive shopping bags sat at his feet. “I don’t want these clothes anymore. Take them, wash them, and list them on a secondhand app for me.” “I don’t have time.” His brow creased instantly. “Elijah, why are you so selfish? I’m busy running for the student union arts department. I don’t have time to deal with this junk.” “Then throw them away.” Kevin’s voice spiked into a shrill tone. “These are designer clothes! They’re expensive!” I turned around to walk away. He snatched my forearm, his grip tight. “Don’t forget, your ID card is still with Mom.” My footsteps stopped. Kevin offered a smug, triumphant smile. “I know you need to apply for student loans, and I know you haven’t paid your housing fees yet. Elijah, handle these clothes for me, and I might say a few nice words to Mom for you.” He shoved the heavy bags into my arms. “Be obedient. It’s good for you.” It was almost eleven at night when I returned to my dorm. The night monitor at the front desk frowned as she saw me lugging two huge shopping bags inside. “Back this late?” I lowered my head and murmured an apology. The moment I entered the room, Jason popped his head out from his bunk. “Working late again?” I stowed the bags beneath my desk. “Yeah.” The top of one bag wasn’t tied properly, exposing a brand-new cashmere coat with its price tag still attached. My other roommate, Marcus, caught sight of it and smirked. “Thought you were doing the Zero Dollar Challenge? Buying eighteen-hundred-dollar coats now?” “It’s not mine.” He clearly didn’t believe me. “Your brother posted on Instagram saying you’re helping him sell his old clothes and keeping the cash. Man, you really know how to find loopholes in your own challenge.” I pulled out my phone. Kevin had posted a new update thirty minutes ago. My brother works so hard! I gave him my unworn clothes to sell so he can earn extra cash. He says this is true self-reliance. The attached photo was a shot of my back as I walked away lugging those two massive bags. The comment section was filled with people praising his unmatched kindness. Your brother is so lucky to have a younger brother like you! I placed my phone face down on the desk. The next morning, I washed the clothes, hung them to dry, and took photos for the listing. While checking the pockets of one coat, a crumpled paper receipt fell out. Payer: Freya Shen. Amount: $1,890. Date of Purchase: The exact day I visited the community office for hardship verification. On the back of the receipt, a line was written in blue ink. Elijah’s tuition money. No rush. Let Kevin use it first. It was my mother’s handwriting. I stared at those words for a very long time. So it wasn’t that my family was broke. My tuition money had literally been stolen to buy a coat for Kevin. Monday morning, inside the advisor’s office. Ms. Harper placed the tuition notice before me. “The university can only extend your deadline by three more days.” I nodded. “I’m trying to raise the funds, Ms. Harper.” “Your family…” Before she could finish her sentence, the office door pushed open. Mom stood at the entrance, a polite, refined smile plastered across her face. “Ms. Harper, I am so sorry. Elijah has been causing you so much trouble.” She was dressed impeccably, holding an expensive fruit basket in her hand. Ms. Harper paused, surprised. “You are Elijah’s mother?” Mom placed the fruit basket neatly on the desk. “Yes. Our family isn’t facing any financial distress, but Elijah has been stubborn since he was a boy, insisting on earning his own keep. His father has been sick with worry over this.” I stood beside them, feeling as if my clothes had been stripped away in public. Ms. Harper turned to look at me. “Elijah, is this true?” Underneath the desk, Mom reached out and pinched my wrist with brutal force. Her sharp fingernails dug deep into my flesh. “Elijah, explain everything to your advisor clearly. Don’t let people misunderstand your father and me.” I stared at her manicured hand. That very hand had posted a picture of Kevin’s new grand piano in the family group chat just last night. My lips trembled. Mom’s fingernails dug a little deeper. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. Mom smiled with utter satisfaction. “Ms. Harper, he just loves to push himself too hard. Of course we will pay his tuition, but since he insisted on taking this challenge, as parents, we wanted to respect his independence.” Ms. Harper fell completely silent. Before leaving, Mom leaned close to my ear, her voice dripping with venom. “If you dare play the poor victim out in public again, I will make sure you lose your dorm room.” After she left, Ms. Harper pushed the fruit basket back toward me. “Take it.” I didn’t move. The autumn wind outside the window fluttered the corner of the unpaid tuition notice. Ms. Harper suddenly asked, “Elijah, is something going on at home?” My throat felt locked shut. My phone vibrated on the desk. A photo from Mom popped up. My ID card was pressed firmly under the signed commitment letter. Below it was a text: Think carefully before you open your mouth again. Right at that moment, another text notification popped up from an unknown number. Elijah, this is Mrs. Jenkins, your late grandmother’s neighbor. You’re eighteen now, and there are things that belong to you that need to be returned. Don’t tell your parents. Meet me tomorrow at 3 PM at the old Elm Street cottage.

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1 The day before we were supposed to register our marriage, my fiancée took her papers and walked into City Hall with Brandon instead. I stood around the corner of the corridor, listening to her phone call on speaker. Her friend’s frantic voice bled through the receiver. “What about Jesse?” “You two have been together for seven years. Are you seriously marrying another man?” A long silence stretched before Lauren spoke, her voice infuriatingly soft. “Jesse will understand. Brandon’s mother doesn’t have much time left. It’s just a fake marriage. As soon as she passes, I’ll file for divorce.” Her friend hesitated. “But he’s waited for you for seven years.” Lauren gave a faint, quiet laugh. “That’s exactly why he won’t leave me over a single month.” I stood frozen in the quiet hallway. My fingers were still clutching a small gift bag filled with wedding chocolates meant for the clerks. I didn’t rush in to confront her. I didn’t cry or beg her to turn around. I simply walked over to the desk, canceled my reservation, and left. What she failed to realize was simple. A wedding can wait, and love can take its time. But I refused to tie the rest of my life to someone who was so utterly convinced I would wait for her forever. … When I canceled the appointment, the clerk looked at me twice. “Are you sure? Slots for today were nearly impossible to get.” I nodded. My phone buzzed in my palm. A text from Lauren. [A sudden emergency came up at work. Let’s push off the marriage license for a few days. Don’t be mad, I’ll explain everything tonight.] I stared at the screen for a long time. Then I shoved the chocolates into my bag and walked out into the cool afternoon air. I still had classes to teach. I returned to the elementary school where I worked as a second-grade teacher. During my lesson on a fable about a little pony crossing a river, a boy in the front row raised his hand. “Mr. Jesse, did the pony cross the river by himself in the end?” I gripped the piece of chalk, my mind drifting for a few seconds before I found my voice. “Yes. He did.” “Wasn’t he scared?” the boy asked again. I forced a faint smile. “Even if you’re scared, you still have to cross.” After class, a few fellow teachers gathered around my desk, teasing me about why I hadn’t taken my wedding leave. “Aren’t you supposed to get registered today? Did Lauren come pick you up?” “Where are the wedding sweets? Don’t hoard them!” I pulled out the bag of chocolates from my briefcase and handed them out. The summer heat had melted the cocoa slightly, sticking to the foil wrappers. My colleagues assumed I was just shy and kept laughing. I laughed along with them. Only the corners of my mouth felt stiff and bitter. That evening, Lauren called. “Jesse, have you eaten yet?” In the background, I could hear the faint chime of a hospital intercom, accompanied by a man’s quiet weeping. I didn’t expose her lie. “No.” “I am so sorry about today. Something urgent happened on Brandon’s side. His mother is in critical condition and her mind is slipping. She keeps crying that no one will look after him when she’s gone.” I sat alone in the empty classroom, watching the stadium lights flicker on across the sports field one by one. “So you got married to him?” The line went completely dead quiet. After a long pause, Lauren lowered her voice. “You know?” “Yeah.” She let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Jesse, it’s just a formality. Mrs. Dawson sponsored my tuition years ago. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have even finished high school. This is her last wish on her deathbed. I can’t just ignore it.” “So you used our marriage to repay your debt of gratitude?” “Don’t put it like that,” Lauren’s voice grew sharp and rushed. “You know who is in my heart. There is zero possibility between Brandon and me. Once Mrs. Dawson passes, I’ll file for divorce immediately. At most a month, and we can get registered.” At most a month. She said it so casually, as if I had simply stepped into the wrong line at a grocery store and just needed to switch counters. I asked quietly, “Was it really that hard to tell me in advance?” “I was afraid you’d overthink things.” “You already went behind my back, and you’re still worried about me overthinking?” Lauren pinched the bridge of her nose, her voice raspy with exhaustion. “Jesse, my head is spinning today. Mrs. Dawson is in the ICU, and Brandon is completely overwhelmed. I know you feel wronged, but I’ll make it up to you later, okay?” Later. Over the past seven years, those two words had been her constant promise. Later, I’ll take you on that trip. Later, I’ll plan a proper proposal. Later, I’ll turn the balcony of our new place into that cozy study you wanted. Later. Always later. And today, when my entire life was derailed by her choice, she still thought it was just a minor delay. I hung up the phone. Ten minutes later, a social media notification popped up on my feed. Brandon had posted a picture. Beside a hospital bed, his hand rested over the back of Lauren’s hand. The corner of a red marriage certificate peeked out from under his wrist. The caption read: [Thank you for finally giving my mother peace of mind.] The comment section under our mutual friends list was blowing up. [Congrats? Is this official now?] [Brandon finally has someone to take care of him.] [Lauren is amazing. Mrs. Dawson didn’t love you in vain.] Lauren had even clicked the like button. She probably believed it was merely a temporary comfort for a dying mentor’s son. I stared at the screen until my eyes burned with unshed tears. Late that night, I drove to our new condo. We had bought the apartment last year. I had poured every single penny of my savings, accumulated from college side jobs to my teaching salary, into the down payment. When it was being renovated, Lauren was busy with her corporate projects, so I spent every evening after work running around the home improvement markets. Yet when I unlocked the front door, Brandon was sitting on my sofa, wearing my house slippers. His eyes were rimmed with red. The moment he saw me, he scrambled to his feet. “Jesse, please don’t misunderstand. My mom was transferred to the hospital nearby tonight. Lauren was worried I’d collapse from running back and forth, so she told me to rest here for a bit. I won’t touch any of your things.” He was holding my favorite coffee mug in his hand. It was part of a matching couple’s set I had carefully bought for Lauren and me to use after getting married. Lauren stepped out of the kitchen, holding a spatula. “Why are you here?” I looked at her, my voice eerily calm. “This is my house. Am I not allowed to come?” Lauren’s expression stiffened. “That’s not what I meant. Brandon has been running around all day, and the hospital cot is too small for him.” Brandon hastily put down the mug. “I’ll leave right now. Jesse, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. Please don’t fight with Lauren because of me. She hasn’t eaten all day and spent the entire time helping my mom with paperwork.” He grabbed his bag to leave, taking two shaky steps before stumbling. Lauren instantly stepped forward to catch him by the arm. “Why are you forcing yourself?” Tears spilled from Brandon’s eyes. “I just don’t want to make Jesse upset.” Lauren turned to look at me, her eyes filled with frustration. “Jesse, his mother is still in intensive care. Just let him stay the night. I’ll take him back to the hospital tomorrow.” I let out a soft laugh. “I let him?” She didn’t catch the bitter sarcasm in my tone, assuming I was yielding. “Thank you.” Those two words stung worse than any screaming match. That night, Brandon slept in the guest room. That room was supposed to be my study. The desk by the window was where I had planned to grade homework assignments in the evening. Now, it was cluttered with Brandon’s work notes, medical records, and his thermos. He apologized with utmost timidness. “I was afraid my stuff would look eyesore in the living room, so I put it here for now. I promise to pack it all up tomorrow.” Lauren brought out a pot of soup from the kitchen. “Jesse, sit down and eat first. Your stomach is sensitive. Don’t throw a fit on an empty stomach.” She spoke so naturally, as if today were just an ordinary disagreement. I sat at the dining table, looking down at the two sets of utensils laid out. Lauren froze for a second, then went back to the kitchen to fetch a third set. Brandon spoke up softly. “I won’t eat. You two go ahead, I’ll stay in my room.” Lauren frowned. “You have low blood sugar, you can’t skip meals. Sit down.” He stole a glance at me, then slowly pulled out a chair. Throughout that entire meal, I didn’t touch a single bite. Noticing my stillness, Lauren used her chopsticks to place a shrimp in my bowl. “You like these.” Brandon drank his soup in silence when his phone suddenly chimed with a video call. “Lauren… my mom is awake. She wants to see us on video.” Lauren’s hand froze mid-air. I lifted my head to look at her. Brandon blinked rapidly, his eyes flushing red again. “I know I shouldn’t bother you, but the doctor said her conscious moments are limited. I’m scared she’ll drift off again.” Lauren stayed silent for a moment, then pulled a napkin to wipe her hands. “Answer it.” The call connected. On the screen, an elderly woman wore an oxygen mask, her voice faint and labored. “Brandon… where is my daughter-in-law?” Brandon tilted the camera toward Lauren. Lauren leaned down, her tone softening completely. “Mrs. Dawson, I’m right here.” The old woman smiled weakly, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “Good… good… With you taking care of Brandon, I can rest easy.” Lauren’s eyes flickered with a tremor of guilt. “Just focus on recovering.” I sat right beside them, looking like an awkward intruder in my own home. Suddenly, Brandon fumbled around his hands in panic. “Mom, look, I’m wearing the ring.” His hands were completely bare. The old woman couldn’t see clearly, straining her failing eyes against the screen. “The ring… yes… a marriage needs rings.” Brandon froze in place. Lauren instinctively turned her head toward me. I met her gaze, cold and unblinking. Inside the nightstand drawer in the master bedroom was the set of wedding bands we had picked out together. I had foolishly thought she would draw the line here. Instead, she stood up and walked straight into the main bedroom. The sound of a drawer opening echoed through the quiet apartment. A moment later, she returned carrying the velvet ring box. She opened it, took out my men’s band, and held it out to Brandon. “Put it on for now.” I stared at her, entirely rendered speechless. Brandon shook his head in panic. “No, I can’t. This belongs to Jesse.” Lauren didn’t look at me. Her voice was steady and quiet. “Just to put Mrs. Dawson at ease.” She personally slid the ring onto Brandon’s ring finger. The size was wrong. Brandon’s fingers were thinner than mine, and the metal hung loosely on his joint. He forced a smile toward the camera, but as he smiled, tears streamed down his face. “Mom, look. We’re really married.” The old woman finally closed her eyes with a peaceful smile. Lauren let out a long breath of relief. I finally stood up. My chair scraped against the hardwood floor with a sharp, deafening screech. Lauren turned around. “Jesse, where are you going?” I walked into the master bedroom, pulled my clothes out of the closet, and began tossing them into a duffel bag. Lauren followed me in, closing the door firmly behind her. “Stop acting like this. Mrs. Dawson doesn’t have much time left. I can’t trigger her right now.” “So you trigger me instead?” “You’re completely healthy! Do you really have to hold a grudge against a dying patient?” I looked up at her. The moment those words left her mouth, the air in the room turned bone-chilling cold. Lauren seemed to realize how harsh she sounded. She reached out, trying to pull me into an embrace. “Jesse, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just so exhausted.” I stepped back, avoiding her touch. Her arms hung awkwardly in mid-air. From outside, a soft knock sounded at the door. Brandon’s voice drifted in. “Lauren, your parents are on the phone. They’re asking about the final details for the wedding banquet.” Lauren’s brows knitted even tighter. She answered the call and put it on speaker. Her mother’s sharp voice rang out immediately. “Lauren, what is going on with you and Jesse? The venue coordinator said the final payment hasn’t been confirmed yet. Your father’s colleagues have already been invited. Don’t make a fool out of us!” Lauren stole a glance at me. “Mom, the wedding might need to be postponed.” “Why?” Lauren went silent. Brandon stood near the doorway, his face pale. Finally, Lauren spoke up. “Jesse hasn’t been in a good mood lately. We pushed back getting our license, too.” The shirt in my hand slipped and dropped to the floor. Her mother instantly blew up on the phone. “Why is Jesse suddenly throwing a tantrum? You’ve been together for seven years, what is he pulling right before the finish line? You’re so busy with work, and he’s just a schoolteacher with plenty of free time. Can’t he be a little more understanding?” I stared at Lauren. She offered no explanation. She didn’t even say a single word to clarify that none of this was my fault. After the call ended, Brandon looked at me with rimmed, teary eyes. “Jesse, I’m so sorry. Did your mother-in-law misunderstand you? I can go explain it to her.” Lauren stopped him. “Don’t make things more complicated.” A bitter smile tugged at my lips. So in the end, I was the one making things complicated. I didn’t manage to leave that night. At midnight, Brandon ran a high fever, and Lauren rushed him to the emergency room in a panic. Before stepping out the door, she urged me, “Jesse, go to sleep first. I’ll come back as soon as he finishes his IV drip.” I stood in the center of the living room. “Lauren, today was supposed to be our registration day.” Her footsteps paused as she supported Brandon’s weight. “I know.” “You know, yet you’re leaving me alone here?” Brandon weakly tugged at her sleeve. “Maybe I should just go by myself.” Lauren didn’t budge, her eyes suppressed with rising anger. “Can you stop backing me into a corner at a time like this?” I let out a cold laugh. “I’m backing you into a corner?” “Brandon has a fever of a hundred and three, Jesse! A human life is at stake!” In a daze, I recalled the past few weeks. Every single one of Brandon’s tears, every moment of his fragility, always seemed immeasurably more important than me. The door clicked shut. I sat alone in the living room until the sky began to pale. Just as dawn broke, Lauren returned. Seeing me sitting on the sofa, she froze for a moment, her tone softening slightly. “Why didn’t you sleep?” I remained silent. She walked over and knelt down in front of me. “Jesse, I was wrong yesterday. I shouldn’t have said those things. Once Mrs. Dawson’s condition stabilizes, I’ll take you to the coast for a getaway, okay? Haven’t you always wanted to watch the sunrise over the ocean?” In the past, hearing those words would have melted my heart in an instant. Now, all I felt was a hollow, soul-crushing fatigue. Her phone screen lit up on the coffee table. A text from Brandon: [Lauren, my mom woke up and asked for you again. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t keep troubling you.] The moment Lauren saw the message, she reflexively stood up. I raised my head. “You’re leaving again?” “Mrs. Dawson needs me right now.” “Then what about me?” She stared at me in surprise. I asked her, word by word, “What am I to you right now?” Lauren pressed her knuckles against her temples. “Jesse, stop going down a rabbit hole. Of course you’re the man I’m going to marry.” “But Brandon is your legal husband.” Her face darkened instantly. “That’s just a piece of paper!” “A marriage certificate defines a marriage.” “Jesse!” It was the first time she had ever shouted at me in that harsh, sharp tone. Regretting it immediately, she lowered her voice. “I really don’t have the energy to fight with you right now. Just give me some time.” “How long?” “A month.” “Divorce registration comes with a mandatory thirty-day waiting period.” Lauren blinked, completely stunned. Evidently, she hadn’t even bothered to look into the basic legal procedures. Looking at her bewildered expression, I suddenly lost all urge to question her further. She didn’t even understand the consequences, yet she dared to gamble with my entire life. Her phone rang again. Brandon was calling directly this time. She picked up. Brandon was sobbing hysterically into the line. “Lauren, my mom says she wants to go home. Does she know she isn’t going to make it? I’m so scared, I’m really so scared…” Lauren closed her eyes tightly. “I’m coming over right now.” Hanging up, she looked down at me. “Jesse, wait for me to get back. We’ll have a proper talk.” I didn’t answer. She walked to the front door, pausing at the threshold. “I know you’re furious, but you wouldn’t actually throw me away. We’ve been together for seven years.” My chest ached with a sudden, sharp spasm. Seven years. She had finally turned those seven years into her ultimate bargaining chip. After Lauren left, I began packing my belongings. I didn’t own much. When my bag was packed, I went into the guest room to gather my books. The door was slightly ajar. Brandon’s backpack was unzipped on the desk, revealing a paper document inside. I hadn’t intended to pry. Yet the bold heading on the page—Application for Marriage Dissolution—was too glaring to ignore. The document was dated yesterday. Tucked inside was a small sticky note filled with Brandon’s neat handwriting: [Mandatory 30-day reflection period. Both parties must appear within 30 days after the period ends. If one party fails to show up, the application is automatically revoked.] He had known all along. Lauren was the only one kept in the dark. Or rather, she simply hadn’t cared enough to check. I placed the document back into his bag. Just as I turned to leave, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. They were back. Brandon was weeping softly. “Lauren, did I ruin things between you and Jesse? He must hate me so much.” Lauren let out a tired sigh. “No, he’s just finding it hard to accept right now.” “But… will he really leave you?” Lauren remained silent for a short moment, then replied in a quiet, unwavering tone: “He won’t.” Brandon sniffled. “How can you be so sure?” “Jesse will wait for me. He can’t bring himself to let me go.” Standing behind the bedroom door, my tightly clenched fist slowly uncurled. She was right. In the past, I couldn’t bring myself to let her go. I couldn’t bear to see her work late without a warm meal. I couldn’t bear to let her handle tough work projects alone. I couldn’t bear seeing her smile through her tears after being scolded by her boss. I held onto far too many things. And that was precisely why she felt so comfortably safe when she tore my heart apart. In that singular moment, the very last flicker of hope I held for her shattered into dust. Suddenly, I didn’t want to fight for anything anymore. I opened the nightstand, walked to the dining room, and laid my wedding ring on the table. Right next to it, I placed the unfinished bag of wedding chocolates. Before leaving, I took one final look at the apartment. Every single piece of furniture had been handpicked by me, yet the space suddenly felt utterly foreign. I opened the front door. The two people standing outside turned to look at me simultaneously. Lauren asked, “Where are you going?” “Back to the school dorms.” She frowned. “It’s so late, stop throwing a fit.” She reached out, grabbing my wrist tightly. “Jesse, once Brandon’s mother passes, I promise I’ll give you a proper explanation.” I pried her fingers off my wrist, one by one. “There’s no need.” “Lauren… we’re through.”

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1 On my wedding day to Gideon, my father stood before high-society guests to deliver his speech. But at the altar receiving blessings were Gideon and his childhood sweetheart, Amy, hand in hand. Father gripped his speech, trembling, as he spotted me in plain clothes at the back of the hall. His heart bled for me. Gideon offered a chilling smile. “Speak up, Father-in-law. We wouldn’t want gossip that the family bullies a poor orphan girl.” The groomsmen laughed. “Amy’s always been our real sister-in-law! If her parents hadn’t died, you wouldn’t be up there!” Father swallowed his humiliation and kept reading for my sake. Amy had planned the entire wedding, with decorations to her taste and her friends as bridesmaids. Because she was an orphan, my parents were forced to bless her on stage. “Gideon,” I asked quietly, “do you even remember whose wedding this is?” He frowned. “Amy just wanted to experience being a bride. Stop being narrow-minded. It’s not like I’m refusing to register our marriage later.” After a long silence, I nodded. “If that’s the case, I’ll find someone else to experience being a bride with. My actual fiancé.” … Gideon burst out laughing. He looked down at me as if watching a throw an embarrassing, childish tantrum to save face. “Don’t make me laugh. You aren’t some high-society heiress. Where would you get a fiancé?” “Besides me, who else would ever marry you?” Amy covered her mouth, giggling softly. Her lavish bridal gown shimmered dazzingly under the crystal chandeliers. That exact gown was the one I had fallen in love with at first sight while planning the wedding. Gideon had even told me how beautiful I looked in it. Yet the moment Amy mentioned she liked it too, Gideon bought it for her without a second thought. Amy claimed her childhood dream was to have a grand wedding and be the most beautiful bride. So the wedding that belonged to me was handed over to her on a silver platter. And I was left standing in the dark corner of the hall, enduring the cold, mocking, and pitying gazes of the guests. When my father finished reading the speech, he seemed to have aged ten years in a single moment. Looking at me in the corner, his eyes swelled with sorrow. In the end, he simply stooped his back and let out a long, heavy sigh. Gideon swept a condescending glance over my father. “Father-in-law, on such a joyous day, please refrain from sighing.” “I wouldn’t want Amy’s happiness to be ruined by your constant sighing.” My father lowered his head even further, stammering an apology. “I… I’m sorry, son-in-law. It’s all my fault. Please… please don’t take it out on my daughter…” I bit my lip so hard I almost drew blood, fighting back the burning tears in my eyes. My father was a retired, respected schoolteacher who had lived his whole life with dignity. This was the first time he had ever lowered himself so humbly before anyone. All because Gideon was the man I had insisted on marrying. He just wanted me to be happy. “Understood,” Gideon replied coolly. “As long as you cooperate, I won’t blame her.” The wedding host stepped in with a practiced smile. “Now, the father of the bride may take the bride’s hand and hand her over to the groom!” “Eww! I don’t want this old man holding my hand! What if he takes advantage of me?” Amy whined in disgust. My father rushed to explain. “Miss Amy! I would never do such a thing! My family comes from generations of educators, we would never…” Gideon cut him off with an impatient wave of his hand. “Amy is young, her concern is understandable. Father-in-law, just make a gesture. Don’t actually touch her.” “Alright… alright.” My father’s embarrassment deepened. His hands fumbled nervously with the hem of his suit. That suit was the one he had bought five years ago when he first met Gideon. It was outdated, yet ironed so meticulously that not a single wrinkle showed. I felt more sneering eyes drifting toward me. Amy’s bridesmaids stood nearby, throwing malicious glances my way as they whispered loudly. “How embarrassing! If I were her, I’d find a rope and hang myself right now! How does she even have the nerve to stand here?” “Gross! Don’t say that! If she dies here, Amy will think it brings bad luck!” Finally, one of the groomsmen who grew up with Gideon couldn’t bear it anymore. He patted my shoulder, whispering softly, “Don’t take it to heart. They’re just messing around. Actually…” “Actually, we all know Gideon still cares about you in his heart. He just pities Amy because she lost her parents. He treats her like a sister.” I nodded quietly, subtly shifting my shoulder to avoid his touch. On stage, my father walked Amy through the sea of flowers. Without touching her, he gestured toward Gideon, placing her hand into Gideon’s grip. Amy smiled sweetly, letting Gideon slide a massive diamond ring onto her ring finger. Thunderous applause erupted across the hall. I lowered my eyes and pulled out my phone, scrolling to the very bottom of my contact list. The last message in our chat history was sent by him a year ago. [YES OR NO?] After a full year of silence, I finally typed my reply. [YES, I DO.] 2 After the ceremony ended, the feast began. Gideon walked arm-in-arm with Amy, going from table to table offering toasts. The two of them showered in the blessings of the crowd. It was only when Amy went backstage to change into her second gown that Gideon finally remembered my existence. Seeing me sitting alone in the corner, he strolled over and affectionately pinched my nose. “Still throwing a tantrum? It’s a happy day, eat something.” He grabbed an orange from the table, carefully peeling it for me. He remembered that I disliked the white pith, so he patiently stripped every last bit of it away. “I’ve served you personally, are you finally done being mad?” Gideon leaned in with a smirk, planting a kiss on my cheek. “I told you, Amy is just a younger sister I protect. You’re my wife, which makes you her sister-in-law. Can’t you just yield to her a little?” A suffocating lump lodged in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Just as I reached out to take the peeled orange, a sudden wave of murmurs swept through the hall. “The bride is back! Look at that gown! She looks stunning!” Gideon’s attention was instantly snatched away. Amy had changed into a vibrant red mermaid gown, stepping gracefully into the hall. Unconcealed admiration filled Gideon’s eyes. Without a second thought, he turned on his heel and walked straight toward her, completely abandoning my hand hanging mid-air. Below the stage, Gideon’s friends and Amy’s bridesmaids began hooting together. “Whoo! May you be blessed with a baby soon! We’ll come back for the month-old celebration!” “Now this is what I call a gorgeous couple! Not like some people who look miserable and unlucky all day long!” “Alright, it’s a happy occasion, don’t say such things,” Gideon scolded the bridesmaid softly, though a smile played on his lips. He took Amy’s hand into his. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s make the rounds for the toasts.” The first table they visited was the immediate family table. Gideon’s parents held up their wine glasses, looking at Amy with immense warmth and affection. “Our Gideon has been close with Amy since they were kids. We’ve been waiting to drink your wedding wine for years.” “Here, take this.” Gideon’s mother unclasped a fine, glowing jade bracelet from her own wrist and slipped it onto Amy’s hand. “Wonderful, it suits you perfectly. This was passed down from Gideon’s great-grandmother. It’s good to see it go to the right person.” “Thank you, Auntie!” Amy squealed with joy, caressing the smooth jade. My parents sat on the other side of the table. Under the mockery of the entire room, the backs of the two elderly people, who had stood tall their whole lives, finally slumped in defeat. I bit my lower lip so hard that my fingers dug into the wooden armrest of my chair, drawing blood under my nails. “Oh, right,” Gideon’s mother added nonchalantly. “We have one for the other girl as well. Our family doesn’t favor one over the other.” “Come over here, Gwen. What does it look like, sitting there all by yourself? Do you even remember that you’re supposed to be our daughter-in-law?” I let out a soundless laugh, though there was no joy in my eyes. I wondered if anyone in this crowded room actually remembered that I was the one marrying into their family. Still, I walked over to Gideon’s mother. “…Mother.” “Mmm,” she responded coldly, pulling out another jade bracelet from her bag. It was also white jade, but while Amy’s was translucent and luminous, mine was dull, milky, and completely opaque under the light. Gideon stared at it in surprise. “Mom! Isn’t that bracelet made from the leftover scraps of Amy’s jade? Why are you giving that to Gwen?” “The quality of the person determines the quality of the bracelet,” his mother replied dismissively. The bright lights overhead hit me like a physical blow. I felt as though I had been slapped across the face in front of everyone. I accepted the bracelet, lowered my head, and quickly turned to leave. Gideon chased after me. He blocked my path at the entrance, his tone coaxing. “Gwen, don’t be mad. You know how my mom is. Amy grew up right under her eyes.” “Don’t hold it against them. Be good, okay? When the wedding is over, I’ll buy you a much better bracelet.” I smiled softly. When Gideon proposed to me, he gave me an engagement ring worth ten thousand dollars. At the time, I felt it was far too expensive and spent weeks looking for a gift to return the gesture. Yet today, he casually handed Amy a diamond ring worth millions. I shook my head, gently pushing his hand away. “There’s no need.” “You don’t need to blame your mother.” After all, you are no different from her. 3 When the banquet ended, my parents found me in the lobby. “Gwen… we’re planning to head back early.” My hometown was a coastal town in the south, and my parents had traveled all the way here specifically for my wedding. I hadn’t expected them to leave before the event was even fully over. I knew I had disgraced them. “…I’ll book your flight tickets,” I said, my voice thick with guilt. Gideon stepped up behind us at that moment. He frowned. “Mom, Dad, the reception isn’t over yet. So many guests are still here, it’s not proper for you to leave now.” My mother finally snapped. She raised her hand and delivered a ringing slap across Gideon’s face! Tears streamed down her face as she yelled, “Gideon! My daughter has done nothing wrong to you! Our family saved your life, and this is how you humiliate her?!” Gideon’s eyes darkened, but out of respect for my mother, he restrained himself. “I’ve said it again and again, Gwen is my only wife. How am I humiliating her?” he declared coldly. “Amy and I grew up together. Everyone in our circle assumed we would end up together.” “Even though I only view Amy as a sister, I had to give her this respect today.” Though he spoke to my mother, his dark, accusing gaze landed squarely on me. “Gwen, you are being completely unreasonable.” I didn’t know who was truly being unreasonable. Six years ago, Gideon and a few friends took a sailboat out to sea after graduation. They ran into a severe storm and suffered a shipwreck. Fortunately, the accident occurred near the peninsula where my family lived. I rescued Gideon and his friends, including Amy. I had intended to send them back as soon as they recovered. Yet when Gideon woke up, he refused to leave. He sent everyone else away, insisting that Amy go home first despite her tearful protests. He stayed at my house for an entire summer. During those months, I took him to the beach to catch crabs, taught him how to fish, and showed him how to read the weather at sea. Every time, his eyes would light up with admiration. “Gwen, you’re amazing. You’re like a goddess of the sea.” I laughed at his exaggerated praise. “I just grew up by the coast. My mom is a doctor, my dad is a teacher, and I’m just a normal student.” “I don’t care. To me, you’re the most incredible girl I’ve ever met.” On a clear, breezy afternoon, we took a small boat out onto the calm water. We lay side by side on the deck, watching sea birds glide across the blue sky. “Gwen, be my girlfriend.” “I promise to treat you well in this life, the next life, and every life after that.” I agreed. Back then, I had no idea that the Gu family was a massive corporate empire, or that a simple girl like me was far out of his league. Later, when I discovered he was an heir to a elite family in the capital, I tried to end things multiple times. Yet Gideon refused to let go. “I don’t care about any of that! I told you, I will only love you forever! Gwen, you can’t abandon me!” My heart softened. Even my parents, who initially opposed our relationship, were moved by his relentless persistence. At Gideon’s earnest begging, I packed my bags and moved to the capital alone. Yet I had forgotten that Gideon had a precious younger sister named Amy. Over the past few years, Amy mocked me, belittled me, and tried to humiliate me in front of the entire social circle. I endured it all, reminding myself that her parents had died young and that she grew up alongside Gideon. Gideon kept reassuring me that he had no intention of marrying Amy. “She is just a sister to me.” Even though I had saved Amy’s life back then, she once threw a kitchen knife at me during a tantrum. Despite my quick reflexes, a chunk of flesh was sliced from my thigh. To this day, a jagged scar remains on my leg. That night, Gideon held me frantically as he rushed me to the hospital in the pouring rain, even getting into a massive fight with Amy for the first time. I had wanted to break things off then, but seeing Gideon’s terrified, heartbroken expression like an abandoned puppy, my heart melted again. I closed my eyes tightly. This time, my heart would not soften again. My phone vibrated in my palm. The man had replied to my message. [I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses.] [My Miss Mercer.] 4 Gideon blocked my parents from leaving and refused to let me book their flight, forcing them to stay at the hotel. That evening, a group of groomsmen and bridesmaids gathered in the hallway, clamoring to crash the bridal suite. Gideon frowned. “What era are we living in? Let’s skip these crude pranks.” “Haha, come on, Gideon! It’s all just for fun and to bring good luck!” “Don’t worry, we’re just fooling around to create a lively atmosphere!” Amy stood beside them, giggled softly. She threw a calculating glance at me. “Gideon said his wife is Gwen. Since that’s the case, you guys should give Gwen a proper initiation!” I froze, stepping back. Before I could ask what she meant, the crowd cheered in agreement as if it had all been orchestrated in advance. “Right! Gwen is the real Mrs. Gu! Come on, Mrs. Gu, step inside!” “Mrs. Gu, you wouldn’t want to ruin everyone’s fun, would you?” Realizing something was terribly wrong, I refused loudly, but the groomsmen and bridesmaids grabbed my arms, forcefully dragging me into the hotel suite. It was just a luxury hotel room set up for the wedding night. They threw me onto the bed covered in red silk sheets. I scrambled to climb off, but several hands pinned me down with loud, mocking laughter. Through the door, I heard my parents crying out in terror. “No! What are you doing to Gwen?! Gideon! Gideon, stop them!” Gideon’s voice sounded hesitant outside. Yet in the end, he spoke up, “It’s fine, Mom, Dad. I’ll watch them to make sure they don’t go too far.” “It’s just a harmless prank to bring good fortune to the wedding.” “Gideon!!!” My mother’s voice cracked in utter despair. I closed my eyes as hot tears spilled from the corners of my eyes. My hair was torn messily around my shoulders, and I could only use my hands to cover my torn clothing as best as I could. Until a cold, commanding voice echoed at the doorway. “What do you think you’re doing to my fiancée?” A brief, dead silence fell over the room, followed by gasps of shock. “Mr. Gavin?! What… what are you doing here?!” The next second, I was lifted into a firm, warm pair of arms. A rich scent of cedar and bergamot wrapped around me as a soft wool blanket was draped over my body, covering my torn dress completely. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he rasped quietly. I opened my eyes, meeting Gideon’s furious, disbelieving gaze a few feet away. “Gavin?! Why the hell are you here? Who are you calling your fiancée?!” The man holding me answered calmly, “Gwen is my fiancée.” “We are registering our marriage tomorrow, and holding our wedding the day after.” “Im possible!!!” Gideon charged into the room, reaching out to tear me away from Gavin. “What nonsense are you spewing?! Gwen is my wife! She’s the future matriarch of the Gu family!” “Today was our wedding! What does any of this have to do with you, you bastard?!” Gavin let out a cold, mocking smirk. “Today? Your wedding with Gwen?” His dark eyes drifted meaningfully toward Amy standing at the door. Amy stood frozen like a stone statue, her face pale with shock. “Then what about her?” Gavin asked. “Amy is just my sister!” “Sister?” Gavin’s large hand held me securely against his chest, preventing Gideon from touching a single thread of my clothes. “Holding a wedding, wearing bridal gowns, reciting vows, and exchanging rings with your ‘sister’?” “How… how do you know all that…” Gideon stammered. “Because I have been waiting for this day for ten whole years.” “Because I knew that a man like you could never give Gwen happiness, nor do you deserve to. So, I am replacing you.” Gavin didn’t waste another second on the crowd. Carrying me in his arms, he strode out of the suite, while his assistants promptly escorted my parents out behind us. I leaned against Gavin’s warm, solid chest. Behind us, Gideon screamed my name hysterically, giving chase with everything he had. I never turned back.

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1 I used to cover every single expense for our extended family’s overseas vacations. I used my airline elite status to upgrade their flight tickets, redeemed my hotel points for executive suites, and even pre-paid all the airport transfers and Ubers. Everyone got used to it. Occasionally, someone would post a nine-photo grid on social media with a location tag, and that was the extent of their gratitude. That all changed when my aunt dragged a self-proclaimed “travel guru” into the family group chat. The moment this guru saw the pristine, non-shopping itinerary I had spent days building, she dropped a rolling-eye emoji into the chat. “Goodness, this girl sure knows how to throw money away, doesn’t she? Booking five-star luxury resorts for a simple tropical getaway? Let’s be honest, she’s just using your money to indulge herself. Folks our age can find local tour packages for a fraction of that cost.” The elders in the family immediately started hitting the like button. She followed up with another message: “As luck would have it, I have access to an exclusive insider deal. Nine days and eight nights for just nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars, all-inclusive. Meals, lodging, and transfers. I’m not making a dime on this. I just want to help my dear brothers and sisters enjoy life without getting ripped off.” I quietly opened my airline app. I had to thank this so-called expert. Finally, I could stop wasting my top-tier rewards points, stop acting as a free bilingual translator in the middle of the night, and stop getting blamed for spending too much money. Now I could go watch the Northern Lights in Scandinavia all by myself. … The expert Aunt Martha brought into the chat went by Pamela. Just last night, I had posted the full itinerary for next month’s family trip to a tropical island resort. It was a fourteen-page document detailing everything from arrival visa forms to daily dinner reservations. I had pulled three consecutive all-nighters after my day job to get it done. The group chat had been dead silent all day. Until Pamela joined. She dropped five consecutive sixty-second voice notes, all boiling down to one main point: my itinerary was a money pit. I sat in front of my laptop, watching the messages flood the screen. Aunt Martha was the first to speak up. “Nora, Pamela is right. That hotel you picked is over three hundred dollars a night. Pamela’s tour package covers eight nights for less than a grand total. The price difference is just absurd.” My younger cousin, Jake, chimed in next. “Sis, you’re used to staying in fancy places when you travel for work, but there’s no need to be so flashy when the whole family goes out together. Imagine how much duty-free shopping we could do with the money we save on those rooms.” My hands rested on the keyboard, but I didn’t type a word. That three-hundred-dollar-a-night resort wasn’t costing them a single cent. I held Titanium Elite status with the hotel chain. I had booked four ocean-view suites entirely using the three hundred thousand rewards points I had accumulated over two years of grueling business trips. I had even contacted the hotel manager in advance to ensure Aunt Martha’s room had accessible facilities and a complimentary fruit basket. The flights were no different. I had locked in spacious front-row seats for eight people using my airline perks, and I had personally covered over a thousand dollars in taxes and fees on my credit card. All these details were listed on the final three pages of the itinerary. Clearly, not a single person had read them. “I think Pamela’s deal sounds fantastic,” said Cousin Rachel, Aunt Martha’s eldest daughter. “Meals and rooms are covered, plus a dedicated tour guide. Nora, just cancel all those complicated bookings you made. We’re going with Pamela this time.” Complicated bookings. I stared at those words on the screen, then picked up my phone. Pamela dropped a payment QR code into the chat. “Alright, everyone! Spots for the nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine deal are extremely limited. Scan to transfer your payment right away so I can lock in your reservations!” Screenshots of confirmed payments immediately flooded the screen. Aunt Martha sent hers. Jake sent his. Rachel sent hers too. Aunt Martha tagged me. “Nora, hurry up and transfer your share. Let Pamela show us what real value travel looks like.” I tapped into my airline app and opened my bookings. Eight round-trip tickets. Cancel. A prompt popped up: A cancellation fee will apply. I tapped confirm. The refund processed back to my original payment method. Next, I opened the hotel app and canceled all four suite reservations. Three hundred thousand points instantly bounced back into my account balance. When everything was done, I took a screenshot of the flight cancellation confirmation and dropped it into the family chat. “Flights and hotels are canceled. I won’t be joining. Have fun on your trip with Pamela.” 2 The group chat went silent for ten seconds. Then Jake sent me a private message. “Sis, if you’re not going, that’s fine, but can you send me your airport lounge pass QR code? I want to take my girlfriend in for a free lunch before we board.” I stared at his text. On every previous trip, I had used my unlimited lounge access to bring him in. He had grown accustomed to helping himself to complimentary premium water and hot buffets, snapping photos to flex on his social media. “Lounge access is strictly tied to my personal boarding pass. If I’m not flying, you can’t get in,” I replied. Jake sent back an annoyed emoji. “Wow, you really are petty. Just because you aren’t coming, you take away our perks too? Fine, we’ll just buy fast food ourselves.” I didn’t bother replying and closed the chat. Aunt Martha posted a voice note in the main group, her tone laced with resentment. “Nora is just too delicate to handle real travel. Let her be. Pamela, how do we handle our entry visas?” Pamela replied instantly. “Don’t worry, my dear friend! Visa on arrival. Just bring your passports and let’s go. My team handles everything.” I watched Pamela’s reply, then took a sip of iced water. The standard queue for visa-on-arrival at that airport usually took three to four hours. If you wanted the express lane, you needed to pay a cash tip per person. Pamela hadn’t mentioned a single word about that. I flipped my phone face down on the desk, opened a browser tab, and began searching for first-class flights to Iceland for next month. The following afternoon, Pamela posted the official travel schedule in the group chat. It was a flashy, cluttered graphic labeled “Ultimate Tropical Paradise Tour.” I was in the middle of reviewing my confirmation email for an Icelandic Northern Lights tour when my best friend, Lauren, forwarded me a screenshot of the chat. Lauren was connected with Jake on social media, so she could see what was happening. “Nora, is your aunt’s family out of their minds?” Lauren sent a frantic voice note. “A thousand bucks for flights, hotels, and meals? Look at this itinerary. ‘Royal Jewelry Center,’ ‘Latex Mattress Experience Hall,’ ‘Exotic Snake Venom Institute.’ This is literally the textbook zero-dollar package tour scam from a decade ago!” I zoomed in on the graphic. The schedule called for a six in the morning wake-up call every day, returning to the hotel at ten at night. Out of seven days on the ground, four and a half were dedicated entirely to shopping stops. Under accommodation, it simply read “Local Luxury Hotel” without naming a single actual property. It was the classic low-cost shopping trap. The tour guide didn’t make money from the package price; they earned commissions by locking tourists inside stores until they hit forced spending quotas. I closed the image and texted Lauren back. “They’ve already paid.” Lauren was exasperated. “Your aunt has a heart condition! Sitting on a bumpy tour bus for eight hours a day to get dragged through forced shopping stalls? Can her body even handle that? Didn’t you warn them?” I thought about it for a moment, then opened the family group chat. I didn’t write a long lecture. I simply typed one clear message: “Visa on arrival requires each traveler to carry at least three hundred dollars in local cash for random customs checks. Also, the jewelry centers and latex halls on the itinerary are typically mandatory spending stops. You might want to verify if your payment covers required minimum purchases.” After sending it, I put my phone down. Three minutes later, Aunt Martha blew a fuse. “Nora, what is wrong with you? It’s bad enough you refused to come, but now you’re trying to curse us? What forced spending? Pamela explicitly said this is a friend-and-family rate! You just can’t stand seeing us get a great deal without you!” Jake was quick to chime in. “Sis, those online guides you read are completely outdated. Pamela has led dozens of tours. You think she doesn’t know how this works? Stop spreading fear.” Rachel added her own commentary. “Nora, try to be a bit more open-minded. We know you’re upset that we canceled your three-hundred-dollar-a-night hotel, but there’s no need to make up lies to slander Pamela.” I sat in front of the screen, reading those three responses. Pamela dropped a sighing emoji. “Nora, dear, I know you’re used to high-end luxury travel and look down on budget tours for ordinary folks like us. But you shouldn’t throw mud at my reputation. I’ve been in this business for years based entirely on trust. If anyone here doesn’t trust me, I will gladly refund your money right now.” Aunt Martha panicked instantly. “Pamela, don’t listen to her nonsense! We trust you completely! Nora, stop posting your bitter comments in here and ruining everyone’s mood.” I stared at the screen, tapped the group settings, scrolled all the way to the bottom, and hit the button. You have left the chat. The world went instantly quiet. I opened my payment apps and banking portal. Previously, to make things easier for Aunt Martha when she went out, I had linked her account to my card with a five-hundred-dollar monthly allowance for groceries and rideshares. I unlinked it. Next, I removed Jake from my streaming service sub-accounts and revoked Rachel’s secondary access to my shopping membership. In ten minutes, I scrubbed away every single perk and privilege my relatives had been leeching off my accounts. 3 Lauren called me immediately. “You left the group?” “I left.” I slid my printed visa documents into a clear folder. “Good for you,” Lauren snorted over the line. “I just saw Jake post a status update saying, ‘Some people just hate to see others thrive. So bitter.’ They have zero clue how much money you’ve been saving them all these years.” “They don’t need to know,” I said, sealing the folder. “I fly out to Reykjavik next Wednesday. My fifteen-day vacation was approved.” “Awesome!” Lauren cheered. “I can’t wait to see what happens when they land and the tour guide turns on them.” I didn’t comment. I opened my drawer and pulled out my passport. Over the past three years, its pages had been covered with stamps from across the globe. Every single time, I was trailing behind a crowd of relatives, acting as the designated banker, translator, and tour guide. From today on, this passport served no one but myself. A week later, I landed at Reykjavik Airport. It was twenty-three degrees Fahrenheit outside. Wrapped in my high-end winter parka, I stepped into the pre-arranged Mercedes chauffeur service. When I arrived at the Blue Lagoon luxury retreat, the front desk manager noted my elite status and upgraded my standard room directly to a private villa with its own geothermal spring, complete with two complimentary bottles of champagne. I soaked in the steaming, mineral-rich waters, gazing out at the snow-capped mountains in the distance. My phone vibrated on the waterproof ledge. Lauren had sent a few screenshots. They were posts from Aunt Martha and Jake. Aunt Martha had shared a selfie from inside a tour bus. In the background, the vinyl bus seats were torn and the window curtains were stained yellow. Her caption read: VIP Luxury Coach, away we go! Living the sweet life with Pamela! Jake had posted a photo of a hotel room. It was tiny, the sheets were visibly wrinkled, and there was water damage in the corner of the wall. His caption read: Charming local guesthouse! So authentic and cozy, way more character than those boring, copy-paste luxury chain hotels. I swiped past the images without replying. That evening, I dressed up for dinner at the hotel’s Michelin-starred restaurant. It was an extremely exclusive spot that I had booked two months in advance. At the table next to mine, a man in his fifties was struggling in broken English to discuss the wine list with the sommelier. After listening for a moment, I stepped in politely and helped him confirm the exact vintage of Burgundy he was looking for. The man walked over to thank me and handed me his business card. He was an executive director at a listed tech firm, named Mr. Prescott. “You really know your wines, Miss Nora,” Mr. Prescott said with a warm smile before returning to his seat. “I just travel frequently for work, so I’ve picked up a few things,” I replied, tucking the card away. Over the next hour, we struck up a casual conversation. He mentioned that his company was planning a high-level retreat for their executive team in Europe next month. The budget was substantial, but their internal admin team kept submitting generic proposals—either cliché tourist traps or standard golf resorts. I opened my iPad and pulled up a private Swiss itinerary I had designed for myself a while back. “Mr. Prescott, if budget isn’t a constraint, you should consider St. Moritz. Skip the overcrowded tourist peaks. Arrange a private helicopter drop on the glaciers, stay at Badrutt’s Palace, and charter a private panoramic car on the Glacier Express for your internal board meetings.” I swiped through the screen, showing him detailed route maps, hotel interiors, and a logistical backup plan calculated down to the hour. Mr. Prescott studied it intensely. Ten minutes later, he looked up at me. “Miss Nora, which firm do you work for?” I named my company. “Our internal team could never put together a plan like this,” Mr. Prescott said, pulling out his phone. “I want to hire you as an external consultant to orchestrate this executive retreat. We will pay top market consulting fees, plus cover all your travel expenses.” I looked at him calmly. “I only care about professionalism,” Mr. Prescott added as he added my contact. “What you just showed me proves you put immense care and precision into your work. I despise paying for cheap, inefficient results.” By ten that night, Mr. Prescott’s assistant had emailed a draft consulting contract to my inbox. A ten-thousand-dollar retainer, to be deposited into my account within three days. 4 I signed the agreement and hit send. I took a sip of champagne. The Icelandic night sky was brilliantly clear, and the Northern Lights began to swirl in delicate ribbons of green outside my floor-to-ceiling window. I hadn’t spent a single dime out of pocket, nor had I subsidized anyone. I had used my expertise to earn the compensation I deserved. My phone vibrated again. This time it wasn’t Lauren. It was an unlisted international call via a messaging app. I looked at the screen and knew instantly who it was. It rang six times before I pressed accept. “Nora! Nora, pick up!” Aunt Martha’s voice shrieked through the speaker, dripping with sharp hysteria and pure panic. The background noise was deafening—men shouting aggressively and women screaming in terror. I held the phone away, turned on the speaker, and set it on the table. “What is it?” my tone was flat. “Nora, you have to save us! We’re locked in!” Aunt Martha sobbed uncontrollably. “That Pamela is a fraud! She brought us to some latex mattress factory, and the tour guide locked the doors! They said if we don’t buy seven thousand dollars worth of stuff, we aren’t allowed to leave! They took all our passports!” “Where’s Jake?” I asked. “Jake tried to argue with them, and two local security guards pinned him against the wall and slapped him! Now they’ve locked him in a back room! They said if we don’t pay, they’ll call the local police to arrest us!” Aunt Martha was shaking so violently her voice was barely coherent. “Nora, send me five thousand dollars right now! No, send ten thousand! We need to buy tickets and get back home!” I looked at the ten-thousand-dollar retainer contract sitting on my tablet, then picked up my champagne glass. “Aunt Martha,” I said, my voice echoing clearly through the silent villa room. “I warned all of you in the group chat that low-cost package tours rely on forced spending. You told me I was making up lies because I couldn’t stand seeing you get a good deal.” “I was wrong! Your aunt was blind!” she screamed, desperately pleading. “Just send the money to rescue us first! We don’t know anyone here, what if something terrible happens to us?!” “I don’t have money to send you,” I said. “How could you not have money?! You stay in three-hundred-dollar hotels all the time, just swipe your card!” Aunt Martha snapped, her tone momentarily slipping back into her old, entitled habit of demanding things from me. I held my glass, looking out at the snow peaks. “Aunt Martha, let me do some math for you.” I pulled up a note on my phone. “Two years ago in Osaka, I bought round-trip tickets for six of you, which cost me three thousand five hundred dollars. Last year in Singapore, when Uncle got sick at the theme park, I covered twelve hundred dollars in medical bills and flight change fees. Over the past three years, I have spent over eleven thousand dollars of my own money on your flights, hotels, visas, and expenses.” The line went eerily quiet, save for the faint sound of the tour guide cursing in broken English in the background. “Those luxury hotels were booked with rewards points I earned by grinding late nights on business trips. Those lounge access passes were perks I earned by flying seventy segments a year.” I read off the numbers without a trace of emotion. “You thought I was wasting money, and you thought Pamela’s cheap deal was the better choice. Now you are receiving the exact level of service you paid for. That seems entirely fair.” “Nora! Are you even human?! I’m your aunt!” she screeched at the top of her lungs. “Jake is still in their hands! If you leave us to die, how are you ever going to look your parents in the eye when you get home?!”

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The day I was brought back to my ultra-wealthy family, I was immediately dumped into the most expensive prep academy in the city. My icy older sister shoved the school uniform into my arms. “We don’t raise freeloaders here. You’d better keep your head down and act invisible.” On my very first day of school, the campus queen bee poured a full glass of red wine right over my dress. The entire audience held their breath, waiting for me to burst into tears. I glanced down at my soaked dress, then suddenly began to applaud with immense enthusiasm. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” The queen bee was dumbfounded. “Are you insane?” With tears sparkling in my eyes, I grabbed her hands tightly. “With this single splash, you have highlighted the class divide, awakened female consciousness, and exposed the absurd underbelly of elite education!” “Classmate, you are a born performance artist!” Queen bee: “…” Ten minutes later, the senior art teacher came running over, his voice trembling with sheer excitement. “Who? Who was it that just executed this live installation of Wine and Power?!” I pointed straight at the queen bee. “It was her.” Later on, her family’s corporate stock value actually skyrocketed. Yet she broke down completely over the campus-wide PA system, screaming hysterically: “I literally just wanted to bully her!” 1 The auditorium was so quiet you could hear the red wine dripping off the hem of my dress. Drip. Drip. It splattered onto the polished marble floor. Penelope, the school queen bee, stood there holding an empty crystal goblet, her triumphant smirk freezing mid-frame. Beside her, a couple of girls had already whipped out their phones. One had even angled her camera for optimal lighting. In the front row, someone was softly counting down. “Three.” “Two.” “One.” They were waiting for me to burst into tears. I didn’t cry. Instead, I began to applaud with immense enthusiasm. My applause echoed loudly through the cavernous hall, sharp and jarring. Penelope knit her brows, struggling to regain her composure. “Cora Montgomery, have you lost your mind?” Cora Montgomery. That was the shiny new name assigned to me after I was brought back to the ultra-wealthy Montgomery family. It sounded very high-class, even if it felt a little unfamiliar rolling off my tongue. I looked up at her, my gaze solemn and overflowing with respect. “Penelope, you are far too humble.” Penelope blinked. “What?” I swept my gaze across the room. Every freshman and faculty member was present. Elite prep academies really were built different. Even their crowds for witnessing a public humiliation were impeccably organized. Talk about a jackpot. I cleared my throat and lifted the soaked fabric of my skirt. “Everyone, look at this dress! Originally, it was just a standard piece of off-the-rack haute couture.” “But with this single splash of Cabernet from Penelope, it is no longer ordinary!” I continued passionately. “It now possesses conflict! Class dichotomy! Raw pain! And above all, philosophical thought!” A few students in the front row had their expressions twist in visible confusion. Behind the stage, the senior art teacher, Mr. Adler, poked his head out. He had initially come to check the stage decorations for the orientation ceremony, but hearing my speech, his footsteps halted dead in their tracks. I spotted him instantly and immediately yielded the floor to the professional. “Mr. Adler! You arrived just in time!” I called out. “Please, evaluate this from a professional standpoint. Does Penelope’s splashing gesture hold value as a piece of avant-garde performance art?” Mr. Adler adjusted his glasses, his eyes sweeping from my wine-stained gown to Penelope’s pale face. Penelope panicked. “Mr. Adler, I didn’t…” Before she could finish, I grabbed her wrist in a tight, dramatic hold. “Don’t explain yourself! True artists never rush to define their own work!” Penelope’s lips trembled. Mr. Adler took two steps closer. He stared at the wine stains dripping down my skirt for a full fifteen seconds. Then, his eyes ignited with brilliant fervor. “The fluid motion of that crimson hue… it truly carries an explosive tension that shatters conventional order!” he gasped. Dead silence fell across the auditorium. Penelope’s sidekick almost dropped her phone onto the floor. I nodded, my voice dripping with deep solemnity. “You understand me, Mr. Adler. No, wait, you understand Penelope.” Mr. Adler had fully crossed into an artistic trance. He began circling me, muttering to himself, “The subject, the oppressor, and the voyeurs… all three parties simultaneously construct a complete live installation!” The Headmaster, who had been waiting on stage to deliver his welcoming address, was now whiter than the projection screen. He hurried down the steps and whispered forcefully, “Miss Montgomery, the orientation ceremony is about to begin. Please go change your clothes immediately.” I gasped in profound shock. “Headmaster! Are you suggesting we interrupt a priceless, live artistic event?” The Headmaster choked on his words. I pressed my advantage. “Doesn’t Crestview Academy always emphasize freedom, diversity, and raw creativity? Right here, right now, Penelope has used a single glass of wine to open the very first aesthetic masterclass for our freshman cohort. Are you really going to shut this classroom down?” A vein throbbed violently on the Headmaster’s temple. His eyes darted toward the dozen phone cameras pointing directly at him. The people who had originally recorded my humiliation were now capturing bulletproof evidence of his bureaucratic dilemma. The Headmaster remained silent for three full seconds. Then, he offered a strained, painful smile. “Of course not. Our academy has always respected the creative expression of our students.” Penelope was utterly dumbfounded. I turned around, took her hand, and bowed deeply to the entire audience. “Thank you, everyone! And thank you, Penelope, for bringing us this masterpiece titled Wine and Power!” Scattered applause erupted from the crowd. Some were just here for the drama, some were coerced by the mood, and others simply hadn’t processed what had just transpired. Penelope’s face turned an unsightly shade of green and white. I leaned into her ear and whispered softly, “Don’t be nervous. When great artists first achieve fame, they always feel a bit out of their element.” She yanked her hand back violently. “Cora Montgomery, you just wait!” My eyes lit up. “Fantastic!” Penelope stared at me with intense suspicion. I beamed at her with pure sincerity. “Penelope, do you already have a second piece planned?” 2 When the orientation ceremony ended, I was summoned straight to the Headmaster’s office. Penelope was dragged in right along with me. The moment she stepped through the door, she slumped onto the leather sofa, her eyes rimmed red like a helpless little rabbit. “Headmaster, my hand really just slipped!” I nodded vigorously. “I believe her.” Penelope froze. The Headmaster paused as well. I looked at them with unyielding earnestness. “Many magnificent creations begin with a mere accident. It was true for the wine splash, and it was true when the apple hit Sir Isaac Newton on the head.” The corner of the Headmaster’s mouth twitched. Penelope clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white. “Stop making up absolute garbage!” I corrected her gently. “This isn’t garbage. This is artistic critique.” A sharp cough sounded from the doorway. I turned my head. Serena Montgomery stood in the frame. Dressed in a sharply tailored black blazer with cold, detached features, she looked so polished she barely seemed human. She was my notoriously icy older sister—the current heir to the Montgomery estate. At twenty-four, she was already sitting at board meetings, verbally shredding old corporate executives until they hung their heads in silence. The look she gave me was even colder than the day I was brought back home. “Cora.” I stood up straight instantly. “Sister.” Her gaze landed on my wine-soaked dress. “I told you to keep your head down and act invisible.” I attempted to explain. “I did keep my head down.” Serena’s face remained expressionless. “You call this keeping your head down?” I contemplated for a moment. “Perhaps my head is just naturally rebellious.” The Headmaster suddenly took a very urgent, loud gulp of water. Seeing a potential ally, Penelope whined pitifully, “Serena, my hand really slipped…” Serena cast a fleeting glance at her. “I didn’t ask you.” Penelope snapped her mouth shut, her face stiffening. Serena turned her icy gaze back to me. “It’s your very first day of school, and you’ve already made yourself famous across the entire campus.” “Sister, that’s called brand reach,” I corrected brightly. Serena stared at me. “You sound remarkably proud.” I nodded. “The viral conversion rate is indeed quite impressive.” The Headmaster finally felt compelled to interject. “Miss Montgomery, we will handle this matter appropriately. It definitely won’t tarnish the Montgomery family’s prestige.” Serena’s tone was flat. “It already has.” Cold sweat broke out on the Headmaster’s forehead. She raised her arm and handed her phone to me. The screen displayed the top trending topics. #EliteAcademyWineArt #PenelopePerformanceArt #CrestviewOrientationCeremony I blinked. “That fast?” Penelope’s face drained of color as she reached out to snatch the phone, but Serena smoothly pulled it out of reach. Serena glanced down at the analytics page. “The stock value of Penelope’s family business just jumped two points.” Silence descended upon the office. Penelope’s expression shifted from frantic distress to sheer bewilderment. I clapped my hands softly. “A stunning market debut, Penelope!” Penelope glared at me with pure venom. “Shut up!” Serena locked her phone screen. “This matter ends here.” She looked at me. “Get back to class.” I obediently turned toward the exit. As I reached the doorway, I spun around to look at Penelope one last time. She instantly threw her guard up. “What else do you want?!” I offered a glowing, genuine smile. “Penelope, today’s piece achieved a remarkably high level of execution. Next time you feel the urge to create, feel free to give me advance notice!” Penelope grabbed a decorative throw pillow from the sofa and hurled it straight at my head. I ducked smoothly to the side. The pillow flew past me, crashing right into the trophy sitting on the Headmaster’s desk. The Headmaster’s eyelid twitched frantically. Serena finally spoke. “Cora.” I snapped to attention. She said coldly, “Get your ass back to class.” I obediently scrammed. Stepping out into the hallway, I checked my phone. The school forum was completely ablaze. Someone had uploaded a video of me applauding in my wine-stained gown. The title was exceptionally eye-catching: The Long-Lost Heiress’s Mental State Is 30 Years Ahead of the Entire Campus. The comment section was refreshing at lightspeed. Is she genuinely insane? Penelope finally ran headfirst into a brick wall this time. Wait… why does her explanation actually make sense? Say what you want, but Mr. Adler’s eyes were practically glowing! I scrolled through the thread in high spirits. Elite prep schools were marvelous. The campus was practically overflowing with passionate, creative minds. As I rounded the corner of the corridor, several girls stepped out to block my path. Leading them was Penelope’s main henchwoman, Sienna. She crossed her arms, letting out a cold sneer. “Cora Montgomery, do you seriously think you’ve won?” I answered solemnly, “I wouldn’t dare.” Sienna lifted her chin in satisfaction. A second later, I added, “Art knows no winners or losers.” The smirk vanished from her face. I stepped around her. She grit her teeth, venom lacing her voice. “You’d better stay far away from the old building after classes end today.” I paused, my eyes sparkling brightly. Sienna flinched back half a step under my intense gaze. I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Wait… we can create art in the old building too?” 3 It turned out that the old building was indeed a phenomenal venue for artistic creation. Right after the final bell rang, as I reached the edge of the sports field, two girls dragged me into the abandoned academic wing. Their movements were practiced and their route was discreet. You could tell right away they were seasoned artists. Ultimately, they shoved me into a deserted, decommissioned restroom. The door was locked from the outside with a heavy iron latch. Sienna’s laughter echoed through the wood. “Cora, you sure love to run your mouth, don’t you? Why don’t you stay in there and talk to yourself all night?” Chortles of laughter sounded from her squad. Someone turned on their phone to record. “Beg us! Say please!” I stood in the center of the dark restroom and surveyed my surroundings. Peeling wall paint. A heavily rusted faucet. Windows reinforced with thick iron bars. And a broken mop lying pathetic on the tile floor. Magnificent. Rich materials. Raw emotion. A closed-loop spatial structure. I pulled out my phone to check my cell signal. Two bars. More than enough. I tapped into a live-streaming app and typed out the title: Locked in a Restroom for 30 Minutes: Witnessing Structural Violence at an Elite Academy. In the first minute, only three viewers joined. By the fifth minute, over a hundred people had flooded in. By the tenth minute, the school’s online forum blew up completely. I angled the phone camera directly at the rusted iron lock. “Dear audience, does this lock merely seal a wooden door?” Comments flashed across the screen at lightning speed. Wait, does it mean something else?! Is she doing another lecture?! I paused for dramatic effect. “On the surface, it locks a door. But in reality, it seals away a new student’s fragile trust in campus safety.” The live chat went dead silent for a second. Then, a avalanche of comments erupted. Oh god, she’s starting again! Why am I actually listening to this?! Are the old building bathrooms really that dilapidated? I swept the camera toward the sink. “Look at this faucet. It has been rusting for years, yet it persists in remaining right here. It represents the neglected, forgotten corners of elite education!” The laughter outside evaporated into thin air. Sienna began pounding frantically on the door. “Cora! What the hell are you doing in there?!” I pointed the camera toward the shaking wood, introducing her warmly to the stream. “The person outside is the co-curator of this live installation. Notice how she uses rhythmic percussion to reinforce the second layer of spatial oppression.” The chat blew up instantly. CO-CURATOR LMAO! The bullies outside are about to have a total nervous breakdown! Wait, did they actually lock her inside an abandoned bathroom?! I offered a gentle reminder to the viewers. “Please don’t misunderstand them, everyone. They simply possess an overwhelming desire for artistic expression.” Chaos erupted outside the door. Someone cursed in a panicked whisper, “Turn off the stream! Make her turn it off right now!” I set my phone securely on the edge of the sink, climbed up onto the porcelain counter, and declared with deep solemnity, “Our exhibition is now reaching its grand climax! When the victim begins to dictate the narrative, the oppressors involuntarily become part of the exhibit itself!” It went completely silent outside the door. Five minutes later, hurried footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway. The Headmaster, Mr. Adler, security guards, and the entire student council came rushing over. The Headmaster was wiping sweat from his forehead as he bellowed, “Break the lock! Open it now!” When the security guard snapped the iron latch with bolt cutters and pushed the door open, the camera caught the sickly pale faces of the girls standing outside in stunning high definition. Sienna turned around, trying to cover her face and run. I leaped down from the sink and introduced them with radiant enthusiasm. “Look, everyone! These individuals are the master architects behind this enclosed spatial experience!” Sienna shrieked, “Shut your mouth!” I nodded approvingly. “Her emotional delivery is remarkably full-bodied.” Mr. Adler squeezed through the crowd. He looked at the bathroom, looked at the live stream on my phone, and then looked at me. His eyes were twinkling with unbridled awe. “This piece… it is infinitely more mature than the wine dress!” he gasped. The Headmaster almost fainted on the spot. “Mr. Adler!” Mr. Adler reined himself in immediately, though the way he stared at the broken bathroom door held a level of profound appreciation that certainly didn’t belong in a administrative crisis. I picked up my phone. The live view count had surpassed one hundred thousand. Penelope was standing near the back of the crowd, her expression utterly grim. I waved at her with a bright, cheerful smile. “Penelope! The second exhibition is a resounding success!” Her lips turned white. “This… this has nothing to do with me!” I offered her a look of deep understanding. “Great art always endures authorship disputes.” Penelope’s vision went dark for a brief second. That very evening, Crestview Academy issued an official public statement: The old building restrooms present safety hazards and will undergo immediate structural renovation. Simultaneously, to honor this vital campus safety dialogue, the first floor of the building will be transformed into a student public art space. Reading the announcement, I nodded in satisfaction. Just as I was getting ready to sleep, Serena pushed my bedroom door open. She tossed a tablet onto my bed, displaying the replay of my live stream. She asked coldly, “Cora, what on earth are you doing at that school?” I pointed at the view count. “Sister, I brought honor to our family line.” 4 Serena stared at the view count, remaining silent for ten full seconds. Finally, she shut the tablet off. “Starting tomorrow, a personal chauffeur will drive you to and from school.” I gasped in shock. “Sister, are you trying to protect me?” She cast a freezing look at me. “I’m afraid you’ll blow up the campus.” I let out a sigh of relief. Good, she was still the familiar, cold sister I knew. The next morning, the moment I stepped into my classroom, every single head snapped in my direction. Class 17, where I had been assigned, was the notorious dumping ground of Crestview Academy. It housed slacker heirs abandoned by their families, low-ranking rich kids, and weirdos kicked out of the advanced placement tracks. I walked to the very back row and took a seat. Slumped on the desk beside mine was a boy wearing thick black-rimmed glasses. His desk was piled high with scratch paper covered in dense, intricate mathematical formulas. The moment I set my backpack down, he snapped his head up. “Could you try breathing a little quieter?” I clamped my mouth shut instantly. Three seconds later, he added, “Your respiratory rhythm has unnatural fluctuations.” I held my breath completely. He nodded in satisfaction and went back to his calculations. A guy in the front row burst out laughing. “Gideon is having another episode! He’s the guy who had a total meltdown last month just because the math teacher wrote a chalk symbol half a centimeter crooked!” The pen in Gideon’s hand came to a sudden halt. I glanced at him. This classmate possessed extraordinary artistic potential as well. During the second period, Penelope marched over accompanied by the Dean of Discipline. She stood at the classroom doorway, her eyes rimmed red. “Dean, my diamond necklace is missing.” The classroom fell instantly silent. The Dean frowned. “Are you sure you lost it around here?” Penelope bit her lower lip, her gaze landing squarely on me. “I’ve only been near Class 17 today.” Every eye in the room shifted toward me. Sienna chimed in immediately, “Cora, do you dare let the Dean search your backpack?!” I nodded. “I dare.” They clearly hadn’t expected me to be so cooperative. The Dean walked over, his expression grim. “Miss Montgomery, please cooperate with the inspection.” I pushed my backpack straight onto the podium. A flash of smug triumph gleamed in Penelope’s eyes. A second later, my bag was unzipped and turned upside down. Textbooks, a pencil case, half a bag of potato chips, two beef sticks, and a dazzling diamond necklace tumbled out onto the desk. The entire class gasped. Penelope covered her mouth, feigning horror. “Cora, it really was you!” I stared at that shimmering diamond necklace, my eyes slowly igniting with awe. Penelope suddenly felt an ominous chill run down her spine. I bent down and scooped the necklace up with both hands, holding it reverently. “Magnificent! Simply magnificent!” The Dean knit his brows. “Cora Montgomery, stop fooling around!” I turned around to face the entire class. “Classmates, please remember this precise moment! The significance of this necklace has officially transcended the value of fine jewelry itself!” The corner of Penelope’s mouth twitched violently. I continued passionately, “It was planted inside the bag of a newly reclaimed heiress! It carries the weight of immense wealth, prejudice, societal surveillance, and above all, the price of innocence!” Gideon finally raised his head from his desk. He stared at the necklace for two seconds, then stated plainly, “The logic holds up.” The entire class went: “??” I looked at him, deeply moved. “Thank you for the critical endorsement, Gideon!” Penelope lost her temper. “You stole my property!” I nodded eagerly. “Then call the police immediately!” She froze. I handed the necklace straight to the Dean. “Dean, please call the police right now. And while you’re at it, review the hallway CCTV footage to see who placed this magnificent artwork into my bag.” All color drained from Penelope’s face. The Dean realized something was terribly wrong. He turned to look at Penelope. “Miss Penelope, are you absolutely certain you want to file a police report?” Penelope’s lips quivered. “I… I was just making a joke…” I burst into enthusiastic applause instantly. “Bravo! So this piece contains elements of absurd dark comedy as well!” The classroom erupted into roaring laughter. Penelope covered her face and ran out of the room in shame. The Dean stood there holding the necklace, looking utterly trapped in an awkward nightmare. I returned to my desk, contentedly unwrapping one of my beef sticks. Suddenly, Gideon pushed a piece of scratch paper onto my desk. Written on it was a single line: The Price of Innocence: A Logical Flowchart. I was instantly filled with profound respect. Class 17 truly was a den of hidden dragons and crouching tigers.

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1 I earned a six-figure salary working as an undercover handler for the city’s top elite heir, specifically hired to use love to tame his wild, rebellious younger brother. I ran this gig for three years with zero negative reviews. Until today, at the drag strip, when he pushed me aside for a girl in a white cotton dress. My heart sank. Not out of heartbreak, but out of pure agony for my about-to-be-lost double salary. I immediately turned around and emailed his older brother my resignation letter. Three minutes later, the elite heir himself locked down the entire mountain racing pass. … The night wind along the mountain pass blew hard, making my eyes sting. Taking advantage of the moment, I squeezed out two precise tears and gripped the edge of Zach’s racing suit. “Zach, don’t go,” I whimpered, pitching my voice to a perfectly delicate tremolo. “This mountain pass is way too dangerous, I’m really scared…” I knew this routine like the back of my hand. For three years, whenever my eyes turned red, this stubborn mule of a guy would soften up instantly. He would curse under his breath, toss his car keys aside, shove me into the passenger seat, and drive me home like a good boy to drink warm milk. But tonight, something was off. Zach didn’t wrap his arm around me like he usually did. Instead, his brow furrowed, his eyes skipping right over my shoulder toward the far side of the bleachers. I followed his line of sight and took a quick peek. Holy crap, I cursed in my head. Standing in the corner of the bleachers was a girl wearing a faded white cotton dress. She wore no makeup at all, looking like a delicate white lotus swaying in the wind among a sea of heavily painted party girls. What was most fatal was her expression: three parts stubbornness, three parts defiance, and four parts absolute martyr-like stoicism. We were doomed. Alarm bells blared in my mind. This girl had just flipped the young master’s “true love” switch. “Sienna, be a good girl,” Zach said, pulling my fingers away one by one. His motion wasn’t harsh, but it was absolute. He casually put a cigarette between his lips, leaning down close with a wicked smirk. “Don’t worry, your man’s driving skills are top-tier. I’m taking the prize in tonight’s race no matter what.” I glanced in the direction he pointed. The so-called prize was that girl in the white dress. Word on the street was that her brother owed loan sharks a fortune, and she had been dragged to the drag strip as a betting chip. Whoever won the race got to take her home. What a cliché storyline. What a dramatic trope. If this were any other day, I would have bought a bag of sunflower seeds and crouched by the curb to enjoy the show. But right now, I couldn’t bring myself to smile. Because this meant my personal cash cow was about to break out of the pasture. Zach threw on his helmet and slid into his flashy red sports car without looking back. The engine let out a deafening, throaty roar. The surrounding trust-fund bros began to cheer wildly. “Zach’s the man!” “Risking it all for a pretty face!” “Hey Sienna, looks like your official girlfriend status is expired! Can’t even keep your man on a leash!” A few socialite girls who had always disliked me sidled up to throw mocking jabs. I kept my head low, my shoulders trembling in rhythm. To them, I looked like a heartbroken girl weeping in despair. In reality, I was fighting with everything I had to hold back a burst of laughter while frantically clicking an imaginary abacus in my head. My name is Sienna. I am a professional hired companion. To be precise, I was a high-priced “wild animal trainer” employed by the eldest heir of the Sinclair family, Xavier Sinclair. Zach was the wild animal I was assigned to manage. Three years ago, Zach was a chaotic nightmare who spent his days getting into street fights, drag racing, and hitting nightclubs. Old Mr. Sinclair was so enraged he nearly suffered a heart attack. When Xavier took over the family conglomerate, his very first order of business was to clean up family discipline. However, running a multi-billion-dollar empire left him zero time to babysit his rebellious younger brother. So, he found me. “I will pay you fifty thousand dollars a month,” Xavier had said, sitting behind his leather executive desk, handing me a contract with an icy expression. “Your task is to make him fall in love with you, then use his love-addled brain to keep him in line. No drag racing, no brawling, no negative press headlines. As long as he smoothly finishes his college degree and enters the company as an intern, I will pay you a five-million-dollar completion bonus in one lump sum.” I looked at that long string of zeros and signed my name on the spot. Are you kidding me? A base salary of fifty thousand a month! And that wasn’t even counting the pocket money, designer bags, and jewelry Zach bought me on the side. Drawing two paychecks for one job was the absolute pinnacle of corporate grinding. For three years, I performed my duties with absolute dedication. I played the sweet, fragile, helpless working-class college girl to perfection, completely captivating Zach. For my sake, he quit smoking and drinking. He even dyed his bleached yellow hair back to natural black. Every single day, he picked me up from class right on time and spent his weekends sitting quietly with me in the university library. The entire elite social scene gossiped about how the wild second prince of the Sinclair family had been completely tamed by a commoner girl. Xavier was immensely satisfied with my job performance, even handing me annual bonuses twice. With just six months left until Zach’s college graduation, that five-million-dollar final bonus was practically waving at me. And then tonight, out of nowhere, Zach had a sudden brain short-circuit and insisted on coming to the mountain pass with his bad influences, running straight into Isla, the delicate white lotus. The red sports car shot out like an arrow off a bowstring, its taillights cutting a streak of crimson through the dark night. I let out a soft sigh, dropping the tearful act. Reaching into my Hermès bag, I pulled out my secondary phone, opened the messaging app, and located the solid black profile picture. Boss, we have an emergency, I typed rapidly. Target Number Two has encountered an uncontrollable emotional variable. In layman’s terms, his affection has shifted. My tear strategy is no longer effective. To avoid the embarrassment of getting kicked out, I am requesting to terminate my contract early. My formal resignation has been sent to your email. How will this month’s salary and my severance package be calculated? After sending the message, I let out a long breath of relief. A professional knows when to hold on and when to let go. Although losing that five-million-dollar final bonus stung a little, I had saved up a massive fortune over the past three years. It was more than enough for me to buy a luxury villa back in my hometown and live a comfortable life hiring a few handsome young personal assistants. My phone vibrated almost instantly. Xavier replied in seconds with just two icy words: Location. I blinked, quickly dropping the live pin of the drag strip into the chat. No further response came from his end. Leaning against the bleacher railing, I blew idly into the cold night wind, mentally rehearsing how to wrap up the scene later. Zach was guaranteed to win the race. He was, after all, a semi-professional champion driver. When he returned victorious with his new girl, what posture should I adopt? Should I hysterically demand why he betrayed me? Or should I put on a brave face, wish him happiness, and walk away into the dark? Which approach would squeeze a larger breakup payout out of him? While I was deliberating, the roar of an engine echoed from the far end of the mountain road. The red sports car crossed the finish line first, pulling off a gorgeous drift before coming to a firm halt in the center of the crowd. Zach pushed the door open and stepped out. Tossing his helmet aside, he casually ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. That arrogant, wild demeanor was admittedly quite attractive to younger girls. The crowd erupted into wild cheers. The trust-fund bros who had set up the bet walked forward with sour expressions. “Zach, you won,” the leader said through grit teeth. Zach let out a cold smirk, walking straight past them to the corner of the bleachers, grabbing Isla’s wrist in a firm grip. “She’s coming with me,” he declared. “Her brother’s debt is completely wiped clean.” Isla struggled against his grip without success. Raising her head, her eyes rimmed red, she glared at him. “I don’t need your pity! I’ll pay off my brother’s debt myself!” Wow, look at those lines, I thought. Absolute perfection. Zach was clearly eating up every bit of it. The smirk on his face deepened. “Pay it back yourself? With what? From today on, you belong to me. Be good, listen to me, and don’t make me angry.” I watched from the side with immense entertainment, practically wanting to play background music for their romantic drama. That was until Zach dragged Isla straight over to stand in front of me. The surrounding air went instantly dead quiet. Everyone stared at me with expectant, drama-hungry eyes. I quickly pinched my own thigh hard, forcing two fresh tears to well up in my eyes. “Zach…” I raised my head, my voice trembling and my eyes filled with shattered grief. “Who is she?” Zach looked at me, a brief flash of guilt flickering across his eyes before being replaced by cold detachment. “Sienna, let’s break up,” he said, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. “I’ve treated you well over the last three years. Everything you wanted, I bought for you. You should be satisfied. I only just realized that what I felt for you before wasn’t love at all. I just appreciated that you were obedient and sensible.” He squeezed Isla’s hand tightly. “It wasn’t until I met her that I truly understood what real heart-fluttering passion feels like.” I had to suppress a massive urge to roll my eyes. Dude, you literally just met her for the first time tonight! What in the world is ‘real passion’?! You’re just attracted to a pretty face, stop acting like a tragic romantic hero! Still, on the surface, I had to finish my performance. I stumbled back two steps, my face turning deathly pale as if I were about to collapse. “I don’t believe you…” I bit my lip hard, tears rolling down my cheeks in heavy droplets. “You said you would marry me! You said we’d get married right after graduation!” Zach knit his brows, growing visibly impatient. “Sienna, stop making a scene. Let’s part on good terms. Tomorrow I’ll have my assistant wire two million dollars to your account, and you can keep the downtown condo. Don’t come looking for me anymore.” Two million dollars in cash plus a prime downtown luxury condo! My heart bloomed with pure joy. What an absolute win! Severance pay from the boss plus a breakup payout from the younger brother—I was stepping directly into financial freedom! Just as I was preparing to take the graceful exit, pretend to weep uncontrollably, and make my grand departure, a massive deafening roar sounded from directly above our heads. Gales of wind whipped up dust and gravel from the asphalt, blinding everyone on the ground. Everyone looked up in sheer terror. Three sleek black helicopters hovered directly above the racing strip. Blinding searchlights cut through the dark like sharp blades, illuminating the entire venue as bright as midday. Immediately after, a convoy of over a dozen black Maybachs roared up from both ends of the mountain pass, their sharp screeching brakes echoing in unison to completely seal off every exit. The crowd erupted into chaotic panic. “What on earth is happening?!” “Is it a police raid?!” “Raid my ass! Look at those license plates!” Zach’s expression shifted drastically as well. Subconsciously shielding Isla behind his back, he stared fixedly at the lead Maybach. The car door opened. Dozens of bodyguards dressed in sharp black suits and wearing earpieces filed out in swift precision, forming two disciplined lines. A tall man wearing a custom black trench coat stepped out of the vehicle. His figure was lean and commanding, his features carved with cold perfection. An aura of absolute, long-standing authority radiated from his very presence. Just standing there, he caused the surrounding temperature to drop to freezing point. Xavier Sinclair. My cold, ruthless, capitalist employer. Why on earth had he come here in person? I stood frozen in place, completely forgetting my fake crying routine. Xavier took long, deliberate strides, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the asphalt. Without sparing a single glance at the trembling trust-fund heirs around us, he walked straight toward our group. Zach swallowed hard, his voice tight. “Brother… why are you here?” He assumed Xavier had come to drag him back home. The Sinclair family discipline was notoriously brutal, and if the old patriarch found out he was drag racing at night over a woman, his legs would be broken. Zach grit his teeth, puffing out his chest defiantly. “Brother, I take full responsibility for my own actions! I set up tonight’s race! It has nothing to do with Isla! Whatever you want to do, direct it at me, don’t touch her!” His heroic, protective stance really carried the dramatic aura of a romance male lead. Behind him, Isla stared at Xavier with eyes filled with deep hostility and suspicion. 2 She looked as though she were staring at an evil villain trying to tear true lovers apart. Xavier halted his footsteps. His gaze swept indifferently over Zach, then flicked past Isla. That look was identical to staring at two irrelevant ants. He didn’t even bother uttering a single word to Zach. Stepping right past them, he walked directly up to me. My heart tightened violently. Oh crap. Was the boss here to personally execute my account? Did he think I had failed to manage his brother properly and come to demand liquidated damages? My brain frantically calculated excuses. “Boss, let me explain…” I lowered my voice to a whisper meant strictly for his ears. “This really isn’t my fault. It’s an uncontrollable force of nature. About that two-million-dollar severance…” Xavier looked down at me from his superior height, his dark eyes swirling with a depth I couldn’t decipher. Suddenly, he raised his hand. I flinched back, instinctively shrinking my neck thinking he was going to strike me. Instead, his hand landed gently on the top of my head, softly smoothing down my wind-ruffled hair. “I didn’t approve your resignation,” Xavier said, his voice deep and raspy, carrying a barely perceptible trace of a chuckle. “Since Target Number Two has failed…” He leaned down, his breath brushing against my ear as he whispered in an intensely seductive tone, “…we launch Project Number One.” I froze, staring at him in complete bewilderment. “What is Project Number One?” Xavier unbuttoned his trench coat with slow precision, draping it over my shoulders. It carried his faint, crisp scent of cedar. Leaning closer until his lips nearly brushed mine, he murmured, “Me. Double your monthly salary, ten-million-dollar completion bonus. Sienna, now it’s your turn to manage me.”

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Back in time, I immediately secured a new room and dedicated medical team for my daughter. Returning to the old room for her chart, I caught Paisley, my husband’s spoiled star student, pulling the oxygen tube off another premature baby. In my past life, she had done the same to my child, giggling as she snipped the line with surgical scissors. My husband kicked me aside, coddling her while she sobbed that I’d attacked her. He pinned me to the wall, forced me to kneel before her and the entire staff, and let my daughter die. Labeled insane, I was tortured to death in an asylum. Now, watching her repeat the cruelty on another infant, I felt no shock, only cold resolve. This time, I would not beg. I would make sure she and my husband paid before they could destroy another life. … 1 The moment I pushed the ICU door open, I caught Paisley pulling the oxygen tube off the incubator. “Dr. Derek can only have one baby, and that is me. How dare an ugly creature like you try to compete with me?” The nightmare of my past life flashed before my eyes. My daughter’s face turning purple from suffocation, her tiny lungs gasping for air. Panic seized my heart, and I lunged forward like a madwoman. “Stop!” Paisley flinched, but the moment she recognized me, that innocent, mocking smirk returned to her face. “Why are you screaming? You scared me. It is just a little tube. It is not like pulling it will kill anyone.” “That is a living child!” I screamed, reaching out to snatch the tube back. “How dare you raise your voice at me? Who asked you to bring this thing into the world anyway? It is just a pathetic preemie. It will never be as precious as me. Dr. Derek said I am his favorite little girl!” Paisley was an intern at the hospital and a student of my husband, Derek. Around her, Derek was always endlessly patient and fond. Backed by his authority as Chief Medical Officer, Paisley acted like she owned the hospital, treating me with utter contempt. Hearing the infant’s faint, agonizing breaths, panic and rage consumed me. I grabbed her wrist tightly. “Paisley! You are supposed to be a doctor, not a monster who plays with a patient’s life!” Just as I reached for the oxygen line, Paisley let out a soft snort, whipped out a pair of surgical scissors from her pocket, and snapped the tube in half. Her grin widened. “Oops. Looks like it is completely useless now.” She tossed the severed tube onto the floor. “If you know I am a doctor, then you should listen to me. Stand still and let me punish you for your rude behavior.” She grabbed a heavy metal chart clipboard and slammed it against my forehead. Obsessed with saving the baby, I failed to dodge. Sharp agony exploded across my brow, and warm blood trickled down my face, blurring my vision. Her laugh turned hysterical. “That is what you get for sticking your nose where it does not belong!” Hatred devoured my entire soul, but I could not afford to waste time on her. I stumbled toward the emergency call button on the wall. Her expression changed, and she grabbed me tightly. “You are not allowed to press that!” Blood dripped into my eye. I shoved her away with all my strength and slapped the emergency call button, praying someone would come save this poor child. A second later, the ICU door swung open. Seeing the newcomer, Paisley immediately dissolved into tears and threw herself into his arms. 2 “Doctor! You are finally here! She hit me!” The man who walked in was Derek. Without asking a single question, he kicked me squarely in the stomach. I could not dodge in time. My body slammed against the hard bed frame, reopening my fresh C-section wound. A tearing, excruciating pain radiated through my core. Derek froze for a fraction of a second, his brows furrowing. “Sarah? What are you doing here? I thought a patient was causing trouble for Paisley.” Paisley. He called her so intimately. He was not even her original supervisor when she joined the hospital, yet he somehow managed to transfer her under his wing. As the Chief Medical Officer, he was always too busy to come home, claiming he was slammed with surgeries for six months straight. Yet Paisley’s social media was full of photos of him guiding her late at night in his office. I used to confront him, but he always brushed it off, accusing me of being insecure about his work. It was not until my past life, when Paisley pulled my daughter’s oxygen tube, and Derek covered up her crime while punishing me, that I realized how foolish I had been. He even forged medical reports to commit me to a psychiatric facility, where I was tortured to death. Only now, saving the baby was the only thing that mattered. I dragged my battered body across the floor, clutching his trousers. “Derek, save the baby first! She pulled and cut the oxygen tube. The baby is suffocating! Please, check on the baby!” Paisley interrupted me with pathetic, soft sobs. “Doctor, she is just jealous because you are so nice to me. She wants to ruin my career. If you had come any later, she would have strangled me to death.” She sobbed softly, wiping her tears. “Women with postpartum depression are so terrifying. My heart aches for you, Doctor.” Derek’s attention was instantly captured. He pulled her close, gently wiping her tears with his thumb. “Paisley is just an innocent fresh graduate. She respected you and cared about you, which is why I let her check on you. How dare you fabricate lies and lay a hand on her? You are vile!” He barked orders at me, grabbing me like a stray dog and throwing me onto the floor right in front of Paisley. “Apologize to Paisley right now, or I will have your daughter thrown out of this hospital immediately!” His words felt like an ice pick plunging into my chest. My pupils dilated in shock. “Derek! Do you even have a heart?!” Before our marriage, Derek claimed he wanted to be childfree and forced me to get an IUD. Seven years into our marriage, unable to withstand his mother’s pressure, he suddenly demanded a child. I ruined my body taking hormones, desperately trying to conceive, but nothing worked for two years. My mother-in-law badmouthed me everywhere, telling neighbors and hospital staff that I was a broken vessel. When I begged Derek to go for a checkup, he claimed he was too busy and made me go alone. My results were completely fine. It was only later that I discovered he suffered from severe sperm motility issues. “Honey, let us do IVF,” he had cried back then, looking so sincere. “Once we have a child, my mother will treat you better. When I am busy at work, the baby will keep you company.” Believing his heartfelt words and loving children myself, I endured hundreds of painful injections and three brutal years of egg retrievals before finally conceiving. When our daughter was born prematurely, he never came to see her once. I called him countless times and asked nurses to reach him, only to receive his cold, detached response: I am a doctor and the Chief Medical Officer. Am I supposed to break rules and give you special treatment? What would others think of me? You are a mother now, grow up. All I wanted was for him to hold his daughter just once. “Don’t cry, little one,” Derek whispered, stroking Paisley’s back. “Your teacher will handle this. Your senior’s wife always listens to me. She will apologize to you right now.” He looked down at me with supreme disdain. “You are just doing this to get my attention, aren’t you? Stop making things hard for Paisley. If you beg for her forgiveness nicely, I will give you three minutes with our daughter.” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Tears mixed with blood on my face as I raised my head to stare at him. “Derek, let us get a divorce.” 3 In twelve years of marriage, Derek had never seen such cold determination in my eyes. Perhaps feeling his authority challenged, rage flickered in his gaze. “Have you lost your mind after giving birth? Divorce? Absolutely not.” “Look at yourself. You cannot even handle my mother, and now you are making a scene with me. You are a complete failure as a woman. No wonder you spend your time picking fights with my student.” Paisley, still dabbing her eyes, suddenly perked up. She spoke in a meek, trembling voice. “Doctor, it is all my fault for making her angry. Let her hit me and curse at me. I can take it. I am strong.” She then turned to me, lowering herself pitifully. “I am just a junior intern. Can you please stop using divorce to threaten Dr. Derek?” I stopped wasting my breath on their pathetic act. Every second counted for the child in the incubator. Derek did not rule the entire world. Outside this room were other nurses, patients, and the police. I pulled out my phone with trembling hands while shuffling toward the door. “Help! An intern just pulled the oxygen line of a premature baby! Somebody help!” “Hello, 911? My name is Sarah, I am at City General Hospital…” A sharp blow knocked the phone out of my hand. It shattered against the wall. “Are you insane!” Derek shoved me back inside. “You are throwing a temper tantrum over a tiny misunderstanding with my student, and you want to call the police? Do you want to ruin my career?!” I glared at him with pure hatred. I did not just want to ruin his career. I wanted to tear him apart to avenge my daughter from my past life. “Get out of my way!” During our struggle, my collar was ripped open, exposing deep, faint scars across my collarbone and shoulders. Those were injuries I had taken for him years ago when angry family members of patients tried to attack him at the hospital. His gaze softened slightly, his tone involuntarily relaxing. “Sarah, stop this madness. I worked for over a decade to reach this position. Can you not show a little grace? She is just a student I favor. There is nothing inappropriate between us. Do not use an innocent baby as an excuse to throw a fit. Calm down.” I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Then go check on the baby! If you won’t save the child, get out of my way so someone else can!” He wore a look of utter disappointment, as if I were beyond salvation. I knew him too well. No matter what I said, he would never believe me. His heart had been completely biased toward Paisley from the very start. Gathering every ounce of strength left in my body, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Get lost!” “Doctor!” Paisley shrieked, her eyes instantly reddening. “How could you hit him! You are awful! Let me blow on it, Doctor, so it won’t hurt.” Enraged by my slap, Derek shoved me violently. I used the momentum to turn the door handle and burst into the corridor. “Doctor! Somebody save the baby!” I grabbed the arm of a passing doctor. “The baby is suffocating without oxygen! Please, hurry, save the child!” Sweat poured down my body as I babbled frantically. My screams attracted the attention of patients and visitors in the hallway. The doctor tried to calm me down, telling me to speak slowly. I took a deep breath. “An intern in your hospital, Paisley, pulled the oxygen tube of a premature infant! Your Chief Medical Officer, Derek, is covering for her…” Before I could finish, the doctor bowed respectfully toward someone behind me. “Chief Officer Derek.” A chill ran down my spine as a heavy hand clamped down onto my bleeding shoulder. 4 All eyes in the corridor locked onto us. Derek maintained his composed, professional composure. “Everyone, please do not be alarmed. This is my wife. She just gave birth to our premature daughter, and due to emotional instability, she is speaking incoherently.” Given his prestigious status and calm demeanor, the onlookers instantly changed their perspective. “This is a hospital, if you have family drama, take it home. She looks completely unhinged. Being a doctor must be so exhausting.” “Dr. Derek is the backbone of our hospital. So young, yet so accomplished, gentle, and dedicated to his patients. He is famous for being a wonderful doctor.” “I saw his picture on the hospital wall of honor. If he says it is fine, it must be fine. Women who just gave birth are emotionally fragile, but making up lies to smear her own husband is just embarrassing.” Their whispers stabbed into my ears like sharp needles. Pointing fingers surrounded me. I leaned against the wall, my abdominal wound oozing blood, my body ice cold and drained of strength. I pleaded with the young doctor, “Just go inside and check. Send any doctor in. That is a human life, a fragile baby!” The young doctor hesitated and made a move toward the room, but Paisley stepped in his path. “She is just jealous because Dr. Derek is nice to me. She is a patient, and you cannot listen to the wild accusations of a sick person.” Derek immediately chimed in, “Please trust me, everyone. It is my fault for not handling my wife’s emotional episode properly. The child is perfectly fine. I will reason with her.” The crowd began to disperse, reassured by his authority. Suddenly, a high-pitched, continuous medical alarm pierced through the air from inside the room. My heart plummeted into an abyss, mirroring the exact moment my daughter died in my previous life. I sprinted into the room like a lunatic. Fearing I would cause more trouble, Derek rushed in right behind me. When his eyes landed on the severed oxygen tube and the baby’s cyanotic, bluish-purple face, panic finally struck him. The heart monitor flatlined into a straight, solid tone. The baby was gone. Paisley muttered under her breath in a tiny voice, “Finally, that ugly thing is dead.” Her voice was extremely low, but Derek heard it clearly. His complexion shifted rapidly. Looking at me as I collapsed beside the bed weeping hysterically, he pulled me tightly into his arms. “It was just a weak little girl anyway. Even if she survived, she probably would have had underlying genetic defects.” “Stop crying. Once this blows over, we will try IVF again. We will aim for a boy next time. My mother and the elders will respect you, and our lives will be peaceful.” I stared at him in sheer disbelief, thrashing violently in his grip. I screamed, then burst into manic laughter. Paisley took a step back, feigning terror. “She is scaring me! She looks completely insane. Doctor, maybe we should send her to the psychiatric ward.” People from the hallway began gathering at the door again. Unable to handle Paisley’s suggestion at that moment, Derek tried to regain control of the room. “Everyone, stay calm! I will take full responsibility for this incident!” Losing too much blood, my strength faded, and my vision began to turn black. Just as my consciousness drifted toward the void, a frantic nurse hurried down the hall. “Is baby Hope’s family here? Your baby has been successfully stabilized in her new room!” Derek froze. Paisley turned pale. Hope was my daughter’s name. The heavy weight crushing my chest finally lifted, and tears I had held back streamed down my face. Derek lost his composure, his voice cracking wildly. “My daughter is in a new room? Then whose premature baby is in this incubator?!”

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My roommate loved making explicit phone calls with her online boyfriend in the middle of the night. Every single night, her talk got dirtier and louder. We were kept awake until the break of dawn, practically begging her to tone it down. Instead of showing an ounce of remorse, she smirked at us and said we were just bitter and lonely. “Dying of jealousy watching someone else get loved, huh?” “Not my fault you girls are too ugly to land a guy.” The funny thing was, she was easily the least attractive girl in our dorm. The three of us didn’t care about dating because our workload in Microchip Engineering was brutal. As the top program on campus, if you failed an exam, you wouldn’t graduate. Period. We studied all day and barely had enough sleep to function. To catch some rest, we tried everything. We talked to her nicely. We yelled. We even reported her to campus housing. Nothing worked. Brooke refused to change. Since every other dorm in the building was fully booked, I was pushed to my absolute limit. I gave her one last warning. “Keep pushing me, and I swear I’ll patch your explicit phone calls directly into the university PA system.” “If you’re so shameless, let the entire campus listen.” 1 “Who are you trying to fool? Are you some kind of hacker?” Brooke laughed so hard her entire bunk bed shook. “Did you watch too many cheesy spy movies? You think you can just tap away at your laptop keyboard and crack into the school’s broadcast system? Monica, you study microchips, not computer hacking. Who do you think you are?” I stared at her without saying a word. Broadcasting her trashy calls didn’t require high-level hacking skills at all. All I needed was for the radio station to keep its power supply on overnight, plus an old wireless broadcast transmitter brought into our room. As a senior technician at the campus radio station, I could pull that off with my eyes closed. I had already run the plan by my other two roommates. Since none of us could sleep anyway, we decided to see who could play dirty better. Brooke had crossed the line first. Her obsessive romance was none of our business. At first, she claimed there were mosquitoes on the balcony, so we kindly let her make her private calls inside the room. Then she pushed her luck. First, it was calling from ten to eleven at night. Then it stretched until midnight. Recently, she was still whispering dirty talk at two in the morning. It went from “Do you miss me today?” to explicit details about her favorite bedroom positions. She never wore headphones. She kept the speaker on full blast. She acted as if the three girls living in the same room didn’t exist. The night before my midterms, she talked until three in the morning. I buried my head under my blanket trying to memorize formulas while listening to her moaning on speaker. Because I couldn’t sleep, I failed the exam. Failing meant retaking the class. It meant losing my academic scholarship. It meant kissing my fast-track graduate school recommendation goodbye. I took a screenshot of my failing grade and posted it in the room group chat, begging her to keep her voice down. She replied with a laughing cat emoji. “You failed because you’re dumb. Blaming me now?” I was about to jump out of bed and tear her hair out, but my roommate Brenda held me back. “Don’t lose your temper, Monica. She wants us to hit her. Then she’ll report us for bullying and get us disciplined.” Dealing with a shameless parasite is exhausting because normal people have things to lose, while parasites have nothing to lose. So, to deal with a parasite, I had to be even nastier. “Who am I? I’m the one about to ruin your life,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “Keep doing what you’re doing, and let’s see how fast you get socially destroyed.” Brooke stopped laughing and glared at me. “You think your empty threats scare me? Monica, I’ve known you for two years. You’re a weak coward. What could you possibly do?” She yawned and slumped back onto her pillow. “Whatever. I’m not wasting my breath on you losers. My man is waiting for me.” She pulled out her phone, and the screen lit up with an active call. “Babe… are you there? My roommates are picking on me again…” Her boyfriend’s rough voice blasted through the speaker. “Damn, those bitter virgins again? Baby, just wait. Once I come over to your campus, I’ll teach those miserable sluts a real lesson.” “Oh, don’t be so aggressive, babe. They’re just jealous. Ignore them. Tell me, did you miss me today?” On the bed next to mine, Pathy sat up abruptly, ready to unleash a flood of curses. I put a hand on her arm and shook my head. “Tonight is the last time she gets to act like a queen.” When morning came, I headed straight for the radio station. 2 At the bottom of the equipment cabinet in the station room lay a pile of retired cables, broken audio jacks, and old CD players. Underneath it all sat a cardboard box with a faded label: Outdoor Event Broadcast Gear—Decommissioned. I had stumbled upon this box while cleaning the storage room last month. The model was outdated, but every component worked perfectly. I pulled out my phone, switched on Bluetooth, and located the transmitter signal. I played a song as a test and turned on the station monitor speaker. The music flowed through clear and crisp, without static or interruption. Signal rock solid. That was all I needed. When I returned to the dorm, voices were already drifting through the cracked door. “Don’t you think she’s mentally ill?” Brooke was on the phone, her voice so loud it echoed down the hallway. “So what if I talk to my boyfriend? It’s my personal freedom! Those three act like total psychos, giving me dirty looks every single day. I don’t owe them anything!” “She even threatened me last night, saying she’d get me socially ruined. You know what she claimed? That she’d patch my calls into the school broadcast system! I almost died laughing! She’s a microchip student. When her laptop broke last month, she had to ask an IT guy to fix it, and now she brags about hacking!” Her online boyfriend chuckled over the line. “Did she really say that? Broadcasting our private talk to the whole university? Sounds kinda hot.” “Hot my ass,” Brooke sneered. “She’s all talk. I know Monica inside out. She complains every day, and has anything ever happened to me? Weak losers stay weak forever!” “And that girl Pathy? Built like a fire hydrant, but her temper is worse than a guy’s! Don’t even get me started on Brenda. Scruffy and pale like she just crawled out of a storm drain! The three of them can’t get a man to save their lives, so they just grind over textbooks like mindless robots. Hahaha, total freaks!” I pushed the door open. Brooke glanced at me without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Instead, she cranked the speaker volume up another notch. “Babe… my roomie is back to play third wheel again…” I ignored her baby voice, put on my noise-canceling headphones, and opened my textbook. Brooke kept trying to get a reaction out of me. “If you want to read, go to the library! Don’t sit here acting like a buzzkill! Since you love studying so much, why don’t you sleep in the library? Save yourself the walk.” “I’m serious. Since all three of you hate my guts, why don’t you move out? I’d get a whole four-person room to myself. So spacious! Then my boyfriend could come stay over whenever he wants.” I pulled off one headphone and looked her dead in the eye. “If you pay for our housing fees, we’ll pack up and leave right now. If you can’t afford it, shut your mouth.” She didn’t expect me to snap back, stumbling for words. Her boyfriend chimed in through the speaker. “Who’s that? The pimple-faced one you mentioned?” “Yeah, that’s her. Ugly face, huge attitude,” Brooke told her phone while staring at me. “Telling you to shut up? Who the hell does she think she is? When I get some free time, I’ll pop by your campus and see if she keeps that big mouth open!” The guy sounded like a uneducated thug from a sketchy street gang. I couldn’t fathom how Brooke, a college student, could fall for a loser like him. “Sorry to break it to you, but our campus doesn’t just let any random trash walk in. Stick to working your factory shift so you can afford your cheap beer,” I said calmly. A single effortless line, and her boyfriend completely lost his temper, screaming obscenities through the speaker. I put my headphones back on and tuned them out. Winning a petty verbal spat meant nothing. Tonight, Brooke would learn what real consequences felt like. 3 By evening, Pathy and Brenda returned to the dorm one after another. Pathy slammed her backpack onto her desk and collapsed into her chair. “Professor Vance’s lecture today wasn’t a class. It was a weaponized lullaby.” “Didn’t sleep well?” I asked. “What do you think?” she shot back. Nobody in our room had slept well. Being forced to listen to someone else’s dirty late-night routine at two in the morning would ruin anyone’s sleep schedule. Dark circles hung heavy beneath Pathy’s eyes. Brenda stayed silent, her eyes red and puffy. She opened her planner, which was packed with dense notes tracking her packed schedule. Up at six-thirty, library by seven, four tough engineering lectures during the day, followed by an online mock exam at night. She was the top student in our room and worked harder than anyone. Freshman year, she ranked third in the entire department. But this year, thanks to Brooke’s constant late-night noise, she barely managed to stay in the top ten. All of us, including Brooke, knew why Brenda worked so hard. Her parents were disabled, living off small disability checks. It had taken her entire family three full years to save up enough money for her college tuition. Every time her parents called, they always reminded her, “Focus on your studies, darling. Don’t starve yourself. If you run short on cash, we’ll find a way.” Every time she hung up, she cried silently, wiped her tears, and went back to solving equations. On nights like these, what she needed was proper rest, not being woken up at midnight by Brooke’s shameless groans. “Brenda, after tonight, you’ll finally get a good night’s sleep,” I whispered, comforting her. She rubbed her eyes. “Will your plan really work?” I unlocked my desk drawer and pulled out a palm-sized black transmitter. “The receiver is already wired into the main mixer in the radio station. The main fader is turned down right now, so it’s silent.” “When Brooke makes her phone call tonight, her audio signal will transmit directly to the radio room. Then, every speaker across campus will blast her voice.” “The academic buildings, the dining hall, the track field, the dorm entrances, the security booth, the main administration lobby. Everyone will know exactly who she is.” Pathy let out a sharp laugh. “If she still has the nerve to bother us after that, her skin must be thicker than concrete!” Brenda thought for a moment, then raised a crucial question. “What if someone is working at the radio station tonight?” “Nobody will be there. The evening broadcast show is paused for a format overhaul starting this week. The radio room is completely empty at night.” “And after it starts playing?” Brenda pressed on. “Won’t someone run over to shut it down? Will we accomplish what we want?” “Don’t worry. The radio room is on the top floor of the furthest academic building. The doors are locked at night. Running over there and unlocking the system will take at least fifteen minutes. That’s more than enough time to make Brooke a legend.” Pathy clapped her hands softly. “The stage is set. We’re just waiting for the trash to perform.” Right as the words left her mouth, Brooke pushed the door open, fresh out of the shower. 4 “Who are you calling trash?” Brooke glared at us, clutching her towel. I glanced at her sideways. “Why? Are you applying for the title?” Pathy snickered. “Speak of the devil!” Even Brenda, usually quiet and timid, joined in. “Don’t be so sensitive, Brooke. Nobody named you.” Brooke’s face flushed red with anger. With three of us united, she couldn’t win a verbal fight. So she resorted to her favorite tactic to irritate us. Setting her phone on the nightstand, she dialed her boyfriend’s number on speaker. “Babe… I’m putting on my body lotion… Too bad you can’t smell it… Such a shame…” “My roommates? Oh, they’re all here, pretending to read their stupid books!” “I’m telling you, they just called me trash. I didn’t bother arguing with them. Lowering myself to their level is so tacky!” “All they do is study! Look at Pathy’s face, built like a fire hydrant! What’s the point of reading all those books when no guy will ever marry her?” Hearing this, the three of us exchanged a knowing smile. Only a shallow, insecure girl would measure a woman’s entire worth by her physical looks and marriage potential. Each of us had real goals worth striving for. Pathy scored second in the latest department mock exam and had a strong shot at a direct master’s program. If Brenda climbed back into the top three, she wouldn’t just secure a master’s spot; she would swim in full-ride graduate fellowships! As for me, Brooke had no idea that my family owned one of the top microchip manufacturing enterprises in the country. I chose this grueling major to master the core technology before taking over the family business. Both Pathy and Brenda were future core talents I planned to recruit for my company. And even setting all that aside, without heavy makeup, any of us looked miles better than Brooke with her thick layer of cheap foundation. Her unearned confidence stemmed entirely from acting cheap, attracting swarms of low-life guys who fed her ego with meaningless compliments. At eight-thirty, Brooke finally wrapped up her call. She climbed down her bed ladder and started aggressively rummaging through the wardrobe. “Where is my black mini skirt? The one I bought at the mall last week. Did one of you steal it?” Nobody paid her any mind. She stomped over to Brenda’s closet and pulled it open. Out of the three of us, she picked on Brenda the most because Brenda seemed gentle and weak. Brenda moved to stop her, but Brooke shoved her back hard. “I’m looking for my clothes! Did you steal it? What are you panicking for?” Pathy couldn’t stand it anymore and leaped down from her bed to back Brenda up. While the two of them blocked Brooke, I walked straight to Brooke’s wardrobe, grabbed a handful of her clothes, and dumped them onto the floor. “Is finding a skirt really that hard? There. Much easier now, right?” Her black mini skirt sat right there in plain sight on the top shelf. She had been staging a scene on purpose. Brooke’s face turned beet red. She couldn’t physically fight all three of us at once. She snatched the skirt off the floor and held it against her waist. “My boyfriend is coming to visit me this weekend! Just wait until he gets here, you’re all going to pay!” “He said we should book a hotel room downtown, but I don’t see why we should waste money. Why don’t you three spend the night at the library and leave the room to us?” “If you do that, maybe my boyfriend will cool off and spare you!” It was a pathetic, low-class threat. None of us bothered answering. We simply climbed back into our beds to rest. Brooke scoffed loudly. “Ungrateful snobs!” Under my blanket, I brought up the remote control interface for the radio station transmitter on my phone, confirming that the receiver indicator light was solid green. Lights-out time arrived. The room fell into pitch darkness. Only Brooke’s bed remained illuminated by the bright white glow of her phone screen. Brooke’s voice cut through the dark night, loud and shameless. “Babe… what are we talking about tonight? I’m in a bad mood… I need something extra naughty…”

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1 After transmigrating into a cheesy CEO romance novel, I found myself bound to a husband-hunting mini-app alongside another transmigrated girl. Whichever one of us managed to woo the almighty corporate tycoon, Dominic King, would win the ultimate clearance key to go home. I threw myself into the task with the desperate hustle of a burnt-out tech engineer. I stayed on call twenty-four hours a day, pulling all-nighters for him. Yet the app kept savagely deducting my points. System Notice: Stayed up all night brewing stomach medicine for the male lead. Favorability points deducted: 10. Reason: Deeply scheming; shameless attempt to curry favor. System Notice: Walked six miles in a torrential rainstorm to deliver an urgent file to the male lead. Points deducted: 100. Reason: The billionaire CEO saw right through your pathetic sob story. I originally assumed Dominic was just an impossible man to satisfy. That was until I caught a accidental glimpse of the other transmigrated girl’s status panel. Her name was Zoe. System Notice: Called the male lead a useless dog. Favorability points added: 500! Reason: What a fierce, thorny rose! I watched in total disbelief as Zoe slapped Dominic square across the face. His favorability points skyrocketed on the spot, while Zoe stood there crying out of sheer frustration. In that exact moment, enlightenment struck me like a freight train. “Girl,” I whispered, leaning over to Zoe. “Forget this trash CEO. What do you say we team up and burn this whole system to the ground?” … “It worked! It actually worked!” “Miss Harper’s risk-control model is an absolute masterpiece! If not for her, King Enterprises would have lost at least three billion dollars today!” Ding! Host Harper worked through the night to patch the cyberattack on King Enterprises’ risk model, saving the male lead three billion dollars. Favorability points deducted: 10. Current favorability score: Negative 90. Reason: Showing off professional talent; attempting to capture the male lead’s attention through work performance. Highly manipulative. Warning: If favorability drops below Negative 100, the host will face immediate physical annihilation! What on earth? I just saved his family empire billions of dollars, and he penalizes my favorability score?! The Chief Financial Officer was still raving, “Miss Harper is the undisputed hero of this crisis! Mr. King, I strongly propose the board award her a special bonus…” “Enough.” Dominic slammed the report onto the marble desk with a loud bang. The applause in the boardroom died instantly. The executives, sensing the lethal shift in the air, quickly filed out of the room. Dominic raised his icy gaze, fixing his eyes on me. “Don’t flatter yourself just because you did a little bit of work for King Enterprises,” he sneered. “Harper, put away your pathetic little tricks. I will never love a woman like you.” I almost laughed out loud from sheer rage. In this twisted fictional world, a woman doing her job exceptionally well wasn’t called competence; it was called seduction. “Are you completely out of your mind, Dominic?!” I froze for a second. I hadn’t opened my mouth. Who said what I was thinking? I turned around to see Zoe, my rival for the conquest spot, bursting straight into the executive office. Dominic’s face instantly lit up with arrogant delight. He stood up and strode toward Zoe. “Did you come all this way just to see me?” Zoe took a step back, grabbed a heavy jewelry box, and hurled it directly at his face. “I told you already! I don’t like you, and I don’t want your stupid gifts!” Zoe shouted. “Dominic, stop having your security goons stalk me!” Dominic’s eyes darkened dangerously. He grabbed Zoe’s wrist in a vise grip and yanked her hard against his chest. “Let go of me!” Dominic leaned in close, his gaze dropping to her lips. “The harder you fight me, the more fascinating I find you.” Zoe’s arm swung back and landed a brutal slap across his left cheek. The crack resonated through the office. A bright red handprint bloomed on Dominic’s face. Zoe ripped her wrist free and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Dominic, you absolute trash! When I say I don’t like you, I mean I don’t like you! Can you not understand basic English?!” Based on my agonizing experience of losing points for doing good deeds, I was certain Zoe’s violent outburst would trigger the system to erase her on the spot. Ding! Zoe insulted the male lead and slapped him across the face. Male lead favorability skyrocketing by 500 points! Reason: She is so terrified, yet she uses sharp thorns to protect her fragile heart. A woman’s rejection is truly the ultimate expression of overwhelming love and self-preservation. She is so pure, so untamed, utterly unlike those gold-digging sluts outside! My hands trembled so hard that the neatly stacked files in my arms spilled all over the floor. What kind of unhinged, masochistic logic was this?! Hearing the system announcement in her head, Zoe stood frozen for a second. She turned around and darted out the door, running past me in total distress. Dominic reached up, slowly tracing his swollen left cheek as he watched her retreating figure with a dark, satisfied smile. “Zoe,” he murmured to himself. “You really are unlike any other woman.” 2 The sound of rushing water echoed inside the executive restroom. Zoe stood in front of the sink, desperately scrubbing the palm she had just used to slap Dominic, her skin turning raw under the hot tap. “Disgusting…” she sobbed softly, cursing under her breath. I leaned against the doorway, waiting until her breathing steadied before walking over. “Let’s make a deal.” Zoe spun around, her guard immediately going up when she saw me. “A deal with you?” she scoffed, wiping her eyes. “With the pathetic lapdog who spends all day groveling around that psycho? My favorability score is almost maxed out. I’ll be going home soon. Why would I ever team up with you?” I sighed, stepped forward, and reached out to turn off the running faucet. “Who told you that reaching maximum points lets you go home?” Zoe froze. “What do you mean?” I leaned in close, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Did you ever actually read the fine print at the very bottom of the app’s terms and conditions?” Zoe’s breathing hitched. “The ultimate clearance reward isn’t returning to the real world,” I revealed quietly. “The final reward is being permanently locked inside this book, marrying Dominic, and giving birth to eight of his heirs to achieve a happy ending.” Zoe’s face turned deathly pale. “No… That’s impossible…” She shook her head in sheer denial. “If you don’t believe me, open your app panel right now. Scroll all the way to the bottom and read the tiny grey text.” A few seconds passed in agonizing silence. Zoe opened her eyes, her knuckles white as she gripped the marble edge of the sink. “How could this be…” she gasped, her voice breaking down. “I’m just a glorified breeding tool trapped in this hellhole? I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life tied to that repulsive freak?!” I extended my right hand toward her at the perfect moment. “Zoe, fighting against each other is completely pointless. We are both victims of this insane system. Instead of letting a husband-hunting app ruin our lives, let’s team up.” “Let me hack this world into pieces.” Zoe stared at my open palm, the panic in her eyes slowly hardening into fierce determination. “Fine.” She gripped my hand tightly, her teeth grit. “Screw this pathetic male lead. I wouldn’t bear his children if my life depended on it!” Warning! Warning! Anomalous alliance detected between hosts Harper and Zoe! Status: Severe Out-Of-Character violation! Executing Level One High-Voltage Shock Penalty! “Wait, what? Shocks?!” Before we could react, an invisible bolt of raw electricity slammed down from above. Zoe and I screamed in unison, our bodies convulsing violently as we collapsed onto the cold tile floor. “Damn it, this thing is for real!” Zoe groaned, cold sweat pouring down her forehead. The system voice continued its mechanical assault: Mandatory Directive Issued! Harper: At Mrs. King’s charity gala tonight, fall to your knees and beg Dominic to marry you! Zoe: At Mrs. King’s charity gala, reject the ten-million-dollar hush check offered by Dominic’s mother, and offer your body to the billionaire CEO! Failure to comply will result in a tenfold voltage increase until brain death occurs! This system was an absolute monster. I was in too much physical agony to even curse out loud. Zoe and I had to support each other, limping out of the restroom step by agonizing step. The moment we stumbled out, we ran right into Dominic. He looked back and forth between Zoe and me, his mind constructing some bizarre narrative as he let out a cold, arrogant smirk. “Harper, you act so innocent on the surface, but you actually dared to bully Zoe in the restroom behind my back?” Before I could even open my mouth to explain, Dominic grabbed me by the collar and shoved me hard onto the floor. “Are you blind?!” Zoe shrieked, rushing to pull me up. “Which of your eyes saw her bullying me?! Can’t you see neither of us can even stand properly?!” My vision swam from the painful impact, yet I still caught the expression of pure delight washing over Dominic’s face. “Zoe, you two are fighting over me?” he purred, stepping closer. “Don’t worry, my heart belongs only to you!” He reached out, attempting to wrap his arms around Zoe. Facing a creature completely incapable of processing human speech, Zoe gave up on words entirely. She swung her arm back with everything she had and delivered a thunderous slap right across Dominic’s right cheek. Now his face was perfectly symmetrical. I was so terrified for her that I forgot my own physical pain. I genuinely feared the system would erase Zoe on the spot, destroying my only ally. Instead, Dominic closed his eyes, an expression of twisted ecstasy spreading across his face. “Zoe… You’re jealous because I spoke to her, aren’t you? Does your hand hurt from hitting me?” Watching Dominic’s spineless, masochistic act, I genuinely wondered if his brain had been replaced with sludge. Zoe wiped her hand on her dress in disgust, stepped back, and spat out a single word: “Get lost.” Dominic withdrew his hand with a deeply devoted look. “Zoe, whatever demand you make, I will grant it.” With that, he actually turned around and walked away. Once he was out of sight, Zoe wiped her palm against her skirt again and muttered, “Total creep. I swear I’m going to find a hacker to wipe this stupid app off the face of the earth.” Her words hit me like a lightning bolt. Could this app actually be hacked? If it was structured as a mini-app, with tasks, UI panels, and a backend server, then there had to be a data entry point somewhere! I just needed to get my hands on a terminal. Just as I outlined my hack plan to Zoe, a group of suit-wearing bodyguards surrounded us. “Miss Harper, Miss Zoe, Mrs. King requests your presence at the gala. The limousine is waiting outside.” 3 We were escorted to the grand ballroom of the King estate, where the entire high-society elite of the city had gathered. Dominic’s mother, Victoria King, sat at the head table like a queen on a throne. Sitting right beside her was David, my fictional father in this story world. As we approached, Mrs. King pulled a check from her designer handbag and tossed it straight into Zoe’s face. “Here is a hundred thousand dollars. Take the money and never show your face in front of my son again.” Zoe raised her wine glass, clearly tempted to splash the red wine across Mrs. King’s face. The system’s shrill warning blared inside our heads: Maintain your character persona! Out-of-character behavior forbidden! Reject the check immediately and profess your passionate love to the male lead! Prove that your love cannot be bought with money! Otherwise, face immediate physical annihilation! Zoe’s hand froze in midair. Having just endured an electric shock, she had no desire to experience it again so soon. Dominic, observing Zoe’s defiant posture from across the room, felt the flames of obsession burn even hotter in his chest. Ding! Zoe maintained her stubborn pride in the face of financial humiliation. Male lead favorability +100! Reason: That stubborn, enduring look in your eyes makes me want to possess you right this instant! Zoe’s face turned completely green. I had no doubt that if she wasn’t worried about Dominic creeping over to lick her hands, she would have shattered her glass and ended the narcissist on the spot. Seeing Zoe stand silent like a mute, Mrs. King sneered in contempt. “Common girls from lowborn families. Show them a bit of cash, and they lose their ability to speak.” After humiliating Zoe, Mrs. King turned her sharp gaze to me. “Harper, dear, I have always favored you. As long as your father signs this investment agreement tonight, Dominic will agree to get engaged to you next month.” She pulled a thick document from her folder and slid it across the table. It was a predatory contract designed to bleed my father’s business completely dry. David looked at the agreement, his jaw clenched as his knuckles turned white. “Sweetheart,” David whispered, looking up at me with fatherly concern. “Do you really want to marry him? If you truly want this, dad will sign it.” I looked at the contract in Mrs. King’s hands, then met Zoe’s eyes. We both knew the system wouldn’t give us a peaceful way out tonight. We either followed its pre-written script like puppets, or we smashed the table to pieces during the chaos. The irritating system clock began chiming: Force your father to sign the agreement within ten minutes using threats of self-harm! Failure will result in immediate physical annihilation! A blood-red countdown timer flickered in front of my eyes. Zoe glanced at her phone screen, leaned in, and whispered to me, “When the chaos starts, find a way to make your move. Don’t worry about me.” Right on cue, the double doors of the banquet hall were kicked open with a loud bang. Leading the intruding gang was Toby, Zoe’s useless, debt-ridden younger brother. Knowing what was about to unfold, Zoe gave me a swift signal. I nodded, leaned down, and whispered to David, “Dad, wait for me to come back. Whatever you do, do not sign that paper!” Using the sudden commotion as cover, I darted toward the grand staircase and headed straight for Dominic’s second-floor study. I had repaired his laptop once before. During that repair, I had spotted a strange, hidden background process running inside the terminal root directory. Looking back now, that process was almost certainly the data port left by the system inside this world! If I could breach his personal computer and trace the data port back to the system core, I would have a real chance at rewriting the operational rules of this entire universe. Dominic’s laptop sat right on his executive desk. I locked the heavy oak door behind me and sat down. My fingers flew across the keyboard in a blur of motion. Outside the door, security guards began pounding frantically. “Miss Harper! Open the door! Mrs. King is still waiting for you downstairs!” I tuned out the noise entirely, my eyes glued to the terminal code streaming across the screen. World Core Anchor: Dominic King. Plot Maintainer: Victoria King. Hosts are required to complete conquest tasks surrounding the anchor point. System Backend Breach Progress: 10%… 30%… 50%… System Backend Breach Progress: 99%… Access Privilege Takeover: Failed. Damn it! Downstairs in the hall, the thugs dragged Zoe to the center of the room, demanding money. Zoe’s face was pale, but her voice remained cold as ice. “I don’t have any money! You built up those gambling debts yourself, so pay them off yourself!” The thug leader’s face darkened. “Bitch, you’re doing this the hard way.” Several thugs lunged forward, pinning Zoe firmly to the ground. As Zoe fought back with everything she had, Dominic stopped the security guards from stepping in. Holding a glass of red wine, he stood nearby, watching her struggle with a cold, superior smile. “Zoe,” he purred. “Beg me.” “Promise to become my woman, and I’ll save you.” Zoe’s dress strap snapped during the struggle. She spat directly toward his shoes. “In your wildest dreams! Dominic, I would rather sleep with a toad than let you touch me!” Dominic’s eyes narrowed maliciously. “You’ll regret this.” When I rushed back downstairs, Zoe was still pinned to the floor, while Mrs. King forced a pen into David’s hands. “David, everyone here knows how deeply your daughter loves my son,” Mrs. King coaxed smoothly. “She won’t survive without Dominic. Sign this paper, and Harper becomes the future mistress of the King family.” David held the pen, the veins on his hands bulging under the pressure. He understood nothing of high-society traps; he only cared that without this marriage, his daughter might lose her mind. “Dad, don’t sign it!” I roared. I vaulted over the mezzanine railing, landed on the floor, and snatched the pen straight out of his hand. Warning! Hosts Harper and Zoe have failed their mandatory tasks! Annihilation countdown reached zero! Punishment protocol activated! Executing maximum directive: Immediate physical annihilation! A sickening electrical hum vibrated through the air overhead. A massive pillar of lightning ripped through the ceiling, descending straight toward us!

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1 On the first day I returned to the wealthy Montgomery estate as their long-lost biological daughter, I wrote three words across my forehead with a black marker: DON’T HIT ME. The fake daughter, Tiffany, burst into hysterical laughter on the spot. Clad in a studded punk jacket, she made a ridiculous face at me. “I thought our long-lost sister would be some kind of tough girl, but you’re just a pathetic little coward!” “Seriously, what a loser!” She chewed her bubblegum loudly, leaned over, and spat it directly into my hair. I bit my lower lip tightly, my eyes brimming with tears, but I didn’t utter a single sound. My biological older brother, Brandon, sneered in satisfaction. “At least you know your place. The Montgomerys aren’t people you want to mess with.” My biological parents looked at me with open disgust. “Look at her, weak and useless. How does she carry an ounce of Montgomery blood? I genuinely suspect Tiffany is our real daughter.” Our very first family reunion ended in cold mockery and utter disdain. After everyone left, I sat alone in the vast, freezing living room, clutching my deceased adoptive mother’s framed portrait to my chest. Tears dripped onto the glass frame. “Mama… they don’t seem to like Maddy very much.” “But don’t worry, Mama. Maddy warned them nicely. As long as they don’t hit Maddy first, Maddy won’t hit them back. Maddy is the sweetest boxer in the world.” … I wept over Mama’s portrait for a long time before gently placing it back into my backpack. Inside the bag was an insulated stainless steel thermos that Mama had prepared for me before she passed away. It was packed with warm, soft-boiled eggs, my absolute favorite. I unscrewed the lid, feeling the gentle heat radiating from inside. Taking one out, I carefully rolled the warm egg over my swollen eyes. Back at the underground fighting ring, I used to see injured boxers soothe their bruises like this. Sure enough, the swelling around my eyes subsided quickly. Afraid the eggs would get cold, I hurriedly placed it back inside. I couldn’t bring myself to eat even a single one. As I sat there cradling the thermos, Tiffany walked down the grand staircase, puffing on a thin cigarette. The moment I saw her, my eyes lit up with genuine hope. “Sister!” I rushed over, holding up the thermos and opening the lid right in front of her face. I forced the sweetest, brightest smile I could muster. “Sister, have an egg!” I beamed at her. “My mama, I mean, my adoptive mother, boiled these for me before I came here. They’re soft-boiled!” “Maddy loves soft-boiled eggs the most. I know you’ll love them too!” Mama always told me that good things must be shared with family. I remembered every single word she taught me. If I shared my very best thing with my sister, she would treat me like real family, right? Yet, just as I looked up at her with big, expectant eyes, Tiffany raised her hand and slapped the thermos away. “Get lost, freak!” The stainless steel thermos tumbled down the marble stairs, shattering into pieces. My heart felt as if it shattered right alongside it. The soft-boiled eggs bounced down the steps, their warm yolks breaking and spilling everywhere. “Maddy’s eggs!” I scrambled down the stairs like a madwoman, picking up the ruined eggs. Sharp metal fragments from the thermos sliced into my fingers, but I didn’t even feel the pain. Tiffany put out her cigarette butt, casually flicking the hot ash right onto my broken eggs. “Are you mentally deficient?” “What disgusting garbage. Dogs wouldn’t even eat this trash!” She walked past me, her sharp high heels stepping directly onto the egg yolks, stomping them into a muddy, unrecognizable mess. I couldn’t hold back my emotions any longer. Tears flooded my vision. Before walking away, she glared down at me with venom. “And stop playing dumb in front of me. You think acting cute makes Mom and Dad like you and hate me?” I shook my head frantically, trying to explain that I had no such intentions. Tiffany didn’t buy a word. She let out a cold, sinister laugh. “Then prove it to me.” She pointed her long nails at the blackened, stomped egg yolk on the floor. “Kneel down and eat every bite off the floor. Then I’ll believe you.” I froze. “Sister… the eggs are dirty…” I whispered timidly. Tiffany’s face twisted in rage. She raised her palm to strike me, but right before the slap landed, my biological brother Brandon appeared and caught her wrist. “Tiffany! What are you doing?!” He paused, glancing at Tiffany’s shocked expression. Then he turned to me, walking over with a smooth, gentle smile as he patted my head. “Silly girl, these eggs were left for you by your adoptive mother, weren’t they?” I nodded vigorously. His smile widened, turning far more twisted than Tiffany’s. “Then you must eat them all. Otherwise, your dead mother up in heaven will be very angry with you.” My heart skipped a terrifying beat. Without a second thought, I reached down, scooped up the dirty, ash-covered egg yolk from the floor, and shoved it into my mouth. “Mama, don’t be mad… please don’t be mad…” “Maddy didn’t mean to hurt Mama’s feelings…” As I chewed the bitter, dirty egg, tears streamed down my face in heavy rivers. Mama, you lied to me. You said they would treat me like family. But they hate me so much. 2 My brain had never worked quite right. Doctors told my adoptive mother that a childhood brain injury had permanently arrested my mental development. Intellectually, I would remain five years old forever. Fortunately, nature gave me extraordinary physical gifts. Though I looked slender and frail, I possessed terrifying, explosive physical strength. When my adoptive mother fell gravely ill from kidney failure, she couldn’t afford dialysis on her meager income from collecting recyclable trash. To raise money for her treatments, I entered the underground bare-knuckle boxing circuit. One victory paid a thousand dollars, exactly enough for one dialysis session. On my very first day in the ring, I lacked technique and suffered three broken ribs. I didn’t cry. During my second fight, I lost again, my lower jaw dislocated by a heavy hook. I still didn’t cry. My third fight, my fourth fight, defeat after defeat. My body was covered in severe fractures and dark bruises, yet I stood back up on that canvas every single time, battered and bleeding, without shedding a single tear. I had to earn money. I had to save my mama. It wasn’t until my fifth match, when my opponent locked me in a brutal chokehold that nearly knocked me unconscious, that a spectator shouted from the crowd that the hospital was calling for payment and my mother was dying. In that precise moment, I burst into tears. I bit my lip so hard it bled, forcing my muscles past their physical limits. My joints popped and cracked as I tore through my opponent’s lock. The moment I broke free, I swung my fists blindly through my tears. That night, weeping uncontrollably, I beat every fighter in that arena until they cried. When I dragged my blood-soaked body into the hospital, the doctors had stabilized Mama, but the ongoing medical fees remained a bottomless pit. So, I became a full-time underground cage fighter. I evolved from a terrified rookie into an undisputed, terrifying queen of the ring who defeated massive opponents purely through brutal muscle memory. I never ran out of cash again. Yet, a month later, even when I slammed stacks of hundred-dollar bills onto the chief doctor’s desk and fell to my knees begging him, money could no longer save Mama. On her final day, she told me she hated the smell of the hospital and wanted to go home. I carried her on my back, walking miles down the road. Resting her chin on my shoulder, she whispered that she had boiled soft-boiled eggs for me in her thermos, my favorite treat. She apologized, saying she should never have picked me out of that trash dump years ago, forcing me to suffer a hard life with her. She told me that the wealthy Montgomery family had finally found me. Her dying wish was for me to return to my biological family and live a happy, comfortable life. She told me to be sincere, to work hard to fit into my new home. I remembered every single word she said. But was the Montgomery house really my home? On my second morning at the estate, laughter echoed constantly across the breakfast table between Tiffany and Brandon. I kept my head down, shoveling food into my mouth, pretending I didn’t hear them making fun of me. “Dad, Mom, ever since Maddy came back, you haven’t assigned her a bedroom yet,” Tiffany said, giving our parents a meaningful look. My biological father didn’t even bother raising his eyes from his newspaper. Finally, my biological mother, Victoria, chimed in indifferently, “Whatever. She’s a brain-damaged dummy. Does it matter where she sleeps?” I buried my face deeper into my bowl, gripping my fork tightly, saying nothing. Mama had told me that her biggest wish was for Maddy to be happy in her new home. So, I pretended to be deaf and kept eating. The atmosphere at the table grew suffocatingly cold, punctuated only by Tiffany’s sharp, ringing laughter. “How about we put her in the guest bathroom?” Tiffany suggested brightly. “She grew up living in a literal garbage dump anyway. Our guest bathroom is practically a palace compared to her old home!” Brandon immediately chimed in with a laugh. “Great idea! Her brain is full of garbage anyway. Maybe she’ll get flushed down the toilet one day!” The siblings burst into loud laughter. My biological parents’ faces darkened instantly. My father slammed his fork onto the table. “We’re eating breakfast! What are you talking about?!” He glared at me with deep disgust. “Disgusting. I lost my appetite.” My biological mother pushed her plate away, muttering aloud without the slightest hesitation, “I knew the moment she was born that she was defective. That’s why I tossed her in the trash dump and brought our sweet Tiffany home instead.” “I thought I was rid of that useless girl forever, but that homeless trash lady actually dragged her back right before dying. What a nuisance.” “She even fell to her knees begging me, saying she was dying and afraid no one would take care of the dummy. She threatened to call the news media if I didn’t take her back. Absolute psychos, the both of them.” My hands stopped moving. So… I was abandoned at birth? Mama had begged them on her knees just so I could have a place to live? Tears dripped into my food bowl. I don’t even remember how I was dragged across the floor and thrown into the dark guest bathroom. When the heavy door slammed shut and locked from the outside, the entire world fell silent, leaving only me and my backpack. I pulled out Mama’s framed portrait from my bag and cried like a pathetic child. “Mama… why were you so foolish?” “Mama, I miss you so much.” “Is this really my home? Are these people really my family?” 3 I spent the entire night curled up on the cold bathroom tile, cradling Mama’s portrait in my arms. Suddenly, a bucket of ice-cold water slammed through the doorway. The freezing water drenched me from head to toe. I gasped, jerking awake, only to see Tiffany leaning against the doorframe, smirking down at me. “Time to wake up, trash lady’s daughter!” She insulted Mama the second she opened her mouth. My fists clenched tight, then slowly uncurled. Mama told me never to hit family members, no matter how hurt I felt. Maddy wanted to be an obedient girl. “My mama wasn’t a trash lady,” I replied in a quiet, trembling voice. The smirk on Tiffany’s face instantly vanished. She called for Brandon. With a heavy kick, Brandon busted open the locked bathroom door. The moment they walked in, they saw me holding Mama’s portrait tight against my chest. Brandon crossed his arms, his face twisted in disgust. “What kind of creepy trash is that?” Tiffany initially hid behind Brandon’s back out of instinct, but hearing Brandon’s words, she let out a loud laugh. “You’re so right, Brandon! It really is creepy trash! Hahaha!” My fists hardened again. “Stop calling my mama creepy trash!” I glared at them, my voice raised several decibels. “Your trash mother is a ghost now! She’s dead and rotting!” Tiffany screamed back viciously. Before I could react, she lunged forward and ripped Mama’s portrait right out of my hands. “Give it back to me!” I yelled. Tiffany pulled a thick permanent marker from her pocket and began scribbling directly over Mama’s face. “Make me! What are you gonna do about it, dummy?” Brandon stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, watching the show with an amused smile. “Be careful, Tiffany. She’s not just dumb, she might be crazy too.” Tiffany scoffed, holding up her artwork to show me. She had drawn a mustache over Mama’s lip and a crude turtle across her cheek. I reached my breaking point. I lunged forward and grabbed Tiffany hard by her collar! “Give it back!” My entire body shook with violent rage. Yet Mama’s final words echoed inside my mind: Never hit your family! I forced myself to hold back! Tiffany panicked, terror flashing through her eyes as her voice trembled. “Dad! Mom! Maddy is going to beat me up!” I instinctively let go of her collar, but it was already too late. My biological parents had rushed down the hallway. Tiffany threw herself into their arms, weeping tears of fake terror. “Dad, Mom, Maddy is insane! I just made a little joke with her picture, and she tried to murder me!” Brandon chimed in from the side. “Tiffany was just putting a little makeup on that trash lady’s face. Maddy has only been home for two days, and her temper is already out of control.” I looked helplessly at my biological parents. Their faces remained cold and disappointed. My father waved his hand impatiently. “It’s just a harmless joke! The drawing looks fine. You should thank Tiffany for beautifying the frame, why are you trying to hit her?” My biological mother waved her hand in utter disgust. “Take that hideously ugly picture away! It’s creeping me out!” “Throw it in the trash!” “Quick, throw it away! Don’t let me see it again! It’s bringing terrible luck to our home!” Uncertain of how to dispose of the frame, Tiffany looked around the bathroom. With a cruel laugh, she tossed Mama’s portrait straight into the open toilet bowl! Dirty water splashed over Mama’s face, making it look as though she was crying. Tiffany burst into laughter. “Hey, look at that! The toilet is the perfect washing machine for her face!” “I really am a genius!” Brandon and my biological parents nodded in total approval. “Tiffany is right. That’s our smart daughter.” “Close the toilet lid. We’ll have the maid scrub it later.” “Don’t let that trash dirty our toilet.” They discussed the matter casually, completely ignoring the fact that I had already reached into the toilet bowl and pulled Mama’s portrait out. Looking at Mama’s stained, dirty face, my hand trembled as I carefully wiped the water away. “Mama, I’m sorry.” “Maddy is going to be a bad girl today.” “I promised I would never hit family members… but Mama forgot that long, long ago, Maddy swore a solemn oath to protect Mama no matter what.” I cracked my knuckles, flexing my iron wrists. “And besides, Maddy only promised never to hit family.” “You monsters are NOT my family.”

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