Author: Momo Chan

For three years, I was bullied and ostracized because I refused to do the school bully’s homework. 　　Scars layered upon scars on my wrists. The doctor said I had severe self-harm tendencies. 　　My parents were heartbroken, losing sleep, vowing they’d sell everything they owned to get me better. 　　But then, the bully’s mom burst into our home with a group of people, pointing her finger in my face and accusing me of seducing her son. 　　My usually timid parents turned pale with fright, not daring to utter a single word in my defense. 　　I hid behind them, trembling, begging Mom to close the door. 　　Instead, Mom suddenly snapped, grabbing a teacup from the table and smashing it against my forehead: 　　”Flies don’t buzz around unblemished eggs. Why are you the only one out of thousands of students who always causes problems?” 　　”We can’t afford to provoke them, but can’t we at least avoid them? Why do you have to stir up trouble with people like that!” 　　”Just die, go die and we’ll all be at peace, everyone will be free!” 　　Those words, like a bolt of lightning, shattered the last defense in my heart. 　　I looked at Mom. 　　Her eyes held no tenderness, only the frantic desire to shake off a burden. 　　Then I looked at Dad. 　　He was hiding in the corner, smoking, not even daring to look me in the eye. 　　I suddenly laughed. 　　”Fine,” 　　I whispered. 　　”Since you all want your ‘reputation,’ then I’ll pay with my life.” 　　I turned and ran towards the balcony. 　　It was the fastest I had run in seventeen years. 1 　　The moment my body became airborne, I felt no fear. 　　Instead, there was a long-lost sense of lightness. 　　Finally, no more writing Chad’s homework. 　　Finally, no more enduring the mocking stares of my classmates. 　　Finally, no more seeing my parents’ timid, afraid-to-make-waves expressions. 　　As I plummeted, time seemed to stretch endlessly. 　　On the balcony, Mom still held her hand out, pointing at me, her expression shifting from anger to stunned disbelief. 　　Dad’s cigarette fell to the ground, his mouth agape. 　　Mrs. Davidson’s cold sneer froze on her face. 　　But I didn’t look back. 　　”Thud—” 　　A dull, heavy impact. 　　Followed by the sound of bones shattering. 　　The intense pain lasted only a second, then came boundless darkness and void. 　　I thought that was the end. 　　But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself floating in mid-air. 　　My body lay twisted on the concrete, blood spreading rapidly outwards like a morbidly beautiful bloom. 　　The wound on my forehead was still there, and with the severe trauma from the fall, my face was a bloody, unrecognizable mess. 　　Screams erupted around me. 　　”Ah! Someone’s dead!” 　　”The Millers’ daughter jumped!” 　　A crowd quickly gathered, some pulling out phones to take pictures, others covering their eyes, unable to watch. 　　I hovered above my body, watching the scene with cold detachment. 　　Rushed footsteps echoed from upstairs. 　　Mrs. Davidson and her people rushed down. Seeing the gruesome sight on the ground, she visibly flinched. 　　But quickly, she covered her nose, recoiling several steps with an expression of disgust, pulling her bodyguards behind her. 　　”How unlucky! If you’re going to die, couldn’t you do it somewhere else? Why in front of me?” 　　She even kicked one of my shoes that had flown off. 　　”I always said that girl had a weak constitution, such a drama queen. It’s truly an eyesore.” 　　I wanted to rush over and tear her mouth apart. 　　But my hand passed through her body, only stirring up a chilling gust of wind. 　　Mrs. Davidson shivered, cursed under her breath, and left with her group. 　　”Come on, let’s go, quickly, don’t get tainted by this bad luck. She jumped herself, it has nothing to do with us. Don’t even think about getting money from us!” 　　Just then, Mom and Dad stumbled down the stairs. 　　I thought they would rush to my side, weeping. 　　I thought they would regret the words they had just spoken. 　　But I was wrong. 　　Mom rushed out of the building entrance, saw the shocking red puddle on the ground, and her first reaction wasn’t to scream or to run over and embrace me. 　　Instead, she clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around in terror. 　　She was looking at the neighbors. 　　She was looking at the crowds pointing fingers. 　　Dad’s legs were so weak he couldn’t stand, collapsing to his knees about six feet away from me. 　　His hands trembled as he tried to reach for a cigarette in his pocket, but he couldn’t find one. 　　”How… how are we supposed to show our faces after this…?” 　　Dad murmured to himself. 　　Not because he was heartbroken for me, but because he felt “humiliated.” 　　”Michael, call an ambulance!” shouted Mr. Henderson, our neighbor. 　　Dad finally reacted, fumbling for his phone, pressing several times before finally dialing 91

　　”Hello… my daughter… she fell from the building…” 　　The ambulance arrived quickly. 　　The paramedic flipped my eyelids, checked for a pulse, and shook her head. 　　”Pupils dilated, neck broken, died instantly.” 　　A white sheet was draped over my face. 　　The moment the sheet covered me, I saw Mom roll her eyes back and pass out. 　　Not from overwhelming grief. 　　It was because of Mrs. Davidson’s parting shout of “Don’t even think about getting money from us,” and the neighbors’ murmurs of “How could that child be so foolish?” 　　She had ‘fainted’ from the shock of the gossip. 2 　　The police arrived shortly after, cordoning off the area. 　　A young officer walked over to inquire about the situation. 　　”Are you a family member of the deceased? Why did your child jump? Was there anything unusual before this?” 　　Dad squatted on the ground, hands clasped over his head, dirt clinging between his fingers. 　　He didn’t dare look the officer in the eye, stammering: 　　”No… nothing unusual.” 　　”Lily… Lily had depression, she was under a lot of academic pressure, we couldn’t manage her…” 　　”It was an accident, she just… she just couldn’t cope…” 　　I floated in mid-air, watching the man who had brought me into this world. 　　To avoid trouble, to avoid being drawn into a “bullying” investigation, for his pathetic “reputation.” 　　He actually pinned the label of “depression” on me himself. 　　Washing Chad’s family’s hands completely clean of any wrongdoing. 　　I opened my mouth wide, letting out a silent scream. 　　Bloody tears streamed down my face. 　　Dad, I’m already dead. 　　Are you still going to use my innocence to buy your so-called “peace”? 　　My body was taken away by the funeral home vehicle. 　　The crime scene tape was removed, and the crowd dispersed. 　　Only a dark red bloodstain remained on the ground, glaring under the setting sun. 　　Mom and Dad returned to our apartment upstairs. 　　Mom had already woken up. She sat on the sofa, her eyes staring blankly, mumbling repeatedly: 　　”It’s over now, the whole neighborhood knows…” 　　”Everyone will be gossiping about us when we step outside from now on…” 　　The room was a complete mess. 　　The broken ceramic shards were still on the floor, the very weapon that crushed my last hope. 　　The tea spill hadn’t dried yet, mixed with my blood. 　　Dad lit one cigarette after another, filling the room with smoke. 　　”Knock, knock, knock.” 　　Someone was at the door. 　　Dad flinched, startled, the cigarette burning his hand. 　　”Who… who is it?” 　　”Michael, it’s me, Mrs. Jenkins from downstairs.” 　　A curious voice came from outside. 　　Dad didn’t dare open the door, shouting through it: “Mrs. Jenkins, the house is a mess, it’s not convenient.” 　　”Oh, we just wanted to see what happened. What a foolish thing Lily did…” 　　”Did I hear it was because of an early romance? With a rich kid?” 　　”I knew it, she looked innocent, but she was probably a troublemaker…” 　　Even through the door, I could hear the malicious glee in their voices. 　　Mom jumped up from the sofa like a cat with its tail stepped on. 　　”No! No early romance! My Lily was just under too much study pressure!” 　　She screamed at the door, her voice shrill and slightly distorted. 　　The voices outside quieted, turning into hushed whispers, then the sound of footsteps fading away. 　　Mom gasped for breath, turning around to face the living room. 　　Her gaze fell on the bloodstain on the floor. 　　It was from when the teacup smashed my head. 　　”Quick, clean this up.” 　　Mom frantically grabbed a mop and rags, knelt on the floor, and scrubbed at the bloodstain with all her might. 　　As if cleaning the blood could erase everything that had just happened. 　　As if leaving no trace meant no one would know she had personally smashed her daughter’s head. 　　”Sarah, don’t clean it…” Dad said, his voice hoarse. 　　”What do you mean, don’t clean it? What will the neighbors think if they come in tomorrow!” 　　Mom cried as she scrubbed, her tears falling onto the floor, mixing with my blood. 　　”This damn girl, even in death she can’t make things easy for us…” 　　”She just had to make a scene at home, just had to make a scene in front of Mrs. Davidson…” 　　”Now look, everyone’s laughing at us, are you happy now!” 　　I floated on top of the wardrobe, watching her coldly. 　　Even at this moment, she was blaming me. 　　Blaming me for being disobedient, blaming me for embarrassing her. 　　Suddenly, the doorbell rang again. 　　This time, it was the police. 3 　　They were two uniformed officers, here to take further statements and collect evidence. 　　Mom and Dad immediately stopped arguing, their faces adopting that timid, deferential expression I hated most. 　　”Officers, please come in, have a seat,” Dad said, bowing slightly. 　　The officers stepped inside, looking around. 　　Their eyes immediately landed on the broken ceramic shards and the bloodstain that hadn’t been completely wiped away. 　　”What happened here?” one officer asked, pointing at the floor. “Was there an argument?” 　　My heart leaped to my throat. 　　Tell them! 　　Tell them Mrs. Davidson broke in with her people! Tell them she attacked me! Tell them you forced me! 　　If you just tell them, the police will investigate, and Chad won’t get away with it! 　　But Mom spoke first. 　　”No… no argument.” 　　”My hand slipped, and I accidentally broke the cup.” 　　”Lily… she accidentally stepped on a shard and cut her foot.” 　　The officer frowned: “Cut her foot? The medical examiner’s preliminary report indicates a blunt force trauma to the deceased’s forehead.” 　　Mom’s face instantly turned ashen. 　　Dad quickly interjected, speaking rapidly: 　　”She… she was agitated and hit her head herself! She ran into the corner of the table!” 　　”Officers, it really was an accident. Lily had always been sick, we even took her to see doctors…” 　　To cover up the lie, Dad even pulled out a bottle of his own sleeping pills from a drawer. 　　”See, these are the pills she used to take.” 　　The officer took the pill bottle, glanced at it, and looked suspiciously at the sweating couple. 　　But because it was a suicide, and the family insisted there was no dispute, actively trying to smooth things over. 　　The officers eventually just sighed, making a few brief notes. 　　”Since the family has no objections, please proceed with the funeral arrangements as soon as possible.” 　　The police left. 　　The moment the door closed, Dad seemed to deflate, losing all his strength and collapsing onto the floor. 　　He pulled something from his pocket. 　　It was my phone. 　　The screen was completely shattered, the casing bent. 　　It was one of my belongings the police had found downstairs and given to him. 　　Dad tried to turn it on. 　　The screen flickered a few times, let out a screeching electrical sound, then went completely dark. 　　Dad let out a long sigh of relief. 　　He actually sighed with relief! 　　He stood up, walked to the trash can, and unhesitatingly threw the phone inside. 　　”It’s better if it’s broken,” 　　he mumbled under his breath. 　　”So no one finds anything scandalous inside. If the police find any evidence of a secret relationship, how are we supposed to show our faces?” 　　He piled rotten vegetable leaves on top of the phone, then tied the trash bag shut. 　　My heart, along with that trash bag, died completely. 　　Even before the seven-day mourning period was complete, the house no longer felt like a place where someone had died. 　　Mom became like someone with OCD, frantically cleaning the house. 　　She packed all my clothes, books, and stuffed animals into large black plastic bags. 　　She wanted to erase all traces of me from the house. 　　As if by not seeing my things, life could return to the “normal” that pleased her. 　　”Let’s just throw all this out, keeping it just brings bad luck,” 　　Mom muttered to herself as she tidied up. 　　She picked up my backpack, the one I hadn’t been able to part with even in my last moments. 　　The zipper wasn’t fully closed. 　　”Clatter.” 　　A notebook fell out. 　　The cover was covered in large red X’s drawn with a marker, and in the middle, two menacing words: “BITCH.” 　　Mom froze. 　　Her hand hung in mid-air, her gaze fixed on those two words. 　　It was my math notebook. 　　She picked it up with trembling hands and opened the first page. 　　The once neat homework was now marred by charred holes from cigarette burns. 　　On every page, next to every problem, disgusting insults were scribbled. 　　”Why are you acting so holier-than-thou?” 　　”It’s an honor to do Chad’s homework.” 　　”Meet me at the field tonight. Don’t come, and I’ll make you regret it.” 　　A crumpled piece of paper fell from a hidden pocket. 　　It was Chad’s handwriting. 　　Just one short line, but vicious enough to make one’s blood run cold: 　　”Lily Miller, your dad’s a coward, your mom’s a snob, and you, a piece of trash from a trash family, aren’t even fit to tie my shoes. Come to my room tonight, or I’ll post your naked pictures online.” 　　Mom’s hands began to shake violently. 　　That note was like a resounding slap across her face. 　　She recognized Chad’s handwriting. 　　She remembered that day when Mrs. Davidson pointed at me, calling me a “seductress.” 　　She remembered that day when I knelt, begging her: “Mom, I really didn’t, he forced me.” 　　Memories flooded back like a tide. 　　That day, to appease Mrs. Davidson, she slapped me across the face and told me to shut up. 　　That day, she raised the teacup and told me to die. 　　”Ugh…” 　　Mom clutched the notebook, a wounded animal-like whimper escaping her throat. 　　She suddenly collapsed to her knees, staring intently at the phrase, “your mom’s a snob.” 　　”No… it’s not like that…” 　　Dad came in from the balcony, alerted by the sound. 　　”What’s wrong? Why are you crying and making a scene just for cleaning up?” 　　He walked over impatiently and immediately saw the note. 　　Dad’s face instantly went ashen, and the cigarette in his hand dropped to the floor, burning a black mark.

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On the first day of my senior year of high school, I found my student ID card had no money on it. Meanwhile, my billionaire parents had already jetted off to Switzerland for a vacation with my cousin. I carefully called them to ask: “Mom, didn’t we agree that I’d get my living expenses if I worked at our family’s factory over the summer?” She sneered at me, “You ungrateful wretch, do you even have the nerve to ask for money? You made money and didn’t even think to buy us a gift. If I don’t teach you a lesson this time, you’ll be absolutely useless!” But Mom, the wages you paid me were far below market rate, just enough for me to eat. That evening, my cousin posted pictures on Ins of her fancy seafood dinner with my parents, while I could only scavenge leftovers in the cafeteria to fill my stomach. I was just soaking a leftover piece of stale bread in hot water when I saw Chloe’s post on Ins of her lavish dinner with my parents. A table covered with all sorts of expensive seafood. My dad, David, dotingly placed a rich lobster dish onto Chloe’s plate. My mom, Sarah, clinked glasses with Chloe affectionately. The wine they were drinking, one glass cost more than my entire year’s living expenses. Chloe smiled brightly, captioning the photo: “Aw, expressing my love to the best Sarah and David in the world! Because of your love, my diet plan has failed again.” It looked like they were the real family. I greedily stared at the feast, but all I had to eat was the mush made from cold, stale bread soaked in hot water, accompanied by the salty taste of my tears. Having been hungry for too long, the food caused a sharp pain in my stomach the moment it entered. I couldn’t stand, so I quickly squatted down, knocking over the bowl of bread mush I had just prepared. The cafeteria was about to close, and all the leftovers on the tables had been cleared. Desperate, I hastily scooped the spilled mush from the table back into my bowl, even licking the residue from my hands. “Mia, why are you eating that?” My roommate Lily’s astonished voice rang in my ears, and my face instantly flushed red. It wasn’t surprising she was shocked; after all, everyone knew I was the daughter of the wealthiest family in town. My parents were always known for their generosity, and the school even had a poverty alleviation fund donated by them. But who would have thought their own daughter was starving, eating other people’s leftovers? They said they had endured great hardships when starting their business, and therefore, I too needed to experience enough setbacks to be worthy of becoming their perfect heir. To that end, they constantly belittled and suppressed me, their only biological daughter. Yet, they were almost always obliging to my cousin, just to maintain their image among relatives. This summer, they proposed that I could only earn my living expenses for senior year by working at our own factory. I dared not object. After all, to make me appreciate the difficulty of earning money, since I was seven, every penny I spent had to be earned through labor. Knowing how strict my parents were, despite earning half the wages of a regular worker, I worked diligently. I didn’t even dare to rest when I had a fever, fearing they would accuse me of being “spoiled” and use it as an excuse to dock my pay. Finally, the day before school started, Mom nodded at my daily work hours, which exceeded ten, and promised to deposit the money onto my student ID card before school. I hadn’t even had time to sigh in relief when Chloe suddenly showed up with a small charm she’d gotten from a drink promotion. “Sarah, David, this is a gift I specifically brought back for you from my vacation.” With that, she hung the small charm on my mom’s designer bag. My mom smiled with satisfaction, pulling a wad of cash directly from her bag and pressing it into Chloe’s hand. “It’s rare for Chloe to think of us while away. Sarah doesn’t have a gift for you right now, so take this money.” Chloe’s face lit up with joy. She glanced at me and spoke. “I heard Mia earned money working at our factory this summer. Did she think of buying Sarah and David any gifts?” I smiled awkwardly. That money was barely enough for me to eat the cheapest cafeteria food. The only pitiful bit left I planned to buy some new underwear because my old ones were falling apart. How could I have any money for gifts? Seeing my silence, Chloe reproached me. “Mia, I’m not trying to criticize you, but you’re so grown up now. Sarah and David raised you with such difficulty; you can’t be so selfish. You should always think about giving back to your parents.” I could only force another awkward smile, not noticing Mom’s expression had already changed. That evening, Mom sternly made me write down every single expense. Though I didn’t understand, I dared not resist, and tremblingly wrote down my spending plan on paper. Mom read out each item, her face growing uglier. When she reached the item for “underwear,” her anger flared. She ripped the paper to shreds. Before I could react, a sharp slap landed squarely on my face. “You ungrateful wretch! Your dad and I raised you for nothing. You don’t care about us at all, you’re even worse than Chloe, our niece!” “You get money and don’t think about giving back to your parents, but you’re thinking about buying underwear? Disgusting! You’re shameless. Is this how David and I raised you? I think you’re looking for a boyfriend!” She even started wiping away tears, as if she had suffered a great injustice. Years of resentment pressed in my chest, and I couldn’t help but murmur a quiet complaint. “But the living expenses you gave me were only enough for food, there was nothing left. And I needed new underwear because my old ones were worn out.” Mom, hearing my rebuttal, began to tremble with even greater fury. She hysterically screamed for my dad. “David! David! I can’t handle her anymore, your daughter is rebelling!” The door opened, and Dad stood in the doorway.

My dad sat on the sofa and gently asked, “Mia, do you think we gave you too little money?” He adopted the pose of a concerned father. But I shivered, too terrified to speak. Because I knew my dad’s methods were a hundred times scarier than my mom’s! “Speak up, you good-for-nothing!” He suddenly slammed the table, his voice abruptly rising. I steeled myself and roared out all the bitterness in my heart. “Yes! You gave me too little money, less than half of what the poorest student in my class gets! I can only afford the cheapest food.” My voice grew quieter, “I can’t even eat enough.” My voice trailed off, because I saw my dad suddenly sneer. The next second, I was kicked in the abdomen, the intense pain making me fall to my knees. Immediately after, an extremely brutal slap landed on my face. “That slap is to teach you manners! Our Miller family has always valued respect for elders, yet you made your mother cry and yelled at me. Is that any way to show respect?” Before I could react, another solid slap landed on my face. “That slap is to teach you gratitude! Do you know how much hardship your mother and I endured to build this family fortune? We worked tirelessly to raise you, ensuring you never worried about food or clothes since childhood. What right do you have to complain about it being too little?” Another violent slap followed. “This slap is to teach you shame! You get money and don’t think about giving back to your parents, but you’re thinking about buying underwear. What kind of thoughts are you harboring, a young girl like you? Have you no shame?” By now, my right cheek was severely swollen, and blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. But they only left me with a single command. “You will kneel here and reflect.” And so, I knelt on the cold living room floor all night. I dared not resist again, hoping they would calm down and give me the money as promised, seeing that I was obedient. But it wasn’t until they boarded their flight to Switzerland that I discovered my card was completely empty! “I can’t even afford to eat anymore.” Tears streamed down my face, my heart filled with despair. After hearing my story, Lily’s eyes also welled up. She pulled out her own meal card and slipped it into my hand, gently comforting me. “Mia, you should still call your parents tomorrow and beg them. You’re their only child, no matter what, they’ll surely feel pain seeing you suffer.” I held Lily’s meal card in my hands, this kindness from an outsider making my heart ache even more. Yet, a tentative hope began to rise within me. Would they really feel pain?

The next day, filled with unease, I dialed their number. Before I could even utter the words “I’m hungry,” cheerful laughter reached my ears. It was Chloe and Mom shopping. Chloe whined, “Sarah, do I really look good in this dress? It’s almost fifteen thousand dollars. Won’t it be too much of an expense for you?” Mom laughed in response, “If you like it, buy it. Don’t worry about the money.” Then, turning her attention to me, Mom’s voice sharpened as she asked why I was calling, a stark contrast to the soft tone she used with Chloe. I cautiously brought up the subject of living expenses. Worried they were still angry, I spoke in the most humble tone possible, apologizing profusely and promising to buy them gifts the moment I received the money. To my surprise, I was met with another furious torrent of insults from Mom. A barrage of profanities assailed my ears. Just as I was nearing my breaking point, Dad’s steady voice finally came through. “Alright, since you know you were wrong, we’ll give you the living expenses.” Hope surged anew in my desperate heart. I cried tears of joy, immensely grateful for this hard-won concession. But when I swiped my card and saw the balance, my heart sank instantly. It was only half of what they had promised! I frantically called again to ask. Dad, however, sneered, “We pampered you too much before, which made you lose all concept of money. So, your mom and I decided to give you another test: you’ll earn the other half of your living expenses yourself this senior year.” “Only by understanding the difficulty of earning money are you worthy of being our child!” With that, he abruptly hung up the phone. My heart turned to ice. With university applications approaching, I didn’t even have enough time for studying. How could I earn money?

I cried all the way back to the dorm. My roommates had already heard about my situation and gathered around, concerned, asking what was wrong. I choked out, “I might have to take a leave of absence for a while.” To go out and earn enough for living expenses. The dorm room instantly erupted. “Mia, your grades are so good! This is a crucial time for aiming for elite universities, you absolutely can’t drop out!” “That’s right, Mia. I’m trying to lose weight right now, let’s eat lunch together from now on.” “Oh! I brought so much fruit and milk from home, it’s going to spoil if I don’t eat it soon. Mia, help me out!” “Hehe, Mia, you know I’m lazy. Can you help me get late-night snacks tonight? I’ll pay!” Everyone talked at once. I heard the subtle help in their words, and a warm feeling surged through me. Roommates, who shared no blood relation, were offering me a helping hand, while my own parents were trying to drive me to a dead end! In that moment, my last shred of hope for parental love was completely shattered. Over the next month, though living expenses were tight, with the help of my roommates, I managed to get by. I thought that after this period of turmoil, I could at least smoothly face my university applications. But then my homeroom teacher, Mr. Harrison, suddenly found me. “Mia Miller, your tuition has been overdue for so long, why haven’t you paid it yet?” Tuition? Didn’t Mom pay it before school started? She transferred it to the school-issued bank account, waiting to be deducted. I saw her do it with my own eyes. Did she withdraw the money to punish me? If that were the case, I truly had no options left. Even with my roommates’ utmost help, the high tuition fees were something a high school senior like me couldn’t possibly raise. Extremely desperate, I had no choice but to try and overcome my fear, dialing Mom’s number once more. Sure enough, when I mentioned the unpaid tuition, I was met with an even more furious torrent of insults. “Liar! Thief!” “You must have stolen and spent that money!” “Do we look like the kind of parents in your eyes who wouldn’t send their child to school? Your dad and I poured so much effort into your education since you were little. Asking that question is so disrespectful and it’s like stabbing me in the heart!” “Tell me, where did you secretly spend that money?” I was terrified, my mind racing. A memory suddenly flashed in my mind. “It was Chloe. She was there when you transferred the tuition and secretly watched you enter the transfer PIN.” I had seen it with my own eyes, but I didn’t understand what she intended then and didn’t think much of it afterward. At these words, a dreadful silence fell on the other end of the phone. After a long while, Mom finally coldly squeezed out a sentence through gritted teeth. “Not only stealing money but also slandering others, Mia. When did you become so wicked?” The next day during morning self-study, my parents stormed into the classroom and dragged me to the school gate. I was completely bewildered, only hearing Dad’s unchallengeable tone saying, “Kneel.” The next second, a heavy kick landed behind my knees. I knelt at the school gate in front of everyone, with people coming and going, all turning to stare. Dad’s heartbroken and furious voice came from above me. “I, David Miller, am a failure for raising such a morally corrupt daughter. Not only did she steal money, but she also slandered her own relatives. Today, right in front of all of you, I’m going to teach her a good lesson.” With that, he took out his belt and whipped me, lash after lash. People gathered around in circles, many of them parents dropping off their children. I heard them say, “Isn’t that the famous Mr. Miller? What did his daughter do to make him so angry?” “She stole tuition money and even slandered her cousin. This Mia usually seems so honest, I never expected her to be this kind of person. So rich, yet doing something like this. She’s inherently evil. I need to keep our children away from her.” “Mr. Miller is truly amazing, such a powerful man, yet he doesn’t spoil his child at all. I don’t envy people like him with money, because he’s fair-minded.” “Mr. Miller! A good lesson!” “Bad kids need to be disciplined like this, or they won’t learn their lesson! Mr. Miller is awesome!” Cheers erupted from the crowd, and at the same time, gazes of contempt were cast upon me. Listening to the praise from the crowd, my dad’s face showed a proud expression. It seemed playing the role of a strict father in front of others greatly pleased him, and the force of his hand unconsciously grew heavier. An unprecedented humiliation and intense pain utterly shattered my dignity. I finally made up my mind to execute a crazy plan I had been devising for a long time. Looking at my smugly smiling parents, I closed my eyes in disgust. You despise me, your daughter? Good, because I don’t want you as my parents anymore either.

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After I got a second chance at life, I burned every photo I had with Sophia. I also shredded the love letters Olivia had written me for three years. Because in my previous life, caught between these two women, I had lived like a total joke. Sophia said she loved me, but after I gave up my chance to study abroad for her, she left the country with Noah. She left a note before she went: “He needs me more than you do.” I was a wreck for three months. Olivia brought me food every day, telling me, “I’ve waited for you for eight years.” After we got together, she came home on time every night and never socialized with any other men. I thought I had finally made the right bet. Until that winter, I got into a car accident. I was in a coma in the ICU for seven days, and she never once came to see me. Instead, I heard the nurses talking: “His wife comes every day, but she goes to the room next door to take care of a patient named Noah.” Later, I found out that Sophia took Noah abroad to help him pay off his gambling debts, and Olivia had paid for everything. Turns out, I was just an NPC in their three-person love story. This time, I sold the house in advance and took Grandpa to study abroad.

“Patient 12 is so pathetic. His wife comes every day but never steps foot in his room.” “Yeah, she always goes straight to the room next door to see that patient named Noah.” The nurses’ whispers drifted in from outside the door. After the car accident, I had multiple fractures and had been lying in the ICU for seven days. I was in a coma, but my mind was perfectly clear. I heard the nurses call Olivia over and over. But she never once came to see me. Turns out, she was with someone more important. What I thought was my salvation was just a scam. I tried with all my might to open my eyes, but all I could see was a flatline on the EKG monitor. When I opened my eyes again, the sunlight was blinding. I was sitting at my familiar desk. The calendar showed that I had three months before I gave up my study abroad spot for Sophia. This time, I answered the call from the school’s international exchange office: “Professor, I confirm I’ll participate in this year’s exchange program. Thank you for this opportunity.” On the other end, the professor’s voice sounded relieved: “Glad you decided. It would’ve been such a shame to give up such a great opportunity.” Yeah, it was a huge shame. Giving up my entire life for a woman was the stupidest thing I’d ever done. After hanging up, I contacted a real estate agent and listed the house my parents left me. My only requirement: full payment, as soon as possible. Right after that, Sophia called. Her voice was distant: “Ethan, Noah’s graduation project has hit a snag. You’re good at academics; can you help him?” Noah again. His issues always seemed to come between us. In my previous life, I pulled three all-nighters for that sentence, revising his design from rough draft to final product. The result? Only his name was on the award-winning work. Sophia’s explanation to me was: “Noah isn’t well, and he needs this award to boost his resume.” I actually believed her back then. I gripped my phone and softly said, “Sure, send me the details.” Sophia’s voice came through the phone: “Good boy.” Just one word, and she expected me to fall in line. I looked out the window, remembering my past self, and just felt how ridiculous it all was. Soon after, Olivia knocked on my door, carrying takeout from my favorite breakfast spot. She neatly arranged the containers on the table, her voice gentle: “Eat it while it’s warm. I know you’ve been worried about Sophia and Noah lately. Don’t overwork yourself.” She always appeared to care for me whenever Sophia hurt me. Then, she casually brought up: “Noah’s project is really important, Sophia can’t help it. He’s been weak since he was little, he can’t handle it alone.” See? They always had a thousand reasons. Noah being “unwell” somehow justified everything. I picked up a pastry, smiling at her: “I know, Olivia. I won’t make things difficult for Sophia.” Olivia smiled, relieved. They all thought I was still the same Ethan, ready to endlessly compromise for Sophia. The next day, I took my laptop to the library to prepare my study abroad application. While looking for literature in the reference section, I looked up and saw Sophia and Noah not far away. Noah was leaning into Sophia’s embrace, his face flushed and looking nothing like someone who was “unwell.” He was smiling, telling Sophia, “Sophia, I’m so glad I have you. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” Sophia looked down at him, her voice filled with a tenderness I had never heard before: “Silly boy.” Sophia turned to buy water, and when she looked back, she saw me. Sophia’s expression froze for a moment, then she quickly frowned. My presence had clearly interrupted them. I didn’t rush over to confront her like I did in my previous life. I just crooked my mouth into a slight smile from a distance. Then, I turned around and continued searching for my book on the shelf. That gaze from behind made me uncomfortable. I didn’t care. Anyway, these days would be over soon.

I didn’t touch a single word of Noah’s graduation project. A couple of days later, Sophia found me in the library. She snatched the book from my hands and slammed it onto the table with a bang. Students around us all looked over. “Ethan, I told you to help Noah, and you’re just sitting here reading leisure books?” I looked up at her, and at Noah, who stood behind her with an innocent expression. “I’m just researching something,” I replied. “What research is more important than Noah’s graduation?” Sophia demanded, pulling Noah in front of her. “He hasn’t slept properly for days because of this project, and you? You don’t care at all.” Noah, ever so timely, tugged at her sleeve and softly said, “Sophia, don’t be like that. Ethan must have his own things to do. I’ll just figure something out myself.” His words only made Sophia think I was being more unreasonable. “Listen to that!” She pointed at Noah and snapped at me, “Noah is more sensible than you! Ethan, I’m telling you one last time, I want to see a complete proposal within a week.” I watched them play their little game and averted my gaze. I nodded: “Got it.” Sophia thought I had given in, her expression softening slightly as she pulled Noah and turned to leave. I absorbed all the strange looks from the surrounding students. It didn’t matter. This was the last time, anyway. Sophia finally lost her patience. Her voice on the phone was sharp: “Ethan, what exactly are you doing? It’s due in a week, and you haven’t done anything?” I turned on the faucet, the rushing water serving as background noise. “I’m so sorry, Grandpa hasn’t been feeling well lately. I’ve been at the hospital taking care of him, so I got delayed,” I lied. “Noah’s graduation project is very important to him. Put your family matters aside for now and finish his project.” Listen to that, how entitled. My Grandpa, in her eyes, was less important than Noah’s assignment. “But…” I feigned difficulty. “No ‘buts’,” Sophia cut me off directly. “Ethan, stop being petty. If Noah can’t graduate, I’m not done with you.” She hung up the phone with force. I turned off the faucet and looked at my reflection in the mirror, unable to understand how I could have been so desperately infatuated with such a woman in my previous life. Thankfully, this time, I had a chance to start over. The agent’s call came in at the perfect moment, informing me that the house had found a buyer who agreed to full payment, and we could sign the contract today. I replied with an “Okay.” To make the house-selling act seem more genuine, I needed to move some old furniture my parents had left behind. The items were heavy, and I couldn’t manage them alone. The first person I thought of was Olivia, who had always played the role of the reliable senior. I called her: “Olivia, are you free? I have some old furniture at my place I want to get rid of, and I was hoping you could help me out.” A few seconds of silence, then Olivia’s voice came through: “Ethan, what a coincidence, I’m tied up right now.” In the background, I clearly heard Noah’s delicate cough. “Noah has a bit of a fever, I need to stay here and take care of him,” Olivia explained. “You should try to figure something out yourself, or maybe find a moving company? I’ll transfer you some money later.” Noah, again. I chuckled softly: “No need, Olivia. You take good care of him. I can manage on my own.” I hung up the phone without a moment’s hesitation and immediately looked for a paid moving service online. Why beg people for things money could solve? After hanging up, I clutched my stomach and called Olivia again, my voice weak: “Olivia, my stomach hurts terribly. I’m at the downtown hospital right now.” Olivia immediately replied: “Don’t move, I’ll be right there!” I sat on a cold bench in the emergency room lobby, watching people come and go. Half an hour later, I saw Olivia. She ran quickly, looking hurried, but didn’t even glance my way. Olivia rushed past me and headed straight for the orthopedic clinic on the other side. I stood up and followed her. At the clinic door, Noah was sitting in a wheelchair, his ankle bandaged, crying. Olivia was半蹲 (half-kneeling) in front of him, gently soothing him: “There, there, don’t cry. Didn’t the doctor say it’s just a minor sprain? It’ll heal in a few days.” “But it hurts so much…” Noah whined, pouting. Olivia frowned, reaching out to touch his ankle, but hesitant to hurt him, her movements cautious. Her expression was more genuine than any act she put on at my bedside in my previous life. I stood behind them, watching. So, the rumors I heard in the ICU in my previous life had already begun. My appearance changed the atmosphere between the two. Olivia whirled around and saw me, freezing completely. “Ethan…what are you doing here?” Her eyes were panicked when she saw me. Noah also saw me. The tears in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a defiant look. “My stomach hurt, came to get some medicine,” I said, gesturing to myself. “Then…how are you?” Olivia stood up, looking flustered. “It’s nothing serious, just an old problem.” “Well, you should get back to what you were doing, Olivia. I’ll head home after I get my medicine.” I gave her no chance to explain and turned to leave. I knew that my not looking back would only make them more convinced that I was still the jealous and helpless Ethan.

The day I signed the house sale contract and received the full payment, the weather was beautiful. I transferred the money to a bank card, then went to school to complete the suspension and study abroad procedures. That weekend, a mutual friend organized a karaoke party and invited me. I knew Sophia and her crew would be there. To avoid tipping them off, I accepted. In the private room, everyone started playing Truth or Dare. After a few rounds, Noah suddenly rattled the dice in his hand and suggested with a laugh, “Let’s play King’s Game! The person who draws the King card can order any two people to do anything!” The suggestion was immediately met with enthusiasm from everyone, including Sophia and Olivia. Sure enough, in the first round, Noah became the King. He announced his order: “I command number 2 and number 5 to recreate the classic Titanic ‘King of the World’ pose at the ship’s bow!” After he spoke, everyone started checking their cards. I opened my palm, it was a 2. And Sophia, frowning, revealed her number 5 card. The room instantly erupted with whistles and cheers. “Ethan, this is your chance!” “Sophia, don’t just stand there, hug him!” I was pushed and shoved until I stood on the coffee table, my limbs unsure where to go. Sophia was pushed in front of me, her face clearly unwilling. Olivia was still laughing on the side, saying, “Sophia, hurry up, don’t keep everyone waiting. Ethan, spread your arms.” I stiffly spread my arms and closed my eyes, not daring to look at Sophia’s expression. I didn’t get the embrace. Instead, a strong push came from behind me. It was Noah. He was laughing as he hugged me from behind, shouting at Sophia, “Sophia, look, isn’t this the same?” The moment he hugged me, my foot slipped, and I fell backward, completely out of control. With a loud thud, I landed hard on the floor, the back of my head hitting the hard corner of the coffee table. The pain made my vision go black. The drinks on the table toppled from the impact, and cold liquid mixed with fruit splashed all over me. The whole world went silent for a second. Then, I heard Sophia’s undisguised scoff. Sophia didn’t even look at me; she just said to someone nearby, “What a buzzkill.” Olivia only frowned, “Ethan, how can you be so clumsy? It’s just a game.” Not a single person came to help me up. All their gazes were focused on Noah, who had pushed me and now had red-rimmed eyes. Sophia was the first to pull him close, comforting him softly: “It’s okay, it’s not your fault, he just couldn’t stand still.” The sharp pain in the back of my head continued. I lay on the cold, wet floor, soaked and utterly pathetic. I silently got up and walked out of that noisy private room. At that moment, I was only grateful that I had already sold my house and completed my study abroad procedures. Only three days remained until my departure. The third day was my birthday. Perhaps because of the drama that night at the karaoke, Olivia’s text came: “Happy Birthday, Ethan. 7 PM tonight, The Summit Bistro. I booked the best table for you. See you there.” Not long after, Sophia also sent a text: “Happy Birthday. Noah didn’t mean it last time, don’t take it to heart. We’ll celebrate your birthday together tonight.” I looked at these two messages, feeling nothing. Consider it our final goodbye. I replied “Okay” to both of them. In the evening, I took a taxi to the restaurant. It was still the same window seat, with a view of most of the city’s night skyline. This scene was identical to my previous life. In my previous life, on this very day, in this very place, I was wearing the suit she gave me. They were called away by Noah’s phone call before they even had a chance to order. I waited from seven o’clock until the restaurant was about to close, but they never returned. Calls went unanswered, texts unread. The sympathetic glances from other diners, the hesitant inquiries from the waiters, made me incredibly uncomfortable. Until I saw a photo in a friend’s Ins story. In the photo, he was dressed in a tuxedo, holding a cake and smiling. Sophia and Olivia stood on either side of him, looking at him with doting expressions. The caption read: “Grabbed two knights last minute to eat cake. It’s not a birthday, but who says you can only eat cake on your birthday!” Turns out, my birthday was far less important than his impromptu celebration.

“Ethan? What are you thinking about?” Olivia’s voice pulled me back from my memories. Olivia and Sophia had already arrived and were sitting across from me. The dishes were served quickly. No one spoke, and the atmosphere was a bit tense. Olivia raised her glass first: “Ethan, I was wrong that day. I’ll drink to that. Happy Birthday.” Sophia, for once, didn’t have a stern face, though her eyes were still complex. Just then, Olivia’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, immediately answered, and her voice changed: “What? How could he suddenly faint? Which hospital?” She hung up, her face apologetic as she looked at me: “Ethan, I’m so sorry, Noah…he fainted from acute low blood sugar. He’s at the hospital right now, I have to go check on him.” Before I could say anything, Sophia had already stood up, coat in hand, and said to Olivia, “Let’s go together. One person might not be enough.” Just like in my previous life, they abandoned me again for Noah. Olivia promised me: “Ethan, you eat first. We’ll settle him in and be right back, quickly!” They left in a hurry, the private room door closing, cutting off the outside world. The world instantly became quiet. I looked at the table full of food and didn’t wait another second. I picked up my jacket and called a waiter. “Hi, check, please.” Walking out of the restaurant, the evening breeze blew on my face, cold, yet I felt clearer than ever before. I took out my phone and blocked and deleted Sophia’s and Olivia’s contact information. This time, I wouldn’t wait anymore. I hailed a taxi and went straight home. Pushing open the door, the house was empty. Aside from Grandpa’s and my suitcases, there were no traces of a life lived here. I took off the soiled suit, and without a second thought, threw it into the trash. Along with that suit, the last vestiges of my feelings for Sophia were also discarded. I walked into Grandpa’s room. He was already asleep, his breathing steady. I tucked him in and kissed his forehead. Grandpa, this time, I will take you away from this place that caused you so much sadness. I barely slept the rest of the night. I checked our documents and luggage again and again, making sure everything was perfect. As dawn broke, I woke Grandpa. “Grandpa, how about we go to a very distant, fun place?” Even though Grandpa’s memory was a bit hazy, he loved me the most. He looked at me, smiling and nodding: “Okay, Ethan. Wherever Ethan goes, Grandpa goes.” The morning light streamed through the airport’s floor-to-ceiling windows, warm and inviting. I held Grandpa’s hand, walking step by step towards the boarding gate. Goodbye, Sophia. Goodbye, Olivia. And Noah. May your love last forever.

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My husband’s sister burst into the company during our annual gala and slapped me hard across the face, right in front of hundreds of employees. She pointed a finger at my nose and yelled, “Scarlett, you’re barely good enough to polish my brother’s shoes! Stop putting on a show as the VP here!” Arthur, my father-in-law and the Chairman, sat beside me, his face thunderous. He was just about to reprimand me for failing to keep the family in line. But I calmly smoothed my hair and looked at him. “Dad, haven’t you ever had your doubts all these years? Her behavior, acting like a crazy woman—does that really resemble anyone in our family?” “I suggest you get a DNA test. Wouldn’t want you raising someone else’s daughter for half a lifetime.” “After all, a true heiress from a prominent family wouldn’t throw a public scene like that.” Seeing her face instantly drain of color, I knew it. Things were about to change around here. Arthur froze, his gaze turning instantly chilling. Three days later, the test results came back. Brittany was thrown out the front door like garbage by the security team. 0

My cheek burned. A loud slap. Brittany stormed into our company’s annual gala. Right in front of hundreds of employees. She pointed a finger at my nose. “Scarlett, you’re barely good enough to polish my brother’s shoes!” “Stop acting all high and mighty as VP here, putting on a show!” The room instantly fell silent. Hundreds of eyes stared at me. Some with pity, some with malicious glee, some just confused. Brittany. My husband Ethan’s sister. The Sterling family’s pampered princess. Beside me sat Arthur Sterling, my father-in-law and the Chairman. His face was already livid. His hand gripped the armrest, veins pulsing on his knuckles. His eyes cut through me like knives. Reproach. Rage. He thought I had poor family upbringing, letting Brittany embarrass the Sterling name in public. He was about to explode. To reprimand me. But I didn’t look at Brittany. I reached up and slowly smoothed my hair, which she had messed up. My movements were calm. Then, I turned and looked at Arthur, who was seated at the head table. I called out to him. “Dad.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear. Everyone in the room could hear me. Arthur’s fury was cut short. He froze, looking at me. I continued. “All these years, haven’t you ever had your doubts?” His brows furrowed deeper. “Doubts about what?” I looked at Brittany, still making a scene on stage, hands on her hips, a triumphant look on her face, waiting for me to be scolded. A faint smile even touched my lips. “The way she is, always loud and rowdy, like a common street brawler.” “Which part of her resembles anyone from our Sterling family?” The moment I said that. Brittany’s triumphant expression froze. Arthur’s gaze also changed. No longer anger, but a deep, chilling scrutiny. He began to re-evaluate his own daughter. I kept twisting the knife into his heart. “I suggest you take her for a DNA test.” “Wouldn’t want you raising someone else’s daughter for half a lifetime, only to have her completely tarnish the Sterling name.” “After all, you always say our Sterling family has a long and storied legacy.” “A true heiress from a prominent family wouldn’t throw a public scene like that.” My words were like a bomb. Exploding in the dead silent room. Everyone gasped. Brittany’s face went “white as a sheet” in an instant. Completely bloodless. Her指着的hand started to tremble. “You… you’re talking nonsense!” “Scarlett, you evil witch! You’re trying to ruin me!” She was no longer arrogant, her voice filled with panic. I knew it. This family was about to be turned upside down today. Arthur, my father-in-law, was completely stunned. He stared at Brittany’s pale face. His gaze shifted from scrutiny to bone-chilling coldness. That look was like he was staring at a complete stranger. He didn’t look at me again. Nor did he acknowledge Brittany’s screams. He stood up, said nothing, and turned to leave. Two bodyguards immediately followed. The annual gala was interrupted just like that. An absurd farce. A secret about to be exposed. Brittany tried to lunge at me again. Ethan, my husband, held her back tightly. “Ethan! Let go of me! I’m going to tear that bitch’s mouth off!” Ethan is my husband, Arthur’s son. His face was also very grim at this moment. “Enough! Brittany! Haven’t you caused enough embarrassment!” He roared in a low voice. Brittany was still crying and making a scene. I ignored them. I walked to the microphone. Facing the hundreds of employees below the stage. I bowed. “My apologies, a private family matter occurred today and affected everyone’s mood.” “The gala ends here. Everyone will receive a double bonus this month.” “Thank you all.” With that, I turned off the microphone and stepped off the stage. Employees began to whisper among themselves. I didn’t listen. I walked directly backstage. My hands were trembling slightly. Not from fear. But from excitement. Ten years of enduring. I finally waited for this day. 0

I was driving. Ethan sat in the passenger seat. Brittany was in the back seat. She had stopped crying but was still sobbing. Muttering curses at me intermittently. “Witch…” “Bad luck…” “Just you wait, when Dad gets back, he’ll definitely take care of you…” I ignored her. Ethan did too. The atmosphere in the car was so oppressive it felt like it could explode. Ethan finally couldn’t take it anymore. He turned his head and looked at me. “Scarlett, you were… too impulsive today.” His tone carried a hint of blame. “Saying something like that at the gala, where does that leave Dad’s reputation?” I gripped the steering wheel, looking at the road ahead. “Reputation?” I scoffed. “When she slapped me in front of hundreds of people, why didn’t you say anything about reputation?” “When she pointed a finger at my nose and told me I was only fit to polish her shoes, why didn’t you say anything about reputation?” “Ethan, that’s your dad’s reputation, not yours.” “You seem to have missed the point.” Ethan was speechless. He opened his mouth but then closed it. Brittany in the back seat started screaming again. “Ethan! Listen to what she’s saying!” “She doesn’t care about us Sterlings at all!” “She just wants to sow discord in our family!” I slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt at the side of the road. The sudden inertia threw Brittany forward, and her head hit the back of the front seat. “Ah!” she cried out in pain. I unbuckled my seatbelt, turned around, and looked at her coldly. “Brittany, try saying one more word.” My eyes were ice-cold. Cold as frost. Brittany shivered under my gaze. She缩了缩necked her neck, not daring to make another sound. I stared at her. Speaking word by word. “You’d better start praying now that you are Dad’s biological daughter.” “If not…” I paused. “I will make your life a living hell.” Brittany’s lips began to tremble. She looked at me, her eyes filled with terror. Ethan also stared at me in shock. He probably had never seen me like this. In his eyes, I had always been a docile, tolerant wife. A daughter-in-law who would endlessly compromise for family harmony. He didn’t know. Even a mouse will bite when cornered. Besides, I was never a mouse. I was a wolf. A wolf disguised in the Sterling family for ten years. I restarted the car. The rest of the drive was silent. The car pulled into the Sterling family mansion. The mansion was brightly lit. In the living room, Arthur, my father-in-law, sat on the mahogany sofa at the head of the room. His fingers were steepled, his gaze distant and unreadable. Seeing us enter, he didn’t even lift an eyelid. Brittany rushed in and immediately ran to him. “Dad! You have to stand up for me!” She knelt by Arthur’s leg, crying piteously. “Scarlett is crazy! She’s talking nonsense outside, saying I’m not your biological daughter!” “She’s ruining my reputation, she’s ruining our Sterling family’s reputation!” Arthur finally stopped his stillness. He opened his eyes, his gaze sharp as a hawk’s. He didn’t look at Brittany. Instead, he looked at me. “Scarlett.” He spoke, his voice hoarse and low. “What you said at the company today, are you sure?” I walked to stand opposite him. Meeting his gaze without humility or arrogance. “Dad, I merely offered a reasonable suggestion.” “One that could thoroughly resolve the ongoing disputes in our family.” Arthur scoffed. “Gambling with the reputation of our Sterling family?” “You have quite the nerve.” I smiled. “Dad, aren’t you curious?” “You’ve been a formidable figure your whole life, decisive and sharp.” “Ethan, while not possessing your drive, is still steady and reliable.” “Why is Brittany, of all people, so foolish, so venomous, and completely lacking in self-awareness?” “Doesn’t that seem like a genetic anomaly?” “You!” Arthur slammed his hand on the armrest and stood up abruptly. A powerful aura pressed down on me. If it were before, my knees might have buckled. But today, I stood perfectly straight. Brittany was still crying. “Dad! Don’t believe her! She’s jealous of me! She’s jealous that you love me!” Arthur stared intently at me. After a long time. The anger in his eyes slowly receded. Replaced by a bottomless well of doubt. My words were like a thorn. Piercing deeply into his heart. He wasn’t foolish. On the contrary, he had been sharp his entire life. Some things, he hadn’t thought of, not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to. Today, I ripped off the band-aid. He had no choice but to think. “Alright.” He slowly sat down, picking up his steepled hands again. “I’ll give you this chance.” “And myself an answer.” He picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Mr. Davis, contact Dr. Lee at St. Jude’s Hospital.” “Arrange for an urgent DNA test.” “I want the results first thing tomorrow morning.” He hung up the phone. In the living room, there was a deathly silence. Brittany’s crying also stopped. She collapsed on the floor, her face ashen. 0

Mr. Davis was very efficient. Half an hour later, the forensic team from St. Jude’s Hospital arrived. Two doctors in white coats, carrying professional sampling kits. The atmosphere in the living room was colder than freezing point. Arthur, my father-in-law, sat on the sofa, silent. Ethan and I stood to one side. Brittany lay slumped on the floor, as if all her strength had been drained. The doctors were professional, with no unnecessary words. “Mr. Sterling, we need hair follicle or blood samples from you and… Ms. Brittany.” Arthur extended his hand. “Blood.” His voice was devoid of warmth. The doctor took out the blood collection needle. Brittany suddenly screamed like she was insane. “No! I won’t do it!” She scrambled up from the floor, stumbling as she ran towards the door. “I don’t want a DNA test! I’m my dad’s daughter! I am!” Her reaction was a dead giveaway. Arthur’s face darkened even further. Two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, one on each side, restraining Brittany. She struggled desperately like a captured bird. “Let go of me! Let me go!” “Dad! Save me! I’m your daughter!” Arthur closed his eyes. He seemed unable to bear watching. Or perhaps, the answer in his heart was becoming increasingly clear. He waved his hand. The bodyguards understood, forcibly holding Brittany down. The doctor stepped forward and quickly took a blood sample from her finger. Then it was Arthur. Throughout the entire process, he didn’t open his eyes. The samples were collected. The doctors sealed the samples and placed them in a secured case. “Mr. Sterling, the results will be ready by ten tomorrow morning at the earliest.” “We will deliver the report directly to you.” Arthur nodded. “Thank you for your trouble.” The doctors and bodyguards left, taking the struggling Brittany with them. Brittany was taken to a guest room and temporarily locked in. In the living room, only Ethan, my father-in-law, and I remained. A long silence. Arthur finally opened his eyes. He looked at me, his gaze complex. There was anger, scrutiny, and something else I couldn’t decipher. “Scarlett.” “Yes, Dad.” “If the results come back and Brittany is my daughter.” He spoke slowly, word by word. “What do you intend to do?” It was a test. And a threat. If I was wrong, I would be utterly ruined. Swept out of the Sterling family, my reputation destroyed. Ethan looked at me nervously, his palms sweating. He wanted to speak for me, but I stopped him with a look. I met my father-in-law’s gaze and smiled. Very calmly. “Dad, if she is.” “Then I will willingly leave the Sterling family, walking away penniless.” “And, I will apologize on my knees to Brittany in front of all the employees.” “To compensate for the damage I caused to the Sterling family’s reputation tonight.” My answer was flawless. It also cut off all my retreat routes. All or nothing. Arthur stared at me for a long time. He seemed to want to find a trace of guilt or panic on my face. But he failed. I was too composed. Too composed for someone who was gambling everything. More like a winner who already knew the outcome. He finally looked away. “Alright.” “I’ll remember your words.” He stood up, looking somewhat weary. “Everyone go back and rest.” With that, he turned and went upstairs. His back looked a bit desolate. In the living room, only Ethan and I remained. Ethan quickly walked over and took my hand. “Scarlett, are you crazy?” His voice was very low, but filled with anxiety. “How could you make such a bet with Dad?” “What if… what if Brittany really is his biological daughter?” “Then you’ll be completely ruined, won’t you?” I looked at him. My husband. We had been married for ten years. He had always been like this: gentle, kind, but lacking drive. Accustomed to living in the shadow of his father and sister. I squeezed his hand back. His hand was cold and still trembling. “Ethan.” I looked into his eyes. “Do you trust me?” He froze. “I…” “You just need to answer, yes or no.” He looked at my firm gaze and was silent for a long time. Finally, as if having made a decision, he nodded forcefully. “I trust you.” “I trust you, Scarlett.” I smiled. “That’s enough.” “Let’s go to bed.” “Tomorrow, everything will be clear.” I led him back to our room. That night, Ethan tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. But I slept soundly. Ten years of planning. Ten years of enduring. It was finally time to reap the rewards. How could I not be excited? Tomorrow would be a good day. 0

I woke up the next morning. The sky was bright. But the Sterling mansion was quieter than deep night. When I went downstairs, I saw the butler directing the maids. Carefully wiping the furniture. Even walking on tiptoes, afraid to make a sound. The air was thick with tension. In the dining room, at the long dining table. Ethan was already sitting there. His breakfast untouched. He had heavy dark circles under his eyes, clearly having not slept all night. Seeing me, he managed a smile that was worse than a grimace. “Morning.” “Morning.” I pulled out a chair and sat down. I poured myself a glass of milk and picked up a slice of toast. Eating quietly. Ethan looked at me, wanting to speak but hesitating. He finally couldn’t hold it in. Leaning forward, he whispered in a voice only we two could hear. “Scarlett, how much… how much certainty do you have?” I bit into the toast, chewing slowly. Then swallowed. Only then did I look up at him. “One hundred percent.” My tone was calm. So calm it seemed I wasn’t talking about a major event that could overturn an entire family. Ethan froze. He was shaken by my confidence. “How… how could you…” I didn’t answer him. I just continued eating my breakfast. Some things, it wasn’t time to tell him yet. A sharp shouting sound came from upstairs. It was Brittany. She was locked in her room, but her energy was surprisingly high. “Let me out!” “You bunch of dog servants! Who gave you the guts to lock me up!” “Scarlett! You bitch! You just wait!” The maids trembled in fear. A flicker of unbearable pity crossed Ethan’s face. After all, that was the “sister” he had called for over twenty years. I put down my toast. Wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I’m done eating.” “I’m going to the company.” I stood up. Ethan also stood up. “Still going to the company today?” He was surprised. “The family’s such a mess…” I turned to look at him. “Even if the sky falls, the company must operate normally.” “Sterling Enterprises isn’t our family’s playground.” “I’m the VP, drawing a salary, and I’m responsible for thousands of employees.” “I hope you, the future heir, understand that.” With that, I turned and left. Leaving Ethan alone, frozen in place. I drove to the company. Along the way, my mood was calm. Even joyous, one might say. Ten years ago, I married Ethan. Everyone said it was a Cinderella story, a commoner marrying into a top-tier wealthy family. No one knew. The very first day I moved into the Sterling mansion. Brittany gave me a show of force. She called me into her walk-in closet. Pointing at a pile of designer shoes on the floor. “Scarlett, from now on, my shoes are yours to clean.” “Remember, use your hands, kneel on the floor to clean them.” “This is your first lesson as a Sterling daughter-in-law.” Back then, I chose to endure. Because I loved Ethan. And because I needed the Sterling family’s resources to complete my plan. This endurance lasted ten years. For ten years, Brittany’s provocations and humiliations never stopped. I went from a fiercely independent woman with an edge. To a docile and proper socialite wife in the eyes of outsiders. Everyone thought I had been tamed. Including Brittany, including my father-in-law, Arthur. They didn’t know. A wolf will never be tamed into a dog. It will only sharpen its claws in the shadows. Waiting for a fatal strike. Now, the opportunity had arrived. At the company. Sure enough, rumors were flying. What happened at the gala last night had spread everywhere. Everyone looked at me with complex emotions. I ignored them. Walked directly into my office. Called a meeting with all department directors. Assigned new projects for the quarter. I handled company affairs with the utmost efficiency and professionalism. As if everything from last night was just a dream. My composure, instead, made those who wanted to watch the drama feel uneasy. They began to suspect that things might not be as simple as they imagined. In the afternoon. I was reviewing financial reports. Ethan’s phone call came in. His voice was very tired. “Scarlett, where are you?” “Company.” “Can you… can you come back?” “What’s wrong?” “Brittany… she’s on a hunger strike.” “She’s locked herself in her room, not eating or drinking, saying she’ll die to spite us.” I listened, silent for a few seconds. Then, I smiled. “Ethan, she’s not a three-year-old anymore.” “Do you think her usual dramatic antics of crying, making a scene, and threatening suicide will work on Dad?” “But…” “No buts.” I cut him off. “If she wants to die, let her.” “Anyway, the test results will be out tomorrow.” “If she’s biological, Dad will naturally find a way to save her.” “If she’s not…” I paused, my voice chilling. “Then what does her life or death have to do with our Sterling family?” On the other end of the phone, Ethan gasped. He was probably scared by the coldness in my words. “Scarlett… how did you become like this…” “I haven’t changed.” I said. “I’m just not pretending anymore.” I hung up the phone. I looked out at the city through the window. The sun was slowly setting. Coating the city in a golden glow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, everything would be settled.

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1 The moment high school graduation ended, I sent Jasper a hundred-thousand-dollar invoice for ten years of living expenses and tuition. It all started when a text message suddenly popped up on my old, long-forgotten flip phone. “If you can see this message, please do not choose the same university as Jasper.” I showed it to Jasper as a joke. He was furious, insisting on calling the number back to scream at whoever was playing such a sick prank. But that night, another message and a handful of photos froze me right where I stood. “I know you can see this. I am actually Jasper, ten years in the future.” Most of the photos were intimate, candid shots of him and my best friend, Tessa. The last one was a family portrait of the two of them, holding a pair of toddlers. “If you hadn’t been in the way, Tessa and I would have been together a long time ago.” “I’m sick of living under your family’s charity. Even without your money, I can get into Briarwood on my own.” A cold realization washed over me. I suddenly remembered the travel mug of warm herbal tea and the gourmet breakfasts that mysteriously appeared on Tessa’s desk every morning, and the extra strength pain relievers Jasper always kept in the front pocket of his backpack. I shut off the phone, opened my laptop, and quietly changed my college application. Then, I had our family lawyer draft an itemized bill for every single cent we had spent on him over the past ten years. If that was his dream future, he could have it. I was bowing out. … That night, I tossed and turned, my head pounding with questions I couldn’t resolve. Unable to sleep, I powered up the old phone again. I drafted and deleted the text several times before finally hitting send. “When did you fall in love with Tessa? Why didn’t you just tell me?” I clutched the phone, my fingertips trembling, a sudden and heavy dread settling in my chest. The reply came almost instantly, flat and agonizing. “I thought I was obvious enough.” “At least Tessa treated me like a human being.” “Paige, I’m sick of playing the grateful charity case. My parents’ death was a tragic accident, but I never needed your family’s pity.” “You have no idea how exhausting it was to pretend to be happy in your house every single day.” He sent a few more photos, showing him and Tessa sharing a cozy dinner at a dim restaurant. I didn’t reply. My grip on the phone turned my knuckles white. Through the crack in my bedroom door, I looked out into the hallway. The lights were still on. Jasper was sitting at the kitchen table, working late into the night to finish a handmade leather journal for my birthday. If his parents hadn’t volunteered to take a double shift at the chemical plant for my parents ten years ago, they wouldn’t have been caught in the explosion. Neither of them survived. On the day of the funeral, not a single one of Jasper’s relatives volunteered to take him in. It was my mother who knelt on his porch, and my father who bought groceries and packed his things. I had followed them, carrying a basket of fruit to welcome him. That day, Jasper had wept, promising he would put his life back together and treat our home as his own. He integrated into our family quickly. He used to tell me he would look after me for the rest of his life, that I was more important to him than anything else in the world. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady my shaking hands. Before I could type another word, the “future Jasper” sent a barrage of explicit, intimate photos. The timestamp on them read: Yesterday. “You didn’t know, did you? The very first day after graduation, Tessa and I checked into a hotel room.” My blood ran cold, and my face drained of color. Yesterday, I had planned to visit our retired high school counselor with Tessa. She had bailed at the last minute, claiming she had severe cramps and needed to stay in bed. She wasn’t in bed. She was with Jasper. My fingers hovered over the call button, desperate to confront him, but the phone chimed again. “Don’t bother calling to accuse me. It won’t work.” “Paige, if you don’t play along this time, ten years from now, you and your entire family will pay with your lives.” I bolted upright in bed, my heart hammering against my ribs. What did that mean? Our family had fed him, clothed him, and loved him like a son for a decade. Now he was threatening our lives? Anger and panic choked me. I could barely find my footing as I stood up. Receiving no response, he sent one final photo. I zoomed in. Hanging around Tessa’s neck was a silver St. Christopher medal. That was the medal my mother and I had traveled miles to secure from a historic cathedral, kneeling at every altar to pray for his protection. He had promised me he would never take it off. I swallowed my tears and typed back. “If I don’t go to the same university as you, will all of this stop? Will my family be safe?” “I’ll step aside. I’ll let you and Tessa be together.” There was a long pause before the text bubble popped up, the words laced with mocking amusement. “Of course.” “And I don’t need your permission. Tessa and I have been soulmates for three years. We’ve been official behind your back this whole time.” “Oh, and tomorrow is your birthday, right? That’s the day our first child was conceived in the future.” I looked up through the door crack. Jasper was walking toward my room, holding the hand-stitched leather journal. He tapped on the door and handed it to me, along with a smaller, more delicate matching coin purse. “Give this smaller one to Tessa next time you see her, so she won’t try to steal yours.” I used to think he was just thoughtful and attentive. I had no idea he was constantly thinking of Tessa, keeping her in his plans right under my nose. I pushed his hand away, my voice hollow. “Give it to her yourself. I’m not celebrating my birthday this year.” Jasper’s smile faltered, but he didn’t press for a reason. Instead, he left the house early the next morning. My mother tried to wake me with a bright smile. “Jasper must be setting up a surprise for you. He’s such a good boy, Paige. I’ll be at peace knowing you’ll marry him someday.” At peace? I gripped the edge of my blanket, my fingers ice-cold. By noon, Jasper and Tessa arrived together. They each handed me a gift bag. Inside were two hand-thrown clay mugs, clearly designed as a matching couple’s set. I didn’t reach for them. My mother leaned in to examine them, murmuring, “These look like a set for a couple. You and Tessa usually don’t agree on anything, but your tastes are remarkably similar.” My father let out a quiet cough, signaling her to drop the subject. I sat on the sofa, keeping my face completely blank. When Jasper called my name, I acted as if he were invisible. His eyes darkened, while Tessa tried in vain to break the ice. When the conversation shifted to college registration, she looked down, smoothing her skirt. “Have you guys decided on a school? Your grades are practically identical, so you’ll definitely end up at Briarwood together. My scores are a bit lower, so I’m still figuring out my options.” “Of course we are,” Jasper answered smoothly. “Even if Tessa can’t get into the main campus, we’ll find a way to stay in the same city.” He always spoke in half-truths. If he was that confident, he had already mapped out a plan to be with her. Listening to his easy lies, I shook my head and spoke clearly. “No. I’m not applying to Briarwood.” Jasper bolted upright, staring at me in disbelief. My parents looked over, their faces filled with worry. He hadn’t expected this. After all, my biggest birthday wish since childhood had always been to go to college with him. Jasper spent the rest of the day in a tense, brooding silence. By evening, he finally cornered me in the hallway. “Paige, did I do something wrong? If I did, just tell me. I can change.” “Going to the same college has been our dream for years. How can you just throw it away?” “Is there something you aren’t telling me?” He let out a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Please just talk to me. This silent treatment is exhausting.” My chest ached with a dull, throbbing pain. I opened my mouth to speak, but before a word could form, Tessa stood up near the front door, preparing to leave. She cast a fleeting, helpless glance in his direction. Jasper froze, then quickly moved to put on his shoes, sighing in my direction. “I know Tessa is terrified of walking home in the dark. I’m going to escort her. You don’t mind, do you?” My face turned pale as I watched them walk out together. The last time I had told him I was afraid of the dark, he had laughed, telling me to stop acting like a child. But the moment Tessa gave him a look, he rushed to her side, using me as his convenient excuse. My chest rose and fell with silent fury. I retreated to my room and locked the door. Within half an hour, a classmate who worked part-time at a local boutique hotel sent me a photo. It showed Jasper and Tessa standing at the front desk, registering for a room. The future was matching the present, piece by piece. “Paige, you and your best friend are so close, do you share boyfriends now? Want me to send you the room number?” I replied quietly. “No, thank you. What they do has nothing to do with me anymore.” I sat on the floor, resting my forehead against my knees for a long time. Finally, I picked up the old phone and typed out a message. “Did you always hate us? Did you always think your life would be perfect if my parents had never taken you in?” There was no text reply. Instead, he sent an image of a family portrait of my parents and me. I thought he was reminiscing. But the next image was a digital copy of three death certificates, bearing my name and my parents’ names. My hands shook violently, tears finally spilling over. “How did we die? Tell me the truth.” “I won’t interfere with your life. Just tell me why we had to die.” The status bubble flickered on and off for a long time before his reply came through. “It’s simple.” “Your parents found out about me and Tessa, and they forced her to miscarry when I wasn’t around.” “Tessa forgave them, but they wouldn’t let it go. They eventually got trapped in a warehouse fire of their own making.” “And you, consumed by grief, fell into the river and drowned.” My breath hitched, a sharp pain piercing my chest. I typed back with every ounce of strength left in my fingers, my whole body trembling. “My parents would never do that!” “You know them better than anyone. Tessa is lying to you!” The response was cold and detached. “Tessa had no reason to lie. No mother would fabricate the loss of her own child.” I slid down against the wall, collapsing onto the floor. So even if he knew Tessa was lying, he chose to close his eyes and believe her anyway. My parents had spent ten years carrying the guilt of his parents’ death, giving him more love and attention than they gave me. I used to joke that I was the adopted one. And this was how he repaid them. I typed out a furious stream of accusations, but his final reply remained infuriatingly light. “Tessa and I handled your family’s funerals ourselves. If she were truly evil, why would she bother giving you a proper burial?” I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. It was amazing how easily guilt could be romanticized. I turned on my laptop, verified that my university application had been successfully resubmitted to a school halfway across the country, and finally let out a long breath. The next morning, I sat down with my parents. “Mom, Dad, I’m not going to Briarwood with Jasper. And the moment I move to campus, I want you two to pack up and move with me.” “Also, I’ve had our lawyer draft an invoice for Jasper’s tuition and living expenses. We are collecting every single cent.” My parents stared at me in confusion, but my eyes were red as I continued. “You don’t know the real Jasper. If we stay near him, he will destroy this family.” “I don’t want to see him ever again. Looking at him makes me sick.” The front door clicked open. Jasper stood in the entryway, holding a fresh strawberry cake. It slipped from his hands, splattering onto the floorboards. He froze, but as he stepped closer, I could smell the distinct flowery scent of Tessa’s perfume on his jacket. “Paige, what are you talking about?” I shook my head, my jaw clenched as I fought back the urge to scream. Jasper reached out, trying to soothe me the way he did when we were kids, his hand reaching for my hair. For a second, his eyes held a trace of genuine worry, but his words instantly turned to ice. “Did Tessa say something to you? She promised she wouldn’t mention anything to you.” Tessa. It was always Tessa. I lost all control. I swung my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Jasper, we’re over! Pack your bags and get out of our house!” I screamed with every bit of air in my lungs, looking like a madwoman. Jasper stood perfectly still, his expression smooth and devoid of any emotion. “Stop playing around, Paige. I don’t agree to a breakup.” He wiped a smear of blood from his lip, his eyes narrowing slightly. My parents rushed to my side, holding my hands. “Paige, what’s going on? Why are you doing this to Jasper?” I looked up, letting out a cold laugh. “Because if I stay with him, we will all end up dead.” The room fell into a suffocating silence. “I’m joking,” I added quietly, looking away. “I just don’t love him anymore. And I think Jasper has already found his match anyway, right?” I let the excuse hang in the air. Jasper stiffened, his eyes instinctively drifting to the framed photo of Tessa on our living room shelf. “It’s my fault,” I muttered, leaning back into the sofa. “I wish you two nothing but the best.” My words broke the tension. The tight frown on Jasper’s face slowly relaxed. That night, despite my parents’ attempts to convince him to stay, Jasper packed his bags and moved out. I didn’t say a single word to him. He stood outside my bedroom door for an hour, but I didn’t open it until he was ready to walk out the front door. I handed him a box containing every gift, card, and trinket he had ever given me. “I mean it, Jasper. I hope you and Tessa are happy.” He opened his mouth to explain, but I shut the door in his face. Over the next few weeks, Tessa sent me endless messages, pretending to act as a concerned friend, reporting Jasper’s movements to me. When I ignored them, she eventually stopped. Soon after, Jasper changed his relationship status online, making his relationship with Tessa official. Seeing that I didn’t react, my parents offered them their quiet blessings. A week before college started, Jasper brought Tessa to our house for a formal visit. Seeing that my face was calm, without a single trace of tears, he couldn’t help but ask. “I’m with someone else now. Aren’t you even a little sad?” I didn’t answer. Instead, my gaze locked onto the silver St. Christopher medal hanging around Tessa’s neck. I reached out, grabbed the chain, and ripped it off. “Give this back. If you want one, pray for it yourself.” Tessa let out a soft sob, covering her face. Jasper clenched his fists, his face dark with silent rage as he took her hand and stormed out of the house. On the morning of my departure, I retrieved the old flip phone one last time and dialed his number. “Jasper, I didn’t apply to Briarwood. I won’t be in your way anymore.” “For the next ten years, I’m letting you go. Please do the same for me.” Without waiting for his response, I tossed the phone into a trash can at the terminal and walked toward my gate. Jasper had assumed I was bluffing about the application and the invoice. He arrived at the Briarwood University registry desk, ready to sign his enrollment papers. The registrar looked at the screen and frowned. “Mr. Harrington, your tuition payment was declined. The outstanding balance is ten thousand dollars.” “That’s impossible…” Jasper pulled out his phone. But the moment he opened the PDF invoice of a hundred thousand dollars sent by our family lawyer, all the color drained from his face.

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1 A week before our wedding, I stood in the lobby of the Grand Regency Hotel and watched my fiancée, Vivian, passionately kissing my childhood best friend, Marcus. She was supposed to be out of town on a business trip. They held each other in the center of the lobby, completely lost in their own world. Only an hour earlier, my phone had buzzed with a video call from an unknown number. When I answered, the screen showed a young boy, maybe six or seven years old. His face was stained with tears, his voice raw as he begged me to save his father. But the moment he saw my face, he froze, staring at me in stunned silence. After a few seconds, he whispered, “Daddy? You’re my daddy from seven years ago, aren’t you?” I frowned, shaking my head. The boy certainly had my eyes, but the idea of time travel was too absurd to believe. Then he turned the camera toward a dark corner of the room. I saw myself seven years in the future. My future self was a wreck. His hair was matted, his eyes dull and hollow. He huddled in the corner, clutching his knees, looking as if he lacked the strength to even lift his head. Scabs and jagged scars covered his arms and legs. When he looked up and saw me, there was no surprise in his eyes. He only managed to wheeze out a few words. “Logan, don’t marry Vivian. She will destroy your life.” The screen panned back to the boy, who was holding a faded, leather-bound journal. He began reading the entries aloud, his voice trembling. “May 21st, 2017. Vivian lied about her business trip. She went to the Regency Hotel to hook up with Marcus.” My heart stopped. Today was May 21st. Vivian was my fiancée, the woman I was supposed to marry next week. Marcus was my closest friend, a brother I had known for over twenty years. “Daddy, go to the hotel and see for yourself,” the boy sobbed. “Mom was already betraying you back then. She has been with Uncle Marcus all along.” My mind went completely blank. Driven by a morbid, desperate urge, I hailed a cab and rushed to the hotel. The moment I stepped through the grand glass doors, I ran straight into the nightmare. The scene unfolding before my eyes matched the boy’s description perfectly. A heavy ringing filled my ears, and my body went entirely numb, frozen in place as if struck by lightning. Just as Vivian started to turn her head, I instinctively ducked behind one of the large ornamental planters near the entrance. “What’s wrong?” I heard Marcus ask her, his voice dripping with familiarity. “Why the sudden look back?” “I thought I saw Logan just now,” Vivian murmured. “No way. That idiot would never find this place,” Marcus scoffed, letting out a low chuckle. “We’ve been doing this for almost two months and he hasn’t suspected a thing. Don’t ruin the mood.” Vivian pulled him back by his collar and kissed him hard. “Let’s go upstairs. I can’t wait.” “Calm down,” Marcus teased. “You’re marrying him next week.” “I’ll leave the back door unlocked for you on our wedding night,” she whispered back. “We can talk about it then.” Their raw, shameless words felt like poisoned needles piercing my chest. I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms, trying to anchor myself to reality. They walked into the elevator, their arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists. I leaned heavily against the cold wall, my fingers icy, my phone burning against my palm. I could not comprehend it. How could they do this to me? When Vivian proposed to me at the edge of the volcanic crater in Hawaii, she looked me in the eyes and swore I was the only man she would ever love. And Marcus? We had been inseparable since grade school. He had once gotten into a fight to protect me, landing himself in a holding cell. He had even lost a job once because he stood up for me. How could he crawl into bed with my fiancée? I desperately wanted it to be a nightmare. On my phone screen, my future self let out a bitter, hollow laugh. His eyes were filled with an absolute, bottomless despair. “They’ve been lying to you for years, Logan,” he said, his voice raspy. “By the time you discover the truth on your own, you’ll end up just like me, a ghost of a man. Run while you still can. Cancel the wedding. Don’t let her drag you to hell.” I grit my teeth, my throat tightening as I fought back the tears. I remembered the nights Vivian and I lay on the hood of my car, watching the stars and planning our future. We had already picked out names for our future children: Lily for a girl, Tyler for a boy. The little boy on the screen was Tyler. He reached out, his tiny fingers pressing against the glass of the screen as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Younger Daddy, you have to leave her. I don’t want to watch you take handfuls of pills every day anymore. I don’t want to see you crying in the dark. It’s okay if I’m never born. I just want you to be safe.” A crushing weight settled on my chest, making it hard to draw breath. “I promise,” I whispered to the screen. “I won’t marry her.” After hanging up, I stood outside the hotel doors as the sun went down and a torrential downpour began to flood the streets. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Vivian. I answered, my voice thick and raw. “Hey, babe,” she said, her voice sweet and entirely normal. “I see it’s pouring over there. Make sure to grab an umbrella when you leave the office. Don’t get wet. My business trip is going to take another couple of days. I just wired you fifty-two hundred dollars. Buy yourself something nice. Love you.” A second later, a notification popped up on my screen, confirming the bank transfer. “Vivian,” I asked, keeping my voice as flat as possible. “Are you really on a business trip?” There was not a single tremor of guilt in her voice. “Of course. I’m just having dinner with the regional managers right now. I have to go, babe. Love you.” She hung up. Almost immediately, Marcus sent me a dozen silly memes, followed by a wire transfer of thirteen hundred and fourteen dollars. His message read: Bro, consider me your second husband. Take the cash and buy yourself some drinks. I stood in the freezing rain, the cold seeping deep into my bones, far sharper and more terrifying than the storm around me. 2 When I got back to the apartment, the first things I saw in the living room were two garment racks. One held Vivian’s white mermaid-style wedding dress. The other held my custom-made dark suit. Standing side by side, they looked suffocatingly perfect. In the past, looking at them would fill my heart with warmth, making me believe in a lifetime of quiet happiness. Now, they were nothing but a mockery. I marched over to the hallway closet to grab a pair of shears. In my haste, my knee slammed against the sharp edge of the console table, scraping the skin until it bled, but I barely felt the sting. Clutching the heavy metal shears, I stormed back into the living room. I grabbed the sleeve of my suit, but my hand froze. The sheer weight of seven years of memories crashed over me, and my tears began to splash against the dark fabric. My mind screamed at me to shred everything to pieces, but a seven-year relationship cannot be severed with a simple click of a blade. On the media console sat a framed Polaroid of Marcus and me, taken on our college graduation day. Through three moves, I had always kept it with me. In the photo, we had our arms slung over each other’s shoulders, laughing like we ruled the world. Now, it was just a sick joke. How could the two people I trusted most in the world conspire to humiliate me like this? I could not swallow this poison quietly. Like a madman, I spammed Vivian and Marcus with calls and texts, but neither of them replied. It felt as if the entire world had gone silent, leaving me alone in my quiet fury while they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, laughing at how gullible I was. I sat on the hardwood floor, clutching the suit, and stared into the dark until dawn. The next morning, my head felt heavy and congested when I heard the front door click open. Vivian walked in and wrapped her arms around me from behind. The sharp scent of her designer perfume immediately made my stomach churn. I used to think she was just fastidious about smelling nice. Now, I realized the truth: she was using it to mask the scent of Marcus’s cologne. She rested her chin on my shoulder, her voice dripping with affection. “Missed me, handsome? You called so many times last night. I was so caught up with work that I couldn’t check my phone. I rushed back the second the meetings ended.” Her warm breath brushed against my neck, sending a wave of revulsion through my body. “Don’t touch me,” I barked, twisting out of her embrace. Vivian blinked, momentarily startled, but quickly forced a playful pout. “What’s wrong, babe? Are you mad at me? Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll write you a three-thousand-word apology essay, deal?” She looked so utterly innocent. If I hadn’t seen the truth with my own eyes, I would have fallen for it again. “Vivian,” I said, looking her dead in the eye. “I’m going to give you one chance. Is there anything you’re keeping from me?” Seven years. Even after her betrayal, I wanted to know if she had a single shred of honesty left in her. Vivian’s playful smile vanished. She looked at me with mock solemnity. “Well, yes. I actually changed the bridesmaid lineup. I was worried they’d look too pretty and steal my spotlight. You don’t mind, do you?” The final, fragile thread of my hope snapped into dust. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She answered it quickly, her voice louder than usual. “Mr. Harris? An issue with the contract? I’ll be right over.” She hung up and turned to me, adjusting her bag. “Babe, there’s an emergency at the office. I have to run, but I’ll make it up to you tonight, okay?” Without waiting for my reply, she kissed her fingers, pressed them to my cheek, and hurried out the door. Almost simultaneously, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Marcus saying he was leaving the country. 3 Marcus’s message was incredibly detailed: Hey man, I met this amazing girl from the UK and I’m heading to London to chase her down. If I can’t make it back in time for the wedding, don’t hate me. I’ll send the biggest gift on your registry. You and Vivian are going from high school sweethearts to husband and wife, I’m so jealous. Wish you guys a lifetime of happiness. The pieces clicked together instantly. Vivian wasn’t heading to the office. She was rushing to stop Marcus from leaving the country. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. I let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. I walked into the bedroom and began packing my bags. I was never coming back to this place. While I was folding my shirts, my phone screen lit up with another video call from Tyler. I swiped to answer immediately. On the screen, the little boy was sobbing hysterically, his hair damp with sweat. “Daddy, Mom came home today,” he cried. “But she brought a little girl with her. She said it’s Uncle Marcus’s daughter, but she’s Mom’s child too. She said we’re all going to live together now. You couldn’t take it, Daddy. You started coughing up blood. You’re in the hospital now, and I’m so scared.” My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. He turned the camera toward the hospital bed. There lay my future self. At only thirty-two years old, he looked like a man in his late fifties. His face was gaunt and hollowed out, an oxygen mask strapped over his nose as he clung to a thread of life. His lips parted slightly, trying to speak. Tyler quickly scrambled onto the bed and gently pulled the mask down. “Logan,” my future self whispered, his voice cracking like dry autumn leaves. “Seven years ago, you thought you were the luckiest man alive. You never suspected Vivian and Marcus were together before the wedding, did you? And you’ll never guess what happens next. In our second year of marriage, when Mom passed away in the ICU and you were crying yourself to sleep, Vivian was in the next wing giving birth to Marcus’s child. They had their own family all along. Now, they don’t even bother to hide it.” The air in my room felt thick, like poison. Each breath I took burned my lungs. “So,” I whispered, staring at my hollow reflection on the screen. “Is this how I end up? Dying before my thirty-fifth birthday?” He coughed violently, his chest rattling. “Once I found out the truth, I started swallowing sleeping pills and antidepressants by the handful. My mind went hazy. I took so many bad falls. I don’t have much time left. Vivian always claimed I was faking my sickness to get attention. She never cared. She spent every day with Marcus and their daughter.” The woman I had loved with every fiber of my being had turned out to be a monster. Suddenly, the heart monitor on the screen began to emit a shrill, continuous beep. I watched in horror as my future self began to seize. Tyler ran toward the door, screaming for the doctors, his voice breaking. “Daddy! Don’t leave me! What am I going to do without you?” The boy’s agonizing cries tore through my soul. Finally, my future self’s hand slipped from the bed, and his eyes closed forever. Tyler wept until he lost his voice, eventually collapsing into unconsciousness on the hospital floor. My hand trembled, and my phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the floorboards. I had just watched my own lonely death in a sterile hospital room, leaving behind a terrified child with no one to protect him. Then, a shadow fell across the screen. Someone walked into the camera frame. As I recognized the face, my fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white. 4 It was Vivian. This was the first time I had seen her thirty-two-year-old self. She looked just as radiant and polished as she did now, showing none of the wear and tear of the years. She was thriving, a stark, sickening contrast to the broken man who had just died on the bed. Marcus stood right beside her, their fingers locked together. Looking at my lifeless body, Vivian’s eyes welled with a few superficial tears, a performance so shallow it made me sick. “Don’t worry, Logan,” she said softly, her voice light and unbothered. “Marcus and I will take good care of Tyler. You were always so tired. Maybe it’s better this way. You’re finally free.” The connection severed. But in the final second before the screen went black, I saw Marcus drape his arm around her shoulders, squeezing out a few fake tears while muttering about what an idiot I had been. I clutched my chest, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had to leave. I had to get as far away from these two monsters as possible. I would not allow myself to die in some lonely hospital bed, and I would not let a child of mine suffer that kind of torment. As I searched my desk for my passport, my fingers brushed against an old journal from my high school days. I opened it. The pages were covered in scribbles of Vivian’s name. She scored three three-pointers in the basketball game today. We both ranked in the top three on the AP science exams. She switched seats today and sat right next to me. I couldn’t stop smiling all day. Looking at those words, I thought of the journal Tyler had held, the one filled with Vivian’s betrayals. She left me when I had a hundred and three fever to go see Marcus. She screamed at me for hours because of Marcus, calling me insecure and jealous. Two journals, written by the same hand. One filled with the sweet, innocent hope of youth; the other poisoned by the toxic reality of a shattered life. I grabbed my suitcase and headed downstairs, only to run right into Vivian and Marcus as they walked through the front gate. The moment they saw me with my luggage, their faces instantly smoothed into their usual masks. Marcus clapped me on the shoulder, acting as if nothing was wrong. “Logan! Where are you off to with that heavy suitcase?” Vivian frowned, her eyes wide with hurt. “Babe, where are you going? Did I do something to make you mad?” Marcus playfully nudged Vivian with his knee, giving her a mock stern look. “Come on, tell me! How did you upset our Logan? Let me tell you, you guys are getting married next week. If you treat him badly, I’ll personally help him run away from the altar!” Marcus had always played this role, pretending to be annoyed with Vivian for “stealing” his best friend. I used to think he was just looking out for me, acting like a protective brother. Now, I saw it for what it was: a cheap theater act to keep me blind. Vivian grabbed my hand, her voice incredibly soft. “See, Logan? You have a whole support system here. You can’t run away. Is this just pre-wedding jitters? If you want to go visit your parents, I’ll come with you, okay?” I saw a flicker of panic in Marcus’s eyes before he masked it, grabbing the handle of my suitcase. “Hey, if you’re really feeling stressed, come crash at my place for a few days. We’ve crashed in the same bed before, my place is plenty big.” My fingers shook with a cold, violent rage as I watched them play their parts, treating me like a fool. I let out a soft laugh and looked at them. “Don’t worry. I made sure to prepare a special wedding surprise for both of you.” They both froze. I pulled out my phone, opened the massive group chat containing all our family, friends, and wedding guests, and uploaded the video I had taken at the hotel yesterday. Once the upload completed, I looked up and met their eyes. “Vivian, the wedding is off.” As their phones buzzed with notifications, their faces drained of color, and they stumbled back a step in sheer terror.

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My sister boasted the Midas touch, turning trash to gold with a flick. She livestreamed, letting viewers choose what to transform. Overnight, half our furniture became gold blocks. I noticed a chilling link. Each time she manifested gold, my digital gold portfolio dropped by the exact same value. I confronted her. She brushed it off as jealousy. “Green with envy, sis?” she sneered. “Maybe I’ll toss you a gold crumb.” Dad, wearing a gold chain she’d conjured, slapped me hard. “Can’t stand this family succeeding? Lexi cares for me. You? Bragging about investments? Where are they now?” I tasted blood, vowing to expose her. Days passed. I found nothing. My digital gold drained completely. Then came my medical report. A benign tumor. That same day, Lexi went live. “Drop those Supernovas!” she shrilled. “Keep gifting! Manifesting fifty pounds of solid gold today!” 1 Another grueling shift at the corporate firm finally ended. I slumped into the driver’s seat of my car and out of habit, tapped open my trading app to check my digital gold portfolio. My brows knitted together immediately. The numbers were wrong. It was only short by a fraction of a gram, roughly twenty bucks in fiat currency. But for someone like me who calculated every penny and watched the market trends like a hawk, this was no hallucination. Probably just a system lag or a slight slippage from market volatility. I pushed the thought away. The current commodities market was a chaotic rollercoaster, and a tiny fractional loss was a drop in the ocean for a long-term holder. Before I could lock my screen, my phone vibrated violently in my hand. It was my father, Frank. “Gwen! Get your ass home right now! We hit the jackpot!” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “What’s going on?” His manic, overly caffeinated voice blasted through the earpiece. “Your sister is a literal saint! A miracle worker! She can turn things into gold!” I let out a long, exhausted sigh, putting the car into gear. “Dad, have you been watching those fake conspiracy TikToks again? Or is Lexi just pulling another one of her prank streams?” “You stubborn brat, why won’t you just believe me? Get back here! Every minute you waste is costing the Dawson family thousands!” The line went dead. I shook my head, thoroughly drained. My younger sister Lexi had been chasing internet fame since she was a teenager. From wannabe influencer to aspiring reality star, she had drained a sickening amount of my father’s money. Whatever this new gimmick was, it was bound to be another massive headache. The moment I pushed open the front door, the stale smell of cheap beer hit me. Frank was practically doing a jig in the living room, clutching his outdated smartphone like a holy relic. “Look! I’m telling you, your sister has superpowers. She’s got the Midas touch!” He shoved the cracked screen mere inches from my nose. “Lexi just pointed her finger at the air, and boom! Five grand magically appeared in my retirement account! Five thousand bucks, Gwen!” I narrowed my eyes at the screen. The bank notification indeed showed an incoming deposit of five thousand dollars. The transaction ID was just a string of encrypted gibberish. “Look who finally showed up,” Lexi drawled from the couch. She was busy admiring her fresh acrylic nails. “Dad says you don’t believe in my gifts.” “Then open your trading app.” Under Frank’s feverish glare, I reluctantly unlocked my phone and tapped the familiar gold icon. “Watch closely,” Lexi whispered. She raised a manicured finger and tapped the empty air in front of my screen. A second later, my heart leaped into my throat. I nearly dropped the device. The screen, which had previously displayed a modest balance of a few hundred grams of digital gold, began to glitch. The numbers spun like a slot machine, completely bypassing any buy-in protocols. Three hundred and fifty. Four hundred. Five hundred! In the blink of an eye, the gold reserves in my account had literally doubled. My hands trembled as I refreshed the page three times. I even force-closed the app and logged back in. The extra gold was still sitting there, heavy and real, worth tens of thousands of dollars. “What… what exactly did you do?” I stammered, my eyes snapping up to look at her. “Told you it was real, you ungrateful wretch!” Frank slapped his thigh, his eyes bulging with greed. “Lexi is a walking goldmine! Everything she touches turns to cash!” Lexi couldn’t hide the venomous smirk curling her lips. “Believe me now, sis? It’s called manifesting.” “You always lectured me, saying my manifesting rituals were delusional and lazy. Well, look at me now. I manifested cold, hard wealth. Pretty incredible, right?” 2 The concrete proof was right there in my hands. The transaction history couldn’t be faked. I was forced to believe it. Still, a deep sense of dread settled in my stomach. I stepped forward, looking her up and down. “Does this power have a backlash? Lexi, are you feeling sick? Is your heart racing?” She rolled her eyes and shoved my shoulder. “God, you are such a buzzkill, Gwen. We’re about to be filthy rich, and you’re whining about side effects?” Frank’s eyes darted around the room as the gears in his head turned. He suddenly slapped his forehead, his face lighting up with a manic idea. “Hold on, Lexi. Your sister might actually have a point. What if there’s a limit to your magic? We need to be smart. We need to leverage this and make the money multiply! We’ll start a live stream. People eat this garbage up online!” He was already pacing the worn carpet, mapping out his empire. “We won’t use your real power every time. That’s a waste. I’ll go to the hardware store, buy some gold foil, some metallic spray paint. We’ll prep a bunch of rocks and junk wood. During the stream, we use the props for the small stuff, but for the grand finale, you do the real magic! The visual shock value will make us go viral overnight!” Lexi’s eyes widened with pure, unadulterated ambition. “Yes! We can make it a whole event. We’ll randomly select viewers and manifest gold straight into their crypto or trading accounts! Just like I did for Gwen. Once the chat sees real money hitting real accounts, the donations will flood in!” The two of them fed off each other’s frenzy, already hallucinating mansions and sports cars raining from the ceiling. I stood in the corner, the chill in my gut spreading to my fingertips. The law of conservation of energy is absolute. You cannot create something out of nothing without paying a terrible price. I had to speak up. “Dad, Lexi, stop. This is way too sketchy. If this power is real, we need to take Lexi to a specialist, or at least keep it completely offline. What if the government finds out? What if she ends up in a black site lab? And more importantly, draining her body like this could kill her!” Frank’s ecstatic smile vanished. His face twisted into a mask of utter disgust. “Listen to yourself! Your sister finally makes something of herself, and instead of being happy, you stand there cursing her?” Lexi flawlessly shifted her demeanor, gently tugging at Frank’s flannel sleeve and looking up with wide, innocent eyes. “Don’t be mad at her, Dad. She’s just jealous, I mean, worried. Honestly, every time I use the manifestation, I do feel like my soul is being hollowed out. It’s exhausting.” Before I could jump in and tell her to stop, she lifted her chin, playing the ultimate martyr. “But you know what? If it means our family stops struggling, if it means you can finally buy that house in the hills and wear a Rolex, it’s worth it. I’d gladly shave years off my own life to see you live like a king, Dad.” Frank’s eyes welled up with thick, dramatic tears. He shot me a look of pure hatred, then wrapped his thick hands around Lexi’s. “Look at your sister! This is what true class looks like! This is what family means! She’s got talent and a heart of gold. Not like you, you bitter, selfish snake.” “Always hiding your little investments while I struggle to pay the tab with my buddies! You embarrassed me for the last time. I haven’t forgotten about that!” “If you can’t stand seeing us win, then get the hell out of my house! You won’t see a single dime of this new empire!” He lunged forward, grabbing me by the collar and shoving me toward the door. The heavy wood slammed shut, opened a second later, and my purse was violently chucked out onto the porch. Through the screen door, Lexi looked down at me with absolute triumph. “I know it eats you alive, Gwen. The fact that I can just blink and manifest more wealth than you could earn working yourself to the bone for thirty years.” “But that’s just the universe rewarding the chosen ones. Are you mad? Want me to toss a few coins your way?” I took a slow, steadying breath. I didn’t reach for my purse. I just stared dead into her eyes. “I’m your older sister. I’m telling you this because I know how the world works. You admitted the manifestation drains you. Frank’s greed is a bottomless pit. Don’t end up putting yourself in a body bag just to feed his ego.” I bent down to pick up my bag, but she kicked the screen door open, her designer boot sending my purse tumbling down the concrete stairs into a muddy puddle. “Oops. My foot slipped. Have fun fetching, sis.” She leaned against the doorframe, examining her cuticles with a chilling nonchalance. “And just to clear things up,” she whispered, her smile sharp as glass. “The side effects don’t actually hurt me at all. But I hope you’re ready to work some serious overtime.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snapped, stepping up to block the door. But she slammed it shut with brutal force, the heavy deadbolt clicking into place. 3 I stood on the damp porch, listening to the muffled voices inside. Frank asked her what the noise was about. “Nothing, Dad. Gwen was just threatening me, trying to force me to manifest gold for her. I told her no.” A string of vile curses from my father echoed through the wood. I turned my back and walked to my car. I couldn’t listen to it anymore. For the next few days, I buried myself in my corporate job. The commodities market was soaring, a massive bull run painting all the charts a beautiful, glowing green. Everyone in the office was buzzing about the gold rush. During my lunch break, I opened my trading app, expecting to see a fat profit margin. The moment the numbers loaded, the blood drained from my face. My whole body went numb. Fifty grams were gone. I rubbed my eyes, pressing my fingers hard into my temples. The market was strictly trending upward. Even if I had misread the charts, the total fiat value might fluctuate, but the actual physical weight of the assets held shouldn’t disappear. I violently tapped the transaction history. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone. Ten minutes ago. A “Sell” order had been executed. Fifty grams of gold had been liquidated, and the funds had been routed to an encrypted intermediary routing number before vanishing completely into the dark web. “This is impossible. I was in a boardroom ten minutes ago! My phone was locked in my blazer pocket!” I scrambled out of the breakroom and dialed the trading platform’s fraud department. “Hello! I need to report a massive security breach! My account was just drained of fifty grams of gold! I did not authorize that sale! My account has been hacked!” The representative on the other end sounded painfully bored and mechanical. “Ma’am, I am looking at the backend logs right now. That transaction was executed from your primary registered device. It successfully cleared both your private PIN and a live biometric facial recognition scan. According to our security protocols, this is a fully authorized, manual transaction.” “No! I swear to God, I didn’t do it!” “I want to escalate this! Your security system is deeply flawed!” I was hyperventilating, tears of sheer panic pricking my eyes. “Ma’am, if you firmly believe this is a case of grand larceny, we strongly advise you to contact local law enforcement. We will comply with any official subpoenas and get back to you within three business days.” The line clicked dead. Primary device? Facial recognition? It was physically impossible. It was like fighting a ghost. My mind was a chaotic mess. I couldn’t go back to my desk. I needed to breathe. In a desperate attempt to ground myself, I blindly opened a social media app. The very first recommended video on the homepage was Lexi’s live stream. The neon text flashed across the top: “FAN APPRECIATION EVENT! Random Drops! Live Gold Manifestation!” A morbid curiosity took over. I needed to see what she was doing. I tapped the screen. Lexi was dressed in some ridiculous, glittering high-fashion gown, sitting on a velvet throne in the middle of Frank’s living room. “Squad, the energy in this chat is insane! Thank you for the gifts! To give back to the universe, I’m pulling one lucky viewer right now and blessing their crypto wallet with solid gold! Who’s ready?” The chat was moving at lightspeed. A voice connection was accepted, and a frantic, breathless male viewer spoke up. “Hey! Lexi! I only have about ten grams in my reserve. Can you actually double it?” Lexi stared directly into the camera, her smile perfectly practiced. “Absolutely, babe. Keep your eyes on the screen. Watch the magic happen.” She raised her slender index finger, pointing directly at the camera lens, and whispered, “Manifest.” A split second later, the guy on the audio feed started screaming. “Holy shit! Holy shit! It just refreshed! It went up fifty grams! I just got fifty grams out of thin air! You are a literal goddess!” My jaw dropped. Because at that exact microscopic second, a push notification dropped down from the top of my phone screen. Alert: 50g of Digital Gold successfully transferred out of your portfolio. Before the nausea of this sick, synchronized theft could fully set in, an unknown number called my phone. It was the medical diagnostics clinic affiliated with my company’s health insurance. “Hi, is this Gwen? We have the results from your annual screening. We located a nodule on your thyroid. The biopsy confirms it’s a benign tumor. It is not immediately life-threatening, but you need to come in to discuss surgical removal before it has a chance to mutate or spread.” A jolt of electricity shot down my spine. I looked at Lexi’s glowing, triumphant face on the stream, and then down at the bank notification draining my life savings. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces violently locked into place. There was no magic. There was no divine universe blessing her. There was no Midas touch. I grabbed my car keys and sprinted for the parking garage. The engine roared to life, and I slammed my foot on the gas. I had to move. I had to get to the one place in the city that could stop this bleeding! Idling at a red light, I shoved my phone into the dashboard mount. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lexi’s viewer count rocketing past half a million. She was the number one trending stream on the entire platform. Her cheeks were flushed with pure adrenaline as heavy donation graphics exploded across the screen. “Squad, that fifty grams was just the appetizer! A huge shoutout to my VIP in the chat for dropping a hundred Supernovas! Since the energy is so high, I’m doing something crazy!” “Next up, I’m pulling a mega-winner! I am going to manifest one hundred pounds of gold! Who wants to be a millionaire today?!” The chat broke. It was a solid wall of text moving too fast to read. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I pulled the car onto the shoulder, threw it in park, and rapidly typed a single message into the chaotic chat. [Manifesting gold? Cut the bullshit, Lexi. I know exactly what you’re doing.]

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I secretly funded premium climbing gear for my team, covering costs to keep everyone safe and competitive. Until Haley joined. “Twelve hundred for a set? Sarah, you’re insane!” she mocked in the group chat. Others defended me. “That’s a steal. Custom gear retails for eight grand.” “Sarah owns the company. She charges raw cost.” Haley scoffed. “Raw cost? My family’s in retail. I know the markups. Order through me. Two hundred a set.” Greed exploded in the chat. “Two hundred? Insane savings!” “Haley handles our gear now.” “Sarah, how much did you pocket under ‘friendship’?” Pocket? Years of one-of-one custom builds, engineered to their exact biomechanics, dominating rankings. Gear no amount of money could buy elsewhere. I stared at the screen, typed “OK,” and stayed silent. If they trusted their lives to two-hundred-dollar gear on a hundred-foot cliff, it was their funeral. 1 Two weeks before the regional qualifiers, my teammates texted me their latest physical metrics. “Counting on you for the gear this season, Sarah!” Before I could even type out a response, Haley tagged me in the main chat. “Wait, twelve hundred dollars for a kit? Am I reading that right?” “That price is… literally absurd.” I initially thought she was complaining that the price was too low, and I was about to explain that taking a slight financial hit was worth it for the team’s overall performance. Instead, she dropped an audio message, her voice shrill and aggressively self-righteous. “How do you sleep at night charging everyone twelve hundred dollars for something that costs maybe two hundred bucks to make?” “Sarah, I know people hustle their friends sometimes, but you are absolutely bleeding them dry!” My fingers froze over the keyboard. Two hundred dollars? Was she pricing out cheap, plastic knockoffs from Temu? Jessica, one of our lead climbers, chimed in to smooth things over. “Haley, you’re pretty new to the pro circuit, but elite climbing gear is just insanely expensive.” “Sarah runs a legit manufacturing company. She’s hooking us up at cost. A rig like this would easily run you seven or eight grand in a specialized shop.” Haley fired right back. “I know exactly how this works, Jess. My family runs retail.” “MSRP is just a made-up number. The profit margins are completely bloated.” “When my family sources inventory, even the top-tier gear costs a maximum of two hundred dollars to produce, but they turn around and sell it to suckers for ten grand.” A heavy, awkward silence descended on the digital chat room. Then Jessica typed again, but this time, she tagged me. “Sarah… maybe you should clear the air here?” “We totally get that you run a business and need to make a profit, but marking it up six times over? That feels a little… predatory, don’t you think?” Like blood in the water, the rest of the team started surfacing. “I always thought she was way too eager to handle our equipment. Makes sense now.” “This is honestly messed up, Sarah. Every time we thanked you for the ‘friend discount,’ were you just laughing at us behind your screen?” Haley dropped a fake-innocent emoji covering its mouth. “Oh no, should I not have said anything? I didn’t mean to ruin your little side hustle, Sarah…” “But I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I absolutely despise people who exploit their friends for a quick buck.” “I used to source gear for my old team, and I charged them the real baseline cost. Two hundred dollars, flat.” “If you guys want, I can lock in that price for the whole roster.” The chat erupted into absolute chaos. “Are you serious, Haley? Two hundred? That saves us so much cash!” “Thank God, I don’t have to eat instant ramen for a month just to afford a harness.” “Man, to think of all the money I scraped together, only to line the pockets of a greedy corporate shill.” Even Greg, our supposedly level-headed team captain, finally weighed in. “I blame myself for not doing the market research. I let someone take advantage of this team’s trust.” A second later, a private message from Greg popped up on my screen. “Hey Sarah. Look, the team is pretty pissed off. I need you to refund the money we sent you for this season’s gear.” “We’re going to route the order through Haley.” “It’s nothing personal, but the price discrepancy is just too massive to ignore.” 2 I replied with a simple “OK” and instantly wired the $7,200 I had collected earlier that day straight back into his account. Over in the group chat, the whining hadn’t stopped. “So she refunded this batch, but what about the past three years? We’ve placed at least eight orders with her.” “Squeezing a thousand bucks out of each of us, every single time. Six people on the roster… that’s six grand a season!” “Wow. We basically bankrolled her entire storefront, didn’t we?” I quietly closed the app, not bothering to defend myself. There was no point. Even if I laid out the financial documents proving my actual production costs were closer to ten thousand dollars per set, they wouldn’t believe a word of it. They would just accuse me of forging invoices. I pulled up the spreadsheet containing everyone’s highly specific biomechanical data and picked up my phone, dialing the factory floor. “Josh, scrap those six custom orders. Shut down the specialized line.” Josh, my lead materials engineer, practically cheered through the receiver. “Finally! Thank God you woke up, Boss!” “Running a dedicated custom line for them was bad enough, but charging them pennies? It didn’t even cover the electricity bill for the carbon-fiber molds!” “You could give some people the shirt off your back, and they’d still complain about the fabric. Good riddance!” I hung up the phone, a bitter, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. When I first joined this team a year ago, they had stared at my gear like starving wolves looking at fresh meat. “Sarah, the rubber compound on those soles is insane! The grip looks unreal.” “How is your static rope so much lighter than mine, but rated for a higher load?” Greg had looked down at his own worn-out harness, sighing in defeat. “My rig cost me three grand, and I’m still paying it off. Yours has to be pushing fifteen thousand, right?” Back then, I had been genuinely moved by their raw passion for the sport. They were broke, struggling athletes, but they had heart. So, I made an offer. I told them I could get them the exact same tier of equipment I used, for only twelve hundred dollars. I lied and said I ran a small retail shop and could get wholesale prices. The truth was, I was the founder and CEO of Apex Dynamics, the premier climbing equipment manufacturer in the country. The very first competition they climbed in my gear, we took first place. Before that, they had never even cracked the podium. From that day on, the sponsorships started rolling in. We were getting paid to do what we loved. To give them an extra edge, I started requiring their precise body measurements, engineering bespoke equipment tailored to their individual weight distribution and reach. Custom manufacturing cannot be automated. Josh had to personally oversee the calibration of every single piece. The absolute bare-minimum factory cost for one of those kits was twelve thousand dollars. When Josh told me I was insane for eating the cost, I brushed it off. I told him they were my friends. The irony tasted like ash in my mouth. Greg’s name flashed on my screen again. “Hey, make sure you send all our measurement data over to Haley so she can place the order. Don’t drag your feet on this!” “OK.” I exported the file and sent the document straight to Haley. A minute later, she replied. “Wow, Sarah. You really commit to the bit, don’t you?” “Climbing gear comes in standard sizes. S, M, L. What the hell do you need wingspan and arch depth for?” “Adding all these fake, flashy metrics just to justify your ridiculous markup. You’re a total scam artist.” 3 I didn’t dignify that with a response. Trying to explain the aerodynamics and load-bearing physics of bespoke climbing gear to a girl peddling two-hundred-dollar death traps was a spectacular waste of oxygen. My phone buzzed constantly as the group chat continued their circle jerk. Haley: [She seriously tried to sound so professional asking for our measurements, acting like she was doing us a favor while ripping us off. The data is completely useless.] Jessica: [I mean, we’re not engineers. We just trusted whatever she said.] Greg: [Honestly, if Haley hadn’t joined, who knows how long we would’ve kept getting bled dry.] Rachel: [Thank you so much, Haley. It’s so refreshing having someone genuine on the team, unlike some people… smh.] I muted the chat entirely and swiped over to an unread message from a few days ago. It was from Dominic, the captain of our fiercest rival team. Dom’s crew used to absolutely dominate the circuit. But ever since I joined Greg’s team and quietly outfitted them in Apex Dynamics gear, Dom’s squad had been relegated to permanent second place. Dom had reached out to me relentlessly. “Sarah, I have scoured every pro shop in the country and I cannot find the brand of gear you guys are running.” “Can you hook me up with your supplier? I’ll pay a premium, I promise.” Yesterday, somehow, he had finally uncovered my real identity. “Ms. Mercer. I know you’re the CEO of Apex Dynamics. Please, I am begging you, can you manufacture a batch of that custom gear for my squad? Name your price.” I hadn’t replied. Custom lines took an immense amount of time and resources, and I had been prioritizing my own team’s gear. Now, I opened Dominic’s chat thread. “Nineteen thousand dollars per set. Do you want them?” Dom replied in less than three seconds. “Ordering seven sets right now!” Before I could even blink, a business wire transfer notification hit my phone. $133,000. The $7,200 I had just refunded Greg felt like spare change in a tip jar. Suddenly, Greg tagged me in the team chat again. “Sarah, why haven’t you sent Haley your $200 for the new order?” “The qualifiers are right around the corner. Stop stalling!” I typed back cleanly. “I have my own gear. I don’t need to order hers.” Haley immediately posted a crying emoji. “Are you punishing the team just because you’re mad I exposed your little hustle?” “Even if you hate me, you can’t jeopardize the squad. We’re supposed to be a cohesive unit. If you’re wearing different gear, we look sloppy and unprofessional for the sponsors.” Greg followed up instantly, his tone authoritative and cold. “If you’re going to be this petty and selfish, you don’t belong on this roster. Pack your bags, Sarah.” Before I could even formulate a reply, the screen glitched. You have been removed from this group chat. I stared at the notification, then calmly locked my phone screen. Whatever. Did they honestly expect me to scale a vertical cliff face in two-hundred-dollar garbage just to protect their fragile egos? Unlike them, I actually valued my life. Dom quickly gathered his teammates’ precise biometrics and forwarded the massive file to my email. “Thank you so much, Sarah. But… won’t your current team be furious about this?” “They won’t care,” I replied. “They just kicked me off the roster.” The second that message delivered, my phone buzzed. I had been pulled into a new group chat: Dom’s Climbing Squad. “Got her! Everyone welcome the boss!” Dom texted. I sent a single question mark. “Had to snatch you up before anyone else did,” Dom replied with a grinning emoji. I let out a genuine laugh. The new chat was absolutely buzzing with hype. “Oh my god, Sarah’s here! Do you have any idea how long we’ve been drooling over your hardware?!” “I always wondered why Greg’s gear looked like it was literally molded to his body. Custom measurements. That makes so much sense.” “I flew to three different states trying to find those shoes! They don’t exist in retail!” “Wait, why the hell did Greg’s team kick you out?” I leaned back in my chair and typed. “Because a new girl offered them gear for two hundred dollars a set, and they decided I was an evil capitalist scammer.” 4 The entire chat erupted into crying-laughing emojis. “Two hundred bucks?! Are they suicidal?” “Bro, I saw a guy buy a cheap harness online once. The carabiner was made of pot metal. Snapped like a twig. If they use that trash on the wall, they are asking for a body bag.” “Well, guess we’re taking gold this season! Time to call our sponsors back!” Ever since Greg’s team started winning, Dom’s major sponsors had abandoned them. Competitive climbing had exploded in popularity, and a single corporate sponsorship deal could inject fifty grand into a team’s budget. That was why Greg was so quick to throw me under the bus. He had quit his day job and was living entirely off the prize money and sponsorships. With me out of the picture, that fifty grand would be split five ways instead of six. The day of the regional qualifiers arrived. At the base camp, Greg and the rest of my old team were huddled around, waiting for Haley to show up with their fresh equipment. I pulled my SUV into the staging area and popped the trunk. Before I could even grab my duffel, Greg marched over, his face twisted in a smug scowl. “What are you doing here, Sarah? I thought we made it perfectly clear. We are not buying your overpriced trash. Are you really trying to force a sale right now?” “Are you that desperate for cash? Can’t move your inventory without scamming us?” Jessica crossed her arms, shaking her head. “This is honestly just sad, Sarah.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “She really thinks we’re just dumb ATMs, huh?” I looked at them, my expression completely deadpan. “I’m here to compete. And this gear isn’t for you.” Greg barked a harsh, mocking laugh. “Compete? You’re not on our roster anymore!” “You get zero cut of our sponsor money today! If you try to force your way onto the wall, I will personally have the judges drag you out of here!” “Pack up your little bags and get out of our sight!” Suddenly, a heavy hand shoved Greg roughly out of the way. Dominic stepped squarely in front of me, glaring down at Greg. “Sarah is our lead climber today. Keep your damn mouth shut and step back.” Dom’s teammates rushed over, carefully unloading the heavy black duffels from my trunk and distributing the bags marked with their names. “Holy shit, the texture on this…” “How the hell is this helmet so light, but it feels like solid steel?” “These shoes… it feels like walking on a cloud!” Greg and his team stood there, their smugness faltering slightly into awkward confusion. But Greg quickly recovered, sneering. “A bunch of brainwashed idiots. Getting scammed and thanking her for it.” Right on cue, Haley’s bright pink sedan pulled into the gravel lot. She popped the trunk and waved excitedly. “Gear’s here, guys! Come grab your stuff!” Greg’s team practically shoved each other out of the way, shooting us dirty looks as they grabbed their plastic-wrapped packages. “Man, I almost feel bad for Dom’s crew,” Rachel giggled loudly. “Imagine dropping thousands of dollars and then seeing our two-hundred-dollar kits. They’re probably crying inside.” Jessica covered her mouth, snickering. “They’re gonna be too weak to climb after Sarah finishes bleeding their bank accounts dry.” Rachel enthusiastically ripped open the bag with her name on it. “Wow, these are so lightweight! Way lighter than Sarah’s heavy old junk!” Greg aggressively tore the zipper off his bag, eager to prove a point. Haley puffed out her chest. “I told you guys, I source nothing but the best—” Her voice was abruptly cut off by Greg. The color completely drained from his face as he stared into the bag. “What the actual hell is this?”

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After we tied the knot for the second time, I stopped asking questions about Ross’s life. If he took his childhood sweetheart on a trip, I didn’t throw a jealous fit. If he stayed out until dawn, I didn’t blow up his phone. Even when I found his little friend’s silicone bra petals discarded in our bathroom. I simply packed them into a neat little gift bag and reminded him to take them back to her. Ross furrowed his brow, his voice edged with frustration. “Are you quite done throwing a tantrum?” 1 I looked up at his flushed, angry face, genuinely confused about what had set him off this time. Ross looked away, rubbing his temples with an exhausted sigh. “Sophie got blackout drunk at the corporate dinner last night. She lives alone, so I had no choice but to bring her here to sober up.” “She took a shower this morning and ordered fresh lingerie through a courier. She just forgot the petals by accident.” He gave me that same helplessly exasperated look I had seen a thousand times before our divorce. “I’ve told you over and over again. We grew up next door to each other, and now she works for my firm. Her mother begged me to look out for her. Can you please stop being so petty?” I calmly pressed the little paper bag into his chest. “I’m not mad. I just wanted you to return her things. Besides…” I flashed a sweet smile. “I promised I would trust you unconditionally from now on, didn’t I?” It was like punching a cloud. A flicker of absolute shock crossed Ross’s face. He stared at me intently, searching my eyes for any trace of sarcasm or hidden rage. “…You mean that?” I offered a perfect, polite smile and broke eye contact. “Of course.” After all, you already showed me exactly what it costs to doubt you. Hearing my answer, the tension drained from Ross’s shoulders. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his voice turning incredibly soft and affectionate. “Fiona, since you came back to me… you’ve been so wonderfully well-behaved.” “Come to the company gala with me tonight. Please?” I brushed him off effortlessly. “I think I’ll pass. You always hated mixing business with your private life. I’d only get in the way.” Before I could finish, the arm around my waist tightened like a vice. Ross’s voice was perfectly level, stripped of all emotion, but my instincts instantly picked up on his displeasure. “You used to cling to me everywhere I went. You used to say you had to supervise me to make sure no other women got too close.” I let out a soft laugh, turning around to cup his face. “Like you said, that was the old me. I trust you now. There’s no need to play the jealous wife.” His expression darkened instantly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but I ignored his shifting mood and leaned in, my tone dripping with honey. “Plus, a friend already asked me to go shopping and catch a movie tonight. I can’t cancel on him now.” “Honey, could you wire a million dollars to my account?” Ross didn’t say a word. He just stared at me, his eyes swirling with dark, complicated emotions. After a long moment, a humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Fine.” He was about to say something else, but the electronic lock on the front door suddenly beeped and clicked open. Sophie strutted into the foyer wearing a skirt so short it bordered on scandalous. Her face morphed into a mask of exaggerated surprise. “Oh! Fiona, you’re back. Since you and Ross just signed the remarriage papers, I totally didn’t expect you to move back in so fast.” Ross glared at her, dropping his hands from my waist. “Barging in here without knocking. Do you need something?” Sophie immediately bounced over to him, grabbing his arm with a sickly sweet pout. “The gala is tonight, and I still haven’t picked out my dress! Come with me to the VIP boutique to help me choose. Please?” Ross didn’t answer her. Instead, his gaze locked entirely on me, waiting for my reaction. I simply picked up my designer bag from the sofa and strolled casually toward the door. “My friend is texting me to hurry up. I’ll leave you two alone. I hate playing the third wheel.” With my hand on the doorknob, I paused and popped my head back inside. “Oh, right. Honey.” A smug, knowing smirk flickered across Ross’s face. He looked like a man who had finally proven his point. But then I beamed at him and delivered the punchline. “Don’t forget to wire that million dollars. Have fun!” I pulled the heavy oak door shut behind me with a solid thud, not sticking around to hear his reply. The world outside was perfectly quiet. As I walked down the manicured stone path through the front gardens, the bright smile melted off my face, replaced by a mask of frozen apathy. Sitting in a dimly lit restaurant that evening, I refreshed my Instagram feed and saw a new post from Sophie. It was a candid shot taken inside an exclusive boutique. Ross was sitting on a velvet sofa in the background, his eyes practically glued to her exposed, bare back. I double-tapped the photo to leave a like. Less than five minutes later, the post was deleted. A text from Ross popped up on my screen. “Are you done with your date? Are you home yet?” I stared at the words, letting the silence stretch out. Ross and I had been together for eight years. We fell in love naturally, but the massive gap in our social standing always left me feeling insecure. He was old money, and I was just an aspiring artist. That crippling inferiority complex reached its absolute peak the day Sophie entered the picture. At first, I actually bought Ross’s excuses. I truly believed she was just a naive, sheltered girl from his childhood country club circle who needed help navigating the real world. But that supposedly innocent girl managed to make Ross, a man who worshipped his work, break his own professional rules time and time again. He even reassigned the executive assistant he had relied on for eight years just to keep Sophie close to him in the office, despite her having zero administrative experience. It didn’t take long for me to realize that his boundary-breaking wasn’t just limited to the office. It bled straight into our marriage. Whenever Ross and I went on a date, Sophie would magically find an emergency that required his immediate attention. And Ross, a man who brutally guarded his private time, would always cave because it was her. The final explosion happened on the opening night of my private gallery exhibition. Half an hour into the event, Ross, who had sworn to stay by my side the entire day, got a phone call. Sophie was on the other end, crying that she felt violently ill and needed him to drive her to urgent care. Swallowing my mounting fury, I took the phone and told her Ross was hosting an important exhibition with me. Sophie scoffed, her voice dripping with pure disdain. “Your exhibition? Let’s be real, Fiona. The only reason anyone is there is because of Ross’s money and connections.” “We might not say it out loud, but you need to know your place. Without him, who would ever buy your amateur paintings? It really doesn’t matter if he stays there or not.” I was shaking with rage. My artwork had always sold well, even back when I was a struggling student. Hearing her casually invalidate my entire life’s work made me snap. I yelled right into the receiver. “You literally begged Ross for a desk job because you couldn’t get hired anywhere else! Where do you get the nerve to speak to me like that?!” “Enough, Fiona!” Ross barked, snatching the phone away. “She’s just a young girl. Why are you being so vicious over nothing?” “Her parents are vacationing in Europe. She’s home alone and she’s sick and scared. I’m going to check on her.” “Ross.” I called his name, my voice colder than it had ever been in my life. “If you walk out that door to go see her, we are getting a divorce.” He froze. A harsh, bitter laugh scraped the back of his throat as he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Are you threatening me? Wow, Fiona. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.” “Fine. You want a divorce? You’ve got it.” He turned on his heel and walked out, his face like thunder. I stood frozen in the center of the gallery like a statue, bearing the weight of a hundred pitying stares from the city’s elite. To this day, I can’t remember how I forced myself through the rest of the evening, or how I managed to drive back to an empty, suffocating house. All I remember is the crushing silence of the next three days, culminating in an email from Ross’s lawyers containing the divorce settlement. My brain must have initiated some kind of trauma response, because I truly cannot recall what I felt the exact second I read those words. I only remember the endless, blinding tears, and staring at Ross’s completely empty chat log. Meanwhile, Sophie was having the time of her life on social media. She posted daily updates. One day it was a picture of Ross applying sunscreen to her shoulders in Miami. The next, it was a selfie of them pressing their cheeks together at a Michelin-star restaurant. Every single post was a calculated strike at my breaking point. Maybe it was my own stubborn pride, or maybe I was just desperately hoping he would come to his senses and beg for my forgiveness. Whatever the reason, I called him a few days later, informing him that I had signed the papers and telling him to meet me at the courthouse. A tiny, pathetic part of me still thought he would back down, just like he always used to do when we fought in the early days. Instead, Ross simply answered with a single word. “Okay.” On the day we finalized the paperwork, he brought Sophie to the courthouse. He completely ignored the dark circles under my eyes and my hollowed-out cheeks. The second the stamped decree was in his hands, Sophie wrapped herself around his arm, her voice deliberately loud and sultry. “Let’s head back to my place for the pool party, Ross.” “I bought a brand new bikini just to celebrate you finally being a free man.” She leaned up, her glossy lips brushing against his jawline. I stood there watching them, my fingernails digging so deeply into my palms that they drew blood. I prayed he would pull away. Instead, he locked eyes with me, his gaze dark and unreadable. After a torturous second, he smiled. “Sure. Let’s go.” “You younger girls know how to have a good time. It’s refreshing being around someone with so much energy. Keeps things exciting.” Sophie caught his underlying meaning instantly. She shot me a triumphant, venomous smirk and climbed into the passenger seat of his sports car. I don’t know the exact details of what happened between them that night. But after tossing and turning until 3 AM, I saw a video posted by one of Ross’s frat brothers. By the edge of a neon-lit pool, Sophie, wearing a microscopic bikini, was leaning her wet body flush against Ross’s chest. They were sharing a single glass of champagne, their lips inches apart. In the background of the chaotic party, they leaned closer and closer together. Right before they closed the gap, someone walked in front of the camera, cutting the video off. I knew Ross did it on purpose. He was deliberately flaunting her, purposely letting his friends film it, and making sure the algorithm pushed it directly to my feed. It was his twisted way of punishing me for not trusting him, for daring to utter the word ‘divorce’. That was just the beginning of my personal hell. Even though I actively tried to block his digital footprint, updates about him and Sophie constantly bled into my life through mutual acquaintances. I spiraled. I started drinking heavily. I spent my days suspended in an alcoholic haze, dissecting every single argument we ever had, putting myself on trial and desperately trying to find out where I had failed him as a wife. I tormented myself with doubts. Had I misjudged him? Were he and Sophie really just innocent friends until I pushed him over the edge with my ultimatums? But none of it mattered. I eventually realized that regardless of whether Ross was at fault, I was the only one drowning in the wreckage of our past. He had clearly moved on. After a month of absolute misery, I forced myself to put the bottle down. I returned to my art studio, determined to bury my grief in work. But my nightmare wasn’t over. A corporate client I had worked with for five years suddenly called to cancel a massive commission. Then a second client pulled out. Then a third. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew exactly whose invisible hand was choking my livelihood. I had never once used Ross’s name to secure a contract. Even when we were married, every single gallery showing and commission was earned through my own relentless networking and pure talent. But now, with a few casual phone calls, my ex-husband was systematically incinerating my career. I knew this was his sick way of forcing me to crawl back to him and beg. But I refused to break. To keep my studio afloat, I started aggressively cold-calling independent investors. I crashed every single industry cocktail hour and gallery opening in the city, desperately trying to pitch my portfolio. Despite being mocked, ignored, and blacklisted by anyone afraid of crossing Ross, I never stopped pushing. A month later, I finally secured a meeting. A wealthy art investor invited me to a private suite in a downtown luxury hotel to review my portfolio. I dressed impeccably, my heart pounding with the hope that my life was finally getting back on track. But that beautiful dream was shattered the moment the investor locked the door and slid his sweaty hand aggressively up my thigh. Pure survival instinct took over. I grabbed my heavy crystal champagne flute and smashed it directly across his face. The glass shattered, and the man roared in pain, tackling me violently to the hardwood floor. Just as I thought it was all over, the heavy mahogany doors of the suite were kicked open with a deafening crash. Ross stood in the doorway, a lit cigarette clamped between his teeth. He casually grabbed the bleeding investor by the collar and hurled him across the room like a ragdoll. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth. “Unless you want your entire firm liquidated by tomorrow morning, get out of my sight.” The man scrambled out of the room, leaving me alone with my ex-husband. Ross crouched down in front of me with the slow, arrogant grace of a predator. He reached out, his thumb and forefinger tilting my chin up to force me to look at him. “Fiona.” His tone was suffocatingly superior. Beneath the coldness, I could hear a dark, twisted sense of triumph.

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1 On the day of my wedding, I was assaulted by my fiancé’s best friend. Afterward, everyone begged me to just let it go and sweep the whole nightmare under the rug. “They grew up in the same sandbox. They’ve been thick as thieves since childhood. If you make a scene, how is Declan supposed to face his best friend?” “Besides, you’re a woman. If word gets out, your reputation will be dragged through the mud. Think about your future.” I blocked out every single word. I bypassed the gossip and dragged the attacker straight to court. But on the day of the trial, right in front of the judge and a packed gallery, the defendant ripped open their dress shirt. “Take a good look, Mrs. Croft. We are both women.” “Why don’t you explain to the judge how exactly a woman managed to overpower and force herself on you?” I stared at the completely flat chest, my mind flatlining. But that day, in that dark room, the attacker absolutely had the physical anatomy of a man. I was sure of it. The courtroom fell into a suffocating silence for three excruciating seconds. Then, it erupted. “It’s a chick?” “So she made the whole thing up?” “I knew it sounded totally unhinged…” Quinn stood in the defendant’s stand. The shirt hung wide open, revealing tight red marks from a chest binder, the torso as flat as a sheet of paper. Quinn made no effort to cover up. In fact, Quinn leaned slightly to the side, giving the judge an unobstructed view. “Your Honor, Declan and I have been best buddies since we were kids. In his eyes, I’m just one of the guys.” A bitter smirk touched Quinn’s lips. “The bride had a little too much champagne on her big day. She grabbed my arm and wouldn’t stop rambling.” “I helped her to the VIP lounge so she could sleep it off, and I left before two minutes had even passed.” “I honestly have no idea why she would invent such a sick lie about me.” Quinn paused, and the edges of those eyes grew visibly red. “Maybe it’s because… Declan has always treated me so well?” A fresh wave of murmurs crashed through the gallery. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is all over petty jealousy?” “That is next level toxic. The defendant is literally a woman!” “Some wives just can’t stand their husbands having female friends…” The judge slammed the gavel down hard. “Order in the court.” He turned his gaze toward me, his eyes heavy with doubt. “Plaintiff. Do you have a response to the defendant’s statement?” What did I have to respond to? I opened my mouth, but the words withered on my tongue. The memories of that day came flooding back like dark water. The sound of the lock clicking shut. Being pinned down against the velvet sofa. My head spinning from the spiked drink, the silhouette above me blurred into a terrifying shadow. “You have such beautiful skin, Nora.” That was Quinn’s voice. Whispering right against my ear. I felt the weight. I felt the rough hands. And I felt that thing. Ice cold. Hard. Forcing its way inside. There was zero chance I was mistaken. “That day…” I squeezed my hands into tight fists. “You had male anatomy.” Quinn blinked in mock surprise before letting out a soft, echoing laugh. “What anatomy? I am a biological female. What exactly was I supposed to use…” The sentence trailed off. But the entire room caught the implication. A few people actually snickered. “Plaintiff, present your evidence,” the judge said, his brow deeply furrowed. Evidence. I had the medical report from the hospital. It clearly documented severe bruising and signs of forced entry. But the report also stated that no traces of DNA were found. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed Quinn had used protection. Now, staring at that flat, scarred chest, the horrifying truth dawned on me. That thing was never a human organ to begin with. “I…” “Your Honor.” Quinn’s defense attorney shot up from his chair, cutting me off completely. “The defendant is female and physically incapable of committing the crime as described. If the plaintiff cannot provide hard evidence, this is a textbook case of perjury and malicious prosecution.” “We reserve the right to countersue.” Countersue. Malicious prosecution. Just like that, the victim became the criminal. “Plaintiff?” The judge’s voice echoed from above. “Do you have anything else to add?” Every single pair of eyes in that room was glued to me. Quinn was looking at me too. Too calm. Too composed. Not like a victim of a false accusation. But like a predator watching a trapped animal bleed out. I drew in a shaky, desperate breath. “Your Honor, I request a recess.” “I need time to submit additional evidence.” The moment those words left my lips, a man stood up from the front row of the gallery. It was Declan. “Your Honor, if I may speak.” The judge frowned. “And you are?” “The plaintiff’s husband.” Declan hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. “And the defendant’s oldest friend.” The entire courtroom went dead silent. 2 Declan stood frozen in the aisle, looking at me with his brow completely knotted in distress. “Nora, sweetheart. Quinn is a girl. I kept the extent of our friendship quiet because I didn’t want you overthinking things.” He let out a heavy, ragged sigh. He sounded like a father scolding a toddler who had thrown a tantrum. “If you were feeling insecure, you could have taken it out on me at home. Yelled at me, thrown things. Whatever you needed.” “But you dragged her into a courtroom.” “She just tore her shirt open in front of a hundred strangers just to prove she isn’t a monster.” He dropped his voice, letting it crack perfectly. “How is she supposed to walk out of here with any dignity left?” The gallery immediately took the bait. “That is seriously messed up. Couldn’t they just talk it out? Why ruin someone’s life?” “How is that poor girl ever going to show her face again?” “Man, I feel bad for the husband. Stuck between his crazy wife and his best bro.” Declan acted like he didn’t hear a word of it. He just kept his eyes locked on mine, projecting nothing but exhaustion and sorrow. “Nora, I’m not mad at you.” “But you owe Quinn an explanation.” “Just apologize, and we can put this awful mess behind us. Please?” His tone was nauseatingly gentle. So gentle that anyone looking in would think I was a hysterical, paranoid housewife ruining everyone’s life for sport. But my mind was racing back to that room. That night. Pinned to the couch, my throat raw from screaming for someone, anyone, to help me. There were footsteps in the hallway outside. They paused right outside the door. And then, they walked away. I had always told myself it was just a random waiter or a lost guest. But looking at Declan’s face right now, the cadence of those footsteps clicked into place in my memory. Heavy, deliberate, familiar. I didn’t acknowledge his pathetic plea. I just stared right through him. “Declan.” “You walked past the VIP lounge that night, didn’t you?” His perfectly crafted mask of sorrow slipped for a fraction of a second. “Nora, what on earth are you talking about?” He frowned, layering on the confusion thick. “I was in the main ballroom giving toasts the entire night. Why would I be all the way down by the lounges?” “Are you sure you aren’t… misremembering things again?” His delivery was flawless. Too flawless. Like a script he had rehearsed a hundred times in the mirror. “I am not misremembering anything.” I glared at him, refusing to blink. “I know the sound of your walk. I would never mistake it.” Declan went quiet for exactly two seconds. Then he exhaled slowly, turned away from me, and looked up at the judge. “Your Honor, I need to disclose something.” “Something regarding my wife’s… condition.” The judge gave a terse nod. Declan hesitated, chewing on his lower lip like a man carrying the weight of the world. “Nora… she has been under extreme psychological stress for the past six months.” “She wasn’t sleeping before the wedding. Her moods were erratic.” He looked back at me, his eyes brimming with fake pity. “I didn’t want to bring this up. I wanted to protect her pride.” “But seeing her like this, completely detached from reality…” “I’m terrified she’s going to hurt herself or someone else.” I felt the blood drain from my face. “Last October, I finally convinced her to see a specialist.” Declan reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. “This is her official diagnosis.” He handed it to the bailiff, who passed it up to the bench. “The psychiatrist diagnosed her with severe anxiety disorder, coupled with…” He lowered his voice, but kept it just loud enough for the reporters in the front row to catch every syllable. “…paranoid personality tendencies. She suffers from severe delusions.” The gallery practically exploded. “Holy crap, she’s actually psycho.” “No wonder the husband was so desperate to shut it down. He’s managing a mental patient.” “It all makes perfect sense now.” A cold sweat broke out across my back. “That is a lie!” I violently shoved his hand away as he reached out to “comfort” me. “What kind of twisted game are you playing, Declan? I have never seen a psychiatrist in my life!” He didn’t yell back. He just sighed again, his gaze growing even softer, bathing me in suffocating pity. The judge scanned the document, his lips pressing into a thin line. I lunged forward and snatched it from the desk. Right there, printed in crisp black ink. “Anxiety disorder with paranoid personality tendencies. Immediate pharmacological intervention and aggressive cognitive therapy recommended.” The header bore the official seal of Mercy General’s psychiatric ward. The city’s top facility. I stared at the paper. White noise filled my ears, drowning out the murmurs of the courtroom. October twelfth of last year… I had gone to Mercy General that day. But not for the psych ward. I was there to accompany my father for his pre-op cardiology screening, and I decided to get a routine blood panel done while I waited. I never stepped foot on the psychiatric floor. This diagnosis was a complete, utter fabrication. But with the hospital seal glaring back at me, how the hell was I supposed to prove it? 3 “Your Honor.” Declan’s voice cut through the static in my brain. “I’ve kept her illness a secret from everyone, even her own parents.” “I truly believed that if I just loved her enough, created a safe environment, she would get better.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. A brilliant touch of theatrical grief. “I never imagined she would snap like this on our wedding day.” “The stress of the event, the alcohol… she had stopped taking her meds, and so…” He swallowed hard, acting as if the words physically burned his throat. “So she hallucinated.” “She took a totally innocent memory of Quinn helping her to a room, and her broken mind twisted it into… into this nightmare.” Whispers hissed through the gallery like venomous snakes. Declan took a deep breath, looking pleadingly at the judge. “Your Honor, I am not here to condemn my wife.” “I just want to take her home. I want to get her the medical help she desperately needs.” “Can we please just end this circus?” “I am begging you, stop triggering her. She can’t take much more.” A tear actually slipped down his cheek. Only I knew how rotten and hollow that tear really was. The judge sat in silence for a long moment. He looked down at me, the annoyance in his eyes replaced by clinical sympathy. “Plaintiff, do you have any evidence to counter this document?” I opened my mouth. It felt like my throat had been packed with dry cotton. What could I say? Scream that it was forged? It had the official hospital stamp. It had a real doctor’s signature. And my name was undeniably in the hospital’s visitor logs for that exact date. I was utterly trapped. “Court is adjourned.” The gavel slammed down, echoing like a death knell. “The plaintiff has seven days to present verifiable forensic evidence, or this case will be permanently dismissed with prejudice.” “Furthermore, given the serious concerns regarding the plaintiff’s mental competency…” He gave Declan a knowing nod. “I strongly advise the family to seek immediate psychiatric evaluation. We will need an updated, legally binding mental health assessment.” Declan nodded eagerly, his face awash with manufactured gratitude. “Thank you, Your Honor. I will take her straight to the clinic tomorrow.” He turned on his heel, walked over to me, and held out his hand. “Come on, Nora. Let’s go home.” I stared at his perfectly manicured fingers. On our wedding day, that exact hand had slid a diamond ring onto my finger. In front of hundreds of cheering guests, he had kissed my forehead and made a vow. “Nora, I will protect you from the world, until the day I die.” Now, that same hand was trying to drag me into a padded cell. I took a sharp step back. “Don’t touch me.” Declan’s gentle smile vanished for a fraction of a second. But the mask snapped right back into place. He closed the distance and clamped his hand around my bicep. It didn’t look aggressive to the crowd, but his grip was like an iron vice. I couldn’t pull away. “Nora, be good.” He leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear. His voice dropped to a pitch so low only I could hear the malice dripping from it. “You know how obsessed I am with you.” “But since you want to act crazy, I guess I’ll have to lock you up with the crazies.” He pulled back and sighed, projecting the image of a long-suffering saint. “Once the doctors fix your head, we can renew our vows, okay?” My blood turned to ice. He straightened his tie, painting that lovesick, tragic expression back onto his face. “Come on. Home.” He half-dragged me down the aisle. As we passed the defense table, Quinn was still standing there. Quinn caught my eye, and a slow, triumphant smirk spread across that face. “Take care of yourself, Mrs. Croft.” The words were mouthed silently, but the message was deafening. “Next time you try to ruin me, make sure you aren’t wearing a straitjacket.” By that evening, I was the top trending topic on every social platform. #PsychoBrideCriesWolf #WifeFramesInnocentWoman The comments were a bloodbath. Thousands of strangers demanding I be locked in an asylum or thrown in jail. I shut my phone off, lay in the dark, and stared at the ceiling. My brain looped the courtroom footage endlessly. The fake psychiatric papers. The gaslighting. The perfectly executed narrative. They had meticulously woven a web so tight, I couldn’t breathe. Even if I screamed the truth until my vocal cords snapped, the world would only hear a lunatic raving. The next morning, I drove straight to Mercy General’s medical records department. I demanded to see my file from October twelfth. The receptionist typed for a minute, frowned, and shook her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There is no record of a visit or bloodwork for you on that date.” I sat in my car in the hospital parking garage, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Declan had enough power and money to scrub a major hospital’s database. Just how deep did his rot go? 4 Then, a memory hit me like a bolt of lightning. Last year’s corporate health screening. It was a joint initiative between my family’s company, Sinclair Group, and his company, Croft Enterprises. Every executive had to participate. Quinn was on the Croft payroll. Quinn had taken that physical. Declan was thorough, but he couldn’t have predicted I would dig into a boring corporate wellness archive. I grabbed my phone and dialed the head of HR at Sinclair Group. “Pull the master file for last year’s executive health screenings. Find Quinn’s file and encrypt it, then send it directly to my private email.” Ten minutes later, my phone pinged. I screenshotted the bloodwork pages and forwarded them to a trusted friend who worked as an endocrinologist. “Look at these labs. Tell me exactly what you see. Is there anything… off about this patient?” Five minutes later, my phone buzzed with her reply. I read her message. I read it three times to be absolutely sure. And then, sitting alone in the dark car, I laughed. It was a hollow, manic sound. So that was it. No wonder Quinn was so eager to rip open that shirt in a room full of people. They had bet everything on the assumption that I would never find a biological smoking gun. I leaned my head back against the leather seat and closed my eyes. I couldn’t just leak this online. Declan’s PR team would immediately flag it as a deepfake, and I would be slapped with a defamation suit. I needed Quinn to admit it. Live. In front of a crowd too big for Declan to silence. I picked up my phone and dialed Declan’s number. “I’ve been thinking.” I forced my voice to sound raspy, broken, and utterly defeated. “You were right. Maybe I am losing my mind. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.” There was a tense silence on the other end. “Are you… being serious right now?” “Yeah.” I let out a shuddering breath. “I want to host a press conference. I need to clear the air.” “This has spiraled totally out of control. I owe everyone an apology. I owe Quinn an apology.” I could practically hear the tension leaving Declan’s shoulders. “Nora, baby, I’m so proud of you. You’re finally thinking clearly. I’ll have my PR team book a venue immediately.” “Tomorrow afternoon,” I said softly. “Done.” The press conference was set up in the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel. Declan’s PR machine was terrifyingly efficient. Within twenty-four hours, every major news outlet and tabloid had a camera crew set up in the room. An hour before we went live, Declan cornered me in the green room, gripping my hands. “Nora, stick to the prompter. Do not go off-script. Read the apology exactly as it is.” He handed me a crisp sheet of paper. I took it, scanning the humiliating words he had written for me. “I understand,” I whispered, keeping my eyes downcast. Declan beamed, a sickeningly genuine look of relief on his face. He kissed my forehead. “Good girl. Once this is over, we’re going on a long vacation. Just you and me.” Quinn was there, too. Trading the sharp suit from the courtroom for a soft, flowy white blouse. The absolute picture of innocent, feminine grace. Sitting in the front row, radiating a quiet, triumphant glow. Seeing me, Quinn offered a gentle, forgiving smile. The eyes above the smile were mocking me. I walked up the steps to the podium, staring down a sea of flashing lenses and microphones. I took a deep breath and leaned into the mic. “Good afternoon, members of the press.” “I asked you all here today to finally address the events that have dominated the news cycle over the past week.” The room fell dead silent. The only sound was the rapid clicking of camera shutters. “First, I want to thank you all for your patience.” “There has been a lot of speculation online. Accusations of perjury. Rumors about my mental stability.” I let the silence hang for a moment. “Reading those things… has been an absolute nightmare.” I looked down at the scripted apology in my hands. “I stand here today to publicly address Quinn.” A ripple of excited whispers swept through the press pool. “Holy shit, she’s actually going to do it.” “Guess the crazy wife finally caved…” Quinn’s smile widened, practically glowing under the stage lights. Declan sank back into his front-row chair, crossing his legs, completely at ease. “On the day of my wedding, I consumed a large amount of alcohol.” I continued, my voice steady. “My memory of that night became fragmented. Distorted…” “And so…” I took a massive breath. “So today, in front of all of you, I am going to reveal exactly what happened in that room.” Declan’s relaxed posture instantly vanished. He sat bolt upright. I dropped the PR script onto the floor. “But before I do that, I have one simple question for Quinn.” The ballroom became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Quinn’s smile froze. “Nora…” Declan warned, standing up. I ignored him entirely. I stepped out from behind the podium and walked down the steps, marching straight down the center aisle until I was standing face-to-face with Quinn. I locked eyes with the monster who ruined my life. “Quinn.” “In court, you tore open your shirt. You proved to a judge that your chest matches your legal gender marker. I don’t dispute that.” I paused. The entire room held its breath. “But…” I leaned in, dropping my voice to a lethal whisper that was still picked up by the lapel mic. “What about the lower half?”

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