Author: Momo Chan

On New Year’s Eve, my boss fired me. He publicly announced that he’d given me an 8 million dollar severance package. Overnight, I became the internet’s lucky, overnight millionaire. Even though my bank account only held $325.6, I was slammed online, accused of photoshopping my bank account to fake poverty, a heartless miser unwilling to share my supposed millions. Because of this, my own mother stole my ID to take out a predatory loan! She bought an 8-million-dollar mansion. The debt collectors smashed my house to pieces, forcing me to hand over the massive sum that didn’t even exist. Amidst public condemnation and violent shoves, I fell from the eighteenth floor, shattering into a million pieces. That so-called 8 million was a sham from beginning to end, a fake expense account my boss created to avoid taxes! When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my boss posted that official announcement video. My heart pounded fiercely, cold sweat soaking my back. I looked down. My phone screen was looping the “humanitarian” video. “Considering Quinn Hayes’ dedication and hard work, even if not for her achievements, the company has approved an eight-million-dollar severance package!” “This is our corporate responsibility, our commitment to our employees!” In the video, Mr. Sterling’s face was flushed with success. He held a red termination letter, speaking with an air of righteous indignation. The comment section below had already exploded, full of praise for “conscientious boss” and “angelic company.” My hands and feet turned icy cold. I stared intently at that video. In my previous life, this very video had pushed me into the abyss. Mr. Sterling had unjustly fired me to fabricate expenses and avoid taxes, then concocted this enormous severance pay. When I confronted him, he said it was just to satisfy tax audits. He claimed I wouldn’t have to pay a cent, and I could even build a persona as a rich woman. I was too naive then, thinking as long as I didn’t take the money, everything would be fine. So I went along with it. The result? Relatives swarmed like leeches, netizens doxxed my address, demanding donations, and my own mother stole my ID to go on a spending spree. Finally, I was forced to jump from a building, shattering into a million pieces. Mr. Sterling, meanwhile, gained countless followers with that video and became an industry benchmark. Heaven gave me a second chance. This time, I would never be the silent scapegoat again! Messages were still flooding the team chat. Colleagues were all @-ing me, their tones dripping with envy. [@QuinnHayes Quinn, you’re rich! Eight million, you’ll never have to worry again!] [Seriously, we always thought you were so quiet and kept to yourself. Who knew you’d walk away with such a fortune!] [When are you treating us? Such big news, you’ve gotta take us all out to a fancy dinner, maybe at the Hilton?] I sneered at their words. These very colleagues had been the loudest in condemning me in my past life when I clarified I had no money. They accused me of photoshopping my bank account to fake poverty, called me a heartless miser, and even led the charge in doxxing my desk photos in online hate posts. Mr. Sterling spoke up in the chat then too. [@QuinnHayes The money has been given, but a company non-disclosure agreement still needs to be signed.] [And everyone, don’t just focus on the money. Work hard, and you’ll all have opportunities in the future!] He was sending me a clear message. He was hinting for me to keep my mouth shut and play along with his charade. I took a deep breath, typed out a line, and sent it. [Mr. Sterling, did you transfer the money to the wrong account? My bank account shows zero received.] The group chat went silent for a few seconds. Mr. Sterling never expected me to call him out in front of everyone. A private message popped up immediately. [Quinn Hayes! Don’t you understand the rules?] [That was for show! If you dare to spill anything, I’ll make sure you can’t find another job in this industry!] But having died once, what was there to fear? I ignored the private message and continued to reply in the group chat. [Mr. Sterling, the finance department’s termination settlement clearly states zero severance pay.] [The eight million you mentioned in the video, do you have a specific remittance slip for it?] [My Uncle Mark is classmates with someone at the IRS. Shall I ask him to help us check where this money might be stuck?] He didn’t reply in the chat; he called me directly. I hung up. Want to settle this privately? No way. Just as I hung up, Brenda from the next cubicle, always looking for a handout, leaned over, her face a mask of fake smiles. “Oh, Quinn, Mr. Sterling wouldn’t stiff you on such a small amount, would he? It must be processing.” “But honestly, eight million in hand and you’re still so stingy, not even willing to treat us?” A few other colleagues chimed in. “Yeah, we work ourselves to the bone our whole lives and won’t earn eight million.” “Quinn, you’re being so unfair.” “Exactly, don’t be so selfish.” I looked at Brenda’s greedy face and just felt disgusted. I stood up, holding my phone directly in front of her, and opened my mobile banking app to the balance screen. “Go on, find the eight million for me.” The balance on the screen: $325.6. Brenda froze for a moment, then rolled her eyes, her face full of disbelief. “Oh, Quinn, you’re such a good actress. Who only has one card these days?” “You must have transferred the money to another card, or invested it, right? You’re being too secretive with us.” I laughed bitterly. People only believe what they want to believe. In the face of overwhelming jealousy, the truth didn’t matter at all. Just then, the office door pushed open. Mr. Sterling walked in, his face ashen.

His gaze was dark, fixed intently on me. “Quinn Hayes, my office, now.” He turned and left, not even bothering to close the door. The office was dead silent. Colleagues exchanged glances, all with expressions of eager anticipation. I tidied up my desk, grabbed my voice recorder, and followed him. Once inside his office, Mr. Sterling slammed the door shut. “Quinn Hayes, are you out of your mind?” He lowered his voice, pointing at me viciously. “The company’s tax planning is so everyone can get a bigger year-end bonus!” “You just have to make a scene and make everyone look bad, don’t you?” I looked at him calmly. “Mr. Sterling, I understand tax planning, but it has to be based on legality.” “You publicly claimed you gave me eight million. This money, on the books, is a company expense, which you used for tax deductions.” “But what about me? This money counts as my personal income, and I’d owe millions in personal income tax!” “Are you planning to pay this tax for me, or should I go to jail?” Mr. Sterling paused, not expecting me to bring that up. The old me would have been timid and submissive, just burying my head in the books, never daring to argue with him. His eyes flickered, and his tone softened slightly. “You don’t need to worry about the personal tax; the finance department will cook the books.” “This whole thing will blow over in a few days; no one will remember it once the hype dies down.” “After that, I’ll privately give you fifty thousand dollars as compensation for emotional distress. How about that?” I shook my head. “Mr. Sterling, I don’t want the fifty thousand. I just want to clarify the facts.” “Your video has already been shared over ten thousand times. If I don’t clarify, I’ll have to report myself to the IRS tomorrow.” “Either you post a video clarifying it was a verbal mistake, or I’ll call the police myself.” “You wouldn’t dare!” Mr. Sterling slammed his hand on the table, the jowls on his face trembling. “Quinn Hayes, don’t push your luck! If you dare call the police, I’ll make sure you can’t make a living in this city!” “You can try.” I said coldly, turning to open the door. Mr. Sterling lunged to grab me, but I was ready, sidestepping him and shouting loudly. “Mr. Sterling! Control yourself! I’m here to process my resignation, not to help you commit fraud!” The colleagues who had been secretly listening outside the door jumped back, scattering quickly. Mr. Sterling’s face was beet red, frozen in place, his outstretched hand suspended in mid-air. In front of so many people, if he actually laid a hand on me, the situation would escalate dramatically. He gritted his teeth, pointing at me, “Fine, you’ve got guts. Quinn Hayes, don’t you dare regret this!” I ignored him, went back to my desk, and started packing my personal belongings. Brenda sidled over again, her eyes full of curiosity and schadenfreude. “Quinn, did the negotiations fall apart? Mr. Sterling isn’t giving you the money?” “I knew it, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. But you shouldn’t be too greedy, just settle for what you can get.” I glanced at her, my hands not stopping. “Common sense is a wonderful thing, Brenda. I’ll say it one last time: there is no eight million. Not a single cent.” “Believe it or not.” My phone vibrated wildly. Caller ID: Aunt Carol. My heart sank. In my past life, it was also around this time that my relatives’ calls started pouring in. They weren’t calling to ask about my unemployment; they were calling to borrow money. I took a deep breath and pressed the answer button. Before I could speak, Aunt Carol’s shrill voice came through. “Oh, Quinn! You’ve really made it big! I saw the news, eight million dollars!” “Our family has truly hit the jackpot!” “Just so happens your cousin needs fifty thousand for a down payment on his wedding house. Transfer it over quickly!”

Aunt Carol’s tone was so righteous, as if the money had always been hers. I could also hear the sound of other relatives cracking sunflower seeds in the background. “Aunt Carol.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “That video is fake. It’s just my boss making things up. I was fired, and I didn’t get a single cent of severance.” “Fake? How could it be!” Aunt Carol’s voice grew even louder. “How could a big boss like that put out a fake video? It’s all over the internet!” “Quinn, I carried you around a lot when you were little. How can you now forget your family just because you’ve gotten rich?” “You can’t forget where you came from! It’s just fifty grand, pocket change from your eight million!” The phone’s speaker was loud, and the surrounding colleagues all heard. Brenda immediately covered her mouth, giggling as she whispered to the person next to her. “See? Even her family is asking for money. She definitely got it.” Liam also chimed in sarcastically. “Exactly. So stingy with her own family, no wonder she doesn’t want to treat us.” My knuckles were white from gripping the phone. In their eyes, I was fresh meat, and everyone wanted a bite. “Aunt Carol, I’m telling you one last time: I don’t have the money.” I hung up immediately after saying that, then blocked her number. Before I could even catch my breath, my phone vibrated again. My Uncle Bob, my Aunt Sarah, and classmates I hadn’t spoken to in years. SnapChat messages were exploding, all asking for “money,” “contributions,” or “help.” I looked at the constantly flickering screen, feeling both ridiculous and sad. In my past life, I explained to each one, sending them screenshots of my pay stub. But they called it photoshopped and accused me of being a miser. This life, I was too tired to explain. I simply put my phone on silent, threw it into my bag, and walked out of the company doors with my box. The whispers behind me felt like daggers in my back. “She really left? So dramatic!” “Why would you work if you had eight million? I’d travel the world.” “Acting all high and mighty. She’s probably just afraid we’ll ask her to treat us.” Stepping out of the office building, the cold wind on my face helped me clear my head a bit. The current situation was very disadvantageous for me. Mr. Sterling insisted he’d given me the money, and my relatives and friends all believed him. If I wanted to turn this around, I needed ironclad proof of Mr. Sterling’s fraud. But I had already handed over all the company accounts, and Mr. Sterling kept the core ledgers under strict control. As I waited for a car by the roadside, a familiar figure rushed towards me. “Quinn!” My mom, Susan, carrying her old canvas bag, ran up, panting, and grabbed my hand. “Mom? What are you doing here?” I was surprised. Our hometown was two hours away. How did she get here so fast? My mom’s eyes gleamed, and her grip on my hand was terrifyingly strong. “I saw it on TikTok in the village! Is it true, eight million? Where is it? Is it in your account?” Seeing her greedy expression, my heart sank. In my past life, when I was being brutally attacked online, She didn’t defend me. Instead, she stole my ID and household registration. She took those documents, swayed by a real estate agent, and bought an 8-million-dollar mansion, racking up massive predatory loans! She claimed she wanted to help me manage my money, to save it for me. But what was the result? Debt collectors showed up, smashing our house to pieces. She knelt on the ground, begging me to take out “that eight million” to pay off the debt. When I refused, she cursed me for being unfilial, for watching my own mother die. Looking at that familiar face, a chill ran down my spine. “Mom, that video is fake. I was fired. My boss just made it up to avoid taxes.” I tried to make her see reason. My mom didn’t listen at all. She suspiciously scrutinized me, her eyes sharp with cunning. “Fake? How could a big boss like that just spread rumors?” “Quinn, are you afraid I’ll manage your money? Let me tell you, you’re young and not good with money. That much money isn’t safe with you.” “Give me your card and ID. I’ll put it in a fixed deposit for you. The interest alone will be enough for us!” As she spoke, she reached for my bag.

I stepped back, guarding my bag. “Mom! I told you, I don’t have the money!” Passersby openly stared, some already pulling out their phones to record. I knew this was bad. The “8 million severance” story was trending. If I was seen arguing with my mother on the street, and it got posted online, that would only add fuel to the fire. “Look at you, child! Why are you hiding things from your own mother?” When my mom saw I wouldn’t budge, her eyes immediately reddened. She plopped down on the ground, slapped her thigh, and began to wail. “Heartless! I raised you all these years, and now that you’re rich, you don’t recognize your own mother!” “Eight million dollars! You go enjoy yourself while your mom has to struggle in the countryside!” “Everyone, come judge! This daughter is unfilial!” More and more people gathered, their murmurs growing louder. “Isn’t that the woman who got eight million? I saw the video!” “She looks honest, but how could she treat her own mother like that?” “Money changes people. There are so many ingrates these days.” Someone even shoved a camera in my face. Mr. Sterling hadn’t even made his move yet, but my mother had already plunged the first knife into my heart. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I couldn’t fight her directly; that would only confirm I was a “heartless rich miser.” I crouched down, my eyes red-rimmed, my voice neither too loud nor too soft, just enough for the surrounding people to hear. “Mom, please don’t make a scene. If I really had eight million, would you be wearing these cheap clothes?” “Look at my phone; the screen is shattered, and I haven’t even replaced it.” “My boss is deliberately spreading rumors to avoid paying actual severance, trying to ruin my life!” “I’ve even lost my job now; I can’t even pay next month’s rent.” “If you keep this up, we’ll both end up begging for food!” The murmurs around us shifted slightly. “She doesn’t look like she has money…” “Yeah, no big boss would really give eight million; it’s probably just a gimmick.” “This mother is out of line. Whether it’s true or not, you don’t publicly shame your daughter like this.” My mom saw the shift in public opinion. She paused, then got up from the ground, wiping her nose. “He… he really didn’t give it to you?” “No! If you don’t believe me, we can go to the bank right now and check!” I grabbed her hand, ready to go. My mom’s eyes flickered, and she pulled her hand back. “N-no need. Well, if you don’t have money, can you at least let me borrow your ID?” “My ID expired, and since I’m in the city now,” “I wanted to apply for a senior citizen’s card, but they said I need a local resident permit, or to use my child’s.” My heart lurched. In my past life, she used this exact excuse to trick the documents out of my bag. I looked at her evasive gaze and understood everything. She wanted to use my documents to “confirm,” or perhaps… she had already been brainwashed by that real estate agent. Mr. Sterling’s video was the best “proof.” “My ID is at home; I didn’t bring it with me,” I lied. “Then hurry home and get it!” My mom became anxious, no longer crying. She grabbed me, pulling me towards the subway station. I smirked inwardly, showing no emotion on my face, obediently following her. You want my ID? Then I’ll give you a “surprise.” Back at my rented apartment, in front of her, I rummaged through drawers and cabinets for a long time, then spread my hands helplessly. “Oh, Mom, I think I left it at the office.” My mom’s face instantly changed. Just as she was about to explode, my phone rang. I had an ominous feeling. “Hello, is this Ms. Quinn Hayes?” The voice on the other end was a man’s, polite but with an unsettling coldness. “This is Prime Loans. Your mother, Susan Hayes, just submitted a loan application on our platform.” “Due to the substantial amount, we need to verify with you.” My blood ran cold. My mom was right next to me! I turned to look at my mom. She guiltily averted her gaze, her hand unconsciously clutching her canvas bag tightly. Inside that bag… could it be? “How much did she apply for?” I asked, trembling. “Three million dollars. The collateral used is a down payment proof for a property currently under purchase, as well as…” “A high-definition printout of Mr. Sterling’s video promising the eight-million-dollar severance package.”

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The video of my husband and my sister having sex in a car went viral, and that’s when I received two phone calls. One was a torrent of abuse from my mother, the other a warning from my mother-in-law. “You worthless disappointment! Her mother stole my man, and now she’s stolen yours too? Do you have any idea how much effort I put into raising you?” “If this affair damages the Davies family’s reputation, you can forget about ever seeing your son, Leo, again!” My phone buzzed again, a message from my sister, full of smugness. In the photo, her face was radiant, the marks on her neck glaringly obvious. “Ellie, Ethan was amazing, he took me over and over again.” “I told him I couldn’t take any more, but he was so relentless.” I sat at the dining table, numbly swallowing my meal along with my antidepressants. Beside me lay a crumpled, worn-out letter. In childish handwriting, there was only one short sentence. It was late when Ethan returned. He roughly tore at my clothes. Drowsy from the medication, I woke with a start, opening my eyes to see a drunken Ethan. The smell of alcohol on him was thick and pungent, and his eyes held an inexplicable hatred. I began to wonder what I had done wrong. As soon as the malicious rumors hit trending topics, I contacted PR to suppress them. The company quickly released a statement, claiming the images circulating online were AI-generated. And I posted photos on my personal Ins account: me, linking arms with Ethan, smiling brightly, while he looked dotingly at me. The rumors of marital discord stopped. After all that, controlling public perception as much as possible, I had barely managed to appease my mother-in-law’s anger. As Mrs. Davies, everything I did was impeccable. I couldn’t understand what Ethan was unhappy about? He didn’t give me time to think. He was here for one purpose: the task of conceiving a second child. I lay on the bed like a breeding machine, letting Ethan have his way. However, the position Ethan demanded today was exceptionally humiliating. He wanted me to beg him like an animal for sex. He lit a cigarette, a smirk playing on his lips: “Don’t want to?” My nails dug into my palms. When I looked up, my face showed a rare anger. Ethan didn’t give me a chance to rage. He seemed to change completely. He gently hugged me from behind, chuckling, “If my wife doesn’t want to, then forget it.” “I was just teasing you. You’re my wife, my partner. How could I make you do something so demeaning?” Ethan tenderly kissed my cheek, as if the main character of today’s trending scandal had nothing to do with him. He was always like this, provoking my anger with harsh words. Then he’d casually brush it aside, and my pain and grievances were dismissed as overreacting. Just then, Ethan’s phone rang. From the other end of the line, Brooke’s sobs could be heard. “Ethan, it’s thundering outside. I’m so scared.” “Ethan, will you come be with me?” Brooke half-sobbed, half-pouted. Ethan’s face was full of concern. He hung up, leaving a quick “Something came up at the office.” I grabbed his sleeve, using almost all my strength. “It’s my birthday today. Will you stay?” Ethan paused for a second, then impatiently said, “I told you something came up at the office. Can you stop making a scene?” He forcefully shook me off and left without looking back. The room grew cold. I refreshed Ins, and as expected, saw Brooke’s new photo. In the picture, Ethan was kissing her passionately, with the caption, “He braved the heavy rain to come to me.” I suddenly remembered, when I had just given birth to Leo, I had an argument with Ethan over a minor thing. He left me in the pouring rain without a second thought. I gave a bitter laugh. Then I noticed a peach-colored thong on the bedroom carpet, covered in suspicious fluids. It must have fallen out when Ethan left in a hurry. In an instant, my stomach churned. I vomited in the bathroom until I was lightheaded, my heart aching uncontrollably. I had tried to resign myself to my fate, but at that moment, I felt so dirty, so utterly defiled! Closing my eyes, the scene of Ethan and Brooke engaged in passionate acts flashed through my mind. So dirty, so disgusting! As I stood up, an envelope fell from my coat pocket. The letter inside was crumpled into a ball. I slowly unfolded it, my fingers tracing the words. My seventeen-year-old self, full of hope, had written this letter, wanting to ask my future self. “Ellie, are you free?” I gripped my phone tightly, finally sending the message. “Ethan, let’s get a divorce.”

Ethan didn’t reply. The next morning, my mother stormed into my room. She pointed at me and started yelling curses: “How can you be so useless? You can’t even keep your man in line!” “Ethan came to your room, and you still let him run off to that slut! How could I have given birth to such a worthless disappointment?” Brooke was my father’s illegitimate daughter. My mother and her mother had been rivals their entire lives. And I was born to marry into a rich family. My mother firmly believed that only if I married someone wealthy would my father change his mind, and her legitimate status would forever be secure. When I was little, my mother’s most frequent saying was: “To ensure you’d be a lucky charm for your husband, I endured the pain and waited two whole hours, until the master had calculated the auspicious time to give birth to you!” “If you can’t marry into wealth, will you live up to my expectations?” So, from childhood, I was groomed to be a wife for a wealthy family. I couldn’t eat too much, because I had to maintain my figure. My academic performance had to be excellent, because rich families preferred well-educated wives. If I failed, my mother would whip my legs with a thin cane, scolding me as she hit. “If you don’t marry into wealth, your life will be ruined!” “Not only will your life be ruined, but I’ll never be able to hold my head high!” Now, with that illegitimate daughter parading around, my mother’s face was contorted with rage. A strange sense of satisfaction surged through me. My mother paced anxiously: “Back in college, you and Ethan were so in love! He listened to your every word.” “Did you do something to upset him?” Her voice turned shrill and grating. Ethan was the one who cheated, yet everyone thought it was my fault. A car pulled up downstairs. Ethan, who hadn’t returned all night, was back. Ethan handed me a gift box, as if nothing had happened. He apologized to me in an affectionate tone: “This is your birthday gift. Last night was my fault.” “Don’t be mad, honey. I shouldn’t have left you to deal with office matters. It won’t happen again.” I opened the gift box. It was a jewel necklace. My mother, beaming, put it on me: “See? I told you Ethan cares about you.” “We have a family gathering tonight. Wear this necklace and really put that little slut in her place!” Sitting in the car on the way to my parents’ house, my long-held tension made me feel a bit spaced out. Ethan and I weren’t in a business arrangement. Mrs. Davies never liked me as a daughter-in-law. Although my family was well-off, compared to the vast and influential Davies family, we were clearly insignificant. Ethan had almost been disowned by his family to force them to accept me. He gave me the grandest wedding in the city, vowing in a beautiful chapel to love only me forever. He would even take me on a plane to Iceland the very next day, just because I said, “I want to see the Northern Lights.” But vows eventually fade, and all I was left with was the empty title of “Mrs. Davies.” As soon as I got out of the car, I saw Brooke. My mother spat in disgust: “That little bitch still dares to show her face, shameless like her mother!” But soon my mother was smug again: “She’s destined to be a mistress her whole life. My Ellie is truly successful.” At the dinner table, my mother bragged about how well I was doing in the Davies family and how much Ethan doted on me. She pointed to the necklace around my neck. “This is a gift Ethan bought for Ellie. Some people shouldn’t think they can marry up and become royalty!” Brooke came over with a wine glass, her gaze swept over the necklace, and then she burst into laughter. She pulled out a photo. It was Brooke’s birthday the day before, and gifts from Ethan piled her room. And the gift box Ethan had given me was prominently displayed among them, only it had a “complimentary gift” tag on it. “Just a freebie I didn’t want. Only you, Ellie, would treat it like a treasure.” My mother shrieked and lunged at her. She hurled every vile insult she could think of, venting her humiliating shame. “You’ve utterly disgraced me!” “How could I have given birth to such a useless thing? I should have choked you to death back then!” I listened expressionlessly to my own mother’s abuse. My hand slipped into my pocket, clutching that letter from ten years ago. The gathering ended on a sour note. As we left my parents’ house, a light rain began to fall. Brooke stood beside me, dialing Ethan’s number. She said coyly, “Ethan, baby, it’s raining outside.” Ethan’s voice came through: “Where are you?” “I’m at my parents’ place. Ellie’s here too.” “I’ll come pick you up.” Brooke gave me a challenging smile. I ignored her, walking briskly in the opposite direction. At the hospital entrance, I bought a bouquet of sunflowers. I knocked on the familiar hospital room door, but a stranger opened it. The word “Grandma” caught in my throat, my heart skipped a beat. I pulled a nurse aside and asked, “Has the elderly lady in room 301 been moved?” The nurse shook her head: “You mean Grandma Rose? She passed away last month.” The wall clock ticked, but I couldn’t hear any sound. I felt a chill spread through me, my hand gripping my phone trembling uncontrollably. I dialed my mother’s number. “Why?” My mother’s voice was still full of anger: “Why what? What fit are you throwing now?” “Why… didn’t you tell me Grandma Rose had passed away?” My voice was hoarse, each word slow and deliberate. Grandma Rose’s health had always been poor. After she was hospitalized, I often visited her. But my mother had told me Grandma Rose had a major surgery and needed quiet recovery, so I should visit less to avoid disturbing her. My mental state had been poor recently, and I was afraid that visiting Grandma Rose would make her notice something amiss and worry unnecessarily. I never imagined I wouldn’t even get to say my last goodbye to Grandma Rose. On the other end of the line, my mother was silent for a long time. “Funerals are bad luck… unclean.” “I had a master calculate it for you. These two months are the best time to conceive, and the child born will bring good fortune to the family. The presence of death is believed to disturb the fetus, it’s an old wives’ tale.” “If you got pregnant, and this affected the baby’s destiny, it would be an irreparable loss!” “Your grandma loved you most when she was alive. If she’s watching over us from heaven, she’d support my decision.” I collapsed in the hospital corridor, my vision blurring. Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. My birth had to bring good fortune to my husband, and my child’s birth had to bring good fortune to the family. It was pathetic! Absolutely pathetic!

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My brother and I were the perfect kids in everyone’s eyes. No matter how tough the test, we always aced it, topping the class. Until this month’s exam, when I only came in second, just one point shy of first. That was the first time Mom looked at me with such disappointment. “Leo, aren’t you ashamed of how badly you did?” My brother, Noah, who had just finished a game, looked up at me too. “Dude, you’re so dumb.” “How could you even lose such easy points?” I clenched my shirt tightly and started to promise, “Next time…” But Mom didn’t give me a chance to finish; instead, she shooed me into my room. “Oh, so now you’re talking back!” “No dinner until you finish ten worksheets today!” Inside my room, I heard my parents arguing. “He’s still so young, aren’t you afraid you’ll starve him?” “He did so badly, what right does he have to eat?!” “Besides, what’s one night without food going to do?!” Their shouting made my head spin. As my consciousness blurred, I started to fantasize, If only I could be the perfect kid Mom always wanted… The next second, a robotic voice echoed in my ear. “Congratulations, player, you’ve successfully triggered the Perfect Child System.” “Would you like to activate it?”

But when the Perfect Child System actually appeared before me, I hesitated. “What’s the cost?” “The cost? Your personality will be replaced by the perfect persona.” “In other words, once the system is activated, ‘you’ will no longer be you.” My parents’ arguments kept echoing in my ears. “You think I’m heartless?! What choice do I have!” “A psychic told me Noah was born a genius, destined for academic greatness. But Leo, he was just… destined to struggle!” “We poured everything we had into his education, even selling our best house and car for private tutors, just so he could scrape by with good grades!” “But now he…” “He’s not even good-looking, and his grades aren’t outstanding. What if he can’t find a partner when he’s older?!” “David, I’m worried!!” Mom’s sorrowful cries mixed with Dad’s angry voice. But I couldn’t hear them anymore. No wonder our big mansion from childhood had shrunk into a cramped apartment. No wonder Dad came home later and later, constantly working overtime at the office. No wonder Mom, who used to be so vain, had more and more wrinkles on her beautiful face and more gray hairs. No wonder Noah’s game consoles became fewer and fewer, and he often looked at me with regret. It was all because of me! I was the one hurting them!! Even though there was only emptiness before me, I still nodded firmly into the air. “I agree to activate the Perfect Child System!” “Alright, deducting all assets from the player.” I instinctively tried to interrupt: “Wait!” “Can I keep five hundred dollars?” The system’s voice showed a hint of impatience: “Bargaining is prohibited!” I clenched my crumpled shirt, and slowly spoke: “Please, I beg you…” “Tomorrow is my mom’s birthday. For the last time, I want to give her a gift.” After a long silence, the system replied. “Fine. It’s almost New Year anyway, so I’ll waive those five hundred bucks.” “Also, your personality will disappear after tomorrow. Say your goodbyes to everyone you love as soon as possible.” I nodded, understanding. After the system vanished, I heard knocking at my door, mixed with curses. “What? You get mad just because I yell at you a bit?” “How old are you, still acting like a child!” “Fine, you won’t open up, huh? I’m taking this stuff away, starve to death for all I care!” “Honestly, I must have owed you in a past life!” But I still didn’t dare open the door. I was afraid that if I saw Mom, I wouldn’t be able to stop crying, Wouldn’t be able to beg the system to give up the activation. So, it wasn’t until the TV sounds also disappeared that I dared to open the door. It was dark outside, and no one was there. On the dinner table was a steaming bowl of rice, piled high with all my favorite dishes. Next to it were my favorite fruits. I clamped my hand over my mouth, preventing my sobs from escaping.

The next morning, I planned to wear my brand-new school uniform to say goodbye to my friends. But when Mom saw the clothes I was wearing, her face instantly darkened. “Leo, have you gone crazy from all that studying?” “Why on earth are you wearing a new uniform for no reason?” The muffin in my mouth suddenly tasted bland. I stammered, “Because…” Noah adjusted his glasses, his voice chillingly cold. “Everyone at school is saying Leo’s dating a girl. Looks like it’s true.” Dating a girl? I was just asking the class rep for help on the last difficult math problem… But Mom didn’t listen to my explanation; she slapped me hard. She was trembling with anger: “Oh, so you’re dating now!” “And I even felt guilty yesterday, blaming myself for getting mad at you over one point!” “I never thought your mind would already be off your studies!” The spot where she slapped me felt hot. Before I could even cry out in pain, She forcibly stripped off my new uniform, And shoved the faded, washed-out uniform onto me. She also messed up my hair, which I had spent so long styling. In the mirror, I looked utterly insane. “From now on, this is how you’re going to school!” “Let’s see if you still dare to have bad thoughts!” I looked pitifully at Dad, Every time I looked at him, he would play peacemaker and calm Mom down. But this time, he was angry too. “Looking at me won’t help, just do as your mom says!” “You’re young, you should be studying hard, not wasting your time on these irrelevant things!” I sniffled, holding back my tears. Just as I was about to grab a muffin to eat on the way, Mom slapped my hand away. “Eat what? Eat what?!” “Get to school right now! Just looking at you annoys me!” I quietly packed my backpack and waited for Noah by the door. Mom helped Noah straighten his collar and handed him a packed lunchbox. “The fruit today is great. Don’t forget to share with your friends at school.” As if sensing my pitiful gaze, She coldly glanced at me. “You don’t get any today.” “You’ll get fruit slices when you come in first place.” I nodded disappointedly. But then I remembered it was my last day with them, I still tried to force a smile for her. “Okay, Mom.” Just as I was about to leave, she called out to me again: “Wait!” “I haven’t given you your stuff yet!” I felt a flicker of joy. But the next second, her actions shattered all my expectations. She shoved a thick stack of workbooks into my backpack. It was so heavy that my shoulder dropped an inch. Then, without hesitation, she pushed me out the door. “Alright, go to school.” “Oh, and by the way, from now on, you have to submit a daily report on your studies to me every single day.” “What you did at school, what you learned, you must write it all down clearly!” “Don’t think about writing something quick to fob me off. I’ll call your teacher and other classmates to confirm!” Noah was engrossed in his game, wearing headphones, As if none of this concerned him. My heart ached. Why could he get perfect scores and everything he wanted so effortlessly, while I, no matter how hard I studied, could never keep up with him… I shook my head, trying to push away all the unhappiness. It’s okay. After today, I’ll be the perfect kid in their eyes. They won’t treat Noah and me differently anymore. I suddenly longed for tomorrow to come.

As soon as school was out that evening, I rushed to the mall to buy Mom a gift. It was a long journey, and I didn’t get home until eight in the evening. As soon as I pushed open the door, I eagerly shouted into the house: “Happy Birthday, Mom!!” “Look what I bought you…” But what greeted me was Mom’s grim face. Her face was dark as thunder. She blocked me at the doorway, not letting me take a step inside. She held a thick cane in her hand, staring intensely at me: “Leo, it’s eight o’clock at night! Where have you been?!” “Do you know how worried the whole family was about you!” Dad’s voice carried a hint of exhaustion: “It’s your mom’s birthday today, can’t you just calm down?!” Noah snatched the bag from my hand and threw it to the ground. “Leo, you’re unbelievable!” “We’ve been waiting for you for so long, and you were out shopping with your girlfriend!” I instinctively tried to grab the bag back: “No, I wasn’t!” “That’s for…” But my struggle, in their eyes, was a sign of guilt. “Not true?” Mom snatched my bag. She roughly tore open the pretty wrapping paper, only to find a delicate silver bracelet inside. Mom froze for a moment, picking up the bracelet blankly: “This is…” Did Mom understand? I swallowed, seizing the opportunity to explain. “It’s the birthday present I bought for you!” “Every time we went to that mall, you always couldn’t help but stare at that gold bracelet…” “Even though you said it was nothing special. But I know, you’ve always really liked it!” “I couldn’t afford gold, so I could only buy you silver…” “But I know you won’t mind, right!” I grew more excited as I spoke, unable to resist taking the bracelet. “Mom, let me help you try it on to see if it fits!” “If it doesn’t, we can still exchange it today!” Mom coldly pulled her hand back, looking at me suspiciously. “Really?” For some reason, her gaze made my heart pound. But I still pretended to be calm and nodded. The atmosphere grew heavier, and Dad finally spoke. “Alright, alright, the kid’s heart is in the right place, don’t be so suspicious!” “Leo, go wash your hands, dinner’s ready!” I immediately breathed a sigh of relief. But the next second, Mom’s cane struck my leg. “Only you would believe his nonsense!” “I just saw it, this thing costs hundreds!” “He’s just a student, where would he get money for a gift like that?!” I cried out in pain: “Ah—!!” “That was, that was my birthday money!” She froze for a moment. Then hit me even harder. “You’re still lying!” “Your annual allowance, maybe a few hundred bucks, it’s all spent on workbooks, remember? There’s nothing left!” “Tell me, did some rich sugar mama buy this for you?!!” “I’m such a failure, how could I raise a child like you!!” I endured the pain, trying to steady her trembling body. “Mom, no…” “You’re not a failure, I’m the one who’s not good enough!” “I’m not good enough…” But the next second, she forcefully pushed my hand away. “Get out!” Her voice became very faint: “If only I had Noah as my only son…” I looked up at her; she was clutching her chest, struggling to breathe. “Mom—!!” The next second, she collapsed. Dad called an ambulance. Just as I was about to follow them, Noah blocked my way. “Leo, you practically made Mom pass out, and you still have the nerve to go with them?!” I couldn’t do anything but grab Dad’s sleeve, pleading desperately. “Dad, please…” “I want to go to the hospital with Mom too!” But Dad furiously shook my hand off. “Stop making things worse, will you?!” “Are you trying to make me die of anger too?!” I was flung to the ground, but he wouldn’t even look at me, He just turned and got back into the ambulance. The car sped away, and I ran after it. “Mom—” “Mom!!” But no matter how loudly I shouted, the car didn’t stop for a second. I stared blankly at the receding taillights. “Can the system be activated early?” A cold, robotic voice sounded in my ear. “Your pain perception is not yet fully numb. Activating early may cause unbearable suffering.” “Do you still wish to proceed?” I nodded firmly. Less than a second later, a bloody gash appeared on my arm. The system forcibly implanted a chip under my skin. A strange sensation surged through my body, As if someone was seizing my body, seizing my consciousness… As the pain slowly faded, I heard my own voice: “Perfect Child System officially activated.”

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Anderson forgot my birthday for the third time. I didn’t throw a fit. I just cooked my favorite meal by myself. I bought the ice cream cake I usually wouldn’t let myself get. As if celebrating this ordinary birthday that nobody cared about. But after I took a shower and came out of the bathroom, ready to slowly enjoy it— I found that the food I’d spent three hours making had all been packed into containers by Anderson. The cake next to it was smashed and unrecognizable. He noticed me standing there. Without looking up, he said, “Mia hasn’t eaten all day. She had a low blood sugar attack. I’m taking some food over to her. Don’t wait up for me.” I watched his back as he walked out. At that moment, I was absolutely sure. I was never going to wait for him again. Right after Anderson left, the landlady showed up. She stood at the door and glanced inside. “The lease for this apartment ends at the end of this month,” she said, puzzled. “Are you renewing or moving out? Let me know soon. If you’re moving, I need to post the rental notice early.” Last month I’d asked Anderson: renew the lease or find a new place? Back then, he’d been looking down at his phone, replying to Mia’s messages with serious attention. When he finally looked up at me, his face was full of obvious impatience. “Whatever. You decide.” Remembering that, I told the landlady, “We’re not renewing. We’ll move out by the end of the month.” “As for the security deposit, you can send it to Anderson. No need to give it to me.” When we first moved in, Anderson paid the rent. He also paid the deposit. Giving it back to him was only fair. But the landlady looked confused. “You two are about to get married—why are you still keeping money so separate? Giving it to him or to you is the same thing!” I smiled and didn’t say anything. The landlady got the answer she wanted and turned to leave. Before she left, she reminded me, “Take everything with you when you move. Don’t leave anything behind for the next tenant.” I nodded and said okay. I did the math: today was the 28th. Only three days left until moving day. I thought for a moment, then contacted the real estate agent I’d used before to find a new place. The agent replied quickly. “Still a three-bedroom? Any other requirements?” “Two bedrooms would be fine. I’ll be living alone.” After I sent that message, the agent took a long time to reply. Just five words: “You guys broke up?” Seeing the word “broke up” made me pause. When I first got together with Anderson, I never thought we would break up. I used to daydream about our future every single day. Now, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d imagined a future with him. I didn’t reply. The agent sent another message: “Need a moving company? I know a reliable one.” “Yes.” “When are you moving?” I thought for a moment. “Three days from now.” Three days from now, the lease would be up. Perfect timing to leave Anderson for good. After I settled the moving date and rental requirements, I hung up and started packing. But then Anderson called. “Mia said the food you made was really good. Her stomach’s a little upset right now. Can you make her some light soup and bring it over?” Before I could answer, he added, “No onions. She can’t handle them.” I was silent for two seconds. Then I asked him softly, “Anderson, do you know what day it is today?” We’d been together for five years. He’d celebrated my birthday twice. The first time, he took me to Disneyland. At midnight, during the most beautiful fireworks, he confessed his love again with a necklace shaped like a true love heart. The second time, I was on a business trip. He dropped everything, flew over, and brought a handmade cake. That day, he said something sweeter than sugar: “Laura, no matter where you are, if you need me, I’ll always show up.” But in the third year of our relationship, he forgot my birthday. He only remembered. On my birthday. May 30th—his and Mia’s anniversary of meeting. Just as I expected. Anderson didn’t hesitate. He blurted out, “Today’s the twenty-third anniversary of the day Mia and I first met. Why?”

I got the answer I’d anticipated. For the first time, I hung up on him. I wasn’t panicked or anxious. My heart was calm, like still water. I looked at the remains of the cake on the table. The ice cream had melted with time. Just like I thought my relationship with Anderson was indestructible—but in reality, it had faded and dissolved over time. I put down my phone and continued packing. The next afternoon, Anderson came back. There was a hint of guilt in his eyes when he looked at me. His attitude softened. “I’m sorry, I forgot it was your birthday yesterday. You mentioned before that you wanted a car to commute to work, right? I went and picked one out for you today. Consider it a belated birthday gift.” I opened my mouth to say something, but he kept talking. “Good thing Mia reminded me yesterday. Make sure to thank her when you see her. She actually helped pick out the car—she said you’d love it.” So he hadn’t remembered on his own. He’d needed someone else to remind him. And the gift he gave me—was chosen by someone else. All I could do. Was say “it’s okay.” Accept the choices they made for me. Anderson pulled out his phone to show me photos of the car. “Look, Mia picked pink. It’s perfect for you girls…” He swiped through the photos. But when he got to the second one, my gaze froze. It was a picture of Mia. She was sitting in the driver’s seat, sticking out her tongue and giving a peace sign. Anderson noticed my stare and instinctively explained, “Mia loves taking selfies. Her phone died, so she borrowed mine to take a picture.” I didn’t say anything. I kept swiping. His phone had three hundred and twenty-three photos total. One hundred and twenty were of Mia. The other three were pictures of the car. Seeing that, I suddenly remembered. Anderson didn’t like taking pictures. He also didn’t like having unnecessary stuff on his phone. We had zero photos together. His phone didn’t even have my contact info saved. As if I’d never existed in his life. I’d asked him once why he didn’t save my number. He’d said, “Your number is burned into my memory. I can recite it in my sleep. No point in saving it.” But Mia was saved in his phone. With the note: “Happy Little Pig.” Whether in his contacts or on social media, she was the only one pinned to the top. I scrolled silently. Anderson didn’t stop me. He raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Checking up on me? Alright, go ahead—see if I’ve been texting any other women…” Before he could finish, the contact named “Happy Little Pig” sent a message. “Anderson! Don’t be biased! You’ve become a selfish jerk! Laura gets a car, and I want one too! Get me one ASAP!” After reading that, I lost all interest. I handed the phone back. Anderson didn’t say anything. He took it. I got up and left the couch, glancing over. He replied, “The company’s funds are tight right now. I’ll owe you one car.” Mia didn’t accept that. She sent ninety-nine rolling-on-the-floor emojis. A flicker of hesitation crossed Anderson’s eyes. He looked up at me. “Laura, your company isn’t that far from our apartment. How about we give this car to Mia first, and I’ll buy you another one later?”

Last month, we had plans to see a movie. We’d just gotten to the theater when Mia called. She wanted him to go swimming with her. Just like today, he hesitated for a moment, then said to me, “Laura, how about you skip the movie today? I’ll take you another time.” He chose her over me. I didn’t say anything. After he left, I bought a bucket of popcorn and a Coke by myself. For the first time, I walked into the theater alone. That was when I realized. Going to a movie by myself wasn’t that hard. Giving up something that didn’t belong to me. Was even easier. “Okay. Whatever you say.” My expression was calm. Anderson’s rigid face visibly relaxed. He sighed in relief. “See, you’re so reasonable. Mia’s always making a fuss. Hard to deal with.” He seemed to be criticizing Mia. But his words were full of obvious indulgence. He didn’t know. I was never the “reasonable” type. I just didn’t care about him anymore. “Oh, right. Mia says there’s a new Mexican restaurant in the West End. She wants us to go eat there now.” I was about to refuse. But he showed a look of helplessness. “Mia really wants to go.” Then. I ended up at the Mexican restaurant with Anderson. As I dipped my food in hot sauce, Anderson said, “I thought you didn’t like spicy food?” “I always have. You just never knew.” I flipped through the menu and ordered some dishes I liked. I also ordered a strawberry ice cream. Mia saw that and quickly ordered a mango ice cream. But Anderson frowned in displeasure. “Aren’t you on your period? You shouldn’t eat cold stuff,” he scolded. Then he crossed out her ice cream order and changed it to a fresh orange juice. Mia didn’t look angry at being scolded. Instead, she smiled brightly. “So what if it hurts? I’ve got you, so I’m not scared!” I used to feel that way too. Back then, Anderson would make me warm milk every month when I was on my period. When I was rolling in pain, he’d have red-rimmed eyes full of worry. His warm hand would cover my cold belly. His gentle voice would tremble slightly. “I wish I could take the pain for you. You wouldn’t have to suffer like this.” Back then, I thought the same as Mia. As long as he was there, I wasn’t afraid of the pain. But ever since Mia came from her hometown, he stopped caring about me. Now. Watching them flirt without caring about anyone else. I felt like an extra, out of place. Then. A waiter placed a milkshake with two straws in front of them. “Today is our boss’s tenth wedding anniversary,” the waiter said softly. “To celebrate, every couple dining here today gets a free milkshake.”

Mia happily took it and took a few sips. “Wow, this is amazing! You have to try it.” She turned the straw she’d used toward Anderson. No resistance or awkwardness crossed Anderson’s face. He bent down and took a small sip. “Not bad,” he commented. Seeing that painful scene. My fingers clenched tightly. I had imagined how close they were. I thought I wouldn’t be moved, even if I saw it with my own eyes. But when I actually saw it, my heart still stung like a needle prick. “Laura, Anderson and I have been like this since we were kids—we share everything. Don’t let it bother you,” Mia said cheerfully. But I clearly caught the flash of challenge in her eyes. “It’s fine. He told me before that he sees you as a sister. I’m not bothered,” I said calmly, looking at her. The smile on Mia’s face instantly froze, turning stiff. “Yeah, if we had anything going on, he wouldn’t be with you.” The first time Anderson told me he saw Mia as a sister was when she had just moved to the city two months ago. She’d said it was thundering outside and she was scared to be alone. She asked Anderson to come over. I didn’t agree. I blocked him when he was about to leave. “She’s a woman and you’re a man. Who knows what could happen? You’re not going to her!” I was also scared of thunder. Every time there was a storm, I loved to curl up in his arms. It made me feel safe. But that day, the wind was howling and thunder wouldn’t stop. With just one call from Mia, he pushed me out of his arms without hesitation. And after I said that, his eyes went ice cold. His voice was distant, like he was talking to a stranger. “I only see Mia as a little sister. Only someone with a dirty mind would think that way.” “Laura, stop causing trouble. Mia needs me.” The second time, I had a bad case of gastroenteritis. He promised to take me to the hospital. But on the way, Mia tripped coming down the stairs and twisted her ankle. Without a second thought, he asked the driver to turn around and go to her place. He couldn’t see me sweating cold from pain. He couldn’t hear me crying from agony. All I said was, “Is Mia your real girlfriend? Why do you care about her so much?” Anderson got angry. His eyes were full of fury. “What are you talking about! Mia’s my sister. She’s alone here, and she got hurt—how could I not take care of her? Don’t be ridiculous!” Anderson didn’t argue with her. He just quietly picked the chili out of her dipping bowl. That meal tasted like nothing to me. But Mia ate happily under his care. The agent was fast. The next day, he found me a perfect apartment. The place was great—fully furnished, move-in ready. So on the day the lease expired for the old apartment. I called a moving company, following the agent’s recommendation. The landlady saw that I was only moving my own stuff. She sent Anderson a reminder message: “Your lease is up. Please move out on time. Thank you for your cooperation.” Watching her send that message. I calculated how long I’d lived here. Based on the split cost, I transferred my share of the rent to Anderson. After handling everything I needed to take. I got into the moving truck. But as we passed the intersection across from the old neighborhood. Anderson called. I didn’t answer. Then he sent a voice message. His voice was urgent, tense. “Laura, why aren’t you picking up? Didn’t we agree to renew the lease for another year and then buy this place from the landlady? Why is she telling me to move out now?”

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In a household where everyone was a genius, I—the one who always ranked dead last in school—served as the living teaching material my parents used to “educate” my brother Lance and my sister Raven. To test my spatial awareness, Lance once locked me inside an abandoned factory shaped like a maze for an entire day and night. When I collapsed from dehydration, Mom’s eyes turned red—as she gently dabbed the sweat off Lance’s forehead. “Next time, you need to control the duration, sweetheart. Shelly’s body is fragile. She can’t handle this much stress.” To study my emotional thresholds, Raven cut my diploma into tiny shreds. I hid in my room, shaking. Dad knocked softly on the door. “Raven is teaching you how to break free from the chains of standardized education. You need to appreciate her good intentions.” Later, for their research project—”Placebo-Based Physiological Intervention in Low-Cognition Individuals”—they replaced my asthma inhaler with saline solution. I stared at the empty bottle. I didn’t call for help. I just lay there quietly, feeling the air being stolen from my lungs, breath by breath. I finally understood. My biggest mistake was being born into this brilliant family.

“The vital signs monitor on subject Shelly shows her heart rate has been flatlined for three hours now.” Raven sat on the leather couch, her head tilted down as she scrolled across her tablet. “Her pseudo-death avoidance mechanism has likely reached its peak.” Her voice was young and crisp, yet carried a chilling, mechanical detachment. I floated near the ceiling, watching her silently. My body was lying on the floor of the bedroom, just one door away. My skin had already turned that purplish color of oxygen deprivation. “Don’t bother with her.” Lance pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “According to biological instinct, when hunger surpasses pride, she’ll come out on her own to find food.” He picked up a silver knife and precisely cut the Black Forest cake in front of him into a perfect wedge. “Low-cognition individuals have very poor endurance. We already proved that in the dehydration trial.” Mom, Maggie, took the cake with a face full of pride, smiling so wide that fine lines appeared at the corners of her eyes. “Here, Lance, eat more.” “Congratulations on winning first place in the national physics competition again!” “Thanks, Mom.” Lance accepted the plate with elegant manners. Dad, Carter, raised his wine glass, the red wine swirling in the crystal stem. “Our family genes are simply superior. Raven won the Psychology Innovation Award last month too. Double celebration!” The four of them clinked glasses, the crisp sound of glass echoing through the living room. Bright lights. A warm, joyful family scene. I looked down at my own translucent hand. Just three hours earlier, I had been writhing in agony on the floor as my asthma attack hit. I’d desperately pumped that inhaler—only to spray nothing but useless saline. I bit through the mouthpiece. Blood and salt water trickled down my throat. I clawed at the wooden floor until streaks of blood marked the wood. But outside my door, they were busy discussing topics for their next journal publication. “How come Shelly hasn’t left her room all day?” Mom swallowed a bite of cream, as if suddenly remembering there was a fifth person in this house. Dad waved his hand with a chuckle. “That kid ranked last in her exams again. Probably too ashamed to show her face.” He took another sip of wine. “Let her sit there and reflect on it.” I let out a bitter laugh. I came last in those exams because the day before, Lance had locked me in an abandoned factory for twenty-four hours. The dehydration shock had left me too weak to even hold a pen. “Honestly, aside from being slow, Shelly has always been a sweet kid.” Mom sighed and placed the biggest piece of strawberry cake onto a clean plate. “I’ll go check on her. Don’t want her to actually starve.” She stood up and started walking toward my room. Floating in midair, I felt a ridiculous flicker of hope. Open the door, Mom. Open it, and you’ll see just how ugly your obedient daughter looks in death. “Mom, wait.” Raven suddenly spoke up, grabbing Mom’s wrist. “What is it, Raven?” “The intervention experiment is at a critical stage.” Raven pointed to the data curve on her tablet. “If you go in now, you’ll ruin the final data on the placebo effect.” She tilted her head up, her expression dead serious. “This is a joint paper Lance and I are submitting to SCI journals. Disrupting the experiment process would count as academic misconduct, you know.” Mom froze at the words “academic misconduct” and instinctively pulled her hand back. Lance slowly dabbed the corner of his mouth. “Scientific progress always requires sacrifice.” Dad nodded in approval and patted Mom on the shoulder. “Lance is right. It’s called putting resources to good use.” “Set the cake down. Don’t spoil her.” Mom hesitated, glanced at the strawberry cake in her hand, then finally placed the plate on the table. I stared at that strawberry cake, watching the cream slowly melt. Just like every illusion I’d ever held about this family. “As if she hasn’t faked being sick enough times before?” Dad scoffed. “Last time, when Raven cut up her college diploma, she sat in her room shaking, playing the victim.”

Dad’s tone was full of disgusted disappointment. “I told her—Raven was teaching her to break free from the cage of test-based education.” “And what did she do? She didn’t appreciate it at all. She even dared give us attitude.” Raven giggled. “Dad, that’s called learned helplessness. Low-IQ people respond to stimuli beyond their comprehension by regressing.” “I was just helping her broaden her emotional threshold.” Mom stroked Raven’s head affectionately. “Our Raven really is a genius. So young, and she already knows so much.” She turned to look at my bedroom door, her expression turning cold. “If only Shelly were half as smart as you two—I’d laugh myself awake from my dreams.” I drifted over to my bedroom door and peered through the wood. My body lay quietly beside the bed. My eyes were fixed in the direction of the door crack, my hand still tightly gripping the tampered asthma inhaler. “Lance, the subject’s heart rate is showing a flat line. Could the monitor bracelet be broken?” Raven poked at the tablet screen. Lance walked over and glanced at the data. “Impossible. I modified that medical-grade sensor myself.” His voice was firm. “She must have taken it off and thrown it aside. A childish attempt to get our attention.” Dad shook his head. “That kid puts all her cleverness into pointless things.” “Ignore her. When she gets hungry enough, she’ll crawl out and apologize.” Mom yawned and stood up to clear the leftovers from the table. “Alright, everyone get some rest. Lance has an awards ceremony to attend tomorrow.” Late that night, after the dinner ended, Dad sat in the study flipping through an old photo album. He stared blankly at a picture of me at age five. In the photo, I was wearing a beautiful princess dress, laughing brightly at the beach. Back then, I hadn’t developed asthma yet. I hadn’t been diagnosed as “low cognition” either. Mom walked in with a cup of warm milk and placed it on the desk. “What made you dig out these old photos all of a sudden?” Dad sighed and traced his finger across the picture. “She was so adorable back then—chasing the waves, calling ‘Daddy’ over and over.” He frowned. “Do you think we’ve been too hard on her?” Mom’s eyes wavered for a moment before hardening again with rational coldness. “Carter, you’re too soft.” She pulled up a chair and sat down. “We’re doing this for her own good. Having geniuses like Lance and Raven around will make her stronger, so society won’t chew her up later.” Mom took a sip of milk, her tone matter-of-fact. “Society is brutal these days. If we don’t push her, others will eat her alive.” I floated in the study, listening to this self-righteous theory. So that’s why you let me get locked in an abandoned factory? That’s why you let Raven shred the diploma I stayed up countless nights earning? Dad seemed convinced and nodded. “You’re right. No pain, no gain.” He closed the album and shoved it into the bottom drawer. “Once she’s done reflecting this time, I’ll make it up to her properly.” Just then, soft footsteps echoed in the hallway. Lance walked past my door holding an infrared thermometer. He stopped and pointed it at my bedroom door. [Beep.] The device let out a soft sound. Lance looked at the readout and muttered to himself. “Room temperature dropping. Body surface temperature converging with ambient.” He let out a cold laugh. “Even deliberately lowering her metabolism. She really knows how to play dead.” I pointed at Lance’s face and screamed. “I’m not playing dead! I’m actually dead!” But only the empty echo of the hallway answered me. Lance turned and returned to his room, shutting the door behind him. Mom sat in the study for a while longer, still feeling uneasy. “I’ll go to the kitchen and squeeze her some orange juice.” “Her asthma flares up easily when she’s angry.” Dad reminded her, “Go light on the sugar. She gains weight easily.” Mom carried the juice over to my door. She raised her hand and knocked. “Shelly, Mom made you some orange juice.” No movement inside. My body was already showing early signs of livor mortis. The blood had stopped flowing, the limbs stiff as iron. “Catch your breath before you drink it. Stop being stubborn.” Mom’s voice drifted through the door. I looked at that glass of juice. The irony was suffocating. When I was begging for help during my attack, you were all cutting cake. Mom waited at the door for a minute. When I didn’t respond, her patience ran out. “Why are you so stubborn, child?” “We’re family. What’s wrong with making a little sacrifice?” She slammed the bowl onto the floor outside the door. “Drink it or don’t! You and your damn attitude!” Mom stormed off back to the master bedroom. The hallway fell into dead silence again. Inside, a few flies had already crawled in through the cracks in the window. They circled around my nose, buzzing softly. The next morning, an indescribable odor began drifting through the house. It was the mix of incontinence and faint decay. Neighbor Professor Leon happened to drop by to borrow a couple of books. The moment he walked in, he pinched his nose. “Carter, what’s that smell? Is your plumbing backed up?” Raven was sitting on the couch eating a sandwich. “Professor Leon, Lance is running an anaerobic fermentation experiment with organic material. Some of the gas escaped.” She smiled innocently. “He’s collecting data for an environmental project.” Professor Leon’s face lit up with understanding, and he gave a thumbs-up. “Carter, those two geniuses of yours are national treasures. So young, fresh out of college, and already working on such advanced research.” Dad smiled awkwardly, but his eyes glowed with vanity. “Oh please, they’re just fooling around.” Professor Leon looked around. “By the way, where’s your eldest, Shelly? I don’t see her.” “She’s usually on the balcony memorizing vocabulary by this time.” Dad’s smile stiffened. “Shelly isn’t feeling well. She’s resting in her room.” After Professor Leon left, Lance came out of his room wearing a white lab coat. He held a powerful flashlight, his expression grave. “The placebo effect testing has exceeded the allowable time. Preparing to perform pupil-light-stimulation arousal.” He spoke as he walked toward my room. “Prolonged low-energy state in the subject may cause irreversible brain damage. Forced arousal is necessary.” Mom was mopping the floor. Hearing this, she finally felt something was wrong. She grabbed Lance. “Lance, stop it.” “Shelly has asthma. What if you trigger an attack? I’ll go get her.” Dad set down his newspaper too. “Yeah, that’s enough. If we keep her locked up any longer, she’ll throw another tantrum.” Dad stood up and put on his coat. “I’ll go buy her the newest imported anti-allergy medication, and that big bear plushie she’s always wanted.” “We’ll just have to coddle her. After all, she IS the dumb one in our family.” I floated in the air, watching Dad hurry out the door. My tears dissolved into wisps of nothingness. That giant teddy bear was a gift I’d wanted for my birthday years ago. I begged them for it over and over. I had no use for it now. Raven ignored her parents’ decision. She quietly walked to my door, lay flat on the floor, and peeked through the crack. “Lance, come look at this.”

Raven lowered her voice, a hint of excitement in her tone. Lance walked over and crouched down beside her. Beneath the door, a strand of lifeless hair could be seen splayed across the floor. “The subject’s hair has lost its luster.” Raven typed rapidly on her tablet. “Initial assessment: endocrine imbalance caused by long-term psychological suppression.” Lance pushed his glasses up. “Not just that. This is keratin loss from malnutrition.” He stood up and dusted off his hands. “Make sure to record this. It’s valuable physiological data—very useful for studying physical regression in low-cognition individuals.” I watched them, feeling waves of nausea. This was Lance and Raven—two monsters with IQs of 160. Half an hour later, the front door opened. Dad walked in holding an enormous shopping bag. “Shelly, Daddy bought you the bear you love most! Come out and see, okay?” Dad placed the massive plush bear on the couch and patted its head. “This bear wasn’t cheap. Cost me half a month’s bonus.” Mom walked over, looked at the bear, and sighed. “Well, you bought it now. As long as it gets her to calm down.” Dad cleared his throat and walked to my door. “Shelly, Daddy’s home.” “I got you the bear you love most, and the most expensive imported medicine.” “Come out and look, okay?” Still dead silence behind the door. The smell of waste mixed with decay had become impossible to ignore. The living room air purifier started blaring frantic alarms, its red light flashing painfully bright. Mom covered her nose, brows furrowed. “Why is the smell getting worse? What is she doing in there?” She tried the emotional approach through the door. “Shelly, Mom knows we’ve upset you.” Mom’s voice cracked. “Remember the first time you called me ‘Mama’? You were just this small.” She gestured. “Mama loves you, you know. Don’t hold a grudge against Lance and Raven, okay?” I floated above them, watching this belated performance of devotion. Love me? Loving me meant watching me get locked in an abandoned factory? Loving me meant switching my life-saving medication with saline? Beside them, Raven was completely unmoved by her parents’ emotions. Her fingers tapped rapidly on the tablet. “Three minutes into family emotional intervention. Subject shows no vocal cord vibration. Emotional threshold abnormal.” She reported without lifting her head. “Recommend increasing stimulus intensity.” As the purifier’s alarm grew louder and louder, Dad’s patience finally snapped. The kind-father smile vanished from his face, replaced by pure fury. “What experiment? That’s your sister! Both of you, knock it off!” Dad whipped around, snatched the tablet from Raven’s hands, and slammed it on the floor. The screen shattered instantly. Raven flinched and stepped back. “Dad, what are you doing?! All my data was on there!” “This is what you’re worried about right now?!” Dad finally sensed something was deeply wrong. He rushed to the entryway, yanked open a drawer, and frantically rummaged through it. “The spare key—where’s the key?!” He flung the contents of the drawer all over the floor. Mom’s heart leapt to her throat, her face going pale. “Carter, don’t scare me. Shelly didn’t actually—” Dad finally found a rusty spare key at the very bottom. His hand trembled violently as he gripped it. He walked to the door, took a deep breath, and inserted the key into the lock. [Click.] The sound of the lock disengaging rang unnaturally clear in the silent hallway. My soul quietly closed its eyes. The door was thrown open.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “410237”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband Preston brought his mistress Stella home. He bent down and slipped my pink fuzzy slippers onto Stella’s feet, then said to me: “Nora, go grab the latex pillow from the master bedroom for Stella. She has trouble sleeping in unfamiliar beds.” Anyone watching would’ve thought they were the married couple, and I was just the maid. Right in front of me, they walked into the guest bedroom. Not long after, their muffled moans drifted out. I let out a cold laugh. Five minutes later, I dialed a number. “Mr. Sutton, that divorce agreement I asked you to draft—you can bring it over tonight.” There was a pause on the other end. “Ms. Hayes, you’ve finally made up your mind?” I looked at the bouquet of anniversary roses I’d bought for myself on the table, and plucked off a wilted petal. “Do me one more favor,” I said softly. “That San Francisco project Preston’s company has been chasing for two years—tell him the winning bid is in my hands.” Preston probably forgot that the reason he’d cruised through the business world for the past five years was never his own ability. It was me.

Nora’s POV The night Preston brought Stella home, New York got its first snowfall of the winter. I’d just set the cream of mushroom soup—the one I’d spent hours making—on the table when I heard the keypad lock click open. The door opened, and a gust of icy wind and snow rushed in. Preston stood in the doorway, snow dusting the shoulders of his coat. He was protectively holding a woman in his arms, cradling her carefully. It was Stella. “Nora, the heater in Stella’s apartment broke. She’s staying here tonight,” Preston said as he bent down to help her change shoes. He grabbed the pink soft-soled slippers I usually wore. I watched her slip them on—they were clearly too big for her. She shrank back awkwardly. “Preston, maybe I should just go to a hotel. I’m really imposing on Ms. Hayes.” “Hotels aren’t safe. You’ve had a scare, and I don’t feel right leaving you alone.” Preston’s voice was so gentle it practically dripped honey. He looked up, and the moment his gaze landed on me, the warmth vanished, replaced by a flat, distant calm. “Change the sheets in the guest room. Stella has trouble sleeping in new places—bring her the latex pillow from the master bedroom.” I stood by the dining table, my fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of my apron. Today was our fifth wedding anniversary. His favorite dishes were laid out on the table, the red wine had been decanted, and even the candles were lit. Preston finally seemed to notice the setup in the dining room. He froze for a second, his brow furrowing slightly. A flicker of regret crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by a sense of entitlement. “Sorry, something came up at the office, and picking up Stella took longer than expected.” He shrugged off his coat and handed it to me, his tone tinged with exhaustion. “We’ll make up the anniversary another day. Tonight, let’s just leave it.” Over the past year, I’d heard countless lines like that. Birthdays postponed. Weekend movies rescheduled. Promised trips put off. And every broken promise had the same reason behind it. —Stella. Stella was his first love, and also the widow of his best friend. Two years ago, that man died in a car accident, and on his deathbed he grabbed Preston’s hand, begging him to take care of Stella. Preston agreed. From that point on, Stella became an unbridgeable chasm in our marriage. “Okay,” I heard my own voice echo through the empty living room, surprisingly calm. I turned and walked into the master bedroom, taking out the latex pillow Preston had specifically had someone bring back from Paris. When I handed it to Stella, she looked at me timidly. “Ms. Hayes, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know today was your anniversary…” “It’s fine.” I cut her off. Preston walked over and naturally took the pillow, casually wrapping an arm around Stella’s shoulder. “Go take a hot shower and get some rest.” He turned to me. “Find her a clean set of pajamas.” I opened the closet and pulled out a brand-new silk pajama set. When Stella took them, her fingertips brushed against the back of my hand. Her hand was cold, but mine was even colder. The shower turned on in the bathroom. Preston walked over to the dining table, glanced at the food, and grabbed a piece of foie gras with his fingers, popping it in his mouth. “It’s cold,” he said, wiping his hands with a napkin. “Toss it. I’ll have the housekeeper make something fresh tomorrow.” He turned and walked toward the study—his back straight, but radiating a cold detachment that kept the world at arm’s length. I stood there, staring at the carefully prepared dinner, and suddenly felt my stomach churn. I scraped the food into the trash, piece by piece. The red wine ran down the drain, like some kind of irreversible loss. After cleaning the kitchen, I went back to the master bedroom. Preston wasn’t back yet. I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Preston wasn’t always like this. In the early years of our marriage, he spoiled me rotten. I didn’t like peanuts, and every time we ate out, he’d remind the server. My hands and feet were always cold in winter, and he’d always tuck my feet against his chest to warm them. But somewhere along the way, all his attention shifted to Stella. Stella was afraid of the dark. Stella couldn’t sleep. Stella was emotionally fragile. He gave all his patience and tenderness to that woman who “needed care,” forgetting that his wife was also a living, breathing person—one who could hurt, who could be sad. Soft footsteps came from outside the door. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Preston pushed the door open and stood by the bed for a moment. I could feel his gaze on my face, searching. After a moment, he turned and left the room. I opened my eyes and heard the guest bedroom door open next door, followed by Stella’s low sobs and Preston’s gentle soothing. “Don’t be scared, I’m here.” That one sentence was like a dull blade, slowly slicing through my heart. I rolled over and buried my face in the blanket. No tears came. I was just tired. A bone-deep exhaustion.

Nora’s POV The next morning, I was woken up by noise from the kitchen. I pushed the door open to find Preston standing at the counter frying eggs. Sunlight streamed through the window onto him, the scene warm enough to leave me dazed. I walked over, about to speak, when he said without turning around, “Stella has a sensitive stomach. She can only have liquids—I soaked some oats in milk for her. Yours is in the microwave, heat it up yourself.” I stopped, watching him expertly plate the eggs alongside a few sliced cherry tomatoes. That was how Stella liked them. “I’m not eating. I need to get to the office.” I turned to go change. Preston walked out with the plate, his brow slightly furrowed. “Skipping breakfast is bad for your stomach. Since when do you take your frustration out on your health?” Frustration? I stopped and turned to look at him. His eyes held a trace of impatience, as if I was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not frustrated. I’m just not hungry.” My tone was flat as I grabbed my bag and headed out. Stella was just coming out of the guest room, wearing my silk pajamas, her long hair loose, eyes still puffy. “Good morning, Ms. Hayes,” she greeted carefully. “Good morning.” I nodded and walked past her toward the door. Preston’s voice came from behind me: “Drive safe. I’ve got a dinner tonight, so stop by the grocery store on your way home and pick up some fruit Stella likes.” I paused while putting on my shoes. “What does she like?” I asked. “Cherries and grapes.” Preston answered without hesitation. I curled my lips and pushed open the door. Cherries and grapes. He remembered perfectly. But he forgot that I was allergic to cherries. Three years ago, he brought home a box of cherries. I ate a few and broke out in hives all over—ended up in the ER in the middle of the night. That day, he held my hand, full of guilt, swearing that fruit would never enter our home again. Now, for Stella, he’d forgotten that promise completely. At the office, I threw myself into the new project. I was an architectural designer—the work was intense, but it was exactly that intensity that let me temporarily forget the mess at home. At lunch break, my assistant Lily came over and handed me a coffee. “Nora, you have huge bags under your eyes. Didn’t sleep well last night?” I took the coffee and sipped. “A bit of insomnia.” “Doesn’t Preston love you so much—didn’t he make you a glass of warm milk?” Lily teased. To my coworkers, Preston was the model husband. He’d occasionally come pick me up after work, always with some elegant afternoon tea. I smiled and said nothing. That surface-level affection was like a bunch of fragile bubbles—pop them and there was nothing but emptiness inside. That afternoon, I got a call from Preston. “My dinner tonight is canceled. I made a reservation at that French restaurant you love. I’ll pick you up after work.” He sounded like he was in a good mood. I paused. That French restaurant was hard to book—you usually had to reserve two weeks out. “What made you think of going there?” I asked. “I didn’t spend the anniversary with you yesterday, so I’m making up for it tonight,” he said. “Stella said she’ll be fine alone at home and that we should have some quality time together.” So it was Stella’s idea. The small bit of warmth that had just sparked in my chest instantly cooled.

Nora’s POV “Okay,” I agreed. After work, Preston was waiting outside the building right on time. He’d changed into a casual suit, looking handsome and sharp. In the car, he handed me a velvet box. “Open it.” I opened the box—a diamond necklace. Classic style, but not my taste. I preferred minimalist jewelry. This necklace was too ornate, too flashy. “Do you like it?” He watched me, eyes hopeful. “It’s nice.” I closed the box and casually tossed it in my bag. Preston seemed to pick up on my coolness. He reached out and held my hand. “Still mad about yesterday?” “No.” I pulled my hand back and looked out the window. Silence filled the car. At the restaurant, we were led to a window seat. The view was beautiful, the atmosphere romantic. Preston ordered all my favorites and opened a bottle of red wine. “Nora, I know things have been hard on you lately.” He raised his glass, his eyes sincere. “Stella’s not doing well. I have to take care of her a bit more. Once she’s stable, I’ll help her find a place and have her move out.” I looked at him, a wave of sadness washing over me. He always did this—carrot and stick. He thought a few sweet words, a necklace, a dinner could erase the wounds in my heart. “Preston.” I raised my glass and lightly tapped his. “Do you really think the problem between us is just because of Stella?” He froze, clearly not expecting that question. “What do you mean?” I looked at those eyes that once held nothing but me, now full of nothing but fatigue and confusion. “Nothing.” I tipped my head back and drained my glass. “Let’s eat.” Some things weren’t worth saying out loud. He didn’t understand. Or rather, he pretended not to. Just then, Preston’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his face changed. “Stella? What’s wrong? Don’t cry, tell me slowly.” He shot to his feet, not even noticing his chair tipping over. “I’m coming right back!” He hung up and turned to me, his eyes full of urgency. “Stella fell at home. I have to go check on her.” “I’ll come with you.” I stood up. “No, you stay and eat. I’ll be back once I handle it.” He grabbed his coat and rushed out. I watched his figure disappear out the restaurant door. The steak on the table was still sizzling, giving off an enticing aroma. I sat down, picked up my knife and fork, and slowly cut a piece, placing it in my mouth. It tasted awful. I called the waiter over and paid the bill. Walking out of the restaurant, the cold wind cut into my face like a knife. I didn’t go home. I took a cab to the Hudson River. The wind off the river was strong, whipping my hair around. I pulled out my phone and stared at Preston’s number on the screen. My finger hovered for a long time before I finally hit the lock button. No point calling. His heart and mind were completely consumed by another woman. And I was just an irrelevant backdrop. I sat by the river until midnight, until my hands and feet went numb from the cold, before taking a cab home. I pushed open the door to find a single dim floor lamp on in the living room. Preston was sitting on the couch, a half-burned cigarette between his fingers. Through the haze of smoke, I couldn’t read his expression. He looked up at the sound, his brows knitting tightly. “Where were you? Why are you just now getting home?” “Just walking around.” I changed my shoes and walked straight toward the bedroom without even taking off my coat. He stood up and grabbed my wrist. His grip was tight, painful. “Nora Hayes, you don’t even want to talk to me anymore?” His voice was tight with restrained anger. I stopped and turned to face him. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked worn down. “What do you want me to say?” I asked calmly. “Ask how badly Stella fell? Ask why you left me alone at the restaurant? Or ask when you plan to make her move out?” Preston froze, clearly not expecting me to be so direct. He let go of my hand and rubbed his temples in frustration. “Stella slipped in the shower and sprained her ankle. She has no one here, I can’t just ignore her.” “So?” I looked at him. “Because she has no one, your wife deserves to be abandoned at a restaurant?” “Can you be reasonable?” Preston’s voice rose. “You’re an adult, what’s so hard about eating dinner alone and taking a cab home? She was hurt, it was urgent. Can you stop being so petty?” That sentence was like a needle, precisely piercing the softest part of my heart.

Nora’s POV Suddenly I found it kind of funny. “Yeah, I’m petty.” I nodded, my lips curling into a mocking smile. “Not only am I petty, I’m cold-hearted. If you think I’m so awful, why did you marry me?” Preston’s face darkened instantly. “Nora, stop being unreasonable. I said once her injury heals, she’ll move out.” “Whatever.” I turned and walked into the bedroom, locking the door behind me. Leaning against the door, I slowly slid down to the floor. No tears, just a deep sense of helplessness. The next day was Saturday. I got up early, washed up, and got ready to head to the office to work. Walking past the guest room, I noticed the door was half open. Preston was crouched by the bed, holding an ice pack, carefully applying it to Stella’s ankle. “Does it hurt? I’ll be gentle.” His voice was so tender it could drip honey. Stella was propped up against the headboard, her eyes red, like a startled fawn. “Preston, I’m sorry. I keep causing you trouble.” “Silly, what kind of talk is that?” Preston reached out and ruffled her hair. “With me here, you have nothing to worry about.” I stood outside the door, quietly watching this scene. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, every breath bringing pain. Once upon a time, that tenderness belonged to me. I pulled my eyes away, turned, and went downstairs. The office on a weekend was quiet. I sat at my computer staring at design blueprints on the screen, but all I could see were images of Preston and Stella together. My mouse drifted aimlessly over the drawings, lines becoming chaotic and disordered. My phone buzzed. A message from Preston on Snapchat. [What do you want for lunch? I’ll have the housekeeper make something and send it over.] I stared at the message, finding it darkly ironic. I didn’t reply. I tossed the phone aside and forced myself to focus on work. At three in the afternoon, Lily pushed open the door. “Nora, someone’s downstairs looking for you.” I paused. “Who?” “I don’t recognize her. She’s a woman, pretty, with a cast on her foot.” Stella. What was she doing here? I frowned and got up to head downstairs. In the lobby’s lounge area, Stella was sitting on a couch, a pair of crutches next to her. When she saw me, she struggled to stand up. “Don’t move.” I walked over and sat across from her. “What did you want?” Stella looked at me with a hint of timidity. “Ms. Hayes, I came to apologize.” She bit her lip, her voice soft. “Last night was my fault. I shouldn’t have called Preston and ruined your anniversary.” I looked at her, with her pitiful expression, and felt a wave of irritation. “Does Preston know you came to find me?” Stella shook her head. “He went to the office. I snuck out.” “If you knew it would ruin things, why did you call?” I stared into her eyes, my tone calm but sharp. Stella paled. “I… I was just so scared, and his number was the only one on my phone…” “Stella.” I cut her off. “You don’t need to put on an act for me. You know what you want, and I know it too.” She jerked her head up, panic flashing in her eyes. “Ms. Hayes, you’re misunderstanding. There’s really nothing between me and Preston. He’s just taking care of me because my husband died…” “Your husband died two years ago.” I looked at her coldly. “And in these two years, you’ve come to him for everything. He stayed at the hospital when you were sick. He helped you move. Hell, when your cat died, he dropped work to go cry with you.” I paused and took a deep breath. “Are you actually depending on him, or are you using your husband’s death to manipulate him?” Stella’s tears spilled instantly. “I’m not… I really am not…” She cried pitifully, as if she’d been deeply wronged. Just then, hurried footsteps came from the lobby entrance. Preston rushed in, his face stony. He shielded Stella behind him, glaring at me. “Nora, what are you doing! Her foot is still injured, why did you drag her here!” I looked at him, terrified that I might hurt Stella, and suddenly found it absurdly funny. “Why don’t you ask her—did I call her here, or did she come on her own?” Preston turned to look at Stella. She clutched his sleeve, sobbing uncontrollably. “Preston, don’t blame Ms. Hayes. I came on my own. I wanted to explain to her, I don’t want to come between you two…” “What is there to explain to her!” Preston tenderly wiped her tears. “Your foot isn’t healed, why are you running around.” He turned back to me, his eyes full of disappointment and disgust. “Nora, I thought you were just being stubborn. I didn’t realize you were so narrow-minded. Stella is already pitiful enough, why do you have to target her at every turn?” I looked at this man I’d loved for seven years, and suddenly he felt like a stranger. So much a stranger that I didn’t even want to defend myself. “Think whatever you want.” I stood up and straightened my hem. “Take your Stella and get out of my office. Don’t get in my way here.” With that, I turned and walked toward the elevator. Behind me came Preston’s angry shout: “Nora, you’re impossible to talk to!” The elevator doors slowly closed, cutting off his voice. I leaned against the elevator wall, tilted my head back, and forced the sting in my eyes to stay there. I was already too disappointed to be sad anymore.

Nora’s POV After that day, Preston and I fell into a cold war. He left early and came home late every day. The few times we crossed paths at home, we had nothing to say to each other. Stella’s ankle gradually healed, but she didn’t move out. Preston hired a housekeeper to take care of her. In that house, I felt more and more like an outsider who didn’t belong. Half a month later, there was an important charity gala in New York. As a business elite, Preston was naturally on the guest list. By convention, as his wife, I was expected to attend with him. Before we left, I was in the closet picking out a dress. Preston pushed open the door and handed me a jewelry box. “Wear this tonight.” I opened it—the diamond necklace he’d given me. “No need. I already have jewelry picked out.” I declined flatly. Preston’s face darkened. “There will be a lot of media tonight. If you wear this, people will know we’re happy together.” Hearing that from his mouth was the height of irony. I looked at him, said nothing, and silently put the necklace around my neck. The cold diamonds pressed against my skin, completely without warmth. The gala was a glittering scene of evening gowns and champagne toasts. Preston held my arm, gracefully moving through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with other business tycoons. To outsiders, we were a perfectly matched couple. Only I knew that the arm he had linked with mine was stiff, devoid of feeling. Halfway through the gala came the charity auction. Preston won an ancient painting, drawing rounds of applause. The next item was an emerald necklace. The host introduced it as “Tears of the Deep Sea,” symbolizing eternal protection. I looked at the necklace on the big screen, my expression shifting slightly. It was a piece I’d seen in a magazine once and casually mentioned I loved. Preston clearly remembered too. He raised his paddle and started bidding. The price climbed quickly, and in the end Preston won the necklace at three times the starting price. People around us cast envious glances. “Mr. Hartley really dotes on his wife—he didn’t even blink at that price.” “Ms. Hayes is so lucky.” Listening to the compliments, I felt nothing inside. After the auction ended, Preston went backstage to handle the paperwork. I stood in a corner of the hall waiting for him. A moment later, he came over holding a delicate velvet box. I reached out to take it. He pulled it away from my hand. “I want to give this necklace to Stella.” He looked at me, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather. My hand froze in midair. The air around me seemed to solidify. “What did you say?” I doubted my own ears. “Stella’s been down lately. I want to give her a gift to cheer her up.” Preston avoided my eyes. “You already have that diamond necklace. Give this one to her. You don’t like flashy jewelry anyway.” I looked at him, finding it utterly absurd. In front of hundreds of witnesses, he bid on a necklace I loved, then told me it was for another woman. “Preston, what do you take me for?” I lowered my voice, fighting to control its tremor. “Can you stop making a scene?” He frowned, impatience in his tone. “It’s just a necklace. Do you have to be this petty? I’ll buy you a better one tomorrow.” Just a necklace.

Nora’s POV He didn’t get it—what I cared about was never the necklace. It was his heart, which had completely tilted toward Stella. I pulled my hand back, clenching it into a tight fist, my nails digging into my palm. I used the pain to hold onto my last shred of dignity. “Fine. Give it to her.” I looked at him and said coldly, “Preston, you’d better remember what you did today.” With that, I turned and walked out. “Where are you going?” he called after me. “Home.” I didn’t wait for him. I walked straight out of the ballroom. The night wind outside was cold, cutting through my thin gown. I wrapped my shawl tighter and walked briskly to the curb to hail a cab. When I got home, the living room was pitch black. I didn’t turn on the lights. I felt my way to the couch and sat down. In the darkness, all my senses sharpened. I heard the clock ticking on the wall, the cars passing outside, and the sound of my own heart breaking. I don’t know how long it was before the door lock clicked. Preston was home. He turned on the light, saw me sitting on the couch, and paused. “Why didn’t you turn on the lights?” He walked over, faintly smelling of alcohol. I said nothing, just looked at him quietly. He was holding the box with the necklace. “Stella’s asleep. I’ll give her the necklace tomorrow.” He set the box on the table and sat down beside me, reaching out to put his arm around my shoulder. I leaned away. His hand froze in midair, his face darkening. “Nora, how long are you going to keep this up? I’m exhausted from all these social events. Can’t you understand the position I’m in?” Understand. I looked at him and suddenly laughed. “Preston, in these seven years, how many times have I not understood?” In the early days of his startup, when his cash flow dried up, I sold the house my parents left me to help him through. When he was hospitalized with stomach bleeding, I took care of him devotedly for a whole month. When he was too busy to spend time with me, I never complained once. I gave him all my youth and passion, and what I got in return was disappointment and humiliation, over and over. “You’re tired. I’m tired too.” I stood up and looked down at him. “Preston, let’s split up.” I said it softly, but it landed like a sledgehammer in the quiet living room. Preston’s head jerked up, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief. “What did you say?” “I said, let’s get a divorce.” I looked into his eyes, my tone calmer than ever. No hysterics, no tears. Just a sense of release. Preston stared at me, his chest heaving violently. After a long moment, he let out a cold laugh. “Divorce? Nora, do you think marriage is a game? You get married when you want, divorce when you want?” He stood up and stepped closer, his eyes carrying a condescending arrogance. “Don’t think threatening me with divorce will make me cave. I’m telling you, it won’t happen.” He thought I was playing hard to get. He thought I couldn’t leave him. I looked at that familiar face and suddenly felt utterly exhausted. I turned and walked toward the bedroom. “I’ll have my lawyer draft the agreement and send it to you.” The door closed behind me. I leaned against it and let out a long breath. It was over. This seven-year war of attrition was finally about to end.

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“Captain Pierce, there’s thunder outside, I’m so scared… can you come check on me?” It was 11 PM when Sophie called, her voice choked with sobs. Adrian Pierce grabbed his car keys and headed for the door. I stood behind him, my voice soft: “Adrian, if you walk out that door tonight, we’re done. For good.” He gripped the door handle, not even bothering to turn around. He just scoffed coldly. “Hannah, don’t threaten me with a breakup. You can’t live without me—the whole airline knows it.” The door slammed shut. He didn’t look back. Not once. I crouched down and slipped off the plain band he’d put on my finger himself. The moment it slid past my knuckle, I realized something—taking it off didn’t hurt as much as I’d imagined. I pulled out my phone and dialed another number. “Ethan, you mentioned last time that Doctors Without Borders still needs a logistics coordinator?” A gentle voice came through the line. “You’re welcome anytime. But didn’t you say you needed more time to think it over?” I smiled and tossed the ring into the trash. “No need to think anymore. My husband died in his mistress’s bed. I can leave tomorrow.”

Hannah’s POV Thirty thousand feet up, on a flight from New York to Los Angeles. The plane suddenly hit severe turbulence. The violent weightless sensation sent the entire cabin into a brief panic. Overhead bins clunked dully, uncollected paper cups tumbled through the air, splattering brown coffee everywhere. I was in the rear cabin checking seatbelts when the unexpected jolt threw me completely off balance. I crashed hard onto the aisle floor. My knee slammed against the sharp metal edge of the service cart, and excruciating pain shot through my entire body. I gritted my teeth, cold sweat sliding down my temples. Before, whenever there was even the slightest turbulence, the cockpit’s intercom would ring back to the rear cabin immediately. Adrian’s deep, steady voice would come through the static: “Hannah, are you hurt? Find a seat and buckle up. Don’t be scared.” He would even break protocol to request altitude changes from the tower, just to spare me a bit of turbulence. Everyone in the airline knew that Lead Flight Attendant Hannah Bennett was the treasure Captain Pierce had protected for seven years. But now, the intercom was dead silent. I gripped the service cart and forced myself to stand, pushing through the searing pain in my knee. I summoned my professional smile to reassure the panicked passengers. “Everyone, please stay calm and fasten your seatbelts. It’s just normal turbulence…” Just then, the cabin PA crackled to life. It wasn’t Adrian’s reassuring voice that came through, but a young, sweet—even slightly excited—female voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your First Officer Sophie. The plane is experiencing some turbulence, but please don’t worry. Captain Pierce is teaching me how to handle it right now, and we’ll land safely.” I froze. My nails dug deep into my palms, and every breath sent pain shooting through my chest. So while the turbulence had been at its worst, he’d been in the cockpit patiently teaching Sophie how to fly through it. He was giving the favoritism and privilege that had once been mine alone—without reservation—to a new female pilot who’d been with the airline less than three months. Two hours later, the plane touched down smoothly at Los Angeles International Airport. In the crew corridor, Adrian walked at the front, his captain’s uniform crisp, his posture impeccable. Sophie trailed right beside him like a happy little bird, chattering away about the close call. I dragged my heavy flight case at the very back. My right knee was swollen, and every step felt like walking on knife blades. Limping, I fell far behind. Adrian stopped and turned to look at me, his brow furrowed tight, impatience clear in his voice. “Hannah, hurry up. The whole crew’s bus is waiting for you.” I stopped, looking at him from several feet away. That face I’d loved for seven years was now filled with coldness. “I hurt my leg,” I said quietly. No self-pity. Just stating a fact. Adrian’s expression didn’t flicker. His voice was ice cold. “As lead flight attendant, you don’t know to secure yourself first during turbulence? Where’s your professionalism? Don’t use excuses like that to drag your feet.” Sophie tugged at Adrian’s sleeve from the side, cutting in with that sweet, syrupy voice. “Captain Pierce, don’t be harsh on her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to. Back in the cockpit, if you hadn’t held my hand to guide me through the controls, I would’ve been terrified.” Held her hand. I lowered my eyes, hiding the sting in them. I took a deep breath, gripped my case, and quickened my pace. I walked right past them, heading straight for the crew bus. As I passed, I didn’t spare Adrian a single glance.

Hannah’s POV On the crew bus. The window seat in the first row had always been mine. I get a little carsick, so Adrian had made it a rule that no one else could sit there. Every time before I boarded, there would be a cup of warm water Adrian had prepared waiting in the cupholder. I dragged my injured leg onto the bus and instinctively headed for the first row. Only to find Sophie already sitting there, holding a steaming cup of warm water in her hands. When she saw me, Sophie blinked her big innocent eyes and bit her lower lip. “Hannah, I’m so sorry. I get a bit carsick, and Captain Pierce told me to sit here. You don’t mind, do you?” I stared at that cup of warm water. My stomach churned. I turned to look at Adrian, who’d come up behind me. Adrian avoided my eyes, tossing his flight bag onto the seat next to Sophie. He spoke flatly. “She’s new, and she’s not feeling well. Go sit in the back. Don’t make a fuss with her.” Don’t make a fuss with her. My lips twitched. I didn’t say a word. I turned and walked to the very back row of the bus. The bus started, rocking and swaying. I sat in the corner of the last row, watching as Adrian tilted his head toward Sophie in the first row, patiently explaining something. Sophie laughed happily. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the cold window. At the crew hotel, Adrian got the room keys at the front desk. He handed one to Sophie, his voice gentle. “Get some good rest. I’ll take you somewhere nice for dinner tonight.” Then he tossed the other key onto the counter without even looking at me. “Yours.” I picked up the key and rode the elevator up alone. Back in my room, I peeled off my uniform and rolled up my pant leg. My right knee was already mottled purple, swollen like a macaron. I didn’t get ice, didn’t apply any ointment. I just sat quietly on the edge of the bed, staring at the bruise. Did it hurt? You get used to it after a while. The pain stops registering. I pulled out my phone and opened the airline’s internal system. Pinned to the homepage was a recruitment notice: 【Notice Regarding the Selection of Outstanding Cabin Crew for Long-Term Deployment to Damascus】. Damascus. A volatile city in the Middle East. Constant warfare, brutal conditions, where even basic personal safety couldn’t be one hundred percent guaranteed. Once you went, you couldn’t transfer back for at least three years—essentially severing yourself from your current comfortable life. The posting had been up for two weeks. Out of thousands of flight attendants in the entire airline, not a single person had signed up. I stared at the screen for a long time. Before, Adrian would fuss for hours over me flying a single red-eye. He’d find every way to switch me to his daytime routes. He used to say, “Hannah, as long as I’m here, you’ll never have to suffer through anything like that.” But now, the man who promised to protect me forever was holding his umbrella over someone else. I didn’t hesitate. My finger tapped lightly, filling out the application, and I hit submit. A dialog box popped up: 【Once submitted, this application cannot be withdrawn. Please confirm to continue?】 I pressed 【Confirm】. Watching the screen display “Submission successful. Pending review,” I let out a long breath. It was like I’d finally carved out a piece of rotting flesh from inside myself.

Hannah’s POV That evening, the crew dinner. It was at a famous seafood place in LA. When I walked into the private room, all the food was already on the table. A whole spread—tuna, lobster, oysters. I stopped in the doorway. I’m allergic to seafood. Severely. Even a tiny bit makes me break out in hives and struggle to breathe. Before, Adrian would never bring the crew out for seafood. If there really was no other option, he’d order me a steak separately, then sweep all the shrimp and crab away from my place, declaring possessively, “You can only watch me eat.” Today, there was no steak. Because Sophie had pouted on the bus that we absolutely had to have great seafood while in LA. I found a seat at the edge of the table and sat down. Sophie put on disposable gloves, peeled a plump shrimp, and naturally placed it in Adrian’s bowl. “Captain Pierce, try this. It’s amazing!” Adrian didn’t refuse. He picked up the shrimp, popped it in his mouth, and nodded. “Good.” A sharp pain twisted in my stomach. I picked up the beer in front of me, took a sip, and didn’t touch the food. Adrian noticed my empty plate from the corner of his eye. His brow furrowed, displeasure in his tone. “Why aren’t you eating? Everyone’s enjoying themselves. Are you trying to ruin the mood right now?” The room went silent in an instant. Everyone looked at me. I set down my glass and looked Adrian directly in the eye, my voice calm and steady. “I’m allergic to seafood. Did you forget?” Adrian’s hand froze mid-shrimp-peel. A flash of frustration crossed his eyes, but it was quickly buried under irritation. He grabbed a napkin, wiped his hands, and said coldly, “So you’re allergic. Just ask the waiter to add a dish. Why make everyone uncomfortable?” Sophie shot up, her eyes red, looking like she’d suffered the greatest injustice in the world. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I didn’t know you were allergic. Captain Pierce never mentioned it… It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked for seafood.” Her tears made me look like the wicked one bullying the new girl. A few of the first officers nearby quickly comforted Sophie. “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s not your fault.” I’d had enough. I stood up and grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair. “You all enjoy. My stomach’s bothering me. I’m heading back first.” Without acknowledging the storm cloud darkening Adrian’s face, I pushed open the door and walked out. It had started pouring outside at some point. LA rain always comes fast and hard. I didn’t have an umbrella. I stood under the restaurant’s awning, staring blankly at the curtain of rain. Before, when it rained, Adrian would take off his jacket and wrap it around me, holding me tight against him. He’d hold the umbrella, with most of his body getting soaked, just to keep me from getting a single drop on me. Now, I stood here alone, the cold wind cutting through my thin shirt. Footsteps came from behind me. Adrian stepped out under a black umbrella, with Sophie pressed tight against his side, both her hands wrapped around his arm. When he saw me, Adrian paused. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. But Sophie shivered at that exact moment and burrowed closer into him. “Captain Pierce, I’m so cold. Let’s hurry.” Adrian’s gaze lingered on my thin frame for a second, then finally turned away. He shielded Sophie and walked straight to a taxi waiting at the curb. The door slammed shut. The car drove off quickly. The wheels rolled through a puddle, splashing dirty water that soaked my pant legs. I stood there, watching the car disappear into the rainy night, and suddenly laughed. As I laughed, tears mixed with rain came pouring down.

Hannah’s POV I went back to the New York apartment we shared. I pushed open the door. The place was pitch black. I didn’t turn on the lights. By the moonlight from the window, I dragged a 20-inch suitcase out of the storage closet. My Damascus deployment application had passed the initial review. Next week was the in-depth physical examination. I started packing. There wasn’t much to pack, really. This apartment was filled with things Adrian had bought me. The closet was hung with dresses he’d picked, the vanity was covered with skincare he’d bought. I only took a few old clothes I’d bought myself, a few books I read often, and stuffed them in the case. At 11 PM, the lock turned. Adrian was home. He reeked of alcohol, with a faint trace of perfume clinging to him. That cloying peach scent Sophie loved. Click. The living room lights came on. Adrian loosened his tie. When he saw the suitcase in the middle of the living room, his brow knotted instantly. “You have a trip? The schedule didn’t show you had any flights.” I put the last book in the case and zipped it up. “Just packing some old clothes to throw out.” Adrian walked over and reflexively reached out to hug me. I stepped back, avoiding his touch. Adrian’s hand froze in midair. His expression darkened instantly. “Hannah, how long are you going to keep this up? You’ve been acting like this since we got back from LA. Sophie is just a student the company assigned to me. So I took care of her a little more—what’s the big deal? Do you have to be this petty?” I stood up straight and looked at his eyes, slightly red from the alcohol. “Just a student?” My voice was soft but clear. “Does a student need you to pick her up after work at midnight? Does a student need you to give her my first officer position? Does a student need you to forget my seafood allergy just to satisfy her cravings?” Adrian raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “You never used to be this petty. You’re a great lead flight attendant—can’t you be reasonable? Stop being so immature, like a little girl.” His words struck me as the height of irony. He used to say, “Hannah, you never have to be ‘reasonable’ in front of me. I’ll handle everything for you.” Now, he was complaining I wasn’t reasonable enough. Just then, Adrian’s phone, sitting on the table, rang. Sophie’s name flashed on the screen. Adrian glanced at me, then picked up. In the quiet living room, Sophie’s tearful voice came through crystal clear. “Captain Pierce, there’s thunder outside, I’m so scared… can you come check on me? I’m too scared to sleep alone.” Adrian didn’t hesitate at all. He turned to grab his car keys by the door. “Don’t be scared. I’m coming over right now.” I watched his back and suddenly spoke. “Adrian, if you walk out that door tonight, we’re done. For good.” Adrian’s hand froze on the door handle. He turned around, his eyes filled with certainty and mockery. “Hannah, don’t threaten me with a breakup. You can’t live without me—the whole airline knows it. When I come back tomorrow, I hope you’ll have calmed down.” The door slammed shut. I stood in the empty living room. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I walked to the TV stand and picked up the picture frame. Inside was the photo of us from three years ago under the Eiffel Tower. Adrian was kissing my forehead, smiling with such tenderness. I opened the frame, pulled the photo out, ripped it into pieces, and threw it in the trash.

Hannah’s POV The last flight I worked with Adrian was New York to Chicago. Sophie was in the cockpit as an observer. Mid-flight, she came out to use the restroom. As she passed through first class, the plane hit a small patch of turbulence. Sophie’s foot slipped. The coffee cup in her hand went flying, landing squarely on a VIP passenger’s laptop. “Are you blind?!” The passenger exploded with rage, jumping to his feet. “I’ve got tens of millions in contract data on that computer! Can you afford to replace it? Get me your lead flight attendant! I’m filing a complaint!” Sophie went pale with terror, tears spilling instantly. She covered her face and ducked behind the work area, not even managing a single apology. I heard the commotion and rushed over immediately. I glanced at Sophie trembling behind the curtain but didn’t say anything. I grabbed a towel, walked over to the passenger, and bowed at a perfect ninety degrees. “Sir, I’m so sorry. This was our staff’s mistake. Our airline will cover the full cost of cleaning and repairing your laptop. If you have any data loss, we’ll also assist you through the compensation process.” The passenger was furious. He pointed at me and cursed for a full half hour. All kinds of vile words rained down on me, but I maintained my bow the entire time without a single word of defense. It wasn’t until the plane landed and the passenger signed the compensation agreement that things finally settled down. The crew conference room. Adrian sat at the head of the table, his face dark as stone. He slammed the complaint form down on the table, his cold gaze sweeping toward me. “What happened with the first class complaint today? Hannah, as lead flight attendant, you can’t even calm a passenger down? You let a customer scream in the cabin for thirty minutes—where’s your crisis management?” I stood there, my back ramrod straight, saying nothing. Sophie sat next to Adrian, her eyes red, speaking timidly. “Captain Pierce, it’s not Hannah’s fault. I’m the one who carelessly spilled the coffee…” “Quiet.” Adrian cut her off, his eyes still locked on me. “You’re a pilot. The cabin is her responsibility. Hannah, are you taking your issues with me out on a new crew member during a flight? Watching her mess up and doing nothing, just to prove how competent you are?” The conference room went deathly silent. Everyone looked at Adrian in disbelief. They all knew Sophie had caused the mess, that I’d taken the blame for her and endured thirty minutes of abuse. Yet Adrian, without any regard for right and wrong, was pushing all the responsibility onto me. I looked at this man. Seven years of love, in this moment, had become a complete joke. I raised my hand, slowly removed the gold badge on my chest that marked me as lead flight attendant, and gently placed it on the table. “It was my fault,” I said, my voice as flat as still water. “I didn’t look after the new crew member. I didn’t handle the emergency properly. I accept whatever punishment the airline gives.” Adrian was stunned for a moment, but then continued his rigid commands. “Three days grounded. Write me a thorough written reflection.” I nodded. “Fine.” I turned and walked out of the conference room, without a single lingering glance.

Hannah’s POV During my three days grounded, I went to the airline medical center. The initial review for the Damascus deployment had passed. Today was the day for the in-depth physical. The flight doctor was maybe in his fifties. He looked at my paperwork and sighed. “Ms. Bennett, you need to really think this through. Damascus—an airport there was bombed just last month. If you go, you’ll be living on the edge of death. You’re so young. Why would you choose to go there?” I smiled, my eyes clear. “It suits me better.” He shook his head and pulled a thick document from his drawer, handing it to me. “This is the liability waiver. Once you sign, if anything happens to you in Damascus, the airline only covers the death benefit. They take no other responsibility. Think it over.” I took the pen and signed my name on the last page without any hesitation. The pen scratched across the paper with a soft rasp, like it was severing every tie to the past. Coming out of the office, I walked toward the exit with my exam reports. Just as I rounded the corner, I ran face-first into Adrian and Sophie. Sophie’s index finger was wrapped in gauze. She was leaning against Adrian, pouting. “Captain Pierce, it hurts so much. Will it leave a scar?” Adrian looked down at her hand with rare patience. “It’s just a little nick from cutting fruit. The doctor said it would’ve healed on its own if you’d come even a little later. Don’t worry.” When Adrian looked up, he saw me standing not far away. He froze, his gaze quickly scanning my pale face, finally landing on the stack of papers in my hand. “Are you sick?” Adrian’s brow furrowed, and he instinctively took a step forward. I tucked the exam papers behind me, my tone indifferent. “No. Just a routine check-up.” When Sophie saw me, she straightened up immediately. She deliberately raised her bandaged finger and said sweetly, “Hannah, are you here to see the doctor too? Captain Pierce says I can’t get my hand wet, so he’s going to be cooking at home for me these next few days. You don’t mind, do you?” Cooking for her. That kitchen that had once been mine alone. That kitchen where Adrian had hugged me from behind to teach me how to cook—it was about to welcome a new mistress. I looked at Sophie’s provocative face and said calmly, “That’s nice. I’ve got things to do. I’m going.” I walked past them, heading straight forward. Adrian grabbed my wrist. “Hannah, what exactly are you angry about?” Adrian lowered his voice. “Three days grounded hasn’t been enough to wake you up? You won’t be satisfied until our relationship is completely broken?” I lowered my head and pried his fingers off one by one. “I’m very awake.” I looked up and stared into his eyes. The corners of my mouth even curved up in the faintest smile. “Captain Pierce, I wish you both happiness.” With that, I turned and left. The day before I left New York. I did the final cleanup in the apartment. I called a local courier and shipped off the few old clothes and books that were mine. Everything else, anything I couldn’t take—I threw into trash bags. All those expensive dresses, bags, and jewelry Adrian had bought me—I didn’t take a single thing. I hung them neatly in the closet. I walked to the vanity, pulled open the drawer, and took out a velvet box. I opened it. Inside lay a plain band. It was the ring Adrian had bought when he proposed to me in Paris years ago. He’d said once he got promoted, we’d get married. I’d worn this ring for years. The band already had fine scratches on it. I took the ring off and placed it on the living room table. Next to it, I set down the apartment key I’d used for years. When everything was done, the whole apartment felt empty, as clean and soulless as a model home. No more of my slippers, no more of my water glass, none of the traces of my life left behind. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Adrian: 【There’s a banquet tonight, with people from the airline. Come. Stop sulking. We’ll talk things through together, and the grounding business will be over.】 I looked at the words on the screen and found it a little funny. He thought I was throwing a tantrum. He thought all he had to do was wave his hand and I’d come crawling back gratefully like before. I tapped lightly and replied: 【Okay.】

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It was the third year of my marriage to Ethan Vance when he became the most devoted rising star in our city’s medical field. Everyone knew he’d sacrificed a chance to study abroad for his wife, who suffered from severe depression. He’d even built a state-of-the-art sterile medical suite in our home for her care. Until that day, when I found a death certificate dated three days from now, hidden in a secret compartment in his study. Cause of death: Severe depressive episode, overdose of sleeping pills. Next to it, was the top-secret autopsy report from my mother’s lab explosion accident years ago. The signatory was Arthur Vance, Ethan’s father. He pushed the door open, carrying the cup of warm milk he prepared for me every single day, without fail. His smile was chillingly gentle. “Summer, it’s time for your medicine. Drink it, then get some good rest.” I took the milk, returning his smile with one of my own. “Okay, Ethan.” He had no idea the medicine in that milk had long been replaced with a hallucinogenic neurotoxin, meant for him. Since he wanted me to die a perfectly natural death, I’d make sure he went mad for all the world to see.

Ethan didn’t argue with me the day I found the death certificate. The rain outside the villa was heavy, streaking down the floor-to-ceiling windows. He sat across from me at the dining table, meticulously cutting my steak. The blade scraped softly against the white porcelain, a subtle, teeth-grinding sound. His movements were elegant, his expression focused, his tone as gentle as if nothing had happened, as if our seven-day cold war didn’t exist at all. “Summer, you’ve been too stressed lately, always paranoid and jumpy. Eat this meat, it’ll do you good.” I looked at the bloody steak, my stomach churned, but I didn’t touch it. “Ethan, I’m not stressed, I’m going to stop my medication. Those pills make me so drowsy all day, I can barely tell the difference in reagent colors anymore.” He looked up at me, and that familiar, suffocating pity immediately surfaced in his deep eyes. It was a condescending gaze, like he was looking at a terminally ill, irrational madwoman. “Stopping medication isn’t a small matter, Summer. Your doctor said your nerves are extremely fragile right now. We’ll talk about it when your mood is a bit more stable.” I’d heard that sentence too many times. Every time I tried to break free from this web he’d woven, he would use that gentle tone to press me back into the cage he called “severe depression.” I didn’t want to argue with him anymore because I knew the only outcome would be me being forcibly injected with a sedative. I gave him a cold glance, then got up and went back to the bedroom. The cold war lasted for seven days. During those days, he said the approval for a new targeted drug at his company required him to work through the night, so he barely came home. In this empty villa, it was just me and a few maids who came to clean on schedule, never saying more than a word to me. I didn’t ask where he went, nor did I answer his calls. That morning, I sat in the living room, organizing the pharmacology manuscripts my mother had left behind. Those manuscripts were my only solace, the only real thing I could grasp onto in this cold house. The doorbell suddenly rang, urgent and sharp. I opened the door to find two people in white coats, with police officers behind them. “Hello, are you Ms. Summer Reed?” I nodded, a faint unease rising in my heart. One of the officers glanced inside, his gaze lingering for a moment on the scattered manuscripts on the table. His tone softened, carrying a professional, yet sympathetic air. “Your husband reported that after you stopped your medication, you’ve shown severe self-destructive tendencies, accompanied by persecutory delusions, and even hoarded dangerous chemicals at home. We’re here to verify the situation.” I froze, blood rushing to my head. Self-destructive tendencies? Hoarding dangerous chemicals? I’d been home these past seven days, doing nothing but reading and organizing manuscripts. All I did was not answer Ethan’s calls or reply to his messages. Just as I was about to explain, the elevator door suddenly opened. Ethan rushed out, his usually immaculately styled hair now a little disheveled, his white shirt collar slightly open. His eyes were red, and his chest heaved, as if he’d run all the way up. He pushed past the officers and pulled me into a suffocating embrace, his grip so tight I could barely breathe. His voice was hoarse, thick with lingering fear. “Summer, you scared me to death! How could you lock the door from the inside? Do you know how worried I was that you’d do something foolish?” My body stiffened, a chill starting in my stomach and spreading through my entire body. The officers and doctors visibly relaxed, even showing a hint of respect for Ethan. Ethan released me and turned to explain to them, his voice calm, controlled, yet radiating endless exhaustion. “I apologize for the trouble, officers. Her mental state hasn’t been good recently. Last night, she even sent messages saying someone was poisoning her food, and this morning, surveillance showed her searching for weed killer. I was so worried she’d have an accident, I had no choice but to call for your help.” I snapped my head up, staring intently at his flawless face. “When did I ever send messages like that? What weed killer? Ethan, you’re lying!” He looked at me, his gaze almost helplessly gentle, and even reached out to smooth a stray wisp of hair behind my ear. “Summer, don’t try to act tough in front of the doctors. I know you’re in pain. Let’s get you better, okay?” That’s when I understood. He wasn’t explaining. He was making a diagnosis for me. The more I denied it, the more I seemed to be losing control. The angrier I got, the more I appeared mentally unstable. Before the doctors left, they tactfully reminded me to take my medication on time and handed me a business card, saying that if I resisted home treatment, I could consider forced hospitalization for inpatient intervention. After the door closed, silence returned to the villa. I shoved Ethan away, my voice trembling. “What exactly do you want?” He stood still, looking down at me, the worried curve of his lips slowly smoothing out. His voice was a low sigh. “I’m just afraid of losing you, Summer.” Three years ago, I would have softened. But now, I just felt cold. Bone-chilling cold. That night, I opened my phone, and a new message from my father-in-law, Arthur Vance, was in the family Snapchat group. “Summer’s condition has relapsed recently. She almost had an accident today, thankfully Ethan found out in time. Please don’t upset her, contact Ethan first if you need anything. The poor child has suffered so much.” A row of agreeing comments followed. “Ethan, you work so hard, stuck with a daughter-in-law like this.” “Summer is just unlucky, it’s a blessing she married Ethan, anyone else would have abandoned her long ago.” “No hurdle is too big for a married couple, she needs to be sent to the hospital for treatment immediately.” I stared at the screen, my fingertips tightening until my knuckles turned white. Immediately after, my phone buzzed with several cold system notifications: “Your medical account has been accessed from another location.” “Your health insurance card attempted to bind to a new device.” “Your cloud medical records enabled family sharing.” “Your smart pill box record sync failed, showing multiple unauthorized openings.” I sat in the living room, suddenly feeling the silence was terrifying, every tick of the clock felt like a countdown. Those actions weren’t just to steal my money or simply monitor me. They were creating a flawless electronic trail. To prove that I had experienced an episode, sought help, been confused, lost control. Ethan wasn’t acting on impulse. He had already started creating a trajectory of “severe depressive episode, mental breakdown” for me. He was weaving a death trap everyone would believe.

The next day, I suppressed the fear in my heart and went to the research institute. I’m a pharmacology researcher, and I’ve been leading a targeted drug experiment for neurological conditions. I’d poured my heart and soul into this project, tracking data for six months, and preliminary results were imminent. As soon as I entered the lab, my colleagues, who had been in lively discussion, suddenly quieted as if choked. They quickly lowered their heads, pretending to be busy, but I could feel sticky, probing, even slightly fearful gazes crawling over my back. Soon after, the director called me into his office. He poured me a glass of warm water, choosing his words carefully, his tone firm and non-negotiable. “Summer, please set aside this targeted project for now. Liam will take over the subsequent data analysis. You’ll be on paid leave for three months.” I looked at him, my fingers tightly gripping the water glass. “Why? My data is fine, and the experiment is at a critical stage.” The director sighed, avoiding my gaze. “Mr. Vance called me this morning and said you’ve been experiencing extreme sleep deprivation, severe mood swings, and even serious hallucinations at home, with self-harming tendencies. Summer, we’re doing this for your own good. Research is stressful, don’t push yourself too hard. If something happens in the lab, no one can afford to take responsibility for it.” It was always “for my own good.” I suppressed my anger, trying to keep my voice steady. “This is my project, and my work state is perfectly fine. I can undergo a psychological evaluation.” The director shook his head. “Summer, don’t get agitated. Mr. Vance has already sent over your diagnosis report; it was issued by Dr. Willow Hayes. Please listen, go home and rest.” Those three words, “don’t get agitated,” pierced my chest like a needle, shattering all my defenses into “symptoms of an impending episode.” At noon, Ethan came to the institute. He carried a sophisticated insulated bag and stood at the entrance of the office area, looking gentle and impeccable. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes were full of tenderness, like a considerate, devoted husband. “Summer has a delicate stomach, so I brought her some medicinal soup and came to pick her up.” My colleagues looked at him with envy, and some female colleagues even teared up. “Mr. Vance is too sweet! Such a big boss, personally delivering food.” “Summer, your husband really loves you. You need to get better soon.” I sat at my desk, suddenly feeling utterly absurd. He personally took me off my project, stripped me of my right to work, severed my normal connections with the outside world, and then showed up with soup. Everyone saw his devotion, but they didn’t see the noose around my neck. Ethan placed the insulated container on my desk, his voice soft, but loud enough for everyone around to hear. “Don’t try to act tough. Dr. Hayes said you should reduce mental stimulation these days. I’ve already gotten leave approved with the director. Let’s go home.” I looked up at him, my eyes cold. “What Dr. Hayes? I’ve never seen any Dr. Hayes.” He paused, still smiling, and reached out to touch my head. “Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to see Dr. Willow Hayes. Did you forget? We just made the appointment last week.” My heart sank. He had already prepared the next step. Fabricated memories, forced diagnoses. That afternoon, while he was in the living room on the phone, I slipped into the bathroom and called Serena Thorne. She was my university classmate and now a top forensic toxicology expert. She specialized in obscure neurotoxins and was extremely rational and fiercely protective of her own. After hearing my description, there was a minute of silence on the other end of the line. “Summer, don’t go head-to-head with him,” Serena’s voice was as cold as ice. “He’s setting a trap. Gather evidence first. Draw a blood sample, and find a way to get it to me. I suspect the medicine and milk you drink every day are laced with a hallucinogen.” After returning home, I started checking my electronic devices. My cloud photo album had several new pictures. The timestamp was 2:17 AM. In the photos, a woman wearing my white silk nightgown stood on the edge of the apartment rooftop. The strong wind billowed her skirt, her back desolate and despairing, looking exactly like me. But that night, I had been fed his so-called “calming medicine” and was sound asleep in my bedroom, not even turning over once. I downloaded the original images, imported them into professional image analysis software to check the hidden EXIF data. The device used to take the photos was not my phone. It was an older model, its serial number showing it was Ethan’s three-year-old discarded backup phone. I stared at the serial number, a chill ran down my spine, cold sweat soaked my clothes. Ethan walked in, carrying a glass of water. I handed him my phone, staring intently into his eyes. “Who is this?” He glanced at it, his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes showing a perfectly timed hint of heartache. “Summer, are you misremembering again? Didn’t you wear this nightgown last night? You sleepwalked onto the rooftop last night, and I barely managed to pull you back. Don’t you remember?” “I didn’t take these photos, and I didn’t go to the rooftop! Ethan, what exactly do you want?!” He looked at me, his eyes filled with deep pity, and even stepped forward as if to hug me. “You’ve been sleeping so poorly recently; your sleepwalking symptoms are getting worse. Memory gaps are normal. Don’t be afraid, I’m here.” I suddenly laughed, tears almost streaming down my face. So, he had planned it all along. If I refuted him, it was memory gaps, sleepwalking. If I was angry, it was emotional breakdown, mania. If I was suspicious, it was persecutory delusions. Ethan took an appointment slip from his briefcase and gently placed it on the table. My name was written on it. Deep psychological intervention and psychiatric evaluation appointment. Institution: Willow Hayes Mental Health Recovery Center. “Summer, tomorrow I’ll go with you to see Dr. Hayes.” His voice was low and soft, as if coaxing a disobedient child. “You need professional help.” I had thought about leaving immediately, escaping far away. But my identification, the core experimental data my mother left behind, the formula database, and those unencrypted experimental records were all in the basement of this house. They were something my mother died for. More importantly, I knew he had already started paving the path for my “suicide due to mental illness.” If I left now, no matter where I died, I would walk right into his script, becoming the perfect footnote to his “devoted husband” persona.

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For our fifth anniversary, I bought Luna a Porsche 91 The next day, she posted a tearful video on TikTok, accusing me of using my foul, capitalistic wealth to trample all over her desire for pure love. Her entire girl squad frantically reposted it, tearing into me as a shallow upstart who only knew how to throw money around, completely devoid of romance. Watching her cry so tragically in the video, I just found it utterly absurd. If she hated money so much, then I’d retract all her privileges. I’d prepare a “no-expenses-spared,” “true-heart-only” romance for her. Later, facing mountains of waste paper and crippling debt, she knelt, clutching my leg. “Ethan, I don’t want romance anymore! Please, just give me back the money…” 1 It was three in the morning, and my phone screen was flickering with countless notifications. Not work emails or reports, but a frantic stream of @-mentions from TikTok. I rubbed my throbbing temples and swiped to unlock. The first thing I saw was a video with over a hundred thousand likes. Posted by: Luna’s Fairytale Town. My girlfriend of five years, Luna. The video’s thumbnail was her tear-streaked face, eyes red-rimmed, with a broken, desperate look in her eyes. It was overlaid with a stark, attention-grabbing caption: [My fifth anniversary, and I received the most devastating gift.] I tapped on the video. On screen, Luna sat in the driver’s seat of a brand-new Porsche 911, clutching a car key. It was the car I’d picked up with her just yesterday, costing close to $250,000. But she wasn’t smiling. She faced the camera, tears streaming down her face like pearls. “Guys, today marks five years with my boyfriend.” “I thought, for such an important five-year anniversary, he’d prepare a surprise full of memories. Even if it was just an origami crane he folded himself, or a letter he wrote for me, or even just taking me back to that little cafe where we had our first coffee.” “But no. Nothing.” She held up the key, emblazoned with the Porsche emblem, her eyes filled with disgust and hurt. “He took me to the dealership, swiped his card, picked up the car, and then said to me: ‘Like it? Drive it home yourself.’” “In that moment, my heart completely died.” “A $250,000 car, sounds impressive, right? But to me, it’s just a pile of cold steel! It has no warmth, no soul, and absolutely no love!” “I asked him, ‘Don’t you have anything else to say to me? Don’t you have a thoughtful gift?’” “He actually snapped impatiently: ‘Are you serious? This car isn’t good enough? Other people would kill for this, don’t be so dramatic.’” Luna in the video took a deep breath, her tears splashing onto the steering wheel. “I just broke down. In his eyes, what am I? Am I just a plaything he can buy off with money?” “I, Luna, have never wanted money! What I want is thoughtfulness, sincerity, that kind of deep, unwavering choice, that cherished romance!” “Am I wrong? I just want a pure love, why is it so hard? This money-grubbing relationship, it’s truly driving me insane…” The video cut off there. I watched the screen in silence. My heart didn’t ache as it usually did for her tears. Instead, an unspeakable wave of nausea washed over me. In the video, she conveniently forgot to mention that this car was her “dream car,” one she’d seen someone else driving on the street two weeks ago and had been dropping hints about incessantly ever since. She also conveniently forgot to mention how many strings I’d pulled, and how much extra I’d paid, to get the car delivered by our anniversary. And she definitely didn’t mention that my “don’t be dramatic” comment was because she’d thrown a huge tantrum at the dealership, humiliating me, simply because the sales staff hadn’t prepared pink delivery flowers for her. In her video, I was nothing but a nouveau riche trampling on a pure maiden’s true heart. And she? A hypocritical saint, untainted by the world, seeking only true love. I clicked on the comment section. The public outcry was in full swing, my name being slandered everywhere. [OMG, Luna, don’t cry! This chauvinistic jerk who only knows how to throw money around doesn’t deserve you!] [$250,000 to buy five years of youth? What does this guy think love is? A transaction? So disgusting!] [This is the face of capitalism! Thinking money can buy everything, no respect for women at all!] [Support Luna breaking up! My boyfriend might only make a few grand a month, but he’ll bring me soup when I’m sick at midnight, or make me a ring out of a soda can. That’s priceless romance! Money is nothing!] [Girl, run! This type of guy secretly looks down on you, thinks you’re just after his money. You deserve a good man who understands you, cherishes you, and is willing to put effort into you!] [I found him! His name is Ethan Hayes, he’s the owner of a tech company. Ha, figures! The richer they are, the colder their hearts!] [@EthanHayes, come apologize! You owe Luna her youth!] I scrolled down expressionlessly. Among the top-liked comments, I saw a few familiar IDs. Brittany, Tiffany. Luna’s two “besties.” Brittany commented: [As Luna’s best friend, I truly can’t stand it. Ethan, it’s bad enough you emotionally abuse Luna normally, but to humiliate her like this on your fifth anniversary? Do you have any idea how many times she pricked her fingers knitting you that scarf?] Tiffany commented: [Exactly! Luna is a girl with a rich inner world; she needs a soulmate! Your dirty money will only tarnish her world! Just let her go already!] And what I found most ridiculous was the third top comment. ID: PeacefulYears. That was Luna’s mother, Sharon. She replied to a netizen’s comment: “Sigh, my Luna has always been too protected by me since she was little, so pure-hearted, never fighting for anything, just full of romantic fantasies. I told her long ago that Ethan is too materialistic, too pragmatic, he can’t give her the emotional fulfillment she craves. But my girl is just so headstrong, always has to learn the hard way…” “Pure-hearted.” “Never fighting for anything.” How ironic. I stared at that comment, so furious I almost laughed. I remembered three years ago, Sharon, citing “lack of security,” forced me to buy a luxury apartment in the city center, putting only Luna’s name on the deed. I remembered two years ago, when Sharon’s brother got married, she hinted that as the “future son-in-law,” I should contribute a huge cash gift of $90,000. I remembered last month, Sharon went on a European trip and maxed out my supplementary credit card, which had a $100,000 limit. Now, she was on the internet, calling me materialistic, pragmatic, and saying I couldn’t provide her daughter with emotional fulfillment. I tossed my phone onto the couch, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and lit a cigarette. Outside, the city’s most bustling nightscape glittered. Through the haze of smoke, I suddenly felt that these five years of our relationship were nothing but a ridiculous circus. I’d poured everything into elevating her and her family to a pedestal. Yet, they stood there, looking down at me with pity, calling me tainted by money, unworthy of their elegance. Well, if that’s how it is. If money’s so dirty. Then, as you wish. 2 The next morning, the apartment doorbell rang incessantly. I opened the door to find Luna standing outside. She was wearing a pure white flowy linen dress, her long hair draped over her shoulders, eyes swollen red, looking as if a gust of wind could knock her over. Behind her, standing like guardians, were Brittany and Tiffany. As soon as I opened the door, Brittany launched the first attack, rushing up like a protective mother hen. “Ethan! Are you even a man? Luna cried all night, and you didn’t even call? Didn’t reply to a single SnapChat? Are you trying to kill her?!” Tiffany’s face was cold as she chimed in: “Ethan, don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you have a few bucks. Love isn’t a transaction! Your attitude at the dealership yesterday severely wounded Luna’s self-respect!” Luna didn’t speak, just bit her lower lip, looking at me with tear-filled eyes, a mix of three parts grievance and seven parts resentment. If this were before, seeing her like this, I would have softened immediately. I would have rushed to hug her, apologized profusely, and then taken her shopping for bags, for jewelry, until she smiled again. But today, I simply watched their performance in silence. “So?” I flicked my cigarette ash, my voice calm, without a ripple of emotion. My composure stunned all three of them. Brittany’s eyes widened, as if she’d seen some incredible monster: “So? You’re asking me ‘so’? Ethan, do you have no heart?! Luna is getting so much sympathy online; as her boyfriend, shouldn’t you be reflecting on your own problems?” “Reflecting on what?” I looked at Luna. “Reflecting that I shouldn’t have bought you a Porsche?” Luna’s body trembled slightly, and her tears instantly gushed forth. “Ethan! Don’t you understand by now?!” she screamed, her voice hoarse. “I don’t want a Porsche! I don’t want those expensive luxury goods! All I want is your true heart! All I want is romance you prepare with your own effort! Why don’t you ever understand me?!” “That’s right, Ethan,” Tiffany passive-aggressively chimed in. “Look at those boyfriends in the TikTok videos; they’ll stay up all night making handmade gifts, they’ll fill an entire room with balloons for their girlfriends’ surprises. What about you? Besides bank transfers, besides swiping cards, what else can you do? Your half-hearted attitude is a complete desecration of love!” I looked at Tiffany. I distinctly remember last month, for Tiffany’s birthday, Luna used my card to pick out an $8,000 Hermes bag for her. Back then, Tiffany posted nine pictures on Twitter, gushing about her “amazing bestie” and “best guy ever.” Now, she stood here, righteously accusing me of desecrating love. “I understand,” I nodded, stubbing out my cigarette. “You understand what?” Brittany eyed me suspiciously. “Don’t think you can just brush us off. I’m telling you, Luna is truly heartbroken this time. If you don’t take some concrete action to make amends, this isn’t over!” “Concrete action?” I chuckled softly. “Like what?” Brittany immediately answered, as if she’d prepared her lines: “Next month is Luna’s birthday. This is your last chance to redeem yourself! If you dare to trick her again with those tacky designer bags or sports cars, we’ll make Luna break up with you for good!” “Exactly!” Tiffany added. “This birthday has to be pure! It has to be romantic! It has to be untainted by even a hint of vulgar money! You need to use your own hands, your own heart, to prove your love to Luna! Understand?” Luna stood behind them, saying nothing, but her eyes were full of expectation and tacit approval. She was expecting me to act like a trained dog, racking my brain to create some so-called “romance” to please her. I looked at their three righteously indignant faces and suddenly felt an unprecedented sense of ease. “Alright,” I smiled faintly, my tone gentle. “I promise you.” Luna’s eyes lit up, a flicker of triumphant joy in their depths. “Ethan…” She stepped forward, gently tugging my sleeve, her voice softening. “I didn’t mean to talk about you online; I just desperately wanted you to understand me. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” “I’m not mad,” I looked into her eyes, enunciating each word. “You want pure, no-money, true-heart romance, right?” “Mhm!” Luna nodded vigorously, like an innocent girl. “For your birthday next month, I’ll prepare a romance you’ll never forget,” I gently stroked her hair. “Absolutely untainted by any hint of vulgar money. I promise.” Luna’s tears turned to a smile, and she threw herself into my arms. Brittany and Tiffany exchanged glances, also revealing satisfied smiles. They thought they had successfully “trained” a rich, clueless guy. They thought that at the birthday party next month, they would see me act like a clown, using all sorts of pathetic tactics to curry favor with them. But they had no idea. The game had only just begun. 3 After seeing them off, I returned to my study and opened my laptop. Since it had to be “pure,” since it had to be “unconventional,” I needed to commit to the act fully. First, I called Mr. Davis, the car dealership manager. “Mr. Davis, I’m not satisfied with the 911 I picked up yesterday.” Mr. Davis was startled on the other end of the line: “Mr. Hayes, is there something wrong with the car? Please tell us, we’ll send someone to deal with it immediately!” “It’s not the car,” my tone was flat. “My girlfriend thinks it’s too vulgar, unworthy of her elegant soul. Please send someone over to take the car back.” Mr. Davis paused, not reacting for a long moment: “Huh? But… Mr. Hayes, the car has already been registered. If you return it now, it can only be valued as a used car…” “It doesn’t matter,” I cut him off. “Whatever the depreciation, it’s on me. Get the car out of my apartment complex’s garage today.” After hanging up, I opened my banking app. I found the supplementary credit card Luna always carried, the one with the $100,000 limit. Tap. Freeze. Next, I called my CFO, Mr. Miller. “Mr. Miller, please liquidate the accounts for the ‘Starlight Cafe’ under my name.” The ‘Starlight Cafe’ was a venture I’d fully funded for Luna two years ago when she impulsively said she wanted to open a coffee shop. From selecting the location to the interior design, from equipment to coffee bean suppliers, everything used top-tier resources. To satisfy her vanity as an “independent female entrepreneur,” I not only made her the legal representative of the cafe but also gave her the title of “manager.” In reality, the cafe was bleeding money every month because she was only focused on taking photos for social media and inviting her besties for free afternoon tea. All the losses were secretly covered by my main company. Mr. Miller hesitated slightly on the phone: “Mr. Hayes, that store has a monthly funding gap of about $40,000. If we liquidate now…” “Cut off all financial support from the main company to it,” I commanded coldly. “From today, the cafe’s rent, utilities, employee salaries, and supplier invoices will all be the sole responsibility of the legal representative, Luna. Also, notify the legal department to compile the deficit funds my main company advanced for her over the past two years into a loan agreement and prepare for legal action.” “Understood,” Mr. Miller was a smart man; he didn’t ask any further questions. After all that, I leaned back in my chair and let out a long sigh. For five years, I had been like a bottomless pit, filling the vanity of Luna and her family. I thought that if I gave enough, she would eventually understand my intentions. But I was wrong. Some people, you give them everything, and they’ll still find something to whine about. Since that’s the case, I’ll take back the gold mountain and give her a pile of crap. In the afternoon, Luna sent me a SnapChat. “Honey, why isn’t my card working? Brittany and I are shopping, and I found a dress I love, but the card declined.” I looked at the screen, a cold smile playing on my lips. I replied: “Honey, to prepare a special birthday surprise for you next month, I’ve decided to cut off all material dependencies starting today. I want you to see that, even without money, I can still give you the most satisfying love. As for that dress, I’ll sew you a better one myself.” After I sent the message, there was silence on her end for a full ten minutes. Ten minutes later, Luna replied with a single word: “Okay.” Even though it was through a screen, I could picture her grinding her teeth, her face twisted in a forced display of emotion. Her self-proclaimed “money-is-dirt” persona? She’d have to see it through, even if it killed her.

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My former fiancé, who once adored me more than life itself, tied me to a dartboard in an underground gambling den, using me as a living target for his “perfect” girl. Ten knives, grazing my skin, pinned themselves into the wooden board. He watched me bleed from above, a cold sneer on his face. “Audrey, you owe this to Serena. Your greedy father stole her father’s life-saving heart, so you should pay with your life.” I bit my lip, enduring the excruciating pain, all for the money to keep my brother in the ICU. But later, when the truth came out, when he learned my father was the benefactor who voluntarily donated his heart, and had even died tragically in prison for it… He knelt before my brother’s grave, slapped his own face until it was raw, and cried like a madman who’d lost everything. Yet, I couldn’t even spare him a glance. I walked away, hand in hand with another man, towards a tomorrow that didn’t include him. The air in the underground gambling den was thick with the sickening smell of blood and cheap cigars. I was tightly bound to a huge round wooden board. My limbs spread wide, like a rag doll waiting for sacrifice. “Mr. Hayes, are you really going this far?” A rich heir beside me rubbed his hands, his eyes glinting with excitement and cruelty. Ethan Hayes sat on the leather sofa in the center of the room. His long legs were crossed, and he toyed with a gleaming throwing knife. Serena Vance nestled delicately in his arms, her nails painted crimson. “Ethan, maybe that’s enough. Miss Davis looks so pathetic. What if she gets a cut on her face?” Ethan scoffed, his gaze sharp as a knife, cutting across my face. “A murderer’s daughter like her? Pathetic? She doesn’t deserve it.” He stood up and walked five yards away from me. “Audrey, ten knives. For each one that doesn’t hit a vital spot, I’ll give you ten thousand.” “One hundred thousand after all ten. That should be enough for your sick brother’s surgery.” My cracked lips moved. “Deal.” No hesitation, no begging. A flicker of savagery crossed Ethan Hayes’s eyes. Three years ago, I was the pampered Audrey Davis, held in his palm. Now, I was a pathetic stray, willing to throw my life away for money. He flicked his wrist. *Whoosh—* The first knife flew past my cheek, slicing off a strand of hair, and embedded itself firmly in the board next to my ear. The cold edge sent shivers down my spine. I didn’t blink. “Ten thousand,” I calmly reported. Ethan Hayes clenched his jaw, his jawline taut. The second knife grazed my neck. The third, brushed my side. Each knife cut through the air, carrying his hatred, a desire to rip me to shreds. The surrounding crowd erupted in cheers. I stared intently into Ethan Hayes’s eyes. Those eyes, once filled with deep affection, now held only disgust and perverse pleasure. As the eighth knife flew, Serena suddenly let out a gasp, pretending to lose her balance and bumping Ethan Hayes’s arm. The throwing knife veered off course. *Thunk.* The blade plunged directly into my left shoulder. Blood gushed out instantly, staining my faded shirt. The searing pain tore at my nerves. I let out a muffled groan, cold sweat instantly soaking my back. “Oh dear! I’m so sorry, Miss Davis, I didn’t mean to!” Serena covered her mouth, but her eyes were full of triumphant malice. Ethan Hayes froze for a moment, looking at the blood on my shoulder. The hand holding the last two knives trembled slightly. But he quickly masked it, staring coldly at me. “Does it hurt?” “When your dad bribed the doctor and stole Serena’s father’s heart, Serena hurt a thousand times more than you do now.” “A daughter paying for her father’s sins. Just bear it.” I looked at him, forcing a pale smile. “Mr. Hayes, does this one count? If so, that’s eighty thousand.” Ethan Hayes’s eyes fixated on the smile at my lips, the corners of his eyes reddening. He violently slammed the remaining two knives to the ground. “Audrey, do you enjoy debasing yourself like this?!” I was still bound to the board, blood dripping down my arm. “Mr. Hayes, if I don’t debase myself, my brother will die.” “Just pay the money.”

The air in the private room instantly solidified. Ethan Hayes stared at me intently, his chest heaving. He strode over, grabbing my chin with a grip so strong it felt like my bones would shatter. “Are you that desperate for money? So desperate you’d throw away all your dignity?” I was forced to look up at his furious face. “Can dignity save my brother’s life?” “If it could, Mr. Hayes, name your price. I’d sell it by the pound.” Ethan Hayes’s pupils constricted sharply. He flung his hand away as if he’d been burned. “Let her down,” he commanded the bodyguards, his voice hoarse. The moment the ropes were untied, I collapsed to the ground, drained of all strength. The wound on my left shoulder was still bleeding, dripping from my fingertips onto the expensive carpet. Ethan Hayes pulled a check from his pocket, quickly wrote a hundred thousand, then walked over to me. He didn’t hand it to me. Instead, he loosened his grip, and the check fluttered into an ashtray filled with shattered glass. “Get it yourself,” he said, looking down at me. I said nothing. Kneeling on the ground, I reached out my right hand, probing into the ashtray full of glass shards. Sharp glass pierced my fingertips, mixing blood with cigarette ash. I found the check. Clutching it tightly in my hand. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes, for sparing my life.” I swayed as I stood up, clutching my left shoulder, and walked step by step towards the exit. “Stop right there,” Serena suddenly interjected. She clicked across the room in her high heels, her eyes scornful. “Audrey, you soiled Ethan’s carpet. You think you can just walk away?” “Kneel, and lick the blood clean off the carpet.” I stopped, turning to look at Ethan Hayes. He stood in the shadows, saying nothing to stop her. He was silently condoning it. I looked at the blood-stained check in my hand. A hundred thousand. My brother was in the ICU, waiting for this money to save his life. I closed my eyes, bent my knees, and knelt heavily on the ground. Just as I was about to bend lower. The door to the private room was kicked open with a bang. Daniel Miller, dressed in a black trench coat, stormed in, radiating a chilling aura. His eyes immediately landed on me, kneeling on the ground, and the shocking bloodstain on my shoulder. “Audrey!” Daniel rushed over, pulling me up from the floor and wrapping his trench coat around me. He turned, his gaze fierce, and glared at Ethan Hayes. “Ethan Hayes, are you even human?!” Ethan Hayes saw Daniel grabbing my hand, and his eyes instantly turned to ice. “Mr. Miller, this is a private matter between Audrey and me. It’s none of your business.” “Private matter?” Daniel scoffed. “Injuring someone like this? That’s assault! Audrey, let’s go, we’re calling the police.” I grabbed Daniel’s arm, shaking my head. “Daniel, just take me to the hospital.” “My brother is waiting for me.” I couldn’t call the police. If I did, Ethan Hayes would have a hundred ways to ensure I never got that money. Daniel looked at my pale face, a flicker of heartbreak in his eyes. He swept me into his arms, then turned and walked out. “Audrey, if you dare to leave with him today, you won’t get a single penny of this money!” Ethan Hayes roared behind us. Leaning weakly in Daniel’s arms, I spoke. “Mr. Hayes, I already have the check. We owe each other nothing.”

Outside, the rain was pouring down. Daniel put me into the car, stomped on the accelerator, and sped towards the city hospital. The car’s heater was on, but I was still shivering uncontrollably. The wound on my left shoulder was numb. I clutched the check tightly, as if holding onto Leo’s last hope. “Audrey, are you insane? He told you to be a live target, and you just went along with it?” Daniel roared while driving, his voice laced with suppressed trembling. I looked out at the blurred night scenery. “Daniel, I had no choice.” “The hospital gave a final ultimatum. If the money isn’t paid tonight, they’ll pull the plug on Leo’s ventilator.” “My dad already died in jail. I can’t lose Leo too.” Daniel slammed his hand on the steering wheel, his eyes red. “I told you I’d find a way to get the money! Why won’t you just take my money?!” “Because I can’t pay you back,” I said softly. Three years ago, when the Davis family went bankrupt and my father was imprisoned, everyone shunned me. Only Daniel, the poor student I once sponsored, now an elite lawyer, stood by me, battling against Ethan Hayes’s oppression, trying to help me. I already owed him too much. The car screeched to a halt at the hospital entrance. I pushed open the door and stumbled into the lobby. “Nurse! I’m here to pay! A hundred thousand, arrange my brother’s surgery immediately!” I rushed to the payment window, slapping the blood-stained check onto the glass. The nurse on duty glanced at the check, then at my blood-soaked appearance, startled. She quickly took the check to verify it. A few minutes later, the nurse returned with the check, her face somewhat troubled. “Miss Davis, this check… it’s been frozen.” *Boom.* My mind went blank. “What did you say? Impossible! This is a Hayes Group check!” “The bank just informed us that the issuer revoked the payment order,” the nurse said, looking at me sympathetically. Ethan Hayes. It was him. He still wouldn’t let me go. All the strength in my body seemed to drain away in an instant, and I slid down the cold wall to the floor. “Audrey!” Daniel rushed over to support me. I grabbed Daniel’s collar, tears finally streaming down my face. “Daniel, he stopped the check… he stopped the check…” “What about Leo? What will happen to Leo?!” Just then, my phone rang. It was a voice message from Serena. My hands trembled as I opened it. “Audrey, Ethan said if you want the money, crawl back to the Hayes family mansion.” “As soon as you crawl to the door like a dog, that hundred thousand will be instantly transferred.” In the voice message, Ethan Hayes’s cold scoff could also be heard. I gripped my phone tightly, my knuckles white. “Audrey, don’t go! I’ll contact people to borrow money right away!” Daniel snatched my phone. I pushed him away, helping myself up by leaning on the wall. “There’s no time. Daniel, please watch over Leo for me.” I turned and ran back out into the rainy night.

The Hayes family mansion was located halfway up the mountain. I didn’t take a taxi, because I didn’t even have money for a cab. I dragged my injured body, walking for two hours in the heavy rain. By the time I reached the mansion gates, I could barely stand. The iron gates were closed tight. The mansion inside was brightly lit. I took a deep breath, bent my knees, and knelt on the cold asphalt. Rainwater mixed with mud flowed into my eyes, stinging terribly. From the gate to the main villa, it was over a hundred yards. My knees were bleeding profusely. Finally, I crawled to the living room’s floor-to-ceiling window. Through the glass, I saw Ethan Hayes sitting on the sofa, holding a glass of red wine. Serena leaned in his arms, pointing at me outside the window, laughing hysterically. Ethan Hayes’s gaze pierced through the rain, landing on me. His eyes held an incredibly complex mix of satisfaction, anger, and a hint of panic he himself hadn’t noticed. I stopped, looking up, staring at him through the glass. Blood from my forehead blurred my vision. I opened my mouth, silently saying, “Give me the money.” Ethan Hayes abruptly stood up, his red wine glass smashing to the floor, shattered into countless pieces. He strode to the floor-to-ceiling window and flung open the glass door. Wild wind and heavy rain swept into the living room. “Audrey, you’re truly debased to your core!” Ethan Hayes looked down at me, his voice colder than the icy rain. I lay in the mud, looking up at him. “Mr. Hayes is right to scold me. The money?” Ethan Hayes looked at my lifeless eyes, his chest heaving violently. He suddenly grabbed my collar, pulling me up from the ground. “You care that much about that bastard?!” “He’s not a bastard, he’s my brother,” I calmly corrected him. “Good, very good.” Ethan Hayes laughed in rage. He pulled out a document and flung it at my face. “Sign this, and the hundred thousand will be instantly deposited into the hospital account.” I used the living room light to make out the words on the document. A “Confession of Guilt.” It stated that my father, Richard Davis, had used his position to maliciously tamper with the organ donation list, leading to Serena’s father’s delayed treatment and death. My father admitted to all his crimes and stated he deserved to die. My breathing instantly hitched. “Ethan Hayes, are you insane?!” I looked at him, trembling. “My dad never did such a thing! Back then, the Vance family…” “Shut up!” Ethan Hayes sharply cut me off. “The evidence is conclusive, and you still want to argue?” “Sign it, admit your dad was a murderer, and I’ll save your brother.” I looked at that document as if it were a venomous snake. If I signed it, my father would forever bear the stigma of a murderer, never resting in peace. If I didn’t, Leo would die tonight. “Ethan, don’t force her,” Serena walked over, feigning concern as she held Ethan Hayes’s arm. “Miss Davis is so proud, how could she possibly admit her father is a murderer for money?” “It seems her brother’s life isn’t that important to her after all.” Serena’s words were like a sharp knife, plunging into my heart. I closed my eyes, tears finally mixing with the rain. “I’ll sign.” I reached out a trembling hand. A flicker of disbelief crossed Ethan Hayes’s eyes. He handed me a pen. My right hand, cut by glass when I picked up the check earlier, couldn’t hold the pen properly. So I bit my left index finger, and at the bottom of the document, I pressed my bloody fingerprint heavily. “Audrey…” Ethan Hayes looked at the bloody fingerprint, his voice trembling slightly. “The money, transfer it,” I stared fixedly at him. Ethan Hayes took out his phone and dialed his assistant. “Transfer the money to the city hospital, Leo Davis’s account.” After hanging up, he looked at me. “Get out.” I didn’t linger for a second, turning and rushing back into the rainy night.

I practically stumbled and crawled back to the hospital. Soaked to the bone, my face covered in blood, like a demon that had just crawled out of hell. “Leo! Leo’s money has been paid!” I rushed to the ICU door, only to find the room wide open. It was empty. Only a few nurses were tidying up the bed. “Nurse! Where’s my brother? Where’s Leo?” I rushed in like a madwoman, grabbing a nurse’s arm. The nurse looked at me, her eyes full of pity. “Miss Davis… you’re too late.” “Patient Leo Davis, ten minutes ago, due to cardiopulmonary failure… was pronounced deceased.” *Buzz.* My mind went blank. The whole world instantly fell silent. I couldn’t hear what the nurse was saying, couldn’t hear the bustling sounds in the hallway. I stared blankly at the empty bed. The white sheets had been replaced with new ones, without a single wrinkle. “Impossible…” “You’re lying to me! I paid the money! A hundred thousand! Ethan Hayes transferred it!” I screamed hysterically, tears streaming uncontrollably. “Miss Davis, the money did arrive five minutes ago.” “But… but Miss Vance sent someone half an hour ago and forcibly took the special medicine originally prepared for Leo, claiming Mr. Vance urgently needed it.” “Leo couldn’t hold on until the next batch of medicine arrived…” The nurse’s voice grew fainter and fainter. But I heard every word clearly. Serena Vance. Serena took the medicine. Ethan Hayes made me sign the confession, delaying my time. And Serena seized the opportunity to pull Leo’s last life-saving straw. They conspired together to kill my only family. I suddenly burst out laughing. Laughing until my heart ached, laughing until my whole body trembled. I sold my dignity, I sold my father’s reputation, I sold half my life. All I got in return was a cold corpse. “Audrey!” Daniel rushed from the end of the hallway, catching me as I swayed. “Where’s Leo?” I gripped Daniel’s clothes tightly, as if clutching a last piece of driftwood. Daniel’s eyes were red, his voice choked. “In… the morgue.” I pushed Daniel away, walking step by step towards the morgue. The corridor on the second basement floor was chillingly cold. I pushed open the heavy door. Leo’s small body lay on the cold metal slab, covered by a white sheet. I walked over and pulled back the sheet. He lay with his eyes closed, his face pale, as if he were just sleeping. “Leo, I’m here.” I reached out and touched his face. So cold. Cold as ice. I took off my soaked coat, wanting to cover him with it. “Don’t be afraid, Leo. I’m taking you home.” I murmured, tears streaming down onto his face. “Audrey…” Daniel stood behind me, unable to bear watching any longer. Just then, the morgue door opened again. Two police officers in uniform walked in. They looked at me, their expressions serious. “Are you Ms. Audrey Davis?” I turned my head mechanically. “We’re from the City Police Department’s Criminal Investigation Unit.” The older officer stepped forward, handing me a manila envelope. “Regarding the case three years ago, where your father, Mr. Richard Davis, was suspected of tampering with the organ donation list, we have new evidence.” “After investigation, Mr. Richard Davis did not tamper with the list that year.” “On the contrary, he voluntarily gave up his own treatment opportunity after a successful match with the former CEO of Hayes Group, Mr. Hayes, and donated his heart to him.” “The Vance family, in order to get a huge reward from the Hayes family, bribed the attending physician and falsified medical records, changing the donor to Serena Vance’s father, who was brain-dead from a car accident.” “Mr. Richard Davis, in the detention center, was beaten to death by inmates bribed by the Vance family because he refused to sign the false confession they fabricated.” The police officer’s voice echoed in the empty morgue. Every word, like thunder. “Ms. Davis, your father was not a murderer.” “He was a hero who saved a life.” I stared blankly at the manila envelope. I didn’t take it. The truth had come. My father’s innocence had been revealed. But my father was dead. My brother was dead too. What good was this belated truth? Could it bring back their lives? *Thump.* A faint sound came from the morgue door. I didn’t turn around. But I knew who it was. Ethan Hayes stood in the shadows outside the door. In his hand was the “Confession of Guilt” that I had just signed with my bloody fingerprint. Now, that document had fallen to the ground. He stared fixedly at the archive bag in the police officer’s hand, his face ashen, like a dead man. His lips trembled violently, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible. “What did you… just say?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “410232”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster