Author: Momo Chan

1 Back at eighteen, I found myself sitting next to the school rebel once again. He still hated studying. He spent classes sleeping, skipped school to play basketball, and slipped away to the local internet cafe the second he got a chance. Unlike my past life, I didn’t chase after him to nag. Until one day, I caught a glimpse of the parent signature on his test paper. Two elegant, sweeping words caught my eye: John. I froze in my tracks. So, John’s son and mine was already this big? When I saw that signature, my mind went completely blank. The bad boy sitting next to me wasn’t John after all. It was his son. I finally understood what the system meant by “returning to correct the timeline.” Years ago, I transmigrated into this world and personally dragged a rebellious delinquent to the pinnacle of success. That boy had been John. After I left, I heard he did incredibly well for himself, achieving wealth and fame at a young age. Believing my mission was fully complete, I had returned to my original world in peace. Who would have thought that years later, his son would follow in his footsteps? The kid had even surpassed his old man, becoming the town’s ultimate troublemaker. I sighed softly. Now I had to straighten out this little sapling all over again, keeping him from going off the rails and wrecking his future. When I first left this world, I died in childbirth. The system had never told me the baby survived. Time moved differently in my real world. It had only been three years for me, yet the baby I left behind was already a teenager. Before I could sink deeper into my thoughts, a flash of red burst through the classroom door. The boy stood against the light, tall and lean, with pale skin and sharp features. He sported a shock of vibrant red hair, a gleaming black stud in his ear, and his trademark scowl. He walked over to me with that same moody expression, his voice cutting through the air like ice. “Move.” I looked up, meeting his dark, heavy gaze, and froze again. He looked so much like John, only taller, colder, and even more defiant than his father ever was. I quietly stood up to let him pass. Ryder slid into his seat, crossed his long legs, and buried his face in his desk to sleep. I stared at his profile. This was the first time I had seen him since my return. He hadn’t shown his face at school for two weeks. Rumor had it he was either rotting away at the internet cafe or getting into trouble on the streets. But John was incredibly wealthy. With enough donations to the school, his son stayed enrolled despite everything. I let out a quiet sigh. A stubborn father and an equally obstinate son. What a handful. 2 Ryder slept through the entire math class. When the bell rang, he suddenly clutched his stomach, his face pale and strained. A sudden wave of maternal instinct washed over me. I leaned closer. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” He shot me a sideways glance and spat out a single word: “Beat it.” So rude. How on earth had his father raised him? My hand moved faster than my brain. Before I could stop myself, I smacked the back of his head. A sharp smack echoed through the room. The entire classroom fell dead silent. Every eye was pinned on us. My hand hovered in the air, awkward and frozen. I forced myself to make up a ridiculous excuse. “Ryder, your hair is too bright. It’s distracting me from my studying.” Ryder’s knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched so hard his face looked rigid, anger burning in his dark eyes. Just as he was about to explode, the warning bell saved me. The homeroom teacher walked in, catching him with his hand half-raised. “Ryder, do you want me to call your father in for another meeting?” He swallowed his rage, forcing himself to back down. He slumped onto his desk, radiating pure fury. The student behind me tapped my shoulder, his glasses practically gleaming with excitement. “No way. You actually made Ryder back down.” I managed a weak smile. Ryder wasn’t the type to let things slide. Before he put his hand down, he had leaned in and hissed, “Wait until school ends.” Fine, I would wait. But when the final bell rang, Ryder bolted out the door. He was in such a rush that he left his jacket behind. I waited and waited until the classroom emptied completely and the security guard started his rounds. Finally, I decided to leave. I picked up my backpack, but just as I turned to go, the jacket left on his desk began to vibrate. He had forgotten his phone, too. What was this kid in such a hurry for? I pulled the phone out of his pocket. The screen lit up, displaying a single name: John. I didn’t want to answer it, but the calls kept coming back-to-back. At the very last second, I swiped to answer. “Where are you?” John’s deep voice came through the receiver, heavy and commanding. “Mr…” I cleared my throat, unable to bring myself to call him by his name. It took a long, burning moment before I managed to find my voice. “Hello, sir. I’m Ryder’s…” Before I could finish, he cut me off. “Tell him to get home. Now.” The line went dead. I stood frozen, staring at the screen. John, are you really still this impatient? While I was trying to figure out how to return the phone, a text message popped up on the lock screen. “Hey Ryder, the cake is ready. Come pay for it.” “Ryder, where are you?” An address followed. I tried to unlock the phone. I tried his birthday. Incorrect. I tried his father’s birthday. Incorrect. I tried the dog’s birthday. Still wrong. On a strange whim, I entered my own birthday. The phone unlocked. A sudden tightness gripped my throat, and my eyes stung with tears. Eighteen years. Even after all this time, someone still remembered me. I wiped my eyes and headed toward the address. When I arrived, Ryder and a group of his friends were being ushered out by a furious bakery owner. The owner pushed him, looking completely disgusted. “Get out of here, you little freeloaders! Kids these days will lie about anything. If you don’t have the money, just say so. Don’t give me that ‘I forgot my phone’ crap!” Seeing their leader insulted, a few of his colorful-haired friends reached for wooden bats, ready to start a fight. I rushed forward, grabbing Ryder’s arm before things could escalate. “Don’t fight. I brought your phone.” Ryder stared at me with a complicated expression. Without a word, he took the phone and paid the bill. The owner’s demeanor shifted instantly. He muttered a quick apology and quickly packed the cake. I stood off to the side, catching the whispered conversations of his friends outside. “Is that his new girl?” “Doubt it. He was out with someone else last week.” “They probably broke up. He never keeps a girl for more than a week anyway.” I frowned. Who taught him to be so reckless with people’s feelings? I looked up to see Ryder sitting quietly at a table, meticulously writing on a small card. I assumed he was writing a note for some girl. But as I stepped closer, my heart stopped. Happy Birthday, Dad. The words were written, crossed out, and written again, the ink bleeding into the paper. He didn’t know what to say. In the end, he left only a simple line: Wishing you great success, Boss. A mix of frustration and sorrow washed over me. This boy wasn’t nearly as rebellious as he pretended to be. He remembered his father’s birthday. He remembered that John hated sweets; the cake had almost no frosting, customized to the lowest sweetness level. He was far more sensitive and caring than I had ever imagined. Before we left, I looked at him and said softly, “Your dad is waiting for you at home to have dinner.” John hated being alone, especially on his birthday. “Go home and keep him company.” Ryder didn’t answer. He turned to leave, but then paused, looking back at me. His voice was as soft as a breeze. “Thanks.” 3 Watching his retreating figure, I couldn’t help but think of John. That was a lifetime ago. When John had been a young punk, he was far wilder and rougher than his son. Foolish and untamed. He could never grasp the tutoring material, and the moment his friends called, he would run faster than the wind. Nine times out of ten, I would catch him in that alleyway downtown and drag him back by his collar. We lived across the hall from each other back then. Once I started tutoring him, his mother gladly handed full authority over to me. She had given me a feather duster. She had used it on him so many times that all the feathers had fallen off, yet he never changed. By the time it reached my hands, it was just a bare wooden stick. Yet, somehow, that plain stick worked wonders. John was terrified of it. Every time I held it up, he would quietly follow me back to study. During his senior year, he finally settled down and worked hard, eventually getting into a good college. The day the results came out, both he and his mother broke down in tears. John held me tight, his tears soaking into my shirt. His quiet thank-you carried a weight that left me breathless. “I’ll listen to you from now on,” he had whispered. During our early years together, whenever he stayed up playing video games, I would cut the internet cable. If he skipped class to go to a gaming café, I would drag him back to the classroom myself. When he got a fake sleeve tattoo, I grabbed his ear and threatened to scrub it off. He had scrambled to peel off the sticker, begging, “It’s fake, it’s just a temporary tattoo! Please, I surrender, babe!” I kept him on a tight leash like that for four years. By graduation, John had won numerous academic awards and secured recommendation letters from top professors. Everyone knew he had a notoriously strict girlfriend. But that was the only way. Pulling a delinquent up to the top was never an easy task. After graduation, he started his own business. Once the company began to grow, his way of blowing off steam became drinking. The pressure was immense, and he spent night after night drowning his stress in alcohol. His medical reports were covered in red ink: severe stomach lining damage, frequent bleeding. One night, I dragged him out of a bar. Before I could even speak, he violently threw my hand off his arm. He glared at me, his eyes cold. “Brooke, you’re suffocating me. Don’t you ever get tired?” I stared at him, unable to speak. After a long silence, he let out a heavy sigh. “I’m tired, Brooke. These years under your thumb… I’m exhausted.” Tears welled in my eyes, but John no longer had the patience to comfort me. He turned and walked away without another word. I stood there alone, watching his shadow disappear as tears dripped onto the back of my hand. I thought about it for a long time after that night. Truth was, during all those years of keeping him in line, he wasn’t the only one who was tired. I was exhausted too. I knew what people called me behind my back: overbearing, aggressive, nagging. I even knew that he had once agreed with those voices in quiet conversations, murmuring, “I’m tired too. I should have ended up with someone gentler.” Once he became successful, his circle expanded, and rumors started finding their way to me, even when I tried to ignore them. I never asked, and he never explained. I simply kept quiet, retreating further and further into my own shell. Then, I got pregnant. I thought the baby would bring us back to how we used to be. Until one day, I went to his office to find him. A young girl was sitting there. She looked gentle and sweet, speaking in a soft, timid voice. When she saw me, she scrambled to her feet, her eyes instantly turning red. I asked her a single question: “How long have you been with him?” She burst into tears of panic. When John rushed in, his jaw was tight and his fists clenched and unclenched. The look he gave me was heavy and cold. In the end, he said nothing. He simply took my hand in silence and led me home. That night, he slept in the study. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to close my eyes. Some things didn’t need explanations anymore. At that moment, I made up my mind to leave this world. From eighteen to twenty-six, I had stayed by his side, watching him go from having nothing to having everything. I was done. 4 I pulled myself back to the present. I finished the last bite of the cake and prepared to leave. Outside, Ryder’s friends were still waiting. When they saw me step out, they crowded around. “Hey, it’s getting late. Ryder told us to make sure you get home safe.” I glanced at the flickering streetlights and didn’t refuse. Along the way, their chatter allowed me to piece together what Ryder’s life had been like all these years. “Ryder’s actually got it rough. His mom passed away when he was tiny.” “His dad’s always working. There’s basically no one at home.” “He lives in this massive house, but when he got incredibly sick once, there wasn’t even anyone to bring him a glass of water.” My fingers clenched tightly around my backpack straps. John, you absolute jerk. Is this how you took care of my son? “But Ryder cares a lot about family. Even though his dad ignores him, he still buys him a birthday cake every single year.” “He looks tough, but my mom always says he’s actually the most responsible one out of all of us.” I remembered how quickly he shut down in class when the teacher threatened to call his father. He wasn’t scared of getting in trouble. He just knew how busy his father was, and he didn’t want to force him to clean up his messes. He dyed his hair red and acted like a rebel just to get his father’s attention. A wave of sorrow hit me, and I squeezed my hands shut. “Just watch, his dad won’t even touch the cake. It’s the same every year. Ryder always brings it back the next day for us to eat.” “His dad won’t eat a single bite. I don’t get how anyone can be that cold.” My chest tightened with a sharp, dull ache. All these years, my baby had been hurting like this. I tossed and turned in bed that night, unable to shake the image of Ryder’s lonely eyes. The pain in my chest made it hard to breathe. System, I called out in my mind. I want to use one of my chances to see what Ryder is doing right now. The system had granted me three lifelines upon my return. Once they were gone, I would be forced back to my original world. But I couldn’t stop worrying about my boy. The vision showed Ryder arriving home, holding the cake. He looked toward the figure sitting on the sofa. A man in a tailored suit sat there, buried in his tablet, not even sparing a glance toward the door. After a long silence, Ryder tightened his grip on the cake box and called out softly to his father’s back, “Dad… I’m home.” He called out twice. No response. Ryder lowered his gaze, standing in the middle of the foyer, looking completely lost. My heart shattered into pieces. I wanted nothing more than to break into that room and slap some sense into John. You bastard. Finally, John put down his tablet and looked back. His gold-framed glasses gave him an air of quiet sophistication. But his eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. His face remained entirely expressionless even when looking at his own son. “Let’s eat,” he said simply. Several dishes were laid out on the table. It was clear he had been waiting for a long time.

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I was an ordinary girl. It took three years of relentless chasing to finally win Steve over. After we got together, the phrase he used most was: “If you can’t handle it, we can break up.” Every single time, I would swallow my pride, begging him to stay. Until the day I returned from a business trip, and no matter how many times I entered the door code, it kept saying incorrect. Steve stood there, shirtless, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “You remember Joe, right? The one I couldn’t get back then. She came back, begging for another chance.” “She wants this apartment. Find some time to pack up and move out.” Steve watched me, terrified I would refuse to leave. But I just kept my head down, packing my bags, feeling a strange, subconscious sense of relief. He had no idea that at my age, I was done begging for scraps of affection. I finally had the courage to text my mother, who had begged me to break up with him a thousand times. “We’re done. This time, it’s really over.” 1 When I got home from my business trip, I dragged my suitcase with one hand while typing the passcode with the other. But after several attempts, the screen kept flashing: Incorrect Code. The passcode was my birthday. There was no way I could have gotten it wrong. Just as I bent down to try one more time, the door swung open from the inside. Steve leaned against the doorframe, looking down at me. Fresh out of the shower, he was shirtless, displaying his lean, muscular chest, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Having not seen him for over two weeks, my eyes lit up, and I instinctively threw my arms around him. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me? Why wouldn’t the passcode…” Before I could finish, I glanced past his shoulder and realized the apartment was in complete disarray. The decorations and soft furnishings I had spent months choosing were packed away, some piled haphazardly in the corner. The cozy home we had shared now looked barren and cold. I paused, asking softly, “Are we moving?” Steve had always complained that this place was too small, mentioning several times that we should upgrade to a penthouse. I figured he had finally made up his mind. If he wanted to move, I would go along with it. I had always been quick to compromise when it came to him. “Which neighborhood are we moving…” Before the words could leave my mouth, Steve wrapped his arms around me from behind with an unusual, gentle warmth. He murmured lazily into my ear: “Not us. Just you. I’ve transferred the title of the Mayfair Place apartment to your name, and I’ve already had your things sent over there.” My fingers tightened into fists. “What is that supposed to mean?” He turned me around to face him. There was a flicker of pity in his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. I had seen that look once before, five years ago. Back then, he looked at me like I was a fool willing to throw herself into the fire. Now, he looked at me like a stray dog he was about to abandon. Steve lowered his gaze. “Joe is back. She likes this apartment, and it’s close to her new office.” “To be honest, if she hadn’t rejected me back then, I never would have ended up with you.” “Now that she’s back, we’re done.” My mind went blank. It took me a long time to process his words. Years ago, when Steve told me to choose an apartment, he offered grand penthouses in prime locations, but I fell in love with this modest place at first sight. It wasn’t huge, but the layout felt cozy. I had spent over six months decorating it, slowly turning a blank concrete box into a warm home. Though our relationship over the years had always been undefined and messy. I had always believed that when Steve came back to this apartment, he belonged to me alone. To me, this place was sacred. He should have known. He should have understood. 2 Over the years, Steve never lacked women throwing themselves at him. One day it was an actress, the next a model or an influencer. On the rare occasions his conscience flared up, he would frown and reject them. But most of the time, I knew the truth: he welcomed them all. I thought this was just another phase, that he had set his sights on some new face. Actresses and influencers didn’t bother me much anymore. But this was Joe, the only woman who had ever turned Steve down. I didn’t know her, but over the years, Steve’s friends loved to bring up her name to tease him. The great, wealthy Steve had failed to win over a girl on his first try, making him the butt of their jokes for years. When people spoke of Joe, they always used words like “aloof” and “proud.” She looked down on his wealth, once telling him: “Don’t insult me with your dirty money.” Steve had never met anyone like her, so it made sense that she became his obsession. I didn’t know what to say, standing there in silence. She was Joe, and against her, I stood no chance. I murmured softly: “So… we’re breaking up, then?” Steve let out a soft chuckle, leaning down to meet my eyes. “We were never public, Maria. How can we break up?” “Come on,” he muttered, brushing a tear from my cheek. “You didn’t lose out here. You got to sleep with me for years. Don’t act like the victim.” I always knew we wouldn’t last forever. But hearing him put it so callously still sent a sharp ache through my chest. He stood straight. “She’s proud. If she finds out I’ve been fooling around with you all these years, she’ll be furious.” His gaze swept over me, searching, warning. Maybe I really was getting older. I just didn’t have the energy to fight for him anymore. A few years ago, I would have thrown a tantrum and fought him over her. Now, I simply pulled my hand back. “I understand. I’ll call a cab and head over to the new place tonight.” I had already noticed that the master bedroom was stripped bare. None of my belongings remained. “The things in the living room…” I pointed to the decorations. “Just throw them away. They’re old anyway. It’s time for something new.” Steve followed my gaze, staring at the cozy space. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he opened the door wider. “I’ll have my driver take you.” I took a final look at his bare torso, his toned abs, and his lean waist. I used to think that when the day we parted finally came, I would drag him to bed for one last passionate night. But that was out of the question now. He loved Joe far more than I had realized. When the driver arrived, I left carrying only the suitcase from my business trip. Steve suddenly grabbed my arm, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “You’re acting too calm. Are you playing hard to get, planning to sabotage things behind my back?” “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve pulled something like that.” I stared at him for a long, quiet moment. “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “I won’t say a word.” Aside from his close circle of friends, no one even knew we existed. But he was still uneasy, his brow furrowed with irritation. “You’re not getting any younger. I know plenty of guys. Want me to introduce you to someone so you can settle down?” I fell silent for a beat, a faint smile touching my lips. “Sure. Make sure to share my contact with them.” Steve’s expression darkened at my response. I didn’t look back, stepping into the waiting car. 3 By conventional standards, I was entirely ordinary: average background, average looks. But I possessed an abundance of confidence. In school, my academic records were stellar, consistently ranking at the top in a highly competitive state, which earned me a spot at a prestigious university. At work, I was highly capable, tackling projects others deemed impossible simply by putting in more hours. I didn’t smoke or drink, and my moral compass was solid. From a young age, I understood that if you wanted a good man, you had to pursue him actively; otherwise, you’d only get the leftovers. So, before Steve, I had successfully pursued a few handsome men. But once I got them, their flawless faces couldn’t hide their empty minds, and I would quickly grow bored of them. Until I met Steve. He was exceptionally handsome, highly capable, well-educated, and sophisticated. He was the perfect target, ticking every single box on my list. I didn’t know back then that Steve purposely maintained a low profile in public. Nor did I know his family was so wealthy that buying million-dollar jewelry was like picking up cheap trinkets for him. I assumed he was just a good-looking guy with a bit of money, and that winning him over was only a matter of time. So, I walked up to him, tilted my head, and confidently asked with a grin: “Are you single? If so, mind if I try to win you over?” He blinked, leaning against the wall and laughing for what felt like forever, amused by my boldness. There were too many women chasing him at the time, and I was just a nameless face in the crowd. But I excelled at the long game. Over three years, I outlasted wave after wave of rivals until Steve finally noticed me. That night, in hindsight, was probably the third day after Joe had left the country. Alcohol blurred Steve’s judgment, and we spent our first night together. When he woke up, he leaned against the headboard, staring at me for a long time before saying: “Move in with me.” Just like that, undefined and unofficial, our relationship continued for five years. In our most intimate moments, I would push my luck and ask him what we were. When he was in a good mood, he would placate me, saying: “Why worry about a label? You think just any woman can live here?” During our years together, Steve wasn’t terrible to me. He learned to cook for me, held my hand through the night when I was sick, helped me pick nail polish colors while teasing my choices, and held me close on the sofa when I cried during movies. He was so sweet at times that I almost believed he was falling in love with me. I thought if I just stayed patient, he would eventually settle down and want to build a real home with me. I knew I was shameless, that I had practically forced this relationship into existence. And I knew that one day, the tension would snap. But I never expected it to happen so suddenly. Without a single warning, I was cast out of Steve’s world. Maybe it’s for the best, I thought, leaning my head against the car window, watching the blur of streetlights. If I had to make the decision to leave him on my own, I probably never would have found the strength. When I unlocked the door to my new apartment, I gasped. The place was decorated exactly in my preferred style, spanning nearly three thousand square feet. It was massive compared to our old apartment. Yet, it felt incredibly hollow. I stood frozen in the entryway for a long time until my phone chimed. I opened the message and played the voice note. “If he won’t marry you, leave him! How much longer are you going to waste your life?” “Maria, you’re not a kid anymore. You can’t keep wasting your time on a man who won’t give you a future…” Usually, I would laugh off these messages from my mother or give a vague reply. This was the first time I gave her a straight answer. “We broke up. It’s over.” “Are you lying to me again?!” I sighed. “It’s true this time, Mom. It’s really over.” 4 The next morning, I dragged myself to work with dark circles under my eyes. In the adult world, one night of grieving is all you get for a broken heart. Corporate drones have to keep grinding; there’s no time to stop for water, let alone self-pity. My manager walked past my desk and tapped my shoulder. “Maria, the bidding meeting in three days is all on you.” Despite being fully prepared, a flutter of nerves hit me. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” As I sat down, my screen lit up with several persistent messages. “Seriously, are you sure you won’t consider joining my company?” “Now that you’ve split with Steve, why stay there?” “Just say the word, and I’ll match whatever terms you want. The pay is way better than your current gig.” I smiled, typing back: “Since when did you start moonlighting as a headhunter? I’m not interested. I have my career path planned out, and I don’t want to make sudden changes.” I had never considered quitting just because Steve and I had broken up. After all, he wasn’t the reason I had joined Astra Technologies in the first place. Astra was a massive corporate giant, and I had fought hard against hundreds of applicants to land this position. The following evening, just as I was packing up after working late, my phone rang. The screen showed a call from Steve’s close friend, Beckett. I declined the first call, but it rang again immediately. After a brief hesitation, I picked up. Beckett’s voice came through. “Steve is wasted. Come pick him up.” “He has a girlfriend, and it’s not me,” I replied flatly. “You dialed the wrong number.” “Wait, don’t hang up! What girlfriend? He’s the one who insisted I call you. He refuses to leave. If you don’t show, we’re just going to leave him here on the street.” As I drove toward the club, I realized I was still incredibly weak when it came to him. I hadn’t slept a wink for the past two days, staring at the ceiling until dawn. It was only when this call came that I realized what I had been waiting for. I was actually hoping that maybe Steve had regretted his decision. Maybe he had realized that Joe was no different from any of the other women. Maybe he found her boring and was using this as an excuse to crawl back to me. If he apologized, then I… I wouldn’t make it easy for him. With these thoughts swirling in my head, I pushed open the door to the private room. Only to see a perfectly sober Steve sitting comfortably beside Joe. 5 I froze in the doorway, but before I could react, an arm draped around my shoulders. I turned my head to see Beckett, who casually announced to the room: “Hey everyone, meet my girlfriend, Maria.” He pressed his hand over mine, whispering rapidly into my ear: “Joe suspects there was something between you and Steve. She demanded to see you to clear the air. You know how protective Steve is of her right now. Just bear with it for a bit and pretend to be my girl.” My entire body went rigid. A wave of humiliation washed over me, threatening to drown me. I looked at Steve. He was leaning back against the sofa, his eyes locked on mine, flashing a clear warning. This meant he had approved of this setup. My fingernails dug deep into my palms, the pain grounding me as I pulled myself together. I forced a smile, slowly wrapping my arm around Beckett’s. Looking at the group, I said clearly: “I’m Maria, Beckett’s girlfriend. Nice to meet everyone.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Steve’s hand stiffen slightly. This was my first time seeing Joe in person. She wore a designer white dress, looking effortlessly beautiful even with minimal makeup. Believing the lie, Joe smiled warmly and reached out to shake my hand. “We’re all friends now. Make sure Beckett brings you out with us more often.” I smiled back. “Of course, whenever we have time.” She seemed genuinely happy, even standing up to pour me a drink. Before I could speak, Beckett raised his hand to block the glass. “She’s allergic to alcohol. She can’t drink. I’ll have it for her.” The room fell quiet at his words, and I turned to look at him in surprise. Steve set his glass down, leaning his arm on the back of his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied Beckett. Beckett ignored him, draining the glass so quickly that he coughed slightly. Keeping up the act, I leaned in and patted his back gently. “Are you okay?” After a while, Joe suggested playing truth or dare, and everyone eagerly agreed to indulge her. Beckett drew the first turn and chose truth. “How did you and Maria get together?” someone asked. Beckett easily spun a lie. “I pursued her for three years before she finally agreed to date me.” A few rounds later, it was my turn for a dare: pick a man in the room and give him a deep kiss. My eyes instinctively darted toward Steve. Joe watched me, her smile faltering slightly. “Well, Beckett, looks like you’re the lucky guy. Better make your move.” Beckett instinctively glanced at Steve. But the man sitting at the center of attention acted entirely detached, refusing to spare us even a single glance. I let out a bitter, silent laugh. Beckett is handsome anyway. I won’t lose out on this. I steeled my resolve, pulling Beckett close and tilting my head up to kiss him. Suddenly, Steve’s voice cut through the room, slow and deliberate. “That’s enough,” he said, shooting a warning look at Joe. “Keep the games within bounds. Since when do you get to boss Beckett around?” Joe bit her lip, shooting us a frustrated glance. The kiss never happened, but we had to play our roles to the end. In the end, Beckett had to drive me home. When the car pulled up to my building, I opened the passenger door, ready to leave. Suddenly, a hand caught my wrist. I turned back to see Beckett looking at me with a lazy, playful grin. “Honestly, you’re pretty interesting, and I’m definitely not a downgrade from Steve.” “How about giving me a shot?” My brow furrowed, but before I could reply, a violent crash slammed into the rear of our car. The impact threw me forward. Gaining my bearings, I looked up at the rearview mirror. Sitting in the driver’s seat of the car behind us was Steve, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel, his face completely devoid of warmth.

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1 At two in the morning, I arrived at the base of the collapsed mountain road at Blackwood Pass. The emergency floodlights washed the freezing rain and fog in a deathly, pale glow. My fingers were stiff from the cold as I texted Robin. [Honey, I am at the bottom of the mountain. Do not panic. I am bringing you home.] No reply. My hands shook as I dialed her driver. George picked up, his voice paper-thin and trembling. “Sir, did you… did you actually drive up to Blackwood?” The deafening crack of falling boulders echoed from the peaks above. I was shivering, entirely consumed by panic. “Which section of the road is she trapped on?!” A heavy, suffocating silence filled the line. “Sir, the truth is, the boss never went up the mountain.” Icy rainwater slipped down my collar, sending a violent shudder down my spine. George lowered his voice to a whisper. “She lied to you about the site inspection.” A video notification popped up on my screen. The timestamp was from tonight. In the footage, Robin stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror. She was gently fixing a man’s bow tie, a devastatingly soft smile playing on her lips. I recognized him. It was Silas. The boy her family had fostered. The same man she had sworn to cut out of her life six months ago, kneeling and weeping beside my father’s hospital bed. Robin must have forgotten that today was also our wedding anniversary. My phone buzzed again. “Sir, over the years, she never actually stopped seeing him.” George’s voice kept breaking up, swallowed by the howling mountain wind. “Tonight, she rented out the entire Cloud Room at the top of the Zenith Tower. She is throwing a welcome-home party for Mr. Silas.” Rain dripped steadily from my jaw. I stared at the highway a few hundred yards away, completely buried under thousands of tons of mud and rock. Small stones were still tumbling down the slopes. “Understood.” I heard my own voice reply. There was no screaming. No hysteria. Even I was surprised by the dead calm in my tone. I hung up on George, found Robin’s contact, and hit dial. It rang for a long time. Just as I assumed she would let it go to voicemail, the call connected. “Khobe?” Her voice was low and smooth, carrying the slight, lazy annoyance of a woman whose perfect evening had been interrupted. Deep in the background, the rich, velvet notes of a live cello drifted through the speaker. “Where are you?” I asked. “I already told you.” She let out a soft sigh, using that signature tone she reserved for coaxing a toddler. “There was a massive landslide at Blackwood. I am stuck at a little motel near the base.” “Are you hurt?” “No. The cell reception is just terrible.” She paused. “Why are you still awake? Are you scared of the thunderstorm?” I looked down at my calf. A jagged rock had sliced it open during my climb, and dark blood was washing away into the mud. “Yeah, a little scared.” A bitter smile tugged at my lips. “Does this roadside motel happen to have a live cellist?” The line went dead silent for a fraction of a second. “The motel owner is playing a vinyl record.” She let out a light, breathy laugh. “Khobe, did you really stay up half the night just to interrogate me?” “The cell towers at Blackwood collapsed three hours ago.” I stared at the yellow police tape fluttering wildly in front of me. “Your reception is remarkably good.” Robin’s tone instantly dropped into a chilling register. “Khobe, I am exhausted today. I am not doing this with you.” She always did this. She would use the calmest, most patronizing voice imaginable to gaslight me, making me feel like an irrational maniac. She played the role of the devoted, hardworking wife who had to endure her husband’s pathetic paranoia perfectly. “I am not trying to fight,” I said. “Then be a good boy.” Her voice softened again, dripping with habitual charity. “I will bring you a praline tart from Maison’s when I get back tomorrow. That is your favorite, right?” Maison’s praline tart. That was Silas’s favorite. Not only did I hate sweets, but I was severely allergic to the hazelnut dust they used on top. After seven years together, she had completely forgotten. “Okay,” I whispered. “Get some sleep. I love you.” The call ended. The exact second my screen went black, a rescue worker in a high-vis jacket frantically waved his flashlight at me. “Hey buddy! Get back! Another mudslide is coming!” I did not move. I just stood rooted to the wet asphalt, staring at a new post that had just appeared on my timeline. It was from Silas, set so only I could see it. It was a photo of a delicate, pale hand fixing his bow tie. The caption read: [She told me that even with a ring on her finger, I will always come first.] 2 By the time the rain finally stopped, the sky was bleeding into a pale, bruised dawn. I dragged my mud-caked boots into the VIP underground garage of the Zenith Tower. The heavy windbreaker I had worn to scale the mountain was soaked through, clinging to my back like sheets of ice. The security guards tried to stop me twice. I had to hand over my ID and recite the license plate of Robin’s Maybach before they threw me a skeptical look and let me pass. The moment the private elevator doors chimed open, I froze. Robin was standing inside. She was wearing the custom Milanese silk gown I had personally flown to Italy to design for her. The fabric draped flawlessly around her curves, radiating an effortless, untouchable wealth. Silas was leaning his entire body weight against her. He wore an immaculate white tuxedo, looking as polished and fragile as a porcelain doll. “Robin, my feet are killing me,” he whined, his voice sickeningly sweet. Without a second thought, my elegant, commanding wife sank to a crouch. Her long fingers gently wrapped around his ankle. “Who told you to wear these stiff oxfords?” “I wanted to look good for you.” Silas reached out, playfully twirling a strand of her hair. “You used to love watching me dance.” “That was ages ago.” Robin slipped the leather shoes off his feet and held them in one hand. Her eyes were melting with affection. “If you try dancing on that bad ankle now, I will break your legs myself.” I stood hidden behind a dim concrete pillar, watching my wife worship another man. A violent wave of nausea ripped through my stomach. It was the physical toll of wandering through freezing rain for four hours, desperately trying to save a woman who did not need saving. The elevator doors slid shut. I stepped out from the shadows and pressed the button for the service elevator. I ran into them again in the main lobby. Silas was padding across the plush carpet in complimentary hotel slippers. Robin had one arm wrapped firmly around his waist, still carrying his expensive shoes in her free hand. The hotel manager practically tripped over himself rushing forward to greet them. “Ms. Vanguard, Mr. Silas, your car is waiting right out front.” “Good,” Robin replied, not bothering to look at him. Silas suddenly stopped walking. His gaze drifted over the manager’s shoulder and landed squarely on me. He took in my ruined clothes, my matted hair, my face streaked with dirt, and the blood-soaked sneakers on my feet. He did not look surprised. Instead, the faintest, most toxic little smirk curled the corners of his mouth. “Robin.” He tugged at her sleeve, projecting his voice just enough to ensure it echoed across the marble lobby. “Look at that guy over there. He looks so pathetic. Just like a homeless beggar.” Robin did not even turn her head. She could not be bothered to spare a fraction of her attention. “Do not look at the trash, Silas.” She pulled him tighter against her side. “You will ruin your mood.” 3 Trash. I looked down at my own hands. Muddy water was steadily dripping from my jeans, blooming into dark, ugly stains on the pristine lobby rug. I really did look like garbage. I stayed completely still, watching them walk toward the revolving glass doors. But Silas clearly felt the knife had not twisted deep enough. He stopped near the exit and raised his voice again, adopting an exaggerated tone of innocent concern. “But Robin, wasn’t yesterday your wedding anniversary with Khobe? If you spent the whole night in a suite with me, will he be mad at you?” Robin’s heels stopped clicking. Her shoulders tensed, and a heavy dose of pure irritation bled into her voice. “Why are we talking about him?” “I just do not want him to be jealous. He is always so suffocating with you.” “He just has too much time on his hands.” Robin let out a cold, sharp scoff. “What else is he good for besides orbiting around my life?” She tossed Silas’s leather shoes to the valet boy, then pulled a wet wipe from her clutch, slowly and meticulously cleaning her fingers. “I only married him because he is predictable. He is quiet, he follows the rules, and he makes a decent decoration to keep at the house.” “Remember this, Silas.” She dropped the soiled wipe into a nearby brass trash can. Her tone was completely flat, but every syllable felt like a bullet to the chest. “Marriage is nothing but a business transaction. He is good on paper. But you are the only one I actually care about protecting.” Silas smiled, thoroughly satisfied. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. I stared at that brass trash can. Lying inside it was the limited-edition silk pocket square I had spent hours picking out for her just yesterday morning. She had told me the color matched her gown perfectly and promised she would keep it close to her heart all night. Now, it was rotting in the garbage, buried under a wet wipe she used to clean up after another man. My hand instinctively hovered over the thick gauze taped to my abdomen. The stitches underneath were brand new. I had just undergone an emergency appendectomy a week ago, and the surgeon had strictly ordered me to stay on bed rest for half a month. I had planned to tell her about the surgery at our anniversary dinner. I wanted to ask if she could hold my hand when I went to get the stitches removed. But then she vanished. Her driver said she was trapped in a deadly landslide. I had grabbed my keys like a madman, driving through blinding sheets of rain for three hours, ignoring the police barricades, and scaling a collapsing mountain on foot. I thought she was freezing in the dark, waiting for me to save her life. Instead, she was playing Cinderella with her little protégé. I slowly turned around and limped toward the opposite side of the lobby. There was a massive, velvet-lined display case sitting against the glass. It used to hold an exclusive, million-dollar timepiece called the ‘Tears of the Deep’. Robin had won it at a charity auction three months ago. She had stood in front of a dozen flashing cameras, her eyes shining with fake devotion, telling the press it was a surprise anniversary gift for her beloved husband. Right now, that exact watch was strapped to Silas’s wrist. The diamonds caught the lobby lights, blinding and utterly repulsive.

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1 Staring at the plate of boiled carrots in front of me, tears welled up in my eyes. “Mr. Ashford, I’ve been eating rabbit food for two weeks straight. Can I please, please request just a few slices of boiled pork?” Harry sat across the long mahogany dining table, his long legs elegantly crossed, his brow furrowed slightly. “Nonsense. Your digestive tract is far too delicate. Eating meat will cause a fatal blockage. Be a good girl and finish your carrot. I’ve scheduled the doctor to come clip your nails this afternoon.” Despondent, I picked up the orange root and began to gnaw on it. Two weeks ago, Harry, the most feared and ruthless billionaire in the city, survived a terrible car crash. Unfortunately, his brain didn’t escape unscathed. He woke up firmly believing that I was a premium, ridiculously expensive lop-eared rabbit he had purchased. To keep his “pet” healthy, he confiscated every single one of my snacks and put me on a strict herbivore diet. Clutching my hollow stomach, I made a silent vow: the exact second this system mission ended, I was going to devour ten consecutive meals of spicy Sichuan hotpot. … I sat on the plush sofa, staring in grim silence at the heavy-duty stainless-steel nail clippers in Harry’s hand. In my head, the system’s voice chimed with cold, mechanical insistence: Host, please cooperate with the target’s daily grooming routine. Current progress: sixty percent. My inner voice shrieked back: What kind of lunatic feeds a rabbit pig-sized portions of grass?! If I eat one more carrot, my skin is going to turn permanently orange! Harry stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. He wore a tailored charcoal-black designer shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing lean, pale, and powerful wrists. A look of profound, terrifying tenderness washed over his face as he expertly shook out a massive cashmere blanket. “Stay still, sweetheart. Rabbits are prone to severe stress during grooming. If I don’t swaddle you, you might thrash and break your own spine.” His tone was so gentle it made my skin crawl. Before I could utter a word of protest, darkness descended. He threw the blanket over my head and, with practiced efficiency, wrapped me up into a tightly sealed burrito. I struggled, kicking wildly inside my woolly prison, but Harry scooped me up by the waist with zero effort. He strode over to the armchair, sat down, and pinned me firmly against his lap. Even through the thick layers of cashmere, I could feel the hard, unyielding contour of his thigh muscles. Holding my waist secure with one hand, he used his other hand to patiently coax my right hand out from the edge of the blanket. “Doctor, you may begin. Watch the quick. Don’t make her bleed.” The private physician stood nearby, his expression a mix of profound regret and utter bewilderment, looking as though he were silently screaming: Are you two playing some sick roleplay game, and why am I a part of it? “Mr. Ashford, technically speaking, this rabbit’s nails are still well within a healthy length.” Harry’s gaze instantly turned arctic. He looked up, and the temperature in the room plummeted. “Are you questioning my caretaking?” The doctor shut his mouth instantly and brought down the clippers. Snap. A tiny sliver of nail fell onto the astronomically expensive Persian rug. I stared blankly at the ceiling, utterly defeated. Harry looked down at me, his eyes brimming with affection. Freeing one hand, he gently stroked the crown of my head, running his fingers smoothly down my hair with a highly professional pet-grooming technique. “Such a good girl today. You’ll get two Timothy hay biscuits as a reward tonight.” My vision went dark. I didn’t even have the energy to argue. When was this nightmare going to end? Two weeks ago, I had collapsed into a flower bed outside my office building after pulling three consecutive all-nighters. When I woke up, a bizarre voice calling itself “The System” had taken up residence in my brain. The System told me that if I successfully won the heart of the Ashford Group’s supreme CEO, Harry, I would receive a cool ten million dollars in cash. Ten million dollars! I accepted the offer before the entity could even finish its sentence. But wait, I had asked back then. Do I do the classic clumsy intern routine? Is this billionaire guy actually as brainless as the ones in web novels? If I wasn’t mistaken, the system’s tone had carried a hint of mischief. Of course not. We are a respectable, high-end system. We don’t do trashy tropes. I’ve already laid the groundwork for you. Whether you pocket that ten million is entirely up to your execution. I had been bursting with confidence. At the time, Harry’s luxury sedan was parked on the curb. With a fresh bandage wrapped around his head and a cold, ruthless glint in his eyes, he stepped out of the vehicle surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards. Just as I was preparing to fake-collapse in front of him to spark a meeting, he froze. He stared at me, his icy, chiseled features suddenly melting into a bizarre look of pure, ecstatic joy. Dismissing his guards with a wave, he strode right up to me, took off his designer blazer, wrapped it around my shoulders, and lifted me into the car. “A stray lop-eared rabbit won’t survive the winter,” he murmured softly. “You’re coming home with me.” At the time, I genuinely thought he was just playing some incredibly specific, high-society roleplay game. It wasn’t until the next morning, when the butler served me a plate of plain boiled broccoli and three raw carrots, that the horrifying reality set in. Harry wasn’t insane. He was still the ruthless corporate shark who signed multi-billion-dollar deals and drove his competitors to bankruptcy without blinking an eye. He had simply, in his own mind, placed me behind a strict species barrier. I screamed for the system in my head, but it went dead silent. I absolutely hate silent treatment, I grumbled. Late that night, as I lay in the middle of a massive, silk-sheeted bed, my stomach roared in furious protest. I couldn’t take it anymore. Tossing the duvet aside, I crept out of the bedroom, slipped down the grand spiral staircase, and sneaked into the kitchen. Two weeks of rabbit food had left me practically seeing green. I rummaged through the cabinets and finally found a pack of imported cured sausages in the back of the refrigerator. The second I tore the packaging open and the rich, savory aroma hit my nose, I nearly wept with joy. I took a massive, eager bite. Suddenly, the overhead motion lights flared to life. Harry stood in the kitchen doorway, clad in charcoal silk pajamas, his expression entirely blank. Then, his gaze dropped to my hand, and his pupils dilated with sheer terror. The half-eaten sausage suddenly felt like a ticking bomb. Harry lunged forward, covering the distance in two strides. He snatched the sausage from my grasp and hurled it into the trash can. Cupping my chin with a firm, trembling hand, his voice cracked with suppressed panic. “Spit it out!” “I already swallowed it!” I mumbled around his fingers. Harry turned pale, radiating a terrifying, suffocating aura. He spun toward the hallway and roared, “Alfred! Call Dr. Thomas immediately! Tell him to bring gastric lavage equipment!” The mansion erupted into absolute chaos. I was scooped up, marched back to my bedroom, and tucked tightly into bed. He knelt by the bedside, resting his large palm over my stomach, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Rabbits cannot digest meat,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Your digestive tract will shut down. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His hand was warm, his touch unbelievably gentle. Looking at the raw, genuine terror in his eyes, a sudden pang of guilt hit me. Ten minutes later, poor Dr. Thomas burst into the room clutching his medical bag, gasping for breath. After listening to Harry’s frantic explanation, the doctor stared at me, healthy and perfectly rosy-cheeked, and fell into a profound state of existential confusion. He checked my temperature, listened to my heartbeat, and finally, with a heavy sigh, prescribed a box of chewable pediatric antacids. Harry didn’t return to his own room that night. He sat by my bedside, and every hour, he would gently massage my stomach through the blanket. Sometime in the dead of night, in a half-dreaming state, I caught the soft murmur of his voice. “When I was eight, I had no choice. That man forced me to abandon you. But I have you back now. I’ll take good care of you this time. Sleep well.” When the morning sun filtered through the curtains, I opened my eyes. He had fallen asleep propped up against the armchair, his brow still furrowed, his fingers still clutching the foil pack of antacids. The system chimed in my mind: Affection progress: sixty-five percent. He cares for you deeply. “Obviously,” I retorted internally. “If anyone dropped a small fortune on a prized pet, they’d treat it like royalty too.” To prevent me from sneaking “toxic” human food again, Harry made a drastic executive decision: he was taking me to work. The atmosphere at the Ashford Group headquarters reached peak absurdity that morning. From the ground lobby to the executive suites on the top floor, employees barely dared to breathe. Their cold-blooded, terrifying CEO had just walked into the office holding a woman’s hand. Not only that, but he was also carrying a high-tech insulated bento box filled to the brim with boiled greens and custom-made hay cakes. Up in the executive suite, the secretaries had all changed into soft-soled slippers, gliding across the floor like silent ghosts so as not to startle the boss’s guest. Harry had ordered his assistants to clear out a large section right next to his massive mahogany desk. He had it laid with thick, plush carpeting, furnished with a giant designer beanbag chair, and even installed a solid-gold automatic water fountain. Thus, I was installed in my incredibly lavish cage. “Stay here and play, sweetheart. If you get bored, use the tablet. Don’t wander off.” After giving me a gentle pat, Harry turned back to his desk. In an instant, the warmth vanished from his face, and he was once again the terrifying Wall Street titan who ruled the business world. At two in the afternoon, department heads lined up to deliver their quarterly reports. Sitting on my beanbag, chewing listlessly on a tasteless hay biscuit, I watched them get systematically torn to shreds. That was until the head of marketing walked in. I froze. Marcus. After the New Year holidays, I had pulled ninety days of brutal overtime, eagerly anticipating the project bonus. Instead, Marcus had hijacked my entire portfolio, spread vile rumors about my personal life, and gotten me fired. Before I left, he had gloated, promising to blackball me from the entire industry. Now, Marcus stood with his head bowed, trembling as he handed over his reports, practically drenched in obnoxious cologne. Harry flipped through a couple of pages before slamming the folder onto the desk. Papers scattered across the floor. Marcus flinched, quickly dropping to his knees to gather them. As he scrambled to pick up the sheets near my play area, he looked up. The moment our eyes met, his jaw dropped. “Vivian?! What on earth are you doing here?” His shrill, grating voice shattered the quiet of the office. He scrambled to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Mr. Ashford, you can’t let this woman deceive you! Back in my department, she was a shameless gold digger. She’ll do absolutely anything for money! First you try to con me, and now you’re trying to play Mr. Ashford?” I watched his dramatic performance with a cold stare, not even bothered to defend myself. The air in the room instantly turned to stone. Harry stood up slowly, walked around the mahogany desk, and stopped right in front of Marcus. Towering over the man, his eyes were colder than ice. “You are being extremely loud.” Marcus blinked, stammering, “Mr. Ashford, I only wanted to warn you that she…” “Shut up.” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried a lethal edge. “A rabbit’s hearing is incredibly sensitive. Loud noises cause severe psychological trauma. Who do you think you are, yelling in her presence?” Marcus looked utterly dumbfounded. He stood frozen for a long moment, completely unable to process what Harry was talking about. I, however, let a wicked grin spread across my face. Catching Marcus’s eye, I silently mouthed: You are so dead. Panicking, Marcus’s face twisted as he feared I would expose his past misdeeds to Harry. Desperate to cover his tracks, he doubled down on his slander. “Mr. Ashford, I’m doing this for your own good! She’s a fraud who slept her way to the top!” Harry’s brow furrowed, and he took a step back in pure disgust. “Did I not tell you to shut up? And the cheap cologne you’re wearing is offensive. A rabbit’s respiratory tract is highly delicate. Your foul scent is a hazard to her health.” He pressed the intercom button, his voice dripping with absolute malice. “Security, get up here and throw this trash out. Tell HR he is terminated immediately, effective today. Ensure he is blacklisted from the entire industry.” Pale as a ghost, Marcus shrieked and flailed as three security guards dragged him down the hall. I offered him a cheerful little wave and a sweet smile. How the tables have turned.

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1 When the hospital called to demand my daughter’s overdue medical fees again, my ex-husband finally stepped in and cleared our entire balance. He looked at our daughter, whose lips were tinged a sickly blue with her heart condition, his eyes swimming with guilt. “Let’s get remarried. The child is innocent.” I didn’t hesitate. I merely nodded with absolute apathy. After we remarried, I stopped picking fights with his high school sweetheart. Our daughter, Lily, also stopped desperately trying to steal her father’s attention away from his sweetheart’s daughter. When his grand drone-and-fireworks show for his sweetheart’s birthday made local headlines, my daughter and I didn’t shed a single tear or make a scene. Even when we ran into them at the hospital, Lily and I merely kept our heads down and walked past them briskly. We became exactly what he had always wanted: quiet, generous, and perfectly behaved. Yet, his eyes welled with tears as he asked, “Honey, why don’t you check my phone anymore?” “Lily, why don’t you want Daddy to stay with you anymore?” … After finalizing the remarriage paperwork, I walked back to my department. Cyrus followed close behind me as we reached the door of the private pediatric suite reserved for Lily. The door was slightly ajar, and the sound of soft laughter drifted out. I pushed it open. Evelyn was sitting right by the bedside, peeling an apple for Penny. “Gillian?” Evelyn jumped up, looking flustered and helpless. “Please don’t misunderstand. Penny was having such bad chest pains earlier, and Cyrus said it was fine to use this room temporarily. We’ll move out to the corridor right now. We absolutely won’t take Lily’s spot.” Her eyes welled with tears instantly as she clutched the hem of her cardigan, though her feet didn’t move an inch. I offered a polite nod, remaining entirely silent. “Daddy!” Penny cheered from the bed, tossing the blanket aside to throw herself into Cyrus’s arms. Evelyn quickly held her back, looking terrified of angering me. “Penny, how many times has Mommy told you? That’s Uncle Cyrus.” Cyrus looked at me, his expression deeply awkward. Seeing that neither Lily nor I had any reaction, a flash of surprise crossed his eyes. The bedside table was piled high with Penny’s toys. Evelyn bit her lower lip. “Penny is afraid of bitter medicine, so I had to use these toys to coax her into taking it…” The air in the room seemed to freeze. I felt a gentle tug at the hem of my nurse’s scrub top. Lily’s lips were a sickly shade of blue. She looked up at me, her voice barely a whisper. “Mommy, I can use the extra bed in the hallway. I don’t hurt that much.” My heart clenched violently, a suffocating ache spreading through my chest. In the past, whenever Lily’s chest pains flared up, she would writhe in agony across the mattress. She would cry, smash whatever she could reach, and scream at the top of her lungs for her father to hold her. Back then, Cyrus would always scold me with a cold face, saying that as a head nurse, I was spoiling our daughter into a brat. But now, even though her little hands were ice-cold and her breath trembled with pain, she kept it entirely bottled up. She had finally realized: only children who are loved have the luxury of showing weakness when they are sick. Cyrus frowned. Evelyn hurriedly started packing up their things. “Gillian, please don’t be angry with Cyrus. We’re leaving right now…” She held Penny, trembling as though I were some kind of heartless monster. In the past, I would have been shaking with rage at her manipulative, fragile act, turning on Cyrus in an explosive argument. But today, I just stood there quietly, my eyelids barely fluttering. Cyrus spoke up suddenly. “Evelyn, pack your things and take Penny out. Lily’s heart can’t handle any noise.” Evelyn froze, her tears spilling over. Penny began to sob loudly. “Daddy, I feel sick. I want Daddy to stay with me!” Cyrus hesitated, looking at Penny with pity, then glanced at me. I curled my lips into a faint, empty smile. “Since you care so much about Penny, Mr. Porter, it’s only right that you go keep her company.” He froze, clearly not expecting me to say that. He opened his mouth but found no words. Finally, he muttered, “I’ll be back later,” and yellowed under the weight of his guilt, quickly leaving with the mother and daughter. The room finally fell silent. I expertly helped Lily change into her hospital gown and hooked her up to the monitors. A short while later, my phone screen lit up. It was a message from Evelyn. Gillian, I’m so sorry. Penny had another heart spasm just now, and she wouldn’t cooperate with the doctors unless Cyrus held her hand. He might not be able to make it back tonight. Attached was a video. In the video, Penny was sweetly holding Cyrus’s hand, calling him “Daddy” while Cyrus wiped the sweat from her brow with absolute tenderness. I didn’t even bother to reply. I locked the screen and went back to checking Lily’s blood pressure. Cyrus didn’t return until noon the next day, just as I was feeding Lily some liquid food. I didn’t demand to know where he had spent the night. Hysterics would only make him think I was being unreasonable, and ultimately, Lily would suffer for it. Once Lily fell asleep, Cyrus handed me a velvet box. Inside was a dazzling pink diamond ring. In the past, I would have wept with gratitude, thinking he had finally recognized my sacrifices. Now, looking at that ring, a wave of profound nausea washed over me. I didn’t even reach out for it. I used to love shiny things. But I could never forget the first time Lily was fighting for her life in the pediatric ICU. While I was signing one critical condition notice after another with trembling hands, Cyrus was nowhere to be found. When he finally rushed over, he threw a cold diamond necklace at Lily as an apology. At that exact moment, he had mobilized his company’s entire medical network and special clearance to secure rare, imported targeted drugs for Penny, who was only suffering from mild chest tightness. From that moment on, these expensive jewels became nothing but trash stained with my daughter’s blood and tears. Seeing me refuse to take it, Cyrus’s expression stiffened. “Didn’t you always love this brand?” I took a step back, my voice flat. “Thank you, but I’m not used to wearing things like this anymore.” His hand remained frozen in the air, his face darkening. That afternoon, when Lily felt a bit better, I took her to the mall. I wanted to pick out a thank-you gift for the wife of the hospital board director, who had helped us immensely with fundraising. Just as we stepped into the high-end baby boutique, we ran into Evelyn and her daughter. Cyrus was standing right there, pulling out his black card to pay. The sales associate beamed. “Mr. Porter is such a wonderful father. This limited-edition doll looks absolutely beautiful on Princess Penny.” Penny held the doll triumphantly, glaring at Lily. Cyrus turned around at the sound of footsteps, his face instantly flushing with panic. “Gillian, I was just passing by…” I pretended not to hear, pulling Lily straight toward the gift section on the other side. Once I picked out a gift and headed to the register, Cyrus blocked my way. He grabbed an incredibly expensive castle playset from the top shelf and tried to shove it into Lily’s arms. “Lily, let Daddy buy this for you, okay?” Lily shrank back, shaking her head in fear. Penny ran over, pointing at the castle and shrieking, “I want that! Daddy, I want that!” For once, Cyrus pushed Penny’s hand away, saying coldly, “This is for Lily.” Penny stared in shock, and Evelyn’s face paled. Cyrus furrowed his brow, kneeling to look at Lily. “Why don’t you want it? Didn’t you use to love fighting for these toys?” Lily cast a timid glance at Penny, hiding her hands behind her back. Her voice was barely a whisper. “If little sister wants it, she can have it. I have to learn to share.” It was as if Cyrus had been struck by lightning. He froze, completely paralyzed. He suddenly remembered: every time Penny snatched away Lily’s life-saving nutritional supplements, leaving Lily gasping for air and crying, he had scolded Lily with those exact words. Seeing his face go entirely pale, a small, vindictive satisfaction bloomed in my chest. I bypassed him, holding Lily’s hand as we walked out of the store without looking back. Cyrus and I used to be the golden couple everyone envied. I was the youngest head nurse at a prestigious metropolitan hospital, and he was the self-made CEO of a thriving medical equipment company, Apex MedTech. Everyone said we were a match made in heaven, and I believed our happiness would last forever. That was until Lily was diagnosed with a severe congenital heart defect at two years old. I watched over her bedside night and day, growing hollow and exhausted. It was during this fragile time that Evelyn returned to the country. She brought Penny, who suffered from the same congenital heart condition, and knocked on Cyrus’s office door. At first, Cyrus only visited them occasionally. Later, he sent his company’s latest portable monitoring devices directly to Evelyn’s apartment. He even began finding excuses to cancel the weekend plans he had promised Lily, spending all his free time with that mother and daughter. I grew suspicious and confronted him. He merely pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Evelyn is raising a sick child all on her own. She doesn’t understand medical equipment. What’s wrong with me helping her out?” I wanted to argue, but seeing the red veins in his eyes, I swallowed my words. My understanding, however, was only met with worse neglect. When Lily needed a special nutritional formula to stabilize her condition, Cyrus approved the entire stock from his company’s warehouse for Penny, even though there was plenty of inventory. I couldn’t take it anymore. We had a screaming match at home. He shattered a glass on the floor, pointing a finger at my face. “Gillian, that’s enough! You practically live at the hospital, can’t you even take care of your own daughter? Penny has no one to rely on! Can you stop being so incredibly selfish?” In that moment, I felt a deep, piercing chill. I was fighting death itself to save my daughter’s life, while my husband was busy pitying another woman’s child for having no one to rely on. The final blow came on Lily’s third birthday. Lily suffered acute heart failure, and the monitors in the resuscitation room wailed frantically. The doctor told me to immediately secure the emergency defibrillator his company had recently imported; it was Lily’s only hope. My hands shook as I dialed Cyrus’s number. Once, ten times, thirty times… Every single call was coldly declined. I collapsed in despair outside the resuscitation room, my face covered in tears and sweat. When I chanced to look up, I saw the television in the hospital lobby broadcasting a live news feed. It was a lavish charity gala called “Guardian Angels of the Heart.” On the screen, Cyrus stood in a tailored suit with Evelyn in a designer gown beside him, looking like a picture-perfect couple. Facing a barrage of camera flashes, Cyrus announced with deep emotion: “As the CEO of Apex MedTech, I am establishing a ten-million-dollar fund for congenital heart defects in Penny’s name. We will ensure no sick child is left without medicine.” The irony was like a rusty knife plunging into my chest, tearing my flesh apart. My daughter was gasping for air on a cold hospital bed, unable to even cry. My husband was under the spotlight, spending millions to play the savior for another woman’s child. I dragged myself off the floor, staring at the bloodstains on my white scrubs. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I ran out of the hospital, hailed a cab like a madwoman, and drove straight to the gala. I broke past the security guards, reeking of antiseptic and stained with blood, and charged directly onto the red carpet. The camera flashes went wild. I shoved Evelyn away from Cyrus, pointing a finger at her. “What kind of saints are you pretending to be?! Evelyn, you are draining my daughter’s blood to feed your bastard child!” Evelyn shrieked, gracefully collapsing to the ground, shrinking behind Cyrus in terror. “Gillian, please don’t hit me… it’s all my fault…” The surrounding media immediately erupted into whispers. Cyrus’s face turned livid, his pride utterly shattered. “Gillian! Have you lost your mind?!” He raised his hand and slammed a brutal slap across my face. The sheer force knocked me to the floor. My ears rang, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I held my burning cheek, looking up at the man I had loved for seven years in complete disbelief. Cyrus looked down at me, his eyes filled with nothing but disgust. “When I was starting my business and had nowhere to turn, Evelyn’s parents saved my life! I am repaying a debt of gratitude! As a medical professional, you don’t even have a shred of basic empathy. Acting like a common hysteric here… I was truly blind to have married you!” That single slap completely killed the last dying ember of hope in my heart. I spat out a mouthful of blood and let out a cold laugh. “Fine, Cyrus. Let’s get a divorce.” We signed the papers the very next day. But I never expected Cyrus’s cruelty to extend to a total annihilation of my life. Shortly after the divorce, my upcoming promotion to Assistant Director of Nursing was secretly blocked and given to someone else. Next, my salary and performance bonuses were slashed to virtually nothing. I knew it was Cyrus using his influence in the medical network to punish me. Just when I was on the verge of being unable to pay for Lily’s next month in the ICU, a miracle occurred. The hospital finally matched a perfect donor heart for Lily! I fell to my knees that night, weeping and praying to every deity I could think of. But the cruel reality crushed me: I couldn’t afford the exorbitant surgery and transportation fees. While I was desperately begging everyone I knew for loans, Cyrus intervened like an act of god. He threw an immense amount of money and leveraged his connections with the hospital board to bypass all procedures. He took that life-saving heart, the one meant for Lily, and forcibly had it transplanted into Penny instead! Cyrus had absolutely no idea that the child forced to give up the donor heart due to a lack of funds was his own flesh and blood. When I found out and ran to the operating theater like a madwoman, the green light indicating a successful surgery was already glowing. In that moment, I experienced a despair that shattered my entire world. I bit my lip until it bled, my tears running dry, leaving nothing but an agonizing, visceral hatred. The memory faded. I sat quietly by the bedside, touching Lily’s pale, cold face. If I didn’t remarry him, Lily wouldn’t survive until the next donor match. I swallowed my tears and blood, put on a mask of compliance, and dialed Cyrus’s number to ask him to take us back. Now, I felt absolutely nothing for this man. Whether he slept with Evelyn or bought Penny mountains of gold was none of my concern. As long as he transferred the funds into Lily’s medical account every month, he could rot in hell for all I cared. I would treat him like a dead man.

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1 My mother used to be the brightest jewel of the Manhattan elite—a brilliant business prodigy destined to take over her family’s empire. But love completely blinded her. She threw everything away, defied my grandfather’s warnings, and married a man with absolutely nothing to his name. Stripped of her family’s wealth and protection, she was forced to live like a glorified maid, constantly serving her husband’s ungrateful family. And in return? She endured vicious beatings and vile insults every time my father came home drunk. “You are completely useless! You could not even give me a son!” His cruelty culminated today. To clear the way for his mistress and illegitimate son, and to cash in on a massive life insurance policy, my father locked the bedroom door from the outside and set our apartment on fire. The thick, black smoke choked the air from my lungs. As my consciousness began to slip away, I used every last ounce of my fading strength to dial the one number my mother had not dared to touch in ten years. The moment the call connected, I heard my grandfather’s trembling, aged voice. “Grandpa… I am giving my life back to you. Consider it an apology on my mother’s behalf.” “Please… let my mother go back to being the untouchable Vanguard heiress she was born to be!” Beep… Beep… Beep… The call abruptly disconnected. I clung to my phone as a sea of flames swallowed the room. The toxic smoke clamped tight around my throat. “Cough… cough…” My vision blurred. In the very last second before the darkness took me, I forced myself to turn my head. My mother had thrown her body over mine to shield me from the collapse of our burning wardrobe. “Mom…” I mouthed the word, but no sound came out. Suddenly, my body felt incredibly light. My soul tore away from my physical form, floating gently toward the ceiling. Crash! The bedroom door was finally ripped open by a fireman’s electric saw. “Hurry! We still have vitals! Get the stretcher!” A team of firefighters rushed in and lifted my mother’s burned body onto a gurney. “My wife! My daughter!” A devastated, agonizing wail echoed from the hallway. Marcus stumbled blindly toward the stretcher, his hands desperately gripping the metal frame. Tears and snot smeared across his face. “How could this happen?! I only went downstairs to buy some groceries! How did a fire start?!” “Honey, wake up! How am I supposed to live without you?!” The neighbors crowded in the hallway wiped their eyes, whispering softly about what a devoted, tragic man he was. My soul hovered in the air, staring dead at him. From my vantage point, I could clearly see the corners of his mouth twitching upward in an uncontrollable, euphoric smirk. My grandmother shuffled in right behind him, wailing a hollow, theatrical, “Oh, my poor daughter-in-law!” But her hands were busy frantically swatting the air, entirely disgusted by the ash settling on her expensive silk dress. “Make way! The victim has sustained severe third-degree burns! She needs to be transported to the emergency room immediately!” The paramedics shoved Marcus aside and rushed the gurney toward the elevators. My instinct was to follow them, to stay right by my mother’s side. But the moment I floated past the apartment threshold, a violent force ripped my soul backward. I was tethered. Bound to stay within ten feet of Marcus. Marcus staggered into the emergency stairwell. The second he realized he was completely alone, the agonizing grief wiped clean from his face. He pulled out a burner phone and dialed a number. “Hey, Chloe,” he whispered, his voice trembling with sheer excitement. “It is done! Those two worthless burdens—one is dead, and the other is burned to a crisp.” “Sending her to the hospital is just a waste of money.” A woman’s sultry laugh drifted through the speaker. “Really? Did the Vanguard family not show up?” Marcus let out a cold, sharp sneer and spat on the concrete floor. “Why should I be scared? I already checked! The last number that bitch dialed before her phone melted was her old man’s, and it did not even connect!” “Ten years ago, she cut ties with the entire Vanguard family just to marry me. Those old-money elites care about their reputation more than anything. Why would they ever rescue a discarded pawn?!” “And even if they wanted to, she looks like a monster now! God himself could not save her.” He grew more animated with every word, reaching up to loosen his tie. “Chloe, get ready to become the new Mrs. Kingwell. That thirty-million-dollar life insurance payout is about to clear.” I threw my arms out, lunging violently at Marcus, desperately trying to snap his neck. But my hands sliced right through his chest. I could not touch him. “Marcus, what about little Leo getting legally recognized?” “Relax!” Marcus interrupted her. “Once the heat dies down, I will move both of you right into the master bedroom.” “Leo is the only heir to my bloodline. From now on, everything I own belongs to my son!” He hung up the phone, instantly twisting his face back into a mask of pure devastation, and stumbled out of the stairwell to meet the police detectives. “Officer, this is all my fault…” He dropped to his knees, burying his hands in his hair. “My wife has been so mentally unstable lately. She kept forgetting to turn off the stove.” “I even reminded her right before I left the apartment. I never thought…” “I failed to protect them! I should just die!” His sobbing was so utterly convincing that even the seasoned detectives looked sympathetic, pulling him up and assuring him it was just a tragic accident. An accident? I let out a desperate, hollow laugh. He bribed the building’s maintenance man to disable the fire alarms, locked our bedroom door from the outside, and stuffed oil-soaked rags into the doorframe! Suddenly, the phone in Marcus’s pocket buzzed. He turned his back to the officers and checked the screen. It was a text from a hospital orderly he had bribed. [Mr. Kingwell, I checked. The woman has burns over ninety percent of her body and is going into organ failure.] [Since you did not pay the ICU deposit, the hospital only bandaged her. They left her on a gurney in the hallway to die.] [And her maiden family? Not a single ghost showed up.] Absolute, unhinged ecstasy exploded in Marcus’s eyes. His thumbs flew across the screen as he replied: [Keep an eye on her. The second she stops breathing, text me. Tonight, I am moving Chloe and Leo in.] I stared at the glowing screen, my soul plummeting into an icy abyss. Grandpa… did you really abandon us? 2 It had only been three days since the fire. My soul was permanently chained to Marcus, forcing me to follow him back to the apartment. Chloe was sitting at my mother’s vanity mirror, wearing my mother’s favorite silk nightgown. She popped open my mother’s jewelry box, held a diamond necklace up to the light, and scoffed. “This is garbage. Only a pathetic housewife like Victoria would treat this like treasure.” “Marcus, you are taking me to buy a new diamond ring tomorrow, right?” Marcus wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, burying his face into the crook of her neck. “Of course! The biggest one in the store! Once that thirty million clears, you can have whatever you want!” A burst of childish laughter echoed from the living room. I drifted out of the bedroom. Five-year-old Leo was standing right in front of the memorial altar set up in the center of the room. Resting on the altar was my black-and-white funeral portrait. Leo pulled down his pants, aimed directly at my face, and peed all over my picture. “Good boy! Look how far he goes!” My grandmother sat on the sofa, aggressively clapping her hands and cheering him on. She waddled over and affectionately rubbed Leo’s head. “Our Leo is so strong! You are going to be a very rich man one day!” “Not like that worthless little bitch who just took up space and drained our money. She deserved to burn!” My soul lunged at the little monster, my hands completely wrapping around his throat. I want to strangle him! But it was useless. Over and over, my hands phased harmlessly through his flesh. That evening, Marcus came home waving a preliminary claim approval from the insurance company. The entire family erupted into cheers. Marcus raised a glass of whiskey, his face flushed with triumph. “A toast! To our real family, finally reunited!” Chloe giggled, tapping her wine glass against his. She took a delicate sip, her eyes gleaming with calculation. “Marcus, what are you going to do about that woman’s funeral?” Marcus shoved a piece of rare steak into his mouth, chewing vigorously. “Oh, we are throwing one! The biggest funeral this city has ever seen!” A dark, venomous scheme flashed in his eyes. “I am going to rent out the grand hall at the Elysium Memorial Center. I will invite every news outlet in the state to broadcast it live.” “I want the whole world to see how heartbroken and devoted I am to my late wife!” “Once I solidify my image as the grieving, loyal husband, those stubborn old men on the corporate board will finally hand over complete control of the company.” “And Victoria’s shares will legally, and permanently, fall right into my lap.” Chloe dropped her fork and pouted heavily. “So how long do I have to wait to become your actual wife?” “I am already pregnant with your second baby!” Marcus dropped his silverware, took her hand, and stroked her knuckles with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Do not worry, baby,” he whispered. “At the funeral. Right after the lawyer reads the will and I take control of the shares.” “I will announce your pregnancy live to the press. I will tell them it was Victoria’s dying wish for me to move on and give Leo a complete, loving home.” “Two massive victories in one day. Who would ever dare to question me?” How could they?! How could anyone be this purely, fundamentally evil?! Just then, the television in the living room cut to a breaking news alert. A news anchor’s solemn voice filled the room. “Breaking news. The unidentified female victim from the tragic Southside apartment fire three days ago…” “…has succumbed to her severe injuries. Due to a lack of medical funding and no family members stepping forward to claim her, she passed away in the hospital corridor early this morning.” “Her remains have been transferred to the city morgue. We urge any surviving relatives to step forward…” A pixelated photo flashed on the screen. Even through the blur, I recognized it instantly. It was my mother. Marcus shot up from the dining table, staring at the television. He threw his head back and burst into maniacal laughter. “Hahahaha! She is dead! She is completely dead!” “The Vanguard family never showed up! They did not even come to collect her corpse! The old man really did completely abandon her!” “This entire empire belongs to me now!” My soul collapsed onto the hardwood floor. My mother was really dead. My grandfather never came to save her. The Vanguard family had truly left us to rot. My final, desperate sliver of hope crumbled into dust. I watched as my grandmother commanded the maid to stuff all of my clothes, my toys, and every single photograph of me and my mother into black trash bags. “Throw it all away! Everything! It is bad luck to look at!” She kicked a bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. Every single trace of our existence in this world was systematically erased. I drifted up to the ceiling. Pure, concentrated hatred materialized around my soul, radiating as a thick, black aura. Marcus Kingwell. Even if it means becoming a vengeful demon, I will drag you to hell. 3 Five days later. Elysium Memorial Center. Marcus had dropped a hundred grand to rent out the massive main mourning hall. Massive, framed portraits of me and my mother hung directly in the center of the room. Marcus was dressed in a sharp black suit, kneeling on a velvet cushion and weeping loudly. Every time a guest approached to bow their respects, he would aggressively slam his head against the floor in return, looking completely exhausted and on the verge of collapse. “Victoria… my sweet Victoria…” His assistant quickly rushed forward, rubbing his back and offering him a glass of warm water. A massive LED screen on the wall displayed the live comments from the broadcast feed. [This is so heartbreaking. Mr. Kingwell is such a good man.] [He lost his wife and his child at the same time. The trauma must be unbearable. Stay strong, Marcus!] [I heard his wife was incredibly abusive and had a terrible temper, but he still loved her unconditionally. That is true devotion.] I floated above the crowd, reading the scrolling text, violently trembling with rage. My mother worked herself to the bone for this family. She woke up before dawn and went to bed past midnight. She could not even buy a new dress without Marcus making her feel guilty. Since when was she abusive?! At that moment, the maid helped my grandmother walk over to the press section. She clutched a tissue, dabbing at her dry eyes as she sobbed into the microphones. “My poor daughter-in-law… Even though she used to beat me and scream at an old woman like me…” “Even though she refused to let me eat hot meals with the family, she was still my family…” “Marcus endured so much abuse just to keep the family together. He always had bruises from where she pinched and hit him.” “Now that she is gone, I just pray she finds some peace and calms her temper in the afterlife…” The room erupted. Reporters practically shoved their microphones down her throat to catch every word. The live chat instantly exploded, the narrative completely flipping against us. [What the hell?! So the dead wife was a total psycho?! She abused her mother-in-law?!] [And here I was feeling sorry for her. Good riddance!] [Marcus is a saint for putting up with domestic abuse just to keep the peace. Poor guy!] [Karma is real! God finally took that evil bitch out!] They were not just satisfied with murdering us for money. They were actively destroying my mother’s legacy, dragging her name through the mud while her corpse was still warm! I turned my gaze toward Chloe. She was standing near the entrance, pretending to be a “distant cousin” helping to greet the guests. “Mr. Davis, Mr. Evans, Marcus will be relying on your continued support in the future.” She flashed them a sweet, seductive smile, quietly establishing her dominance over his inner circle. The corporate shareholders exchanged a knowing look and chuckled. Marcus perfectly timed his cue. He stood up, walked over to the board members, and offered a deep bow. “Gentlemen, Victoria is gone. But I promise you, I will not let this break me.” His eyes were red, but his voice rang out loud and commanding. “Tomorrow, my thirty-million-dollar insurance payout clears.” “And I have decided to inject every single cent of that money directly into the company, completely covering the budget deficit from last quarter!” “I know Victoria is watching from heaven, and she would want to see our company thrive!” The moment the words left his mouth, a few hesitant board members immediately began clapping. “That is what I like to hear, Marcus! The company is in good hands with you!” Marcus had officially used our blood money to buy total, uncontested control of his empire. Just then, his executive assistant hurried into the hall, discreetly slipping a document into Marcus’s hand. It was the official death certificate issued by the city morgue. Marcus gripped the paper, his fingers lightly trembling. The crowd thought he was overwhelmed by grief. But from where I floated, I saw the truth. His eyes were burning with unhinged, absolute victory. He took a deep breath, preparing to throw himself back onto the mourning cushion. Clatter! A loud noise shattered his performance. Five-year-old Leo had somehow managed to sneak up to the altar. He was holding a toy truck, aggressively swatting at a fly buzzing near the flowers. He swung his foot and kicked my urn straight off the table. The ceramic box hit the floor and shattered, sending a cloud of grey ash spilling across the carpet. “Ew!” Leo shrieked, stumbling backward, stepping right into the middle of my ashes. He disgustedly wiped the bottom of his shoe against the carpet. “What is this dusty garbage? It is gross!” Dead silence fell over the hall. Every single guest inhaled sharply. Kicking over a dead person’s urn was the ultimate taboo. Marcus looked up. I thought, for just a fraction of a second, he might actually scold the boy. But he did not. He calmly walked over and scooped Leo into his arms. He turned around to face the flashing cameras. Instead of anger, a warm, fatherly glow washed over his face. “Victoria is gone, and this tragedy has opened my eyes,” he spoke directly into the microphones. “Life is entirely unpredictable. The only thing that truly matters is family bloodlines.” “Today, surrounded by the people I trust most, I have an announcement to make.” He proudly raised Leo’s small hand into the air. “Leo is my biological flesh and blood! As of today, he will officially be recognized as a Kingwell.” “He is the sole heir to my family!” 4 The crowd gasped. The media went absolutely wild, the sound of camera shutters firing like machine guns. [MASSIVE EXCLUSIVE! CEO MARCUS KINGWELL HAS A SECRET SON?!] [The wife just died and he is already adopting his bastard? Plot twist of the century!] The online narrative was entirely controlled by bots Marcus had purchased the night before. I floated in the air, staring down at my ashes, currently mixed with dirt and shoe prints on the floor. I stared at the little monster who had just trampled on my remains. My soul let out an agonizing, blood-curdling scream. “Marcus Kingwell! I will make sure you burn in hell!” I threw myself at him again and again, but every single time, I phased right through his chest. The combination of devastating fury and absolute helplessness was physically tearing my soul apart. Marcus felt like a god. He had won everything. He set Leo down and slowly walked toward Chloe. With every eye in the room locked on him. Marcus dropped to one knee, pulled a velvet box from his blazer, and popped it open. A massive, flawless five-carat diamond caught the fluorescent lights, blinding everyone near the front row. “Chloe,” Marcus spoke softly, his voice dripping with romance. “For years, I kept you and our son hidden in the shadows just to spare Victoria’s feelings. I forced you to suffer without a title.” “But now that Victoria has passed, Leo cannot grow up without a real family.” “Will you marry me, Chloe? Will you be the new Mrs. Kingwell?” He was proposing at his dead wife’s funeral. He was standing on my ashes, proposing to his accomplice in murder! How could human beings be this vile?! My soul shuddered violently, the edges of my form beginning to dissipate from pure rage. “Say yes! Say yes!” My grandmother was the first to break the silence, eagerly clapping her hands. Her face was glowing with joy as she spoke directly to the cameras. “This is a blessing! We need a happy event to wash away the bad luck!” “If Victoria is watching from above, I know she is smiling down, happy that Marcus finally has a real family!” Absurd! This was completely, utterly unhinged! But what was even more sickening was the reaction of the guests. The corporate executives, the shareholders, the high-society elites. Blinded by the incoming thirty million dollars and Marcus’s total corporate control, they actually started clapping along. “Mr. Kingwell is a man of honor! Congratulations to you both!” “A double blessing! Cheers to the happy couple!” The mourning hall was suddenly filled with cheers and applause. Chloe covered her mouth, squeezing out a few fake, theatrical tears. She offered her hand, and Marcus slid the diamond ring onto her finger. Chloe looked directly up at my funeral portrait on the altar. Her eyes conveyed a very clear message: Look at me now. Everything that used to be yours is mine. Marcus stood up and confidently waved his hand. A man in a sharp suit clutching a leather briefcase instantly stepped forward. “Everyone.” Marcus cleared his throat, barely able to suppress the ecstatic grin on his face. “Before Victoria passed, she held fifteen percent of the Vanguard family shares.” “Today, in front of the press and our closest friends, I have asked Mr. Sterling, our corporate attorney…” “…to officially read the last will and testament Victoria left behind.” Mr. Sterling pushed his glasses up his nose, pulled a thick document from his briefcase, and cleared his throat. “I, Victoria Vanguard, voluntarily decree that in the event of my passing, all of my personal assets, corporate shares, and real estate…” “…shall be unconditionally transferred to my beloved husband, Mr. Marcus Kingwell…” The will was entirely fake. Marcus had hired someone to forge her signature! I squeezed my eyes shut, completely unable to stomach this repulsive display. “…The above statements are legally binding and shall take effect immediate—” BANG!!! Just as the lawyer was about to utter the final syllable, the heavy mahogany doors of the mourning hall were violently kicked open. The entire crowd spun around in shock. Outside, ten identical, matte-black Rolls-Royces were parked in a perfect line, completely barricading the entrance. Dozens of towering men in tailored black suits poured out of the vehicles. The reporters, who were just screaming into their cameras a second ago, were instantly paralyzed with fear. The security team marched into the hall, forming two solid walls of muscle, violently parting the sea of guests down the middle. Then, the sharp, rhythmic click of stilettos echoed through the silence. Click… Click… Click… A woman, wearing five-inch designer heels, slowly stepped through the doorway. She wore a long, tailored black trench coat. A pair of oversized dark sunglasses concealed the top half of her face. The triumphant smile completely vanished from Marcus’s face. His pupils dilated in sheer, unadulterated terror. The forged will slipped from his trembling fingers and hit the carpet with a soft thud. His knees instantly gave out. He dropped straight to the floor in a dead faint. The woman walking into the room was my mother—Victoria Vanguard!

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1 For his eighth birthday, I asked my son, Oliver, what he wanted. He shook his head and asked for three blank wish cards instead. “Just in case I ever make you mad, Mom. I can use them to get your forgiveness.” The gesture melted my heart, and I laughed, pulling him into a warm hug. But as it turned out, not a single one of those cards was ever used on me. The first card demanded I quit my job. “Brooke has an Ivy League degree,” he said. “She should be the vice president of Dad’s company, not you.” The second card asked for a smart sibling. “You’re too dumb, Mom. If Dad had a baby with Brooke, that kid would actually be smart.” The final card was the blow that shattered me completely. He wanted a new mother. “I want Brooke to be my mom. Can you just divorce Dad already?” I froze, the words knocking the wind right out of my lungs. I couldn’t speak. Seeing my silence, Oliver’s smug grin vanished, replaced by an impatient scowl. “You promised! You said you’d grant whatever I wished for! I need you to sign those papers so Brooke can come to my parent-teacher conference next week!” He puffed his chest out, waiting for the familiar flash of hurt to cross my face. He had relished seeing me break during the first two wishes. “You can’t break your promise. If you do, I’ll never talk to you again.” “Fine.” I cut off his bratty rant, my voice flat and hollow. “If that’s your third wish, I accept.” For a split second, a flicker of panic crossed Oliver’s face. But the feeling evaporated the moment the front door clicked open. Kai walked in, flanked by Brooke. She was wearing a sharp, tailored pantsuit, looking radiant and painfully young. “Fiona, I hope you don’t mind. I just came back with Kai to grab some files,” Brooke said, her lips curving into a smirk that didn’t reach her calculating eyes. Oliver’s eyes lit up. He bolted past me and threw his arms around her waist. “Brooke! Mom agreed to let you be my new mom! Can I call you Mom from now on?” A triumphant gleam flashed in Brooke’s eyes. I looked past her, locking eyes with my husband. “That’s right, Kai. I want a divorce.” Kai’s face darkened instantly. “Stop this nonsense, Fiona! What kind of sick game are you playing with our son? I’ve told you a thousand times, Brooke is my VP, my right hand. Why are you dragging her into your insecurities? If you’re mad at me, deal with me, don’t use our kid as a weapon.” Brooke’s eyes welled with tears, her lower lip trembling like a wounded animal. “Fiona, I only wanted to do my job. Kai and I are strictly professional. If my presence here causes this much trouble, I’ll submit my resignation tonight.” She let a single, perfect tear slip down her cheek. Before I could even open my mouth, Oliver charged at me like a small battering ram. Caught off guard, I stumbled backward, my lower back slamming hard against the sharp edge of the coffee table. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my spine, leaving me breathless and doubled over. Oliver stood defiantly in front of Brooke, shielding her with his tiny arms. “Don’t you dare bully Brooke! You’re a monster!” Kai reached down, patting Oliver’s head with pride. “Good boy, protecting her like a real man.” Then, he turned his icy gaze back to me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Brooke is the backbone of my company. She isn’t someone an unemployed housewife like you can slander.” “Dad, Brooke, I’m starving,” Oliver whined, tugging at Brooke’s hand with an ease that told me this wasn’t the first time they’d played happy family. “Let’s go out for dinner. I’m so sick of her cooking.” Brooke gave him a sweet, maternal smile. “Kai, let’s take Oliver out. I actually managed to secure a reservation at that Michelin-star place downtown.” She paused, looking at me with mock sympathy. “Though, they strictly enforce their guest limit, so Fiona might not be able to join us. Should we pick somewhere else?” “No, we’ll go there,” Kai decided coldly. He grabbed his coat, giving me one last look of utter disgust. “Stay home, Fiona. Reflect on your attitude and learn to watch your mouth. Stop acting like a crazy woman.” The heavy oak door slammed shut, leaving the house in a suffocating silence. Through the glass panels, Oliver’s excited cheers and Brooke’s melodic giggles drifted back to me before fading away. I dragged myself onto the sofa, curled up in a ball, and closed my eyes, exhausted to my core. I wasn’t being hysterical. I genuinely wanted out. And as for my son, he could stay with them. I called my lawyer, laying out the terms of the separation. “Fiona, if you want full custody, we’ll have to make significant compromises on the division of assets,” the lawyer warned gently. “I don’t want custody,” I interrupted, without a shred of hesitation. I may have stepped down from my active role at the firm, but I still held forty percent of the company’s shares. Why should I sacrifice my hard-earned wealth to raise a son who despised me? After hanging up, I opened my social media. The top post on my feed was from Oliver’s iPad. The caption read, “My real family!” It was a selfie of Kai, Brooke, and Oliver. In the photo, Kai, usually so stern and unyielding, was smiling warmly, letting Brooke lean her head against his shoulder. I stared at it, a quiet ache blooming behind my eyes. I went to swipe away, only to find the exact same photo posted right below it, shared by Kai. He used his account almost exclusively for business networking, never personal updates. Yet here he was, posting a family portrait with no caption, letting the silence speak volumes. The comments section was already a frenzy of congratulations. Kai’s relatives were quick to chime in. “Bro, when are you bringing your gorgeous new girl home? Mom and Dad are dying to meet her!” “Son, this is the kind of woman who belongs in our family. You two should have another baby while you’re still young! A big family is a blessed family!” Kai’s parents had always resented me for only having one child. Once Kai’s business took off, their demands for a second heir became relentless. But I had stood my ground, remembering how I had almost died on the operating table giving birth to Oliver. The pregnancy itself had been a fragile miracle. Right when we found out, Kai’s startup hit a massive financial crisis, threatening to bankrupt us. I had dragged my pregnant body to endless corporate dinners, swallowing down nausea to secure the contracts that saved us. The very day our first multi-million dollar funding arrived, I was rushed to the ER with severe complications. I spent the rest of my pregnancy on strict bedrest, receiving painful daily injections to keep Oliver alive. Back then, Kai wept by my bedside, swearing he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me. Because Oliver was born premature and spent weeks in the incubator, I vowed to dedicate all my maternal love to him alone. No matter how much my in-laws sneered or tried to poison his mind against me, I refused to put my life on the line again. As the company flourished, Kai appointed me as the vice president. “Fiona, we wouldn’t have any of this without you. You’re the real boss,” he used to say. Yet, our son grew up believing I was nothing but a parasite. A month ago, Oliver had proudly slammed his first wish card onto my lap. I had smiled, thinking he wanted a new Lego set. Written in his messy, childish scrawl was: Mom must quit her job. I chuckled, kissing his forehead. “What’s this about, sweetie? Do you feel like Mom works too much? I’m sorry, I’ll make more time for us to play.” But he frowned, shaking his head. “You just sit around the house anyway. Why are you holding onto the VP title? Brooke went to a top school. She should have your office.” The smile died on my face. “Oliver, who is Brooke?” “She’s Dad’s assistant! She’s so pretty, and she always gives me candy when I visit,” he said, swinging his legs. “Dad’s company doesn’t need dead weight, Mom. You should do the right thing and step down so you don’t embarrass him.” His words chilled me to the bone. An eight-year-old didn’t use terms like “dead weight” or “embarrassing” on his own. Someone was feeding him these lines. The next day, I looked into Brooke. She was a fresh graduate from an elite university, hired as Kai’s personal assistant six months prior. Whenever I had brunch with other executive wives, I would leave Oliver in Kai’s office. This woman had been slowly dripping poison into my son’s ear. I went straight to Kai’s office to confront her. “Brooke, what exactly have you been telling my son?” She immediately looked like a kicked puppy. “Nothing, Fiona. I was just babysitting him.” “Save the helpless act,” I sneered. The next second, she shrieked, dramatically falling backward onto the carpet just as the door burst open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Kai roared, shoving me aside to pull her up. Brooke whimpered, wiping non-existent tears. “It’s fine, Kai. Fiona just reminded me that I’m just an assistant and that I’m a bad influence on Oliver. I’ll stay away from him from now on.” Kai’s fists clenched. “Apologize to her, Fiona.” I stared at him, unable to recognize the man I had built a life with. “I didn’t even touch her. You honestly believe her over me?” “Brooke has no reason to lie,” Kai hissed. “And she’s overqualified as an assistant anyway. Since you barely show up to the office anymore, she’ll be taking over your position as Vice President.” “You wouldn’t dare,” I gasped. Kai let out a cold laugh. “It’s my company. I decide who works here.” The sound of keys rattling in the lock brought me back to the present. The three of them walked in, laughing and chatting, looking for all the world like a perfect family. The moment they saw me, the laughter died. They exchanged glances and then let out a collective, mocking chuckle, like they shared a private joke I would never understand. “Kai, we should head back to the office. The new project files need a final review,” Brooke suggested softly. Kai nodded instantly. “Can I come too?” Oliver whined. “No, buddy. It’s past your bedtime,” Kai said, looking at me. “Fiona, put him to bed.” Brooke pinched Oliver’s cheek playfully. “I’ll play with you tomorrow, okay?” Oliver pouted but agreed. As he walked past me, he glared. “If you weren’t here, they would have taken me with them.” I said nothing. I was leaving anyway. In the middle of the night, Kai climbed into bed, smelling of cheap, sweet perfume. “Are you still throwing a tantrum?” his voice was unusually soft. “You didn’t wait up for me tonight.” He was used to me staying up until 2 AM to make sure he had warm tea after his late-night meetings. “You went too far today, Fiona. Bringing up divorce in front of Oliver? Imagine how uncomfortable that made Brooke. Don’t let it happen again.” “I was serious,” I said, my voice dead calm. “Oliver used his third wish card. He wants Brooke to be his mom, and he wants us to get a divorce.” Kai laughed, annoyed. “Are you seriously taking a kid’s game to heart?” But wasn’t he the one who had taken the cards seriously before? Two weeks ago, Oliver had practically thrown the second wish card at my face. I want a smart sibling. I had sighed, trying to explain that he would always be our only child. “I don’t want you to have one!” Oliver had sneered. “You’re too dumb, Mom. If my sibling has your genes, they’ll be a failure. Dad is a genius, and Brooke is smart. They should be the ones having a baby together.” For the first time in his life, I snapped and yelled at him. When Kai came home, Oliver threw himself into his arms, sobbing. “Dad, Mom screamed at me!” Kai frowned at me. “Why can’t you talk to him calmly?” Trembling with rage, I repeated what Oliver had said. Kai laughed it off. “He’s a kid, Fiona. Why are you taking him so seriously?” “I mean it!” Oliver sniffled, pulling out a report card with a failing grade. I was stunned. Oliver wasn’t a prodigy, but he had always gotten straight A’s. “It must be Mom’s fault,” he whispered, his eyelashes fluttering nervously. I knew that tell: he was lying. But Kai bought it. “Fiona, how are you even helping him with his homework? He’s only in the second grade and he’s failing?” Three days ago, an anonymous number sent me a photo. It was Kai, standing beside Brooke in the waiting room of an OB-GYN clinic. That was the moment the last ember of warmth in my heart died. When I handed him the printed divorce papers, he tore them to shreds without looking. “You won’t do it. You grew up without a family, Fiona. You’d never break ours apart. Brooke is brilliant, and Oliver loves her. Stop this childish jealousy before you ruin her reputation.” I stared at the torn papers on the floor. He was wrong. Oliver’s first two wishes had been granted. It was time for the third. The next afternoon, I went to pick Oliver up from school. His teacher looked at me with an awkward, apologetic expression. “Mrs. Pendelton, Oliver was already picked up. He told us she was his new mother.” When I got home, the living room was filled with laughter. Brooke was helping Oliver build a Lego tower, while Kai sat nearby, watching them with a gentle smile. Brooke smiled warmly as I walked in. “Fiona, you’re back. Oliver wanted me to pick him up today, and I forgot to text you. You don’t mind, do you?” “Brooke is my real mom now,” Oliver announced loudly. “She should be the one picking me up. She’s moving in with us!” Kai coughed, clearing his throat. “Brooke offered to tutor Oliver. Besides, she’s a young woman living alone, and her apartment complex isn’t safe. I thought it made sense for her to stay in our guest room.” They all watched me, braced for an explosion. But I only smiled, walked past them, and went straight to my room. Over the next few days, Brooke acted like the lady of the house, taking Oliver out to theme parks and restaurants. I enjoyed the peace, spending my time drafting the custody and asset paperwork. Then, I saw a video Brooke posted on social media. The camera was shaking, showing Oliver struggling into a poorly fitted wetsuit with the vast, dark ocean behind him. My heart leaped into my throat. He was only eight, and she had taken him deep-sea diving! Panic overriding everything, I drove straight to the marina. I rented a speedboat and raced out to their coordinates. When I arrived, only Brooke was climbing back onto the deck of their boat. “Where is Oliver?” I screamed, my voice cracking. Brooke jumped, her eyes darting around guiltily. “He… he should be up by now. I don’t know where he went…” My knees buckled. “Call search and rescue! Now!” Ten minutes later, Oliver was dragged out of the water, unconscious and deathly pale. I rushed him to the hospital, refusing to leave his side until the doctor assured me he was out of danger. For a brief second, my resolve to give up custody wavered. How could I leave my child with a monster like Brooke? Slap! The force of Kai’s hand knocked my head to the side. “How could you be so careless!” he roared, his face contorted in rage. “You almost got him killed!” My ears rang as I forced myself to stand up. “Kai, your precious VP took him into the open ocean!” “Stop lying! You’ve been terrified of deep water ever since Oliver fell into the lake as a toddler. You would never go near the sea, let alone take him there!” Kai’s face flickered with a sudden, uneasy realization. “Fiona, I…” Just then, Oliver groaned, his eyes fluttering open. I ignored Kai and rushed to the bedside. “Oliver, does anything hurt? Tell Mom.” Oliver looked at me, and his eyelashes began to flutter rapidly. A wave of dread washed over me. “Dad,” Oliver whimpered, “Mom made me go into the water. The ocean was so scary…” I stared at my own son in sheer disbelief. He quickly averted his eyes, burying his face in his pillow. Brooke burst into tears right on cue. “Fiona, I was the one who jumped in to drag him out! How could you accuse me of such a horrible thing?” “I can’t believe I married someone like you,” Kai said, his eyes filled with absolute disgust. “To get rid of Brooke, you’d risk our son’s life? You are a sick, twisted woman.” His words no longer hurt. My heart was entirely dead. I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and tossed them onto his lap. “Sign them.” Kai hesitated, but Brooke whimpered, “Fiona, I know my presence is the issue here. I’ll resign. Kai, thank you for everything. Please don’t let her use Oliver’s life to control you anymore.” That was all it took. Kai grabbed a pen and signed his name in sharp, aggressive strokes. “Are you happy now? You thought you could use this divorce to threaten me, but I’m done playing your games.” I took the signed papers and walked out without looking back. The day Oliver was discharged, I blocked Kai’s number, packed my bags, and boarded a flight to a quiet, misty town on the Oregon coast. For ten years, my life had revolved around that house. It was time to start living for myself.

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1 To boost Joey’s live stream, my brothers locked me in a commercial freezer. “Three hours,” Marcus promised. “We’ll watch the temp. You’ll be fine.” Owen smiled. “If anything goes wrong, we’ll shut it down.” Desperate to belong, I agreed. But the stream didn’t end. As viewership soared, they extended it, and the temperature kept dropping. Through the window, Joey watched the numbers climb, eyes bright with greed. I tried the emergency release. It was jammed. I pounded the steel, begging for help. Marcus frowned. “It’s barely freezing. Stop the drama.” Owen nodded. “Joey’s finally happy. Don’t ruin it.” Finn waved casually. “Hang tight. We’ll let you out at a hundred thousand followers.” They didn’t understand. I wasn’t chilly. I was freezing to death. And that sweater they gave me? Not rated for extreme cold at all. The cold crept up my limbs, wrapping around my chest like iron bands. My teeth chattered so violently I could barely speak, and my legs threatened to give out. My voice was nothing but a raspy whisper. “Please, guys, I am not lying,” I sobbed, clutching my phone with trembling fingers. “I am so cold. My head is spinning, and I can not feel my hands. Please just let me out. I will do whatever you want, I promise. Just let me out.” Marcus’s face darkened through the small hatch. “Iris! Enough. I have been patient with you, but this is ridiculous. Do you think I am stupid? The thermostat says it is perfectly safe. You have really improved your acting skills, I will give you that.” “I am not…” I tried to speak, but my fingers went completely numb, and the phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the icy floor. I clawed at the heavy door, desperately pounding my fists against it. “Send someone in to check the temperature! If I am lying, I will take whatever punishment you want. Please, Marcus, I am begging you!” For a split second, Marcus’s cold expression wavered. Owen seemed uneasy as he watched my desperate clawing. “Marcus, do you think she is telling the truth? Maybe we should just let her out for a minute.” Marcus opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, Joey slid over, her lower lip trembling. “Why does Iris always have to make things up? The monitor clearly shows it is a comfortable sixty degrees in there. Does she hate me that much? Does she really want to ruin my big day?” She squeezed out a few tears, looking small and fragile. Instantly, Finn stepped forward, pulling Joey into a protective embrace. “I knew it! She is faking it. Iris, you are pathetic. How could you lie about something like this just to steal Joey’s spotlight?” He glared at the window. “It is just a few hours in a chilly room. Why do you have to act like a martyr? Joey is so sweet, and you can not even do this one small thing for her. You are just bitter and jealous!” Marcus’s gaze turned completely icy. Owen sighed, giving me a disappointed look. “Iris, I know this is hard, but just bear with it. Think of it as a quiet break. I promise I will let you out in three hours. Be good.” “I am not lying! I am really not!” I screamed, biting my tongue in my desperation. “Stop throwing a tantrum,” Owen said gently but firmly. “We will get you out soon.” A sharp click echoed as they slammed the small metal viewing hatch shut, cutting off the last sliver of light and my final shred of hope. I gritted my teeth and curled into a tight ball in the corner, trying to press myself against the wall for warmth, but the surface was covered in a thick layer of frost. The cold seeped directly into my bones. High up in the corner, the security camera blinked, streaming my slow demise to thousands of strangers. With trembling hands, I picked up my phone and opened the live stream. The viewer count had reached ten thousand, and the chat was flying by. Whoa, is she actually in a real freezer? Her face looks awful. Isn’t this dangerous? She looks like a literal corpse. Streamer, be careful. Damn, I thought other channels used green screens, but this girl is actually doing it. Dedication! “Make sure to hit that follow button, guys! Of course it is real. I would never lie to my favorite followers!” Joey’s sweet, high pitched voice echoed through the stream app. The chat went wild. Aww, she is so cute. Definitely dropping a follow! I struggled to keep my eyes open, watching the colorful gift animations flash across my screen. My mind was growing foggy. I had to do something, or I was going to die here. I looked up at the digital thermometer on the inner wall. It read negative twenty degrees. And I was wearing nothing but a cheap, thin cotton shirt I bought from a street vendor for a few dollars. It offered absolutely no protection. With shaking fingers, I dialed Owen. “Owen, please,” I sobbed. “I am freezing. Tell them to turn the temperature up. Please.” “Iris, just hold on a little longer…” Owen started, but his voice was suddenly cut off as the phone was snatched away. “Iris, why do you keep lying?” Joey’s voice came through the receiver, dripping with fake innocence. “Why do you hate me so much? The remote over here says it is sixty degrees. Why are you trying to trick Owen?” “I am not… the thermostat is broken! If you don’t believe me, just come inside and feel it…” “Iris, that is enough!” Finn’s harsh voice cut in, booming through the speaker. “Joey is just trying to build her brand and have some fun. Why do you have to be so toxic? You are making it sound like we are abusing you.” “Don’t think I don’t know what you are doing. You are putting on a show to get sympathy from the viewers. Well, it is not going to work!” The line went dead with a harsh beep. When I tried to call back, the call would not go through. They had blocked my number. The icy chill invaded my chest, slowing my heartbeat. The digital numbers on the wall kept dropping. Desperate, I turned to the only link I had left to the outside world: the live chat. I typed a message: Please help me. I am locked in a real walk in freezer. The thermostat is broken and I am freezing to death. The chat went wild. Wait, is she actually trapped? This isn’t just an act? I knew she looked off. Her lips are literally blue. Streamer, let her out! Yeah, this is getting weird. Don’t let someone actually die for views. A spark of hope flared in my chest, but Joey quickly crushed it. “Don’t worry, everyone! It is all part of the act. We would never actually lock her in a real freezer. If it were real, I would be more worried than anyone!” The skepticism in the chat quickly faded. Panicking, I tried to type another warning, only to find a red notification flashing across my screen: You have been muted by the host. With the last of my strength, I dragged myself to the camera, waving my arms and screaming for help, but Joey spoke before the viewers could question it. “Don’t worry, guys! This is just our special effects makeup demonstration. Stay tuned, because she is going to show you what severe frostbite looks like soon!” The chat calmed down immediately. Oh, wow, her acting is incredible! This channel is so high effort. Definitely worth a subscribe. This looks way more realistic than other streams! Outside the heavy door, Owen stared at the screen. He watched my pale, trembling form sway and collapse onto the floor, and a seed of doubt began to grow in his mind. “Do you think the thermostat could actually be malfunctioning?” Owen muttered, stepping toward the heavy door handle. “She looks really bad. Maybe we should just let her out now.” Joey quickly grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with desperation. “No, Owen, please! I am so close to ten thousand followers! Just a little longer, please. Once I hit my goal, we will let her out.” “Besides, we checked the room beforehand. The remote says it is a comfortable sixty degrees. She has to be faking it just to make you guys feel guilty and hate me.” She looked up at him with teary eyes, the picture of vulnerability. Finn stepped between Owen and the door. “Joey is right, Owen. Joey would never let anyone actually get hurt. Iris is just playing her usual games. Have you forgotten how she pushed Joey down the stairs and threatened her? If we don’t teach her a lesson now, she will keep tormenting Joey.” Owen’s face hardened. “She pushed you?” Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Iris has gone too far this time. She deserves to spend the night in there to think about what she has done.” “But what if she gets sick?” Joey sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “You are too soft, Joey,” Finn said, patting her shoulder. “That is why she thinks she can walk all over you. Come on, let us go get some dinner and leave her to cool off.” Finn led Joey away, and Marcus followed. Owen hesitated, casting one last look at the massive steel door, but eventually, he turned and walked away too. In the virtual world, thousands cheered for my masterpiece of a performance, dropping virtual gifts and clapping for my dedication. Inside the dark chamber, I finally gave out. My knees buckled, and I crashed face first onto the frozen floor. The biting cold rushed into my body from every angle. I could not feel the impact. I could not feel the pain. There was only a heavy, crushing numbness spreading through my chest. Marcus, Owen, Finn… I was not lying to you. I am really dying. My eyes fluttered shut, and the darkness claimed me. I do not know how much time passed before a strange weightlessness washed over me. Slowly, my soul drifted upward, leaving my frozen shell behind. I floated in the air, watching the tragic farce unfold below. The stream was still active. The comments kept rolling in. Damn, she has been lying there for four hours. Talk about commitment to the role! The fake fog effect is so realistic. With acting like this, she should go to Hollywood. She would be famous instantly! A profound, hollow sadness filled my spirit. I drifted through the thick metal door, floating toward the brightly lit dining room of the mansion. The dining table was filled with food. Joey sat at the center, smiling warmly. Marcus was carefully peeling shrimp for her, placing them on her plate. Owen was busy scooping her favorite side dishes, while Finn brought out a fresh plate of sweet and sour ribs. “Joey, I made these just for you. Your favorite. Try some.” “Thank you, guys!” Joey giggled, her cheeks full of food. “Slow down, sweetie,” Marcus said softly, wiping a speck of sauce from her chin with a napkin. Watching them, a dull ache throbbed in my chest. The warmth, the love, the sense of family that I had spent my entire life craving, the things I had practically died trying to earn, were handed to Joey so effortlessly. Had I been wrong from the very beginning? Maybe I should have never let them find me. Maybe I should have never come back, trying so desperately to earn a place in their hearts. If I hadn’t, I would still be alive. “By the way, Iris must be hungry by now,” Owen muttered, looking at the leftover food. “Maybe I should bring her a plate.” Owen, if only you knew that I am already a corpse in that freezing room. Before Owen could pick up a plate, Joey stopped him. “I already asked the housekeeper to take some food to her earlier. She is fine, Owen.” Owen paused. Finn frowned in annoyance. “If she already ate, she won’t want any more. Besides, I only made a small batch of these ribs. If you give them away, what is Joey going to eat?” “It is okay, Finn,” Joey said sweetly. “No way. My little sister needs to eat well. You are already too thin.” Tears slipped silently down my ghostly cheeks. I was already dead, so why did my heart still hurt so much? For the rest of the evening, my name was never mentioned again. They finished their dinner and headed upstairs. “Should we really leave Iris in there all night?” Owen asked, hesitating near the stairs. Marcus scowled. “Leave her. She needs to reflect on her actions. Besides, she has plenty of warm clothes, and the temperature isn’t that low. She will survive a night of discomfort.” “Exactly, Owen,” Finn agreed. “She targeted Joey. She needs to learn that her actions have consequences. We can not let her bully Joey just because she shares our blood.” Joey sniffled, hanging her head. “Please don’t fight because of me. Finn is right. I am not your real sister anyway. It is only natural that you would care about her more. I shouldn’t be here. I will just pack my things and leave.” She wiped her nose and ran toward the front door, but Finn quickly caught her. “Joey, stop. You are our sister, and you always will be. We only brought Iris back because we felt obligated to. Owen, tell her!” A flash of conflict crossed Owen’s face, but it quickly faded. “Finn is right, Joey. You will always be our only little sister. Now, stop crying and go get some sleep.” After they took turns comforting her, Joey finally returned to her bedroom, a small, triumphant smirk playing on her lips when they weren’t looking. The next morning, a blood curdling scream shattered the peace of the mansion. A worker hired to clean the storage units ran into the main hall, gasping for air. “Help! Someone is dead! There is a frozen body in the walk in freezer!” Marcus, who was walking down the stairs, froze. Owen and Finn, right behind him, stared in shock. Joey stepped out of her room, her face pale but her voice sharp. “A dead body? You are probably just another actor Iris hired to pull another one of her pathetic stunts!” As if snapping out of a trance, Finn sneered. “Exactly. The temperature in there was barely cool. How could anyone freeze to death? Did Iris tell you to say this to get our attention? Tell her she is not fooling anyone.” Marcus crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “Go tell Iris that if she wants our attention, she needs to find a better way than this tasteless prank.” Owen adjusted his glasses. “There is a manual release valve inside that freezer. Anyone could open it from the inside at any time. Your story makes no sense.” “What are you people talking about?” the worker yelled, his hands shaking. “I don’t know any Iris! I am just a cleaning guy! Why would I lie to you? The temperature in that freezer was minus thirty degrees all night! The body is stiff as a board! And the manual release valve is completely broken. It was sabotaged from the outside! If you don’t believe me, go look for yourselves!” But his words didn’t bring fear, only deep annoyance. “That is impossible,” Marcus snapped. “I checked it myself! It was working perfectly!” Finn ran a hand through his hair, his temper flaring. “I am going to see what kind of game she is playing this time. She is in so much trouble.” They marched to the freezer. Finn kicked the heavy door open. “Iris! Get out here! Do you think this is funny? You hired a guy to lie to us just because we locked you in for one night? If you keep acting like this, don’t bother coming back!” Marcus sighed. “Iris, stop this. Come out.” “Yes, Iris, please come out,” Joey whimpered behind them. “It is all my fault. I will leave, just please stop fighting with the boys.” My ghost hovered nearby, watching them. A bitter pang hit me. Even now, they would rather believe I was a manipulative liar than accept that I was gone. With no response from inside, Finn stormed into the freezing chamber. “Iris! Stop playing dead! Do you really think hiding in here is going to solve anything?” His eyes swept across the dark, frosty room, finally landing on my slumped figure right in front of the camera. He marched over, grabbing my shoulder roughly. “Iris, you…” But the moment his bare hand touched my skin, he froze.

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1 I went to bring my dad a Father’s Day gift, only to discover he was hiding a child in his office. I told my mom about it as soon as I got home. Mom looked at me, only half believing it. “How old is this child?” she asked. I thought about it seriously. “Probably about the same age as Dad.” Mom burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking. “Your father couldn’t possibly have a child that old!” But Dad definitely called her baby. I heard him. He had said, “Aww, look at you! My baby ate every single bite from her baby bowl today. What a good girl!” And then, “What kind of cake do you want, baby? I will go buy it for you as soon as I finish working, okay?” Dad only ever called me baby, and I was the only one who used a baby bowl. So, that person had to be Dad’s other daughter. But Mom didn’t believe me. The next day, though, Mom saw the child Dad was hiding in his office for herself. A daughter who was clearly the same age as Dad, yet sat on the floor playing with plastic toys. Mom took me to Dad’s office to deliver the Father’s Day gift we couldn’t give him the day before. When the office door opened, Dad was cradling a weeping woman in his arms. She was about his age, but just like me, she was sitting on the carpet playing with plastic blocks. Even the way she sobbed was just like me. I looked up at Mom and whispered, “See? That is the child Dad is hiding.” But this time, Mom didn’t laugh or tell me I was making things up. Instead, her entire body began to tremble, as if she were facing her worst nightmare. “When did Miss Violet get back?” Mom asked, her voice cracking. Dad ignored Mom, waiting until the woman in his arms stopped crying. Then, he looked up with a cold glare. “A year ago.” “Do you have any idea what she went through this past year?” “She ended up like this because of you! No, because of both of us. We are both killers!” I didn’t understand what Dad meant, but I could see the blazing fury in his eyes. Terrified, I stood on tip toe and held out the Father’s Day gift I had been clutching. It was a photo album Mom and I had made together, filled with pictures of the three of us. “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy,” I whispered, my voice as quiet as a mouse. Dad took it, but he just tossed it onto the edge of his desk without looking. He turned back to Mom. “Violet came back to the country last year. When she found out we were married and had a child, she lost her mind trying to find me. She got into a terrible car accident on the way. Ever since, her mind has been stuck at the age of an eight year old. She only has brief moments of clarity.” Mom took a step back, looking as if she had been struck. She shook her head, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned as white as her face. “When she went abroad, she had already broken up with you,” Mom whispered. “You only started pursuing me after the breakup, and we married two years later.” With a loud slam, Dad brought his fist down on the desk. The album slid off the edge, falling softly to the carpet, unnoticed by anyone. He gritted his teeth. “That was because I had no idea she still loved me! If I knew she only left because she was forced to, and that she still had feelings for me, do you think I ever would have married you?” Dad stopped himself, but the damage was done. Tears flowed down Mom’s pale cheeks. I had never seen Dad look so red with rage, or Mom look so utterly broken. Terrified, I burst into tears. It was all my fault. If I hadn’t mistaken that woman for a child, they wouldn’t be fighting like this. I finally understood that this child was actually a sick adult. That was why she acted like a little girl. Mom pulled me into her arms, gently rubbing my back to soothe me. After a long, heavy silence, Dad seemed to realize he had been too aggressive. He lowered his voice, but his words were resolute. “I cannot leave Violet behind. I am going to take care of her for the rest of her life.” Before he could finish, the woman suddenly giggled. She stood up and wandered toward us, stepping right on my photo album. Her dirty shoe left a dark footprint right over our family portrait. I wanted to run over and pick it up, but Mom suddenly stood straight. She looked at Violet’s beautiful dress, then down at her own faded, wrinkled clothes. I noticed that even though Violet was sick, she wore a gorgeous designer dress, and her hair was styled perfectly. She looked just like a princess in a castle. She pointed at Mom and laughed. “I remember you! You are the housekeeper’s daughter! Why are you just standing there like a statue? Come play house with me!” Mom did not argue. She did not say a word. She just lowered her head and meekly picked up the plastic blocks from the floor. Dad knelt beside Violet, his eyes filled with warmth. “Wow, look at you! You built such a beautiful little house!” He watched her play, his face glowing with affection. But he did not see Mom standing beside them, looking so small, lost, and completely covered in silent tears. Violet played for a bit, then suddenly snapped, “You stupid little maid! Put that block over here!” Mom froze, her hand hovering in the air. When Mom didn’t move, Violet began to scream and thrash around. Dad glared at Mom, gesturing for her to obey. But Mom slowly set the toy down on the desk. “Did you hear what she just called me?” she whispered. Then, she grabbed my hand, turning to leave. I knew Grandma used to be a housekeeper. When Mom was little, she had to live under the employer’s roof. She had to endure all kinds of bullying in silence. Whenever Mom talked about those memories, she would smile. But back then, Dad’s eyes would always turn red with sympathy. I used to tease him for being a crybaby. But now, Dad seemed to have forgotten all of it. His angry voice boomed behind us. “But you are a housekeeper’s daughter! Besides, the people who bullied you were Violet’s parents, not Violet herself! Why are you taking it out on her? She ended up like this because of you anyway!” I only half understood his words, but they made a cold shiver run down my spine. Mom didn’t stop. She held my hand tightly, almost lifting me off my feet as we hurried out of the office. When we got home, Mom began to clean like a woman possessed. She scrubbed the floors until they practically reflected the light. The redness in her eyes slowly faded, and as soon as she finished cleaning, she rushed into the kitchen to prepare dinner. It was as if she knew that if she stopped moving for even a second, her tears would spill over. I watched her move like a robot. A dull ache settled in my chest, but I was too scared to say a word. Mom cooked a massive feast, but Dad didn’t come home. She told me to eat first while she sat silently at the table. When the food grew cold, she warmed it up. She warmed it up again and again until the sauces dried up, but Dad never showed. The next morning, Dad finally walked through the door. Mom heated up the leftovers and set them on the table. “Eat,” she said simply. Dad frowned, looking exhausted. “Violet was hysterical all night. I am going to take a nap.” Usually, Mom would have rushed to make the bed for him. But today, she stood her ground. “Eat.” Dad assumed she was just being difficult. He turned to walk away. With a loud smash, a plate shattered right at his feet. Mom had thrown it. Dad sighed. “I was angry yesterday and said some terrible things. Don’t take them to heart. You know Violet is sick. Why are you acting so petty?” Dad was apologizing, just like he always did when he forgot to do the dishes, forgot their anniversary, or bailed on my school events. Every time he softened his voice and admitted he was wrong, Mom would forgive him. I thought she would do the same this time. But Mom remained completely silent. The silence was broken by Dad’s ringing phone. His face turned incredibly grim as he listened. He grabbed his coat and rushed toward the door. “Violet is crying because I am not there. I have to go.” He abandoned his heartbroken wife and terrified child, running out without looking back. Mom watched him leave, a bitter, hollow smile appearing on her face. That afternoon, when Dad returned, Violet was with him. “Since you already know about Violet, I decided to bring her here,” Dad said. “This way, you can help take care of her. After all, you share the responsibility for her condition.” I watched Dad run around the house. He seemed like a completely different person. He made her bed, cleaned her room, and rushed into the kitchen to cook her favorite ribs. I used to think Mom was the only one who did those things, while Dad’s only job was to work, make money, and play with me. Seeing him care for Violet so gently, I realized he knew how to do everything. He just didn’t want to do them for Mom. Mom saw all of this, too, but she didn’t cry anymore. Over the next few days, they coexisted in silence. Mom spent most of her time staring at a document on her computer, researching something intensely. One day, Violet started crying hysterically because she had wet her pants. I stared at her, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, her crying stopped. She looked down at the toy in her hand, her face turning bright red, and ran into the bathroom, locking the door. I realized she was lucid. Dad had said she had moments of clarity. Overwhelmed with shame, she refused to come out. When Dad came home and found out, he practically dragged Mom out of bed. “Violet wet herself! How could you let this happen? She is lucid right now! Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for an adult?” He was so busy screaming at Mom and worrying about Violet that he didn’t even notice Mom was burning with a high fever, her body shaking. “I know you hate her parents, but you can not take it out on her!” He turned and knocked gently on the bathroom door. “Violet, sweetie, it is not your fault. It was her negligence. Come out, and I will make her apologize to you, okay?” With a click, the door opened. Dad rushed in, gently cleaning her up and tossing her soiled clothes into the trash without a hint of disgust. I remembered when I wet my pants as a toddler, Dad wouldn’t even touch me. Once Violet was clean, she still couldn’t smile. She hid behind Dad, keeping her head low. “I am so embarrassed. How did I end up like this?” She wept softly, and Dad’s face was filled with absolute devotion. He comforted her while glaring at Mom. “Apologize to Violet right now! If you hadn’t been so careless, she wouldn’t be this upset!” I shivered and secretly held Mom’s hand. Even though her skin was burning hot, her fingers were icy cold. Mom looked at Dad, her voice weak. “I am sorry.” Mom, who had always seemed so strong, now looked as fragile as a piece of paper. I tugged at her hand, wanting to take her back to her room to rest. But Dad was not done. “Is that all you have to say? Violet has lost her dignity!” Mom’s pale lips parted. “What do you want me to do?” Dad sneered. “I want you to lose your dignity in front of her, too!” Gathering all my strength, I tried to push Dad away. “Mom is sick! Why are you bullying her?” Dad didn’t budge. He looked down at me with cold eyes. “Did your mother teach you to say that?” Before I could deny it, Violet spoke up. “Gavin, I found something in the bathroom earlier.” She held out a small plastic stick with two bright red lines. “I am pregnant.” Mom froze, stumbling backward as if struck by lightning. Dad, on the other hand, lit up with joy. He scooped Violet into his arms. “Really? You are having my baby?” Looking at their opposite reactions, I couldn’t tell if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Mom’s voice trembled. “When… when did this happen?” Violet smiled. “I was lucid quite a few times this past year. We talked about old times, and we just couldn’t help ourselves. It was only natural.” Mom stood frozen, but I felt as if something had shattered right beside my ear. Violet stroked her belly. “You have no right to complain. Gavin and I were together first. You are just the intruder.” She reached out to pat my head. “You are going to have a little brother soon. Mine and your father’s…” With sudden strength, Mom lunged forward and shoved Violet away. She could barely stand, yet she shielded me behind her body. “Do not say those disgusting things to my daughter!” Violet stumbled back, looking at Dad with big, tearful eyes. A loud smack echoed through the room. Dad had slapped Mom across the face. It felt like my entire world collapsed in that moment. Tears poured down my face, but I was too terrified to make a sound. I tried to help Mom up, but then I saw bright red blood pooling beneath her. The force of Dad’s slap had sent Mom crashing into the sharp corner of the dining table, striking her lower back. It was an old injury from when they used to go ice skating together. Back then, when Mom had to get stitches, Dad had knelt by her hospital bed, crying. I will never let you get hurt again. From now on, any pain meant for you will go to me instead. He had protected her ever since, never letting her suffer a scratch. But today, he was the one who hurt her. Grimacing in pain, Mom whispered, “If you had married Violet back then, would you have treated her the way you treat me?” Dad didn’t answer. He was too busy fussing over Violet, checking to see if she was hurt. But Mom seemed to find her answer in his silence. Using the last of her strength, she leaned close and whispered a few words in my ear before passing out. I screamed her name, but she didn’t move. I ran to Dad, begging for help, but he scoffed, convinced Mom was just acting, and led Violet out of the room. In the end, I had to call our neighbor, who helped get Mom to the hospital. I stayed home, waiting for her to get better. But as I thought about the secret she had whispered to me before she lost consciousness, I knew she was never coming back. And Dad’s easy life was about to end.

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On the bus, I gave up my seat to a fifty-year-old pregnant woman. She gave me a sweet smile, “Thank you, darling.” I didn’t think much of it, but the very next day, she became my new coworker. She’d follow me around every day, calling me her husband, claiming our love child was about to be born. My coworkers laughed at me, insisting I take responsibility, but I just figured she had some mental issues and still didn’t take it seriously. But three months later, her quadruplets were born, And downstairs from the company, she shoved a paternity test in my face, showing a 99.9% match between me and her four babies. “Darling, just come home and live a good life with me.” My millionaire girlfriend slapped me, then broke up with me on the spot. Later, pressured by public opinion, I married her and lived a life of utter misery. I toiled day and night to support four children. The night those four kids went to college, that woman plunged a knife into my chest and coldly whispered: “You’ll never know why I mysteriously got pregnant with your children.” I opened my eyes again and found myself reborn. Reborn to the day I first met her on that bus.

I opened my eyes again, and that towering, swollen belly, looking like it would burst any second, was right in front of me. Padilla’s greasy, bloated face stared at me intently. I immediately realized I’d been reborn, and a flood of painful memories washed over me. It was this very day in my previous life that I gave up my seat to Padilla, a woman I’d never met, and she clung to me like a phantom. Not only did she become my coworker, But I also ended up as the father of her quadruplets. Even as she stabbed me to death, I was still racking my brain, trying to figure out why. I’d never had any physical relationship with Padilla. How could her children possibly be mine? “Haven’t you seen that pregnant lady standing next to you for ages? Hurry up and offer her your seat.” The urging voice of Mrs. Davies, a neighbor, rang out beside me. I looked around and immediately noticed something odd. There were plenty of empty seats in front, behind, and beside me, but Padilla ignored them all, her gaze fixed solely on my spot. I looked at Padilla’s large backside, a thought forming in my mind: Could it be that because she sat on the seat I’d just vacated, some sort of contact was made between us? And that’s how her children became related to me? Just thinking about it made my heart pound. I felt completely drained, the fear of those four ugly, fat children calling me “Daddy” in my previous life constantly assailing my brain. I even felt like I might slide off the seat any second. No, I can’t let any doubt go unchecked before the real reason is revealed. As Padilla’s gaze grew even more sticky and persistent, I leaned back firmly in my seat, clearly signaling I had no intention of giving it up. I closed my eyes, trying to pretend to be asleep, but Mrs. Davies’s voice rang out again. “That pregnant lady’s been standing next to you for ages, what are you playing dumb for? Give up your seat already!” Immediately after, Mr. Henderson, an old man nearby, also started scolding me, “You’re a grown man, where’s your manners? Is your backside really that heavy?” I kept my eyes closed, trying my best to ignore the voices. It was the same in my previous life. I hadn’t slept well the night before and had wanted to catch a quick nap on the bus. But because Padilla kept standing next to me, combined with everyone’s finger-pointing, I had no choice but to give up my seat. But with the lessons of the previous life, this time, unless they dragged me off, I would absolutely not give up my seat. The accusations grew too loud, so I opened my eyes and angrily retorted: “First off, there are tons of empty seats on this bus, I don’t need to give up mine.” “And I’m not even in a priority seat for the elderly or disabled, so why should I give it up? If you’re so keen on doing good deeds, why don’t you give up your seat?” But after I said that, Padilla actually spoke. “I really don’t feel well and can’t walk. How about you get up and help me to a seat in the back?” But I immediately noticed a flicker of malice in the eyes of the seemingly pitiful Padilla. I swallowed hard. Mr. Henderson’s voice spoke up again, “The pregnant lady isn’t arguing with you, so just get up and help her to a seat in the back.” No, absolutely not. I can’t get up. My intuition grew stronger. All of Padilla’s strange actions seemed to be geared towards one thing: getting me off this seat. “I’m not getting up. If you’re so eager to help, you get up.” As soon as I spoke, a burly man rushed over, “Are you moving or not?” This guy’s arms were thicker than my legs. Around us, a few more people sparsely stood up. “Just move! Bullying an old person isn’t enough, now we can’t let you bully a pregnant woman too!” But I wasn’t scared. “Damn it, I’m not moving!” I couldn’t help but curse. These people were acting like bots. But then, the man rubbed his hands together, then grabbed both my arms, looking like he was about to physically yank me from the seat. Watching Padilla’s increasingly triumphant gaze, my butt was getting further and further from the seat. Padilla’s malicious face as she stabbed me in the previous life reappeared before my eyes. I closed my eyes and made a decision. With a trickling sound, a stream of liquid sprayed out between my legs. “Gross! This kid just peed himself!” Suddenly, the crowd clutched their noses and backed away. I sat back down on the seat, looking at Padilla defiantly. “Are you still going to sit here?”

Padilla glanced at the liquid on the chair, then with a complicated expression, sat down in an empty seat nearby. I let out a sigh of relief, covertly observing Padilla. For the next few stops, she showed no unusual behavior. She didn’t, like in my previous life, intimately call me “husband” after I gave her my seat. The bus traveled three more stops, and I saw Padilla slowly stand up and walk to the door. This stop was exactly where our company was located. In my previous life, I remembered very clearly that Padilla got off the bus with me at this very stop. And then, my nightmare at the company began. Suddenly, I remembered that while I had successfully avoided giving up my seat, there were still chairs, cups, and even my watch at the office. Any of those things could lead to intimate contact with Padilla. I quickly made a call, telling Mr. Brown, the junk collector, to take all my belongings away, for free. After seeing the photo of my bare, empty workspace, I sent a WhatsApp message to my boss. “Sorry, Mr. Harrison, I’ve been diagnosed with schizophrenia and can’t come to work. I’m formally resigning.” Then I sent a photoshopped medical report. “About to enter a mental hospital, gotta go.” After everything was done, I breathed a sigh of relief. Now, I had completely cut off all contact with Padilla. Her children definitely wouldn’t have anything to do with me anymore. Just in case, I didn’t leave the work WhatsApp group, wanting to see what would happen there. And sure enough, before long, I saw Padilla, with my profile picture, added to the group. And Mr. Harrison’s introduction of Padilla was exactly the same as in my previous life. “Everyone, don’t let Padilla’s pregnancy and age fool you. She’s a coding powerhouse, worth five people. We should all learn from her.” Until quitting time, there was nothing unusual in the group. That evening, I took a shower and was about to have a drink when my girlfriend, Esther, called. On the other end, her tone was furious. “Giovanni? What’s your deal? Are you seeing other women behind my back?” “And if you are, you’re hooking up with someone that old? I’m telling you, I’m breaking up with you!” The call ended. I opened WhatsApp, and the messages in the company group almost made me drop my phone. Earlier in the day, a coworker had asked Padilla why she was still working at such an age and while pregnant. Padilla stammered, “Because the father of my children works at this company.” As soon as that news broke, the company WhatsApp group exploded. Everyone was guessing who the father of Padilla’s children could be. But after coworkers went around asking, Padilla shook her head to every name. When someone finally mentioned my name, Padilla nodded shyly. In the company WhatsApp group, people tagging me formed a long queue. “Giovanni? You resigned because you didn’t want to take responsibility, huh? Are you even a man?” “Giovanni, this two-timing is too much. Does your girlfriend know about this?”

The person speaking was my rival, Chris. He had been jealous of my beautiful and wealthy girlfriend for a long time. Esther’s call just now must have been Chris telling on me. I immediately called Esther back to explain everything. “Esther, I swear to God I haven’t done anything to betray you.” “That woman is absolutely making things up. I’ve never even met her. How could her children possibly be mine?” Just like in my previous life, I used these words to calm Esther down first. But for some reason, I started to feel a vague unease again. Why, despite my best efforts to avoid contact with Padilla, was she still clinging to me like this? And why was she so sure that the children in her belly were mine? In the company WhatsApp group, I directly posted a statement warning Padilla that if she kept spreading rumors, I would sue her. Soon after leaving the company group, I lay in bed, my mind a mess. Just then, my phone received a picture from an unknown number. I opened it, and it was a photo of me and a woman. In the dim light, I zoomed in on the woman’s face—it was Padilla. In the photo, she was clinging to my arm, and we looked intimate, And I was looking at her with a doting expression, clearly a couple deeply in love. Then, the date in the upper left corner of the photo caught my eye: 1995. How was that possible? In 1995, I hadn’t even been born yet! And when did I ever take such an intimate photo with Padilla? Just then, there was a frantic knocking at the door. My heart pounded as I slowly crept to the peephole. Through the peephole, I saw the person outside was Padilla. She called out to me, her face flushed with shyness, “Giovanni, I’m off work! Open the door!” I froze, my entire body stiff. What was with that photo? And how did Padilla know where I lived? But because I was stunned, the knocking at the door grew more frantic, and Padilla’s voice became more urgent. The force of the knocking was so great that I felt like Padilla was going to smash the door down. The neighbor across the hall opened their door, muttering angrily, “Are you trying to wake the dead in the middle of the night?” Padilla turned her head, looking annoyed. “I’m knocking on my husband’s door, what’s it to you?” The neighbor rubbed their eyes. “Your husband? You mean across the hall?” Padilla touched her belly, a proud expression on her face. “Mhm, my husband’s children are in here, and they’ll be born soon.” My neighbor had seen me bring Esther home before. If I let Padilla keep spouting nonsense, these terrible rumors would spread throughout the whole building by tomorrow. Unable to bear it any longer, I directly called 911. By the time the police arrived at my door, Padilla had already attracted quite a few neighbors. I opened the door, and she looked at me with delight. “Giovanni, you finally opened the door!” Beside me, a police officer showed his badge and asked, “You’re the one who called, right?” “Yes, this person has been knocking on my door in the middle of the night, and spreading rumors that I’m her husband, but I don’t even know her.” Padilla turned her body slightly away from the officer, as if deliberately hiding her face. “Ma’am, please come down to the station with us.” But Padilla twisted her head away even further. “I’m not going! I haven’t murdered anyone or set anything on fire, what right do you have to question me?” Her belly was terrifyingly large, making even the police officer frown. “She’s heavily pregnant, making baseless claims that I’m her husband right outside my house, and saying the children in her belly are mine.” “If these words get out, my girlfriend will definitely break up with me.” The officer nodded, but hesitated to lay hands on Padilla due to her pregnant status. “Ma’am, please cooperate and come with us.” As the officers pressed closer, Padilla suddenly clutched her belly and ran.

Fortunately, the police stopped Padilla downstairs. At the police station, Padilla was being interrogated. I pulled out the picture I had received on my phone. “This photo is dated ’95, but I wasn’t even born in ’95. How could I possibly be in a picture with her?” Saying that, I dialed the sender’s number, and Padilla’s phone rang. The officer held up the photo and questioned Padilla, “What’s the deal with this picture?” Padilla sneered, “As you can see, it’s a photo of me and my husband.” The officer’s expression grew increasingly complex. I knew what they were thinking. They must suspect Padilla has mental health issues. But as the officer checked Padilla’s records, a gasp came from another officer nearby. “Padilla, you were just released from prison last year?” What? This news from the police made my mind even more chaotic. Padilla had been in jail. “I’m telling you, there’s no need to question me. I can guarantee that the children in my belly are his.” “If you don’t believe me, we can do a paternity test once they’re born.” “If you don’t believe me now, there’s nothing I can do. Why can’t we just let science prove it in the end?” Faced with Padilla’s unwavering certainty, the police hesitated and turned to me: “Sir, do you recall if you might have met before and had a relationship, and you’ve simply forgotten?” My eyes were bloodshot. I wanted to kill myself just to prove my innocence. “If I ever had a relationship with her, I’d drop dead right now!” But Padilla was calm, even offering me a cup of water: “Giovanni, don’t get so worked up. It hurts me to see you angry. Alright, whatever you say goes.” “The children really aren’t yours.” My emotions broke, and I picked up a pen holder, ready to hit Padilla, when she suddenly clutched her belly and collapsed to the floor. “Oh no, the pregnant woman is going into labor!” That day, just like in my previous life, Padilla gave birth to quadruplets. A week later, the police, with complicated expressions, handed me the paternity test results. “After medical examination, these children…”

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