Author: Momo Chan

My best friend called me drunk, asking me to pick him up. But when I arrived at the private room, I saw him getting intimate with my girlfriend. My friend looked up and asked her, “Do you really like him?” She shook her head with a smile, “Of course not. You’re the one I’ve always had feelings for.” I turned away silently and sent my girlfriend a breakup text. Afterwards, I actively distanced myself from them. But they kept coming to beg for my forgiveness one after another. Hearing the chaotic music through the phone, I worried about my friend’s safety. I quickly got dressed and took a cab to the bar he was at. When I reached the private room, the door was slightly ajar. I was about to walk in when I suddenly saw a woman sitting on the couch whose side profile looked just like my girlfriend. Next to her was a man who looked exactly like Jack. The lighting was dim so I couldn’t see clearly. I quickly moved to the side and peeked through the crack to observe the situation inside. The scene made my blood boil. The woman was all over the man, kissing him passionately. It was an incredibly intense scene. At that moment, I could see clearly that the two people inside were indeed my girlfriend Celine and my supposed best friend Jack. My heart skipped a beat as I stared in disbelief. I remembered how they always seemed to dislike each other, but now they were secretly hooking up behind my back. And Jack had deliberately called me – did he want me to see this? I instinctively took half a step back, then called Celine’s phone. Hearing the ringtone, Celine quickly took out her phone but frowned. Jack took the opportunity to pull Celine closer, leaning into her as he asked with a smile, “Are you going to answer his call?” Celine stopped Jack and answered the phone casually, “Hello?” I suppressed my turbulent emotions, trying to stay calm as I asked, “Where are you, Celine?” Celine leaned against Jack and said in a serious tone, “I’m at a work dinner. I’ll probably be home late.” Watching this scene unfold, my heart ached and I felt a lump in my throat. After composing myself, I said, “Alright, be careful and don’t drink too much.” Celine nodded and quickly hung up, then eagerly went back to being intimate with Jack. The pain in my heart felt like being stabbed by a knife. I clenched my fists unconsciously as anger built up in my mind. Just as I was debating whether to burst in and confront the cheating couple, Jack’s voice rang out, “Do you really like that Alex guy?” Hearing this, I suddenly became curious to see how Celine would respond. But her answer was like a bucket of cold water poured over me. She looked away, her tone full of disdain: “Of course not. I only got close to him to get to you.” So that was it. Celine had only gotten close to me because of my best friend Jack. Suddenly, my heart shattered and my mind went blank. Tears started streaming down my face involuntarily. I opened my phone to Celine’s chat, where I could still see the loving message she had sent. “I love you so much…Alex.” Looking back now, it was all just a big joke.

Jack and I go way back. We’ve known each other since we were little kids. With his sunny image and witty personality, he was always very popular. Lots of girls pursued him. I benefited from this too. Many girls would try to get close to Jack through me, buying me snacks and treating me to meals. But Jack had always been picky, so no girl ever succeeded with him. Later we got into the same university, where we met Celine, a popular student leader. She was a big deal on campus – rich, pretty, and nice. Lots of guys liked her, including me. But I could only admire her from afar. Until one New Year’s Eve party, when the male host had an emergency. Celine found out I had relevant experience and invited me to co-host. Afterwards, we got to know each other and became friends. Jack felt left out and complained to me a few times. He started to dislike Celine and would try to trip her up in various ways. Although Celine was usually easygoing, she was quite unfriendly with Jack. They would argue heatedly in front of me multiple times. Time flew by and in our junior year, I finally worked up the courage to confess to Celine. I thought I’d be rejected, but to my surprise, Celine agreed. So we started dating. But Jack wasn’t happy about it. After all, he and Celine were like bickering enemies, so he really didn’t want to see this outcome. I had to convince him for a long time before he reluctantly accepted it. But afterwards they still disliked each other as always. Celine even advised me several times to distance myself from Jack, saying I should cut ties with him if necessary. This awkward situation continued until now. I never imagined they would end up hooking up together. So everything before had just been an act. If the Oscars gave out awards, they would both deserve one for Best Actor.

My heart turned cold. In the end, I chose to go home. Celine didn’t reply to my message. My nose stung as I cried again. I cried until midnight before falling into a restless sleep. I was woken up by the faint sound of keys in the door. Suddenly someone turned on the lights, which were a bit blinding. It was Celine. She had come home, looking tired. Seeing me lying on the couch with sleepy eyes, she frowned, “Why are you sleeping here?” Looking at this woman in front of me, I suddenly felt like she was a stranger. Because in our relationship, Celine had always been passive. She never actively hugged or kissed me. It was always me initiating, and she would comply. All along, I thought it was just her personality. But now I realized, she simply didn’t love me. Under my direct gaze, Celine looked uncomfortable. “I saw the text you sent. What are you making a fuss about now? I told you I was just busy with work, can’t you be more understanding?” Seeing her fake act, I found it laughable. She had always been fake, I had just been deliberately deceiving myself, subconsciously believing she loved me. I sat up straight and looked Celine in the eye, “Alright then, let’s get married.” Hearing my words, Celine was stunned for a moment before quickly saying, “Didn’t we agree long ago to focus on our careers first? Can we talk about marriage later?” Actually, the reason Celine had stayed with me was simple – her family business was facing bankruptcy and needed my family’s investment to save it. Including Celine’s own startup afterwards, she relied on my family’s resources to become successful. Under these circumstances, she wouldn’t dare break up with me no matter what. But I wasn’t going to give her the chance anymore. I coldly said, “In that case, let’s break up.” Celine hadn’t reacted yet, thinking I was joking with her. “Alex, we’re adults now. Can we talk seriously?” She quickly came over to hold my arm, but remembering how intimate she had been with Jack, I felt disgusted and nauseous. I didn’t hold back, decisively shaking off her hand and walking into the bedroom.

When I woke up the next morning, Celine was gone. She had left for work. I got up, washed up, and went to Celine’s company. The receptionist greeted me right away: “Are you here to see Ms. Liu? She’s in a meeting now, I need to check with her assistant first.” Hearing “assistant”, I paused, suddenly realizing something. “What did you say? Which assistant?” Seeing my sudden seriousness, the receptionist was startled. “J-Jack.” So it was him. I guess I hadn’t paid attention to company matters for too long and didn’t know when he had joined as Celine’s assistant. Seeing me lost in thought, the receptionist tentatively asked, “Mr. Lin, should I let Jack know you’re here?” I shook my head, “No need, I’ll go up myself.” After I left, some new receptionists gossiped. “Is that really Mr. Lin? He doesn’t seem that well-matched with Ms. Liu. I wonder how she ended up with him.” “Shh! Watch what you say! Mr. Lin owns company shares!” “But Ms. Liu and Jack seem unusually close!” “Keep it down, he hasn’t gone far yet. It’d be bad if he heard!” I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the chatter as I took the elevator to Celine’s office. I sat on the couch, waiting for their meeting to end. About half an hour later, I heard footsteps and a man and woman talking outside. It was Celine and Jack’s voices. Celine said softly, “Jack, Alex has been acting strange lately. Why don’t you check on him after work?” Jack scoffed, “Didn’t you say you were going to break up with him? Why do you still care?” Celine was silent for a moment before saying, “Let’s wait a bit. The company can’t do without the Lin family right now. You have to believe me, I like you. Alex isn’t even my type.” Then I heard the sound of kissing. My whole body was shaking. Tears welled up in my eyes again, falling onto my phone. This feeling of being betrayed by two people at once was awful. After a while, I heard Jack’s voice: “Celine, will you marry me?” Unfortunately, Celine opened the door just as she was about to answer Jack, and her words got stuck in her throat when she saw me. I didn’t get to hear Celine’s answer. “Celine, why aren’t you saying anything?” Jack walked in like he owned the place, but stopped abruptly when he saw me. Celine’s brows furrowed as she stared at me intently, pretending to be calm as she asked, “Alex, why are you here?” I leaned back in the chair, saying nonchalantly, “I heard we’re looking for a spokesperson for the new product. I came to take a look.” Jack put both hands behind his back, lowering his head to avoid looking at me. I knew this was Jack’s habit when he was nervous. I held back my tears, trying to keep my tone normal as I looked at Jack and asked, “Jack, when did you start working at the company?” By now Jack had come up with a response. He walked over to me with a grin. “Didn’t I tell you I quit my job? I saw Celine’s company was hiring so I came to work here temporarily. I’ve been busy moving recently so I didn’t mention it to you.” I looked at Jack and Celine. They were still trying to fool me. I asked, “Is that so?” Celine quickly answered, “Yes, that’s right.” I nodded and said “Oh.” Looks like they still planned to keep me in the dark, playing me for a fool.

When I left the company, it had started raining outside. I went to the front desk to borrow an umbrella from Lily, but she mysteriously pulled me aside. Lily gripped her phone tightly, looking a bit nervous as she glanced around to make sure no one was nearby before asking, “Mr. Lin, do you know Jack’s Instagram account?” I should know Jack’s Instagram. But as far as I knew, he hadn’t updated it in a long time. Lily handed me her phone. I looked at the Instagram profile on the screen for an account called “JackKnows” with over 1 million followers, labeled as a couple’s account. I glanced at the most recent post from yesterday. [M is taking me to see the Northern Lights in Iceland!] There was also a 9-photo collage of pictures he took in Iceland. Looking at the date, I suddenly remembered that just a week ago, I had wanted to go on a trip with Celine but she said she had a business trip. Then when I went to find Jack, he said he had to go back home for something. Could it be that they had both lied to me and actually gone to Iceland together? I thanked Lily and told her not to spread this around. Back in my car, I searched for this account on my phone. Scrolling to the bottom, I saw posts from two years ago when we had just graduated college. [Graduation trip with M! I said I like the ocean so she brought me here.] The photos were of Jack’s travels, including many that I had taken for him. Graduation trips were popular when we finished college. At the time, both Celine and Jack had asked me to go on a trip with them separately. I had to convince them for a long time before they finally agreed for the three of us to travel together. To help them get along, I put in a lot of effort and carefully planned out an itinerary, looking forward to traveling with my girlfriend and best friend. But I never imagined that they had hooked up that day, keeping it from me for two whole years. [M rushed back from out of town in the middle of the night when she heard I was sick.] I looked at the date – it was around the time my mom passed away. The company was just starting up then, and Celine was traveling everywhere trying to secure project partnerships. When my mom died of cancer, Celine was on a business trip in Shanghai. I called her in despair, wanting her to come back and be with me. But she said she really couldn’t get away, and would fly back as soon as the deal was done to be with me. But even after the seventh day memorial service for my mom, I still hadn’t seen her return. Yet the day after my mom died, when Jack had appendicitis and was hospitalized, she couldn’t even wait for the next day’s flight and had her driver bring her back that same night. So it wasn’t that she couldn’t come back. I just wasn’t worth coming back for. Tears blurred my vision, making it hard to see the screen clearly. I closed my eyes and tears rolled down my cheeks onto my phone. My heart was in so much pain. It felt like countless ants were biting my heart. I wiped away my tears and continued scrolling through Jack’s Instagram. [One year anniversary! M took me to Disneyland, she’s my princess forever.] This date was last June 1st, when I had planned for a long time to go on a trip with Celine. But the day before we were supposed to leave, she told me she had to meet an important client and might have to delay our trip by a few days. So the important client she mentioned was Jack. She didn’t go on a trip with me, but went to accompany Jack instead. [M and I had a fight today. I was in a bad mood, but then she bought me 999 roses and a diamond ring. I guess I’ll forgive her.] The photo showed their intertwined hands, with shiny diamond rings clearly visible. I noticed a mole on the woman’s index finger. Celine has a mole just like that on her hand. I didn’t want to look anymore. I quickly closed my phone and leaned my head on the steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn which blared loudly in the empty underground parking lot. The sound briefly snapped me out of my daze. But as soon as I thought about how Celine and Jack had betrayed me for two whole years, my heart ached unbearably again. I took a deep breath, started the car and drove out of the parking garage towards home. But just as I was getting close to home, a car suddenly swerved out of nowhere. I quickly turned the wheel to avoid it, but ended up crashing into a tree. 5 When I woke up, the hospital room was empty. My throat felt dry and uncomfortable. I instinctively reached out, trying to get some water. But my hand had no strength and I couldn’t grip the cup I had just grabbed. The cup fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. The door opened and a woman wearing a hat and mask walked in. Seeing I was awake, she came to my bedside and poured me a new glass of water. Before I could ask, she explained, “Sir, you were in a car accident and hit a tree. I brought you to the hospital.” I looked at her and asked, “Were you the car that suddenly swerved out?” She quickly waved her hands to deny it: “No, no. I’m just a good Samaritan. Your injuries aren’t serious. I’ll call the police now and you can sort out the rest yourselves.” Looks like I got lucky. At least nothing major happened. The woman saw I was okay and asked, “My name is Emma. Do you want to call your family?” Who could I call? I didn’t want to worry my dad, so I definitely couldn’t call him. Celine? Jack? They were the last people I wanted to see right now. I shook my head. Emma seemed like she wanted to say something but held back. She didn’t say anything else and left after the police arrived. The police said the driver who swerved out was drunk driving. Luckily I had avoided them in time. Although I hit a tree, my head was protected by the airbag so there were no major injuries. After taking my statement, the police left. My head felt groggy and I fell asleep soon after lying on the hospital bed. When I woke up again, it was already dark outside. I picked up my phone and saw that besides missed calls from my dad, no one else had contacted me. I called my dad back but didn’t tell him about the accident. I just said I was out with Celine and wouldn’t be visiting him for a few days. After hanging up, I stared at Celine’s chat window and impulsively decided to call her. The phone rang several times before she picked up, sounding impatient: “Hello.” I lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling as I asked, “I got in a car accident. Can you come to the hospital to see me? I want to eat the porridge you make.” There was silence on the other end for a while, like she was doing something. Then she said, “Okay, I’ll be there soon.” Hearing Celine agree, I felt nothing and just hung up expressionlessly. About 15 minutes later, Celine called back. I answered and heard her slightly guilty voice: “Alex, I’m so sorry. I have some urgent work to deal with right now. I’ll have my assistant bring you some porridge. I’ll come see you first thing tomorrow morning with more porridge, okay?” I didn’t argue or get upset. I just said “Okay” and hung up. Not surprising. Thinking back on our years together, she had never really cared about me. But I was still so passionate, believing I could be her exception. What a fool I was, dreaming the impossible dream. I covered my eyes as tears spilled out, soaking the pillow. At first I cried silently, but gradually I felt more and more wronged. I started sobbing out loud until I cried myself to exhaustion. Then I moved my hand and lay on my side, staring wordlessly out the window at the sky. My phone suddenly lit up. It was a notification from Instagram. I tapped on it and saw that Jack had posted an update. [Just now! M lost to me in a game, she said she’ll buy me a new skin every week for a month. Everyone witness this!] The photo showed them in Jack’s home, both wearing pajamas and curled up on the couch playing games, just like a normal couple. I stared at the photo, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. Celine couldn’t be bothered to care that I was in a car accident, but was happily playing games with Jack. Can a person really be so heartless? I lifted my hand and found Celine’s chat window. My hands were shaking too much to type properly, and my eyes were too blurry with tears to see the keyboard clearly. I wiped away my tears and steadied my hand, typing five words into the chat box. “Let’s break up.”

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When my girlfriend’s male best friend was being treated at our hospital, he was unexpectedly diagnosed with AIDS. After I told my girlfriend, she thought I was lying to her. Not only did she slap me on the spot, but she also hired trolls to smear me online, accusing me of causing a patient’s death through malpractice. I was viciously cyberbullied as a result. Later, she and her best friend even burned me to death. I’ll never forget her words as I was engulfed in flames: “You deserve to die for keeping me and Jake apart!” When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day her best friend was diagnosed with AIDS. This time, I didn’t tell her. After all, if she loved him that much, she’d have to accept everything about him. “What’s wrong with Jake? Tell me already!” Olivia’s voice snapped me back to reality. I looked at her impatient face, then glanced around, realizing I was in my office. So I really had traveled back in time. It seemed even the heavens didn’t want me to die so senselessly. “What the hell are you spacing out for? I’ve been asking you for ages,” Olivia said angrily, shoving me. I came to my senses and looked at Jake’s blood test results in my hand. Sure enough, just like in my previous life, he had AIDS. He was Olivia’s male best friend, and they were very close. In my previous life, on this day, he had suddenly been in a car accident and brought to the hospital. Olivia had been beside herself with worry. After learning he had AIDS, I agonized for a long time before deciding to tell Olivia. But she didn’t believe me at all and slapped me hard across the face. “I know you don’t want me hanging out with Jake,” she had said. “But you need to know when to draw the line. You’re a doctor – you can’t just accuse patients of having infectious diseases because of your personal feelings!” No matter how I tried to explain, she wouldn’t listen. Legally, I shouldn’t have disclosed a patient’s condition to her anyway. It was private medical information. But out of concern for her safety, I had selfishly told her. Little did I know that my loose lips would lead to my brutal death in my past life. So in this life, no matter what, I won’t make the same mistake again.

“It’s not too serious, just some minor injuries. He’ll be fine after a few days of treatment in the hospital,” I told her. Hearing this, Olivia let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good.” But the next second, she was irritated again: “Then why didn’t you say so earlier? I thought it was something major!” “Adam, let me tell you – Jake is my best friend. Don’t you dare try anything sneaky.” I smiled at her. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” After she left, a colleague came in and patted me on the shoulder. “Hey Dr. Grant, didn’t you tell your girlfriend that Jake has AIDS?” he asked. “I saw her go feed him some soup just now.” “The law states that a patient’s condition is private. Doctors can’t disclose it to others without permission,” I replied formally. My colleague looked at me in surprise. “But that’s your girlfriend!” “She used to be. Not anymore,” I said.

I’ll never forget what Olivia did to me in my past life. After I told her Jake had AIDS, she thought I was deliberately lying to drive them apart. So she started giving me the cold shoulder and stopped coming home. Before long, rumors spread online that I had caused a patient’s death through malpractice. People were calling me an incompetent doctor. The hospital was terrified of the public backlash and suspended me under pressure. That’s when Olivia came to find me. “I’m the one who spread those rumors online. I hired people to smear you,” she admitted. “That’s what you get for lying about Jake having AIDS!” My heart shattered. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Olivia, you’re my girlfriend! You’ve ruined my entire career!” I cried in anguish. “So what?” She glared at me furiously. “Jake has been my best friend since childhood. I won’t let anyone say he’s sick. Not even you!” In that moment, my heart died completely. I broke up with her and left. I moved to another city by myself. But her mother kept contacting me, urging me to go back and marry Olivia. I refused. Soon after, Olivia called to yell at me: “You deliberately got my parents to scold me, didn’t you? You’re trying to keep me and Jake apart. Just you wait!” The next time I saw her was when my house suddenly caught fire. I saw her and Jake pouring gasoline outside. She even said: “You deserve to die for keeping me and Jake apart!” I’ll never forget the agony of being slowly burned alive. Olivia, in this life I won’t be your doormat anymore.

I contacted Olivia’s parents to break off the engagement, saying I no longer wanted to be with her. No matter how much her parents tried to persuade me, I insisted on ending things. They finally had to agree. That night, Olivia called me. “How dare you, Adam! Just because I took care of Jake for one day, you want to break off our engagement?” she yelled. I calmly replied, “It’s not because you took care of him. I just think you really like him and you two are a good match. I don’t want to come between you. So I’m stepping aside to let you be together.” She spent all her time with Jake anyway. It would be hard for her not to get infected with AIDS. So I had to stay away from her. “Fine, have it your way. But don’t come begging me to take you back later!” she snapped. “I won’t. I wish you and Jake a lifetime of happiness together,” I said before hanging up. I had never stood up to Olivia like this before. She bombarded me with angry texts afterwards: “Who the hell said you could hang up on me?” “Adam, where did you get the nerve?” A few minutes later: “You didn’t pay Jake’s medical bills?” She had brainwashed me into thinking she and Jake were just friends before. So I had always covered Jake’s hospital bills whenever he came for treatment. They both got used to it over time. Looking back now, I was such a fool. I didn’t reply to her and blocked her number. I had no patience left for someone like her.

The next day, Olivia came barging into my office with a pale-faced Jake in tow. “Give me money,” she demanded. “Hurry up. Don’t make me slap you.” In my past life, I had been her obedient lapdog. I gave her whatever she wanted, which is why she felt so entitled to demand money from me now. “Olivia, have you forgotten? We’ve broken up. We have no relationship anymore,” I said calmly. “Adam, how could you break up? Did I cause problems between you two?” Jake suddenly chimed in, looking all innocent. He always used that act to gain Olivia’s sympathy. “Yes, it’s because of you,” I said, staring him down. “You two like each other, don’t you? So I’m letting you be together. You should be the one giving Olivia money now, not me.” Olivia’s face was livid with rage. “Adam, are you trying to play hard to get now? Let me tell you, this won’t make me like you. It’ll only make me hate you more!” she spat. With that, she dragged Jake away. Not long after, I received a complaint. A patient had reported me for having a bad attitude towards them. The next thing I knew, a nurse said someone was causing a scene in the hallway. I went to check and found Olivia sitting on the floor crying and screaming, with Jake standing beside her. “Dr. Grant was extremely rude to patients. We just asked about a condition and he told us to get lost,” she wailed. “Where’s the hospital director? Come out and explain this!” In my past life, she had used her talent for lying to get me cyberbullied. In this life, she was trying to use the same tactic to harm me. But I had anticipated she might do this. Before coming, I had gone to the security office to retrieve the surveillance footage from my office. Then I called the police.

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On the 100th day of having Alzheimer’s, I couldn’t find my way home. I dialed Jack Thompson’s number. But what came through first was the sultry moan of his stepsister, “Mmm… Jack, your technique is getting better and better!” Then came his hoarse, angry voice. “Rachel Moore, are you fucking retarded?” “You know Emily can’t be without me because of her skin hunger syndrome, yet you dare to interfere.” “If you can’t make it back, just go find a sea and die!” Later, I fulfilled his wish and really went to die. He then kept asking my tombstone, “Rachel, what should I do if I can’t find you?” “Miss, are you done with your phone call?” the store owner asked, looking at me with tear-filled eyes. He continued, “Miss, where do you live? I’ll take you home.” “Don’t worry, I won’t charge you. I just think it’s not safe for a young woman to be out alone so late at night.” I looked at the owner in confusion, unable to say a word. I couldn’t remember where home was. I only remembered Jack Thompson’s phone number, but Jack hung up on me. He wouldn’t come to pick me up, and he even told me to go die. Leaving the store, the late autumn wind made my thin nightgown flutter loudly. It’s so cold! I hit my head hard, trying to remember where home was. But I just couldn’t recall. Just as I was getting agitated, a man approached me and asked warmly, “Miss Moore, I know where your home is. I’ll take you back.” I took several steps back, eyeing the man warily. Jack had said not to trust any man other than him. “Miss Moore, don’t be afraid. I’m not a bad person. I’m Jack’s friend. My name is Chris Sanders. He sent me to pick you up.” “Look, this is the message Jack sent me.” He even showed me a photo of him with Jack. I immediately smiled from ear to ear. I knew it. How could Jack not care about me? I’m his most beloved wife. I got into Chris’s car. Half an hour later, he took me to a dark, narrow basement. There was no Jack here, and Jack and my home didn’t look like this. I turned to leave, but Chris blocked me. I lowered my voice and said carefully, “Mister, let me go. I can give you a lot of money.” Jack had said that when in danger, pretend to be weak first, and save your life before anything else. Sure enough, hearing my words, Chris, who had looked vicious before, smiled. “Miss Moore, I’ll let you go, but I don’t want money. I just need you to… do me a small favor.” “What favor?” “I want Miss Moore to put these on and do a livestream for me.” Looking at the revealing lingerie, my forced calm instantly crumbled. I used all my strength to push Chris to the ground, then quickly ran towards the door. The moment my hand touched the doorknob, it felt like my scalp was being torn apart, followed by my whole body being slammed hard against the wall. “Bitch, you dare to run away!” “I’m telling you, you’re going to stream whether you like it or not!” “But first, let me enjoy myself a bit!” The sound of clothes tearing and the man’s disgusting touch terrified me. Jack, pick up the phone quickly! Please pick up! When Chris’s hand reached my pants, the phone was finally answered. “Jack, save me!” I cried out shakily. But the voice that came through the phone was Jack’s cold and mocking tone. “What? You were pretending to be retarded earlier, and now you’re putting on an act of being kidnapped?” “Then just go die!” “It’s not like that, I really…” The busy tone that came through the phone cut off my screams. “Bitch, you think Jack Thompson will come save you? You’re dreaming.” “Today is Miss Harris’s birthday. He’s busy accompanying Miss Harris. How could he come save you, the daughter of a murderer!” Right, I remembered now. Jack Thompson hates me. How could he possibly come to save me? After all, my dad killed his mom.

When I was 8, my family went bankrupt, and my dad became addicted to alcohol and gambling. When he was drunk or lost money, he would beat my mom and me. My mom endured it for three years before finally running away on a stormy night. My dad took out all his anger on me. That’s when Jack Thompson appeared. He was a year younger than me but saved me from my dad’s hands. He said, “You girls are always crying. Don’t cry anymore. I’ll protect you from now on.” A promise worth its weight in gold! He protected me for a full five years, breaking three ribs for me, and my dad went to jail because of it. Jack brought me back to the Thompson family. He told his parents, “This is the wife I’m going to marry in the future. You better take good care of her, or I won’t take care of you in your old age!” That earned him a good beating from Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Thompson would make me lots of delicious food. I especially loved the strawberry cake she made. I loved listening to Mr. Thompson tell me history stories the most. The days at the Thompson house were my happiest times. On my 23rd birthday, Jack coaxed me into getting our marriage license. Mrs. Thompson was as happy as a child and said she wanted to prepare a grand wedding for me. I was spoiled and refused her kindness, even persuading her to go on a trip with me, leaving Jack behind. If it weren’t for that, we wouldn’t have encountered my dad, and Mrs. Thompson wouldn’t have died protecting me. My dad was the direct murderer of her death, and I was an accomplice. Jack hating me was justified.

I was covered in blood, stumbling back home at 7 AM. Jack had just put freshly steamed buns in front of Emily. Seeing me, Emily covered her mouth and shouted, “Oh my God, Rachel, where are your clothes? Why are you wearing a man’s clothes?” “Rachel, you’re too much. You were out all night, and Jack was so worried he couldn’t sleep.” Indeed, he hadn’t slept. Last night, Emily’s skin hunger syndrome flared up, and Jack had stayed up all night with her. Now, Emily’s Instagram still had a picture of them holding hands tightly, with the caption: “The best medicine to cure illness is the company of your loved one all night long!!” “Heh… Rachel, how much fake blood did you use this time?” Emily was referring to the time I had an episode and mistook her for my dad, crying on the phone for Jack to come save me and Mrs. Thompson. But when Jack rushed back, what he saw was me covered in fake blood. That was the first time Jack laid hands on me. He gripped my neck, “Rachel Moore, you’d use this excuse to compete with Emily for attention.” “Why couldn’t it have been you who died back then?!” … “Jack, if I told you I was almost raped last night, would you believe me?” I looked into Jack’s eyes and asked. Jack sneered, “Rachel Moore, your acting skills put even me, an award-winning actor, to shame!” “If you had listened to me back then and pursued a career in entertainment, you’d be the one winning Best Actress awards.” I couldn’t bear to hear his sarcasm anymore and shouted, “I’m sick, Jack! It’s because I’m sick!” “Sick? What illness? Depression or dementia?” Seeing the disdain on his face, my throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, unable to utter a single syllable. In the past, Jack would take every word I said seriously, but now he wouldn’t believe even half a word. “What rape? What illness? What? Are you trying to find a noble excuse for your promiscuous behavior?” “If I had known you were such a slutty woman, I would never have saved you, no matter what.” He violently threw a phone at my forehead. Blood covered my eyes, but I didn’t dare close them. I stared wide-eyed at the video playing on the phone. In the video, I was sprawled on top of Chris Sanders with disheveled clothes, whispering intimately in his ear. Although the video had no sound, anyone could tell from Chris’s smile that what I was saying must have been lewd words. I instantly understood everything. Chris was Emily’s man. Emily not only wanted to destroy me but also wanted Jack to despise me even more. It was truly killing two birds with one stone. Before, for Jack’s sake, I had always tolerated Emily, but now I didn’t want to anymore. I suddenly lunged at Emily, but she was prepared. She grabbed a fruit knife from the dining table and came at me. The fruit knife sliced across my palm, and blood splattered on the white floor, like blooming red flowers. But in Jack’s eyes, all he saw was Emily falling to the ground. His panicked gaze was exactly like when Mrs. Thompson had the accident. At that moment, I finally understood that Jack had no feelings for me other than hatred. As Jack carried Emily away, he said if anything happened to her, he would make me regret being alive. But Jack, I had long since regretted it.

At noon, I received a phone call. “Hello, Miss Moore. This is Sam Stewart. Have you considered what I told you this morning?” Last night, I had deliberately submitted to Chris, knocked him out when he wasn’t paying attention, and escaped. If I hadn’t met Sam, I probably wouldn’t have made it home that night. He lent me his coat and sent me back. He’s a lifestyle blogger looking for filming material. When he learned I was an Alzheimer’s patient, he wanted me to be his subject. To record the real life of an Alzheimer’s patient and call on young people to start taking care of their health early. “I’m willing to be your subject,” I said. I still had some use. That’s good. “But don’t release the video for now.” Jack was about to start filming a new movie. I didn’t want to affect him. Sam was quick; in less than an hour, he came to install cameras. Hidden cameras inside, and he would follow me outside. Looking at the empty villa, he asked, “Miss Moore, do you live alone in such a big house?” I nodded. Jack had moved in with his father to the Harris family three years ago. “Then where’s your partner?” “Divorced.” Actually, I lied to him. I had proposed divorce a month after Mrs. Thompson’s accident, but Jack didn’t agree at that time. He hated me but couldn’t bear to let me go. Back then, he would often crawl into my bed in the middle of the night, hugging me from behind and repeatedly asking, “Rachel, what should we do?” I had no answer, I could only silently cry.

I was becoming lucid less and less often. I didn’t know what I did when I was out of it, but every time I woke up, I was greeted by a mess. Like now, what I saw was Mr. Thompson’s angry gaze and the gloating looks of Emily and her mother. “Rachel Moore, not only did you kill Jack’s mother, but you’re also celebrating your birthday on her death anniversary. Has your conscience been eaten by dogs?” “You won’t die well, you’ll definitely face retribution.” This was the Thompson family’s old house. Looking at the festive decorations all over the house and the three-tiered cake on the table, I felt like I had fallen into an ice pit. Rachel Moore, that was Mrs. Thompson, the Mrs. Thompson who saved your life. What have you done? Rachel Moore, you really deserve to die. “Mr. Thompson, I’m sorry, I…” “I don’t want your apology. Get out of my house right now!” Seeing Mr. Thompson about to faint, I didn’t dare stay any longer. I bowed deeply to Mr. Thompson. “I’m sorry.” When I opened the door, I saw an furious Jack. “You wanted to celebrate your birthday? Then let me give you a proper celebration.” He took me to a bar’s private room and ordered a lot of alcohol. “It’s your birthday, so we must drink. Come on, have a glass.” Before I could move, he grabbed a bottle with one hand and pinched my jaw with the other, forcing the liquor down my throat. I don’t know how many bottles I was forced to drink, I just felt my stomach burning and aching. Finally, he even called four or five male models for me. He said, “These are my birthday gifts to you. Do you like them?” “Your task today is to please her well.” No matter how Jack punished me, I would accept it, but he chose to humiliate me in this way. But I didn’t even have the strength to struggle. I could only watch as he left holding Emily’s hand. “Be good, don’t look. It will dirty your eyes.” Dirty? Jack, so this is how worthless I’ve become in your heart. Before I lost consciousness, I dialed Sam’s number.

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I slipped the matchmaker $500, asking her to make me sound as appealing as possible. She really delivered, describing me as accomplished in music, chess, calligraphy and painting – the perfect combination of a virtuous wife and loving mother, beautiful both inside and out. Thanks to her efforts, I managed to marry a great husband. The kind that’s always abroad and rarely comes home. With the added condition of taking care of a child under 5 years old. I agreed without hesitation! From then on, pizza and burgers became our daily staples. The kid and I lived carefree days, happy as can be! Now, I dabbed at non-existent tears with a tissue, crossing my legs as I spoke softly into the phone to my husband: “No matter how big the house is, it’s not a home without you here.” A low chuckle came through the line, his deep voice tinged with amusement: “Honey, there are cameras in the house.” “More than one.” I stopped swinging my leg and carefully slid it under the covers. Keeping my tone unchanged, I said, “Darling, what do you mean there are cameras? I had no idea.” I glanced around the large villa, lavishly decorated. I had installed much of the furniture myself while James was away, and he hadn’t been back since. How could there possibly be cameras? “Are you trying to scare me? I’m already nervous being alone in this big empty house, and now you say things like that!” I pretended to get angry, huffing into the phone, “I’m not talking to you anymore!” Then I quickly hung up. Sitting on the bed, I started to calm down and think. For now, I’d play it cool. Damn it, it had been eight months! A full eight months before he mentioned cameras? James was definitely lying. If it was true, then all my carefully crafted image would be ruined!

James and I met through a dating service. He’s 31 this year, makes over a million dollars annually, and is both muscular and handsome. Apparently he had a girlfriend before, but James’ work is special – he’s often away for months at a time. Plus he has a child. Entrusted to him by his late brother. His ex-girlfriend thought she could handle it at first, but the problem was the kid. This wasn’t an ordinary child – he had very strong aggressive tendencies. On their first meeting, he apparently knocked the girl down with a sweeping kick. His pranks were endless. She ran away after less than two days. Until she met me. I came from a poor family without much education. My only asset was my thick skin. I gave the matchmaker $500 to make me sound as good as possible. By the time it reached James, I had become an accomplished musician, artist and chef – the perfect virtuous wife and loving mother, not to mention a great beauty. James was intrigued and agreed to meet me. After seeing me in person, he was even more interested. The next day we got married. The bride price was a million dollars, plus this big villa. But there was one condition – I had to take good care of that violent little boy. I held my head, eyes darting around nervously. I really couldn’t be sure if James was telling the truth or not. Just then, there was a knock at the door. I was a bit slow to respond, and the door was forcefully pushed open.

A little figure stood in the doorway. With big eyes and thick brows, he looked like a perfect little gentleman doll. He wore a small suit with suspenders, the very picture of a young master. At the moment, he was glaring at me with a gloomy expression. I knew what this meant – he was hungry. In the past, I would have rushed over with a big grin, hugging and kissing his chubby cheeks no matter how much he struggled. I’d cackle like a witch and exclaim, “Who’s this adorable little angel? Let auntie give you a big kiss!” But I couldn’t do that now. If there really were cameras like James said, I had to maintain my image. Even if it was a lie, surely James wasn’t watching 24/7. Maybe I still had a chance to fix things. “Emily, you are graceful and virtuous. You are gentle and kind,” I told myself. So I put on my most gentle smile and glided over to the little boy. I crouched down and said softly, “Sweetie, are you hungry? Would you like auntie to make you some pasta?” The boy was stunned. He even took a step back. After hesitating for a while, he frowned and said: “Did you take the wrong medication?” “…” I raised a finger to cover my smile: “What are you saying, darling? I’ve always been like this.” The boy thought for two seconds, then turned and ran to his room. Soon he came back with a water gun from who knows where. He started spraying me, as if trying to take me down on the spot. The stream was very strong, hitting me right in the face. I stopped smiling.

I wiped my face and took a deep breath. The boy’s surname was Lu like James, and his name was Leo. When James wasn’t around, I always called him “little bean” which felt natural and affectionate. Now I didn’t dare, so I put on a sad expression instead. “Leo, do you still hate me?” I covered my face and cried. With my face all wet, you couldn’t tell if I was really crying. My voice choked up as if I was extremely upset. “Auntie has done everything she can. I buy you whatever you want. Why do you still hate me…” Leo was stunned again. His little brain couldn’t understand such abstract adult behavior. He tilted his head in confusion and asked, “Leo?” Didn’t she always call him “little bean”? I choked again, about to break character. I quickly got up to heat some milk for the child. Leo was an extremely picky eater, so I always had him eat small frequent meals to make sure he got enough nutrition. Thinking back, Leo and I had a very rough start too. The day James and I got married, he disappeared. He just gave me the keys to the villa and told me to settle in on my own. So when I realized James wasn’t around and I had full control of this villa, I threw a huge celebration that very night. I made myself a big pot of spicy hotpot. A really extravagant one. I bought loads of shrimp, meat, and meatballs – things I never dared to imagine before. The first time Leo saw me, before I could even speak, he came at me with punches and kicks. He was surprisingly strong. Like a furious little lion defending his territory. I got angry too and spanked his little bottom, warning him he’d get no dinner if he was so rude again. Leo didn’t listen, so I really didn’t prepare any dinner for him. By the time I had almost finished my hotpot, I finally remembered the child. Feeling guilty, I cooked the remaining beef and put it in a bowl for Leo. At first he refused to eat, but as the smell of hotpot spread, he got too hungry and finally dug in with a scowl. Then he had diarrhea for three days and nights. I had no idea the kid’s stomach was so delicate. As a first-timer with no experience, I was terrified. I carried Leo to the hospital in a cold sweat. The whole time I held him, rubbing his tummy when it hurt and singing lullabies when he whimpered in discomfort. Leo clutched me tightly with his little hands. We stayed like that for three days and nights. After that, he never hit me again. And that’s how one hotpot cured a problem child.

I finally managed to get Leo to sleep. After maintaining my graceful act for half a day, I was completely drained. After showering, I lay in bed desperately trying to think of other ways to show my virtuous wife and mother side. But I was so tired that I fell asleep before I knew it. So I had no idea that in the middle of the night, someone picked the lock on my door. A figure radiating heat and danger stood by my bed. But Leo heard. He still retained memories from when he was younger. He was only two then, living abroad. On a dark night just like this, a group of people brazenly broke into his home. They hacked at his defenseless parents, then did unspeakable things to his mother’s corpse. He didn’t cry, but it was all burned into his memory. He vividly remembered the desperate fear of that night, which was why he instinctively tried to solve everything with violence. If that didn’t work, he wanted to kill them all. Leo silently appeared outside the door, holding a weapon Uncle James had given him. He didn’t want that woman to die now. She may act crazy, but he just didn’t want her to die. He wasn’t sure if the dangerous person inside was from the same group that killed his parents. But he wasn’t afraid this time. He would protect her. Before Leo could act further, the person inside suddenly appeared behind him. A hand swung towards his face with frightening speed. Leo quickly stepped back, drawing his weapon, ready to fight to the death. But he was scooped up in strong arms. “Huh?” Leo was startled. By the time he realized what happened, he had already been carried downstairs. When Leo saw who it was, his face lit up with joy. “Uncle James!” “Shh.” James held Leo, sitting him on his sturdy thigh. “Don’t wake her up.” After studying the boy for a moment, he nodded, “You’ve gained some weight.” Leo pursed his lips in a small smile. Being fed five meals a day, he was already trying hard to control his weight. James had three days of leave this time. To be honest, he was very intrigued by his young wife. His work abroad involved dangerous, grueling missions. His only interest and hobby was watching what new tricks his little wife would get up to each day. She looked as beautiful as a butterfly in the cameras, her antics both amusing and endearing in their silliness. James naturally knew her true nature. In their line of work, seeing through a person was child’s play. But if his little wife wanted to act, he was happy to watch her performance. Though he couldn’t help teasing her a bit. “Do you like her taking care of you?” James asked softly. He knew that after over half a year together, Leo and Emily’s relationship, while not loving, was at least peaceful. Perhaps with a hint of affection? Leo really thought about it seriously before nodding. “She’s an interesting woman.” James couldn’t help but smile. “That move earlier was pretty good. I’ll teach you a few more tricks in the morning.” Leo nodded, unable to hold back a yawn. James let the child go to sleep, but not before reminding him, “No matter what you hear in the morning, don’t worry. I’ll be here for three days, we’ll all be very safe, okay?” Leo nodded and went to bed fully at ease this time. James was still in his camouflage uniform, his boots caked with dark red mud. He raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, then decided to strip it all off. He took a shower and changed into comfortable loungewear. Then step by step, he returned to the bedside. Though lively in personality and prone to little white lies, her sleeping form was quiet and docile. James silently climbed into bed. He first kissed her forehead, then couldn’t resist kissing the corner of her mouth. Slowly, he gathered her into his arms. The face he had only been able to watch through cameras for nearly eight months was finally in his embrace. Ah… He hoped his little wife wouldn’t be too startled when she woke up.

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When I filed for divorce, Oscar Astor remained as indifferent as ever. He turned his face away, his tone flat. “Do as you wish. You can keep Nora with you. I do not want her.” My heart felt like it had turned to ash. Just as I was about to sign my name, a stream of comments appeared before my eyes. [Kathy, do not sign! He may look calm and unbothered, but inside, he is dying. Look, he cannot even bring himself to look at you.] [He is giving up custody not because he does not care, but because he does not want to make you suffer. It has nothing to do with that woman.] [My heart aches for Oscar. Just because he is naturally reserved, he is going to lose the woman he loves the most.] My pen hesitated while writing. I snapped back to reality after reading those few lines. Lifting my head, I studied Oscar. Under the dim yellow light, his sharp profile remained as distant as ever, as if divorce were nothing more than a trivial matter. I couldn’t find a single flaw, so I took the initiative to speak, “Don’t you have anything to explain?” Oscar turned away, rubbing his temples. “What more do you want from me?” He let out a long sigh, as though I were the one being unreasonable. A dull ache spread in my chest. Forcing a weak smile, I was about to respond when his phone rang abruptly. The room was quiet enough for me to hear Carol’s tearful voice clearly. “Oscar, Mila has a high fever. What should I do?” This was the 33rd time. Carol’s excuses for calling him were always the same: something broke, her daughter was sick, or their house had been burglarized. My lips curled into a cold smirk, unsurprised to hear her excuse again. Oscar said, “Kathy.” I turned my head to look at him. At some point, Oscar had already ended the call. He stood there with his lips pressed together and stared at me. “There’s nothing as dirty between us as you think.” With that, he slammed the door, leaving with a hint of restrained anger. So that was his explanation? I lowered my gaze. How utterly unconvincing. But the online comments didn’t see it that way. [Oh, Oscar must be heartbroken because Kathy doesn’t trust him.] [He only takes care of that woman out of gratitude. Can’t Kathy be a little more understanding?] [Great, now Kathy has pushed him further toward the other woman again.] Frustration welled up in my chest, making it hard for me to breathe. I felt trapped, unable to move forward or back. Carol Wilson was the daughter of Oscar’s late mentor. Ever since her father passed away six months ago, she had returned to the country with her daughter, Mila. And from that point on, Oscar and I had been caught in an inexplicable cycle of cold wars. Our five-year-old daughter, Nora Astor, had been affected by the tense atmosphere at home, waking up crying from nightmares night after night. I had read online that a couple’s relationship directly impacts their children’s mental health. So, I chose to take the first step toward reconciliation. I brought a pot of soup to Oscar’s office, only to walk in on Carol already inside. “I’m married,” he said. “So what?” Carol’s eyes were red as she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “I know you’ve only ever cared about Kathy,” she choked out. “But I don’t have a father anymore… Can you give me just a little bit of the love you have for her? Just a little is enough.” Oscar fell silent. He didn’t say a word for a long time. At that moment, my hands trembled so much that I nearly dropped the lunchbox. There had always been countless girls who liked Oscar. But he was naturally indifferent, rejecting others with clean precision, never leading them on. So his silence now was nothing short of acquiescence. And for the first time, I realized that, to Oscar, there was now another exception besides me. That was why Carol had the audacity to throw me that blatantly provocative smile.

“Mommy, when will Daddy be back? I want to go to the amusement park soon!” Fresh out of school, Nora broke free from Mary’s hand and ran toward me. I snapped out of my thoughts and quickly caught her. It was only then that I remembered today was our family day. Oscar’s childhood had not been a happy one. His father was a violent gambler, while his mother was weak and timid, shaping him into the distant and indifferent person he was. On the day Nora was born, he had held her carefully in his arms, fearful yet gentle, his eyes so full of tenderness that it was almost overwhelming. “Kathy, I would be willing to die right now if it meant keeping this moment forever!” Oscar had grown up in an empty and lonely childhood, and he was determined not to let his child go through the same thing. That was why he personally established this family outing day. Every year, on November 1st, we would put everything aside and take Nora to the theme park. Even as she grew older and his business empire expanded, he had never missed it. I had not even answered Nora yet when she eagerly tapped on her smartwatch, starting a video call with Oscar. Then, she lifted her wrist high and pleaded with me, “Mommy, please ask Daddy for me!” Her expression was pitiful, making her look even more adorable. For some reason, Nora was never very close to Oscar. Perhaps in Nora’s heart, a father who was often absent naturally felt distant. I chuckled and took the watch, about to tease her when the call connected. The next second, a large, curious face filled the screen. It was Mila. My smile froze. “What did Daddy say?” Nora noticed my sudden stillness and leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the screen. Almost instinctively, I ended the call. Calmly, I placed the watch down, bent down, and patted her head. “Daddy is still busy. Today, Mommy and Mary will take you instead.” “Oh… Okay…” Nora lowered her head, looking a little disappointed. But being the sensible child she was, she did not throw a tantrum and obediently followed Mary upstairs to change. Once she was out of sight, I turned and continued packing the things we needed for the outing. As I reached for the three Halloween-themed family masks, my hand paused. After a brief hesitation, I took out the two smaller ones and put them in my bag. I casually tossed the black one into the trash. It would not be needed anyway. Oscar had always had a rigid sense of personal boundaries. He never let anyone touch his phone, not even his own daughter. When Nora was three, his phone rang while he was in the shower, and Nora picked it up, intending to hand it to him. Oscar flew into a rage. He scolded her harshly. Little Nora was terrified and cried so hard that she could barely breathe. In the past, Oscar would surrender the moment his daughter shed a tear. When I tried to intervene, he stopped me, his face stern as he declared, “Let her remember this lesson. She needs to understand what she is not allowed to touch.”

A child’s emotions were like a summer rainstorm, which was quick to arrive but just as quick to pass. At the theme park, Nora was so excited that she was like a wild horse set free. Despite the cold winter weather, she played until her face turned red and broke into a sweat. I rummaged through my bag and realized that we had finished all the warm water we had brought from home. “Let’s take a break,” I said, stopping Nora just as she was about to run toward the carousel for the eighth time. Holding her hand, I led her toward the convenience store. As we passed by a souvenir stall selling accessories, I glanced at it instinctively. Then, my footsteps came to a halt. Oscar was standing in front of the stall, one hand in his pocket, the other absentmindedly fiddling with a tiger-shaped mask. His expression was indifferent. Beside him stood Carol and Mila. Carol was bent over, adjusting a pumpkin hat on Mila’s head. Mila was excitedly gesturing, her cheeks flushed with joy, showing no signs of having a fever at all. She and Carol whispered something to each other, then both of them laughed with bright eyes. Even Oscar had a small smile. The bullet comments appeared again. [Oscar is smiling so gently. He must be thinking about the times he used to come here with Kathy and their daughter.] [The only person who can make him smile just by thinking about them is Kathy.] I ignored the comments and exchanged a glance with Mary, signaling her to take Nora another way. But before she could react, Nora had already spotted Oscar with her sharp eyes. “It’s Daddy!” she exclaimed. Oscar turned his head, and the moment he saw me, his lips immediately pressed into a thin line. [Haha, he is still sulking because Kathy brought up divorce this morning.] [He actually didn’t forget about family day. He agreed to come with Carol on purpose, hoping to run into Kathy. It is so heartbreaking how desperate he is!] [Yes! He has been waiting for her to call him all day, but when she didn’t. He had no choice but to come looking for her himself.] I had no time to pay attention to the comments because, at that moment, Nora had already broken free from Mary and was running toward Oscar. She grinned, thinking her father had come here to surprise her. But before she could reach him, Mila suddenly bumped into Nora and pushed her aside. Nora watched as Mila threw herself into Oscar’s arms and pointed at the pumpkin hat on her head. “Mr. Astor, I want this hat!” Nora stumbled and fell to the ground. Her eyes instantly turned red. In her memory, her father had never held any other child before. Her small body tensed up as she struggled to keep her tears from falling. “My daddy won’t buy it for you!” she declared. Nora got up, patted the dust off her clothes, and marched toward Mila, raising her voice. “You bumped into me! You need to apologize!” Mila huffed and lifted her chin. “Why should I? You weren’t looking where you were running! I didn’t even ask you to apologize to me, and who are you to decide what Mr. Astor buys? You are so rude!” Mila was about the same age as Nora but shorter, so she had to tilt her head up to glare at Nora. Nora was furious at her shamelessness. “It was obviously you—” “Apologize,” Oscar suddenly spoke. His voice was indifferent. Nora put her hands on her hips and swayed her head triumphantly. “Did you hear that? My dad told you to apolo—” “Nora, apologize!”

Oscar repeated coldly, his voice sharp. Nora’s eyes widened in disbelief, and tears instantly welled up. But she was strong-willed; she bit her lip stubbornly without giving in. Carol pulled Mila to her side and smiled in understanding, “Kids have tempers. It is normal. We are fine, really. You do not have to let this affect your relationship with your daughter.” Oscar did not respond. Instead, his brows furrowed even tighter, and his tone became even harsher. “Nora!” Nora trembled all over, and tears fell onto the ground. Oscar frowned, about to reprimand her further when I felt a sharp pang in my heart. I immediately rushed forward and shielded Nora. “Do you need me to apologize too?” Oscar’s furious gaze met my cold eyes. He froze. [Does Kathy think Oscar is standing up for Carol and Mila?] [Did Kathy forget that Oscar was badly bullied in high school? He just does not want his daughter to become someone weak like he was back then!] [Oscar may be scolding his daughter, but deep down, he feels sorry for her.] Ridiculous. The comments made me frown. I took Nora’s hand, ready to leave, but Carol stepped in our way. “Sorry, I did not know today was your family day. Mila kept insisting on coming here, and we are unfamiliar with this place, so we had no choice but to ask Oscar for help. Kathy, you are not mad about this, are you?” Her tone was full of apology, yet her eyes could not hide their smugness. “Yes,” I replied. “What?” Carol tilted her head in confusion. I curved my lips into a cold smile. “I am mad. So what now? Shouldn’t you apologize to me?” If she wanted to twist the truth, I could do the same. Carol had not expected me to be so direct. She stood there, momentarily stunned. “You…” “There is no need,” Oscar said flatly. “It has nothing to do with you.” His hands were in his pockets, but there was an unmistakable hint of amusement in his expression. [Kathy is jealous. Oscar is secretly pleased!] [Oh my god, this is too sweet!] [Oscar looks cold on the outside, but he is actually so sensitive. That is why he constantly needs reassurance of Kathy’s love. He is completely addicted to it.] I was so angry that I actually laughed. Ignoring Oscar, I walked straight up to Carol. In the midst of her shocked scream, I kicked her hard, sending her toppling to the ground. “Your daughter pushed my daughter. Returning this to you is reasonable, right?” Oscar was stunned by my sudden outburst. “Kathy?” I ignored him, picked up Nora, and walked away. He grabbed my wrist, his face dark with anger. “What are you doing? Apologize to them!” Without hesitation, I lifted my foot. The sharp heel of my shoe landed precisely on his toe. “You get lost too!”

Oscar walked through the door carrying a cake just as I finished putting down Nora’s backpack. Since that day, this was the first time he had come home. He did not look at me, only lifted the bag slightly in Nora’s direction. Little girls could never resist sweets. “Yay! It is from Cloud Dessert! My favorite!” As expected, Nora cheered in excitement and immediately followed Oscar into the dining room. [This is hilarious. Oscar originally refused to come home to punish Kathy, but in the end, he could not hold out himself.] [Oscar is not good with words, but this action is clearly his way of conceding to Kathy.] I thought for a moment but did not stop Nora from spending time with Oscar. After all, he was her biological father. He would not harm her. Turning around, I headed upstairs, planning to wash Nora’s school uniform. Just then, a voice message popped up. It was from the owner of Cloud Dessert. Because Nora loved their cakes, I often bought from them, and over time, I added the owner on WhatsApp. “Mrs. Astor, long time no see. I just wanted to check if you were satisfied with the two cakes Mr. Astor ordered today.” I froze. Oscar ordered two cakes? But he only brought back one. Cloud Dessert specialized in cartoon-themed cakes, and many parents usually ordered cakes for their children. The other cake must be ordered for Mila. The owner continued introducing the cake. “This is a new product from our store. It is made with a special cream, tastes better than before, and for the first time, we have added a whole pound of mango in the filling. If you are satisfied…” Mango? My expression changed, and I hurriedly asked, “It contains mango?” “Yes, and Mr. Astor was aware of that. He…” The moment I received confirmation, I dropped my phone without hesitation and rushed downstairs in a panic. Oscar was no longer in the dining room. On the table, the cake was nearly finished, only a small portion left. Nora was scratching her face. When she saw me, she immediately pouted. “Mommy, I feel really bad.” Her whole body was covered in red rashes, and blisters had already formed around her mouth. As soon as she finished speaking, she collapsed straight onto the floor with a loud thud. My vision went black, and my mind went blank. Like a madwoman, I grabbed my daughter and ran to the hospital. It was only when I saw the doctor administering her anti-allergy treatment that my legs gave out, and I sank to the floor. Mary arrived shortly after, bringing a change of clothes for Nora and a pair of shoes for me. Only then did I belatedly look down. I had not even been wearing shoes. No wonder people had been giving me strange looks on the way here. I let out a bitter laugh. I had been so terrified. When Nora was two, Oscar once fed her with a piece of mango, not knowing she was allergic. It had sent her straight into the emergency room. That was when we first discovered that Nora had a severe mango allergy, so severe that it could trigger anaphylactic shock. Back then, Oscar was overwhelmed with guilt. He had even warned Mary sternly, “From now on, I do not want to see mango in this house. If you cannot remember that, then do not work here anymore.” I looked out the window. Dark clouds devoured the blue sky. Waves of black rolled and churned, piling upon each other. It was so heavy that I could not breathe.

As I stepped out of the hospital room, Oscar arrived. His usually neat hair was slightly disheveled, likely from rushing over. Seeing me, he quickly strode forward. “Kathy, what—” “Where were you? Why didn’t you answer your phone?” I cut him off, my tone cold and sharp. From the moment Nora had the allergic reaction until now, I had called him countless times. He had not picked up a single one. “Mila had another high fever. Carol asked me to take her to the hospital. My phone battery died, so I did not get your calls. I am sorry.” Oscar’s expression remained indifferent, as if he were merely stating a fact. I studied his face for a moment before letting out a cold laugh. “Do you even know why you are here?” “I heard Mary had an accident,” he replied slowly, his voice devoid of any emotion. I scoffed in disbelief before speaking, “Your daughter went into shock after eating the mango cake.” His eyes widened in shock. “Yes,” I said icily. “The very cake you specially bought for her.” Suddenly, I remembered what the owner of Cloud Dessert had said yesterday. She had mentioned, “At the time, Mr. Astor even replied, ‘Perfect, the kids love mango-flavored cake.’” I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “Do you have anything to explain this time?” Oscar visibly froze. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then, in a panic, he reached for my hand. “I was careless. I did not mean to…” He abruptly stopped, as if unable to find a reasonable excuse for himself. Awkwardly, he changed the subject. “How is Nora? She must have been crying and asking for me. I will go in and see her—” He turned to walk toward the hospital room. I shouted, “You are not worthy!” Oscar stopped in his tracks. “Let’s get a divorce, Oscar.” At this moment, I felt nothing but absolute calm. [No, Kathy, do not be impulsive!] [Oscar is just naturally quiet. He does not know how to express himself, but that does not mean he does not love you.] [What is Kathy doing? Nora is fine now. She is his salvation, why does she not understand that?] [Oscar will never refuse. No matter how unwilling he is, as long as Kathy asks, he will do it.]

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My roommate couldn’t cook, but she still wanted to eat home-cooked meals. So, she taped a meal request notice right on my door. [Hey, roommate!] [I’m super busy with work, and I don’t have time to cook, not that I know how to, anyway. I’ve been living on takeout for over half a month, and my stomach can’t take it anymore. Your cooking looks amazing, so I was wondering if I could have some too.] At first, I felt a little bad for her. I mean, sharing a meal now and then wouldn’t be a big deal. But then I kept reading, and my jaw practically hit the floor. [Requirements 1: You need to cook three meals a day for me from Monday to Friday. No exceptions. And I don’t want to have to remind you that girls should be diligent, or else no one will want to marry them.] [Requirements 2: I expect you to buy me a new set of reusable food containers. Disposable ones aren’t hygienic. Just pack my meals and leave them outside my door.] [Requirements 3: I’m not picky, but I don’t eat black pepper, parsley, thyme, potatoes, chili, or anything smoked.] [Requirements 4: Each meal should include three dishes and a soup. The soup must be meat-based because I’m focusing on my protein intake.] [Requirements 5: Since I’m just ‘borrowing’ your meals, I won’t be paying you. And don’t even think about asking for money. Times are tough for all of us.] [If you’re willing to help, I’d be forever grateful. Your kindness might just add a few more years to a struggling worker’s life.] I actually laughed out loud. Then I ripped the note off my door, crumpled it up, and tossed it straight into the trash. I thought, “Was she serious? Maybe her stomach problems messed with her brain, too.”

Last Friday morning, someone knocked on my door. Half-asleep and irritated, I mumbled, “Who is it?” It was my day off, and I hadn’t slept in properly for ages. Of course, I was annoyed. “Adeline, are you home? I heard you say yesterday that you’re off today. Can you do me a favor? I have work soon, and I was wondering if you could make me a plate of pasta?” I recognized the voice immediately. It was Brynlee Mercer, the roommate who moved in two weeks ago. Her tone was almost pleading, with a hint of pitiful desperation. I scratched my head, still groggy. “Why don’t you just grab a sandwich on your way out? I’m exhausted. I worked an overnight shift yesterday.” I yawned, hoping she’d get the hint. Apparently, my rejection wasn’t clear enough. I had no idea, but the person outside just wouldn’t stop talking. “Adeline, those street vendors use terrible cooking oil. What if I get sick? “You’re off today anyway. Can’t you just make it real quick and go back to sleep? Please?” I took a deep breath. We were both struggling workers, after all. Helping her out this once wouldn’t kill me. So, groaning, I dragged myself out of bed. The moment I opened the door, I saw Brynlee’s face. And I swear, maybe I was imagining it, but I could’ve sworn I saw a smirk of satisfaction. I sighed, “What ingredients do you have? I’ll cook something for you.” Her eyes widened like I had just insulted her. “Huh? Aren’t you the one offering me food? Why would I have to provide ingredients?” I was stunned. When the hell did I say I was offering her a free meal? Sure, pasta ingredients weren’t expensive, but she could’ve at least pretended she was contributing. Honestly, I was already regretting getting out of bed. She was eating my food, using my stuff, and now, she was even disturbing my sleep. Brynlee pouted innocently. “Come on, hurry up! I need to eat right after I finish my skincare routine, or I’ll be late for work.” Then, just like that, she turned and walked off to the bathroom, washing her face without a second thought. Like I was some kind of unpaid maid. I was speechless. Still, I made her a quick plate of pasta using the potatoes and basil I had bought last night. But when I handed it to her, she actually had the audacity to look disgusted. “Adeline! I don’t eat basil! Or parsley! And definitely not potatoes! Why would you put those in my food?” At first, I thought she was joking. I mean, she had asked me to cook for her. But nope. She was dead serious.

I let out a short laugh, finding it unbelievable. “If you let it sit, it’ll taste even better. Besides, you didn’t tell me in the first place.” But Brynlee just stared at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, you never asked! Now hurry up and make me a new one!” I sighed, feeling drained. Even though I was annoyed, I still spoke to her nicely. “Aren’t you about to head to work? Why not just make do with this?” If she had any specific requests, she should’ve said something before I cooked, not after. That wasn’t my fault. I thought she’d grumble a little and let it go, but instead, she let out an angry huff, slammed her hands on the table, and shot to her feet. “Forget it! I’m not eating! You’re just doing this on purpose because you don’t want to cook for me!” Since we were roommates, I didn’t want things to get too tense between us. Just as I was about to explain, she suddenly rammed into me hard, like she did it on purpose. I let out a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything. “Did I not get enough things to do? Is that why I’m out here looking for trouble?” I figured that was the end of her ridiculous behavior, but I had seriously underestimated her. Just now, when I got home from work, I saw a notice taped to my bedroom door. [Hey, roommate!] [I’m super busy with work, and I don’t have time to cook, not that I know how to, anyway. I’ve been living on takeout for over half a month, and my stomach can’t take it anymore. Your cooking looks amazing, so I was wondering if I could have some too.] At first, I felt a little bad for her. I mean, sharing a meal now and then wouldn’t be a big deal. But then I kept reading, and my jaw practically hit the floor. [Requirements 1: You need to cook three meals a day for me from Monday to Friday. No exceptions. And I don’t want to have to remind you that girls should be diligent, or else no one will want to marry them.] [Requirements 2: I expect you to buy me a new set of reusable food containers. Disposable ones aren’t hygienic. Just pack my meals and leave them outside my door.] [Requirements 3: I’m not picky, but I don’t eat black pepper, parsley, thyme, potatoes, chili, or anything smoked.] [Requirements 4: Each meal should include three dishes and a soup. The soup must be meat-based because I’m focusing on my protein intake.] [Requirements 5: Since I’m just ‘borrowing’ your meals, I won’t be paying you. And don’t even think about asking for money. Times are tough for all of us.] [If you’re willing to help, I’d be forever grateful. Your kindness might just add a few more years to a struggling worker’s life.] I stared at the mooching notice and actually laughed out loud. I had made her one plate of pasta out of kindness, and now she thought I was her personal chef. I ripped the paper off the door, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it straight into the trash. This girl must’ve had stomach issues so bad that she shat her brains out. A loud commotion erupted from the entryway. I didn’t even need to guess who it was.

After all, who else in a shared apartment would make as much noise as Brynlee, whether she was leaving for work in the morning or coming home at night? It was like she was afraid no one would know she was there. A series of loud knocks hit my door, followed by her exasperated voice. “Adeline! How can you be so lazy? Where’s my dinner? Didn’t I tell you to make it for me? Where is it? “I finally get off work, all I want is a hot meal, and instead, you ignored me! “Get out here and cook! I’m starving! And did you buy me my own food container? I don’t want to use your plates. Women should have boundaries, and I hope you understand that.” I flung my door open, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “When God closed a door for you, He must’ve slammed it on your head, too. Otherwise, how else could you say something this brainless? “If you’re hungry, cook for yourself. What, don’t know how? No way. Did you hide when humans were evolving? Is that why you can’t even cook?” Brynlee opened her mouth, ready to curse me out, but I didn’t give her the chance. I put some force into my arm and slammed the door shut. Just as it clicked into place, a shrill screech erupted from the other side. “Adeline! You’re too much! What did I do wrong? All I wanted was a hot meal! Is that a crime?” Then came the wailing. I cracked the door open and found Brynlee squatting outside, tears and snot streaming down her face. I thought, “Oh my God. Did I do something in a past life to deserve this?” I leaned my head out, smirking. “You’re not a princess, so why do you act like one? No, wait, you’ve got something else. Unhinged Drama Queen Syndrome!’” With that, I slammed the door shut again. Her wailing instantly turned ear-splitting. I didn’t expect that the person who originally sat outside the door, crying, throwing tantrums, and even threatening to hang herself, suddenly stopped. Just when I thought she had given up, realizing she didn’t have a princess’ life but was playing the princess’ game, she unexpectedly attached herself to someone else.

In the kitchen, my other roommate, Clara Holloway, was busy cooking. I was a little surprised. She was tall and skinny, yet she could eat two plates of pasta. I couldn’t resist teasing her. “Wow, I’m so jealous. You eat so much and never gain weight!” Clara frowned and gave me a helpless smile. “I don’t have a choice. Brynlee wants me to cook for her.” The grin on my face vanished in an instant. “She gave you a notice too, didn’t she?” Clara looked confused. I almost told her about the ridiculous dinner request I’d gotten, but then I remembered we weren’t that close yet. Complaining about someone behind their back might make me look petty. So, I showed a smile and waved it off. “Oh… nothing. Forget it.” She didn’t seem fully convinced but didn’t push the issue. Carrying three dishes and a bowl of soup, she headed for the living room. Watching her walk away, I shook my head. “I really hope I’m overthinking this.” As I washed the dishes, I overheard Brynlee’s unmistakable voice once again. “Ugh, the meat isn’t tender! Do you even know how to cook? If you don’t, learn! “And didn’t I say I don’t eat basil? Are you deaf? Seriously, if you can’t even handle something so simple, what good are you? “This pasta isn’t soft either. My stomach can’t handle cheap food.” The moment she finished speaking, Clara let out a sharp, cold laugh. “Oh? Is that so?” I nearly choked, trying to hold back a laugh. I thought, “Life was dull, but watching a toad critique humans? Priceless.” What I didn’t expect was that by noon the next day, Clara would show up at my door, holding something I knew all too well, a fresh copy of the infamous dinner request notice. She stood there, looking downright betrayed. “So… this is what you wanted to tell me last night?”

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The deadly heatwave was coming, but I had stocked up on enough supplies to last for months. My husband, however, decided to “rescue” our frail female neighbor and invited her to stay with us. “We’ve got plenty of supplies,” he said. “How much can one woman possibly eat? She’s all alone—we’re neighbors, what’s the harm in helping her out?” But later, I found out they were enjoying themselves in my bathroom, steaming it up like a sauna and taking bubble baths together. The neighbor, blushing and smiling, said coyly, “The ice cream you gave me is the best—it really cools me down.” After I caught them red-handed, they panicked and locked me out on the balcony to roast under the blazing sun. I died of dehydration in the unbearable heat. When I opened my eyes again, it was the first day of the heatwave. My phone buzzed with a heat warning: [ALERT: Temperatures in the city will reach unprecedented highs tomorrow, exceeding 108°F. Stay indoors and avoid unnecessary outings.] As I read the message, my body jolted with the memory of the unbearable pain. The dehydration, the agony, the suffocating heat—none of it was real anymore. In my hand was a cold iced Americano. Trembling, I tilted my head back and gulped it down, savoring the icy relief like someone who had been dying of thirst. In my last life, I had died of thirst. I’m a well-known risk assessor, and I had seen the warning signs of global climate change long before the heatwave hit. I’d prepared for it meticulously: our standalone villa was stocked with supplies, equipped with cooling systems, and had its own independent power grid. It was a self-sustaining fortress capable of lasting more than a year. It was supposed to be the perfect refuge for me and my husband. But last time, Ryan had a sudden, misguided sense of heroism. He took pity on our neighbor, Molly, who lived alone next door. She was frail, he said, and wouldn’t survive the heatwave on her own. So he insisted on bringing her into our house. “She’s just one person,” he said. “It’s no big deal. Her husband’s abroad and can’t help her. We’re neighbors—it’s the right thing to do!” I had been against it from the start. Molly had only moved in a few months ago, and we barely knew her. “She’s a married woman,” I said. “What would people think? If you’re worried about her, I can check on her every day instead.” But Ryan ignored me and dragged Molly into the house himself. She stood there, tears streaming down her face, pleading with me. “I’m sorry to trouble you,” she said. “I have fainting spells—I can’t handle the heat. If I pass out at home alone, no one will even find my body.” Ryan frowned and turned to me. “See? How can you be so heartless? We’ve got plenty of supplies and space. It’s just for a few days!” Helpless, I gave in. Before the water and power were cut off, Molly moved under our roof. Then came the day Ryan decided he wanted fresh vegetables. By that time, temperatures outside had hit nearly 122°F. Going out required wearing full protective gear. Ryan, claiming he was getting nosebleeds from a vitamin deficiency and might develop sepsis, begged me to make the trip. Reluctantly, I drove miles to a national cold storage facility to buy him fresh vegetables. When I returned, I walked into my house to find Ryan and Molly in my bathroom, enjoying an air-conditioned 75°F haven. They were together in the bathtub. Molly was completely naked, her hands resting tenderly on Ryan’s chest. “Where’s the cucumber I asked for?” she whined. “I need it for my face mask!” Ryan, unconcerned, stroked her arm and replied, “I sent Ann to get it. That woman’s obsessed with me anyway—she’s like a dog. Let her play housekeeper while we relax.” They were using my home, my supplies, my life—and they didn’t even bother to hide their affair. Furious, I stormed into the bathroom and caught them in the act. But the pair of them, like cornered rats, turned on me. Before I could react, they stripped off my protective gear and locked me out on the south-facing balcony. The temperature outside was over 122°F. Under the relentless sun, I collapsed, my skin burning and my throat parched. I’d never known such despair. In a matter of hours, I was reduced to a dried, lifeless corpse. After I died, Molly convinced Ryan to dismember my body and dump it down the sewer. She took over everything I had worked so hard to build. Now, my phone buzzed with an incoming call. It was Ryan, his voice hurried and breathless: “Honey, can you bring me the valve wrench from 3044? Quick!”

Apartment 3044 belonged to none other than Molly. On a scorching 104°F day, my husband decided to skip his usual afternoon nap and help our dear female neighbor fix her air conditioner. When I got there, Molly was lounging in a skimpy crop top and shorts so short they barely qualified as clothing. Her legs were on full display, leaving little to the imagination. She was sucking on a banana-flavored popsicle, not biting it, letting it melt slowly and drip down her lips, making them glisten. Meanwhile, Ryan was standing on a chair, sweating profusely as he fiddled with the central AC unit. “So cool! But not as refreshing as having you here to fix my air conditioner,” Molly said with a bright, flirtatious smile. When she turned and saw me, she stuck out her tongue in mock surprise, pretending she hadn’t noticed me walk in. It was only in this second life that I realized her carefree demeanor was nothing but an act—a carefully crafted performance designed to lure men. I ignored her and looked up at the sweat-drenched back of my husband. “Excuse me, sir. What’s your profession again?” Ryan scratched his head sheepishly. “Oh, honey, when I was a kid back in the countryside, my dad used to fix appliances. I picked up a few tricks back then—this is nothing.” Funny. At home, he couldn’t even be bothered to change a lightbulb, always leaving it for the housekeeper. But now? Suddenly, he was eager to play handyman. Ah, the power of a pretty face. It can turn a man into the most obedient servant. “Did you bring the valve wrench?” he asked without looking at me. I shook my head. “We don’t even own one. You’ve never done a single repair at home, remember?” Molly chimed in, crossing her arms as the sheer fabric of her top clung to her skin, leaving little to the imagination. From Ryan’s angle, he had a perfect view of her cleavage. “It’s fine, big bro. You should head back with your wife. I’ll call someone else to fix it—don’t worry about me!” Years of marriage had made me an expert in reading Ryan’s body language. And as I glanced at him, I noticed it—he was turned on. He quickly averted his gaze, trying to cover it up, but I’d already seen enough. “All right,” he stammered. “If you need anything else, just let me know.” I scanned the room, taking in the chaotic scene. The dining table was covered in empty instant noodle cups, while the window sill was decorated with an elaborate dessert stand. On the old plastic clothes rack, a pair of Gucci spring collection black stockings hung delicately. The mix of sloppiness and luxury was almost comical. Molly was a private model—someone who made her living posing for exclusive clients. There was no way she could normally afford to live in a neighborhood like ours. She had only rented this apartment for her photoshoots. Her social media was filled with posts showcasing a glamorous life, paired with poetic captions meant to evoke sophistication. And Ryan? He was always in her comments, leaving little gems like “Such beauty deserves admiration.” Every single post. Rain or shine. It was so over-the-top that it practically oozed infatuation through the screen. I’d never paid attention to his behavior online, so I’d been completely unaware of his little crush until now. Molly glanced at me, then at Ryan, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “You’re so lucky, Mrs. Harris! Financially independent, with a husband who dotes on you every day. Unlike me…” Molly had been married for three years, but her husband worked overseas and rarely came back. My eyes caught on something new sitting on her table: a pristine Hermès handbag. I didn’t need to guess who had bought it for her. Molly noticed my gaze and tilted her chin up proudly. “Beautiful, isn’t it? A gift from one of my biggest fans!” “Women have to rely on themselves,” she added smugly. “You can’t depend on a husband alone. The real skill is getting other men to happily spend money on you.” Ryan stood there, perfectly composed, as if her words didn’t implicate him. “Honey, do you like that bag?” he asked me casually. “If you want one, I can get you one too.” I nearly laughed out loud. What a hypocrite. Spending my money to act generous and charming for someone else. When I first met Ryan, he was a fresh-faced college athlete, full of youthful energy. I was already working at the Social Sciences Institute and had a bit of a reputation in my field. Occasionally, I’d return to my alma mater to teach guest lectures, and that’s where I’d first seen him—on the basketball court. He was magnetic on the court, his jersey clinging to his sweat-soaked body as he dunked the ball effortlessly. His sharp abs flexed as he moved, and his fiery gaze seemed to burn through everything in its path. Whenever he saw me, his ears would flush red, and he’d stammer, “Miss Shaw.” There was a six-year age gap between us, and while I was charmed, I never took it seriously. Later, he started working part-time at the gym where I swam. He offered to coach me in diving, and one thing led to another—we ended up together. I’ve never been one to romanticize relationships. From the beginning, I was clear about what I wanted. Before we got married, I told him plainly: “As long as you keep up those abs, I’ll take care of everything else. You won’t need to work or worry about money.” I had a steady income from my work at the institute and my investments in U.S. stocks. Every month, I gave Ryan $20,000 as pocket money. My only two conditions were that he stay fit and stay faithful. But he still managed to fall for someone else. And now, a man who’s already tainted has no place in my life anymore.

The streets were already blazing at a terrifying 113°F these past few days. Like in my past life, I had meticulously stocked up on supplies, preparing for this catastrophic heatwave with calm precision. All outdoor work had stopped, replaced with remote jobs for those lucky enough to work from home. Only a few essential workers remained, gritting their teeth through the unbearable heat. The neighborhood chat group buzzed with constant anxiety. Even a one-hour water outage was enough to send everyone into a frenzy. The latest trending news told of a homeless man who collapsed on the asphalt. His skin had melted onto the pavement, and he passed away from severe burns caused by the heat. People online offered prayers and condolences, but no one used the candle emoji anymore. It was just too hot for even that. As the heatwave persisted, power grids in multiple cities began to fail. Stories of people literally dying from the heat became more and more common. Meanwhile, in my little villa, I remained vigilant despite the relative comfort of my surroundings. I saved electricity, stayed cautious, and never let my guard down. Thankfully, my parents lived up north, where the heatwave hadn’t yet spread. “Annie, it’s only in the mid-80s here,” my mom reassured me over the phone. “We’ve got enough supplies. Don’t worry about us—just take care of yourself!” I made sure they wouldn’t skimp on air conditioning by sending them $1,000 for their electricity bill. After that, I turned my attention back to my plan—my perfect plan to take revenge on my husband and his mistress. The heatwave had already caused Molly to faint several times in her home. Each time, she’d call Ryan to take her to the hospital. I didn’t stop him. Instead, I lounged on the couch with a chilled watermelon in my lap, smiling at the TV as if nothing was wrong. Finally, Ryan couldn’t hold back any longer. He came to me with a familiar request. “Annie, why don’t we let Molly stay with us? She’s not doing well on her own, and it’s not like she’ll use up much of our supplies. She’s just one person, and we’re neighbors—it’s the right thing to do.” This time, I didn’t even pretend to hesitate. “Of course, honey,” I said with a sweet smile. “Neighbors should help each other out.” Ryan blinked, stunned by how quickly I agreed. Then, looking flattered, he nodded. “I knew it—you’re the kindest, most generous wife. I knew you wouldn’t mind.” What he didn’t know was that I had upgraded the villa’s entire system. How could I possibly mind? I was counting on both of them to come here so I could send them straight to hell. On her first day in the house, Molly helped herself to my walk-in closet. When I called her for dinner, she strutted out in one of my dresses. Ryan’s eyes lit up with admiration he didn’t even bother to hide. “Why are you wearing Annie’s clothes?” he asked, though his tone was more curious than upset. “Oh, I saw her wardrobe and couldn’t resist trying something on,” Molly said with a coy smile. Ryan chuckled, his voice full of praise. “It looks great on you. Annie has so many clothes anyway—why don’t you keep it?” He didn’t even glance in my direction for permission. It was like I wasn’t there. I just shrugged. It was only a dress, after all. A good hunter knows how to be patient. Even during the heatwave, Molly refused to give up her “career.” She insisted on continuing her modeling work from home. Ryan had a hobby for photography, so of course, Molly begged him to take pictures of her. She’d even come up with a title for the shoot: #HotAndSultry: Heatwave Goddess Edition “I’m planning to submit this to Men’s Magazine,” she said smugly. “I can already tell it’s going to go viral.” I glanced at the outfit she was wearing for the shoot and realized it was one of my $2,000 dresses—now cut into a tattered, revealing mess that barely covered anything. In my past life, it was during one of these photoshoots that they ended up in the bathtub together. Ryan, thinking I had gone to bed early, assumed it was the perfect opportunity. I had even told him I wasn’t feeling well because of my period, which gave him an excuse to sleep alone. How convenient for him. That night, I sat at my desk, staring coldly at the live feed from the security cameras. Sure enough, Ryan and Molly had snuck into the largest bathroom in the house. While people outside were dying in the heat, they had the audacity to set the AC to a cool 75°F and waste precious water on a bubble bath. Ryan was gently washing Molly’s back, running his hands over her skin as he massaged in the soap. The sound of flirtatious laughter and moans echoed from the bathroom. Molly’s voice was sweet and teasing. “What if your wife finds out? She’d probably kill me!” “Don’t worry about her,” Ryan said dismissively. “That old hag’s obsessed with me. We’re just using each other—she wants my looks, and I want her money. She’s nothing to be afraid of.” He tilted Molly’s chin up and smirked. “How about tonight, you take charge? I’ll let you do whatever you want.” “Ugh, you’re so annoying!” Molly giggled, playfully hitting his chest. I could barely contain my disgust. How had I ever fallen for such a sleazy, pathetic man? Fifteen minutes later, they finished their little escapade and began rinsing off under the shower. They still hadn’t noticed that the bathroom door had automatically locked. “Still feeling hot?” Ryan asked with a grin. Molly, her face flushed, mumbled something incoherent. “…The ice cream you gave me earlier was the best way to cool down.” They turned on the rain shower, laughing as the water cascaded over their bodies. Watching them through the security feed, I smirked. The bathroom’s sauna system was controlled remotely. I could adjust the room temperature and water settings with just a few taps. The sauna mode could reach temperatures of up to 212°F. At such extreme heat, the human body couldn’t survive for long. I thought of my past life—how I had been left to die, roasting under the relentless sun. This time, it was their turn. Without a second thought, I pressed the button.

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After discovering my husband was cheating on me, I slept with his best friend, Ethan Carter. Do I regret it? No. If anything, I should’ve done it sooner. I pinned Ethan against the wall, biting his jawline lightly before teasing him, “You’re pathetic—you can’t even go after the woman you like.” Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “You’re my best friend’s wife.” “Wife?” I scoffed, tugging on his tie. “Ethan, stop lying to yourself.” My name is Nicole Shaw. A lot of people envy me. They think I hit the jackpot when I married my husband, Ryan Harris. And why wouldn’t they? Ryan went from a fresh graduate to a successful entrepreneur with millions in the bank. Meanwhile, I became a stay-at-home mom after having our son, with a nanny to handle the housework so I could spend my free time at yoga classes, spas, or sipping tea with other wives in the neighborhood. To outsiders, I was living the dream. But I knew better. I’ve known about Ryan’s affair for a long time. Ryan is 38, fit, successful, and in his prime. How could he resist the endless swarm of women throwing themselves at him? Men can’t control their impulses, and even if you try to stop them, they’ll find a way. No matter how well I take care of myself, I’m still a 30-something woman he’s grown bored of. Men are simple creatures—they’ll always want someone younger, fresher. When I first found out, I thought of confronting him. I even considered filing for divorce. But in the end, I chose to endure it. Why? Because of my son, James. He’s only ten years old and idolizes his father. I want him to grow up happy and carefree. Besides, I’m a stay-at-home mom—would I even get custody in a divorce? And if I did, could I give him the life he has now? “Mom, can I get the new LEGO set?” James asked me one day, his innocent smile lighting up his face. Looking at him, I kept reminding myself: all of this is worth it. Men cheating isn’t exactly breaking news. When I was younger, I used to scoff at wives who stayed with their unfaithful husbands, thinking they were pathetic for putting up with it. But now that it’s my turn? I realize staying is the smartest choice. What would divorce get me? A big payout? Ha. Ryan isn’t stupid. If I confronted him, I’d be lucky if he didn’t saddle me with a mountain of debt. I know him too well—he’d do it without a shred of guilt. Ryan controls the money with an iron grip. He’s never let me near the company finances. All I get is the allowance he gives me. Love allowed me to feel joy, anger, and sorrow, but marriage taught me to weigh the pros and cons. I’ve stood by Ryan through thick and thin, helping him build everything he has today. Why should I let some other woman take my place? I locked myself in the bathroom and cried for an entire day. But when I came out, I had learned one of the most important lessons of being a stay-at-home wife: how to keep up appearances. By the time I stepped out, my makeup was flawless once again. That’s when Ethan showed up at the door, carrying a box of crabs. “Nicole, Ryan’s got a business dinner tonight,” he said awkwardly. “He asked me to drop these off for you.” I let out a soft laugh. “A business dinner? Ethan, do you really think I’d fall for that?” Ryan, Ethan, and I all went to college together. Ryan and Ethan were two years ahead of me. They started their business together and have been inseparable ever since. Ethan and I got along well enough that my son calls him “Uncle Ethan.” Ethan’s eyes darted away, avoiding mine. I smiled, glancing over at James, who was busy with his homework in the study. “It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything. I’m not planning on divorcing him.” “I’m sorry,” Ethan murmured, pushing his glasses up nervously. “You don’t need to apologize to me,” I said calmly. “If anything, I should be thanking you.” Ethan looked startled. Because it was true—if it weren’t for his subtle hints, I wouldn’t have figured out Ryan was cheating so quickly. Ethan, caught between loyalty to his best friend and sympathy for me, was in an impossible position. I didn’t hold it against him. Instead, I extended my hand to him with a small, knowing smile. “This will just be our little secret, won’t it?” Ethan hesitated but eventually shook my hand. The touch was brief, and his hand pulled away almost immediately. 2. I had already uncovered the identities of the women Ryan was seeing on the side, but at this point, I couldn’t care less. That is, until I noticed something strange: Ryan had suddenly taken an interest in attending our son James’s school events. In the past, I was always the one who went to parent-teacher conferences. Ryan was “too busy with work” to bother. But recently, after James begged him to come to his school’s sports day, Ryan actually showed up to cheer him on. And ever since then, he’d started making time to pick James up from school. Ryan explained it to me casually: “I went to the school, and James’s teacher gave me a lecture about ‘absent parenting.’ Told me I can’t just ignore my son’s life. So here I am, spending more time with the kid.” Seeing James so happy made me happy too, but something didn’t sit right with me. Ryan wasn’t the type of man to listen to anyone, let alone take advice from a teacher. Call it women’s intuition, but I decided to eavesdrop on one of Ryan’s phone calls. That’s when I found out about his affair with James’s new English teacher, Annie Jo. “Ms. Jo, maybe you can teach me a thing or two as well,” Ryan said, his voice dripping with flirtation. “What’s the rush?” she replied coyly. “If it’s with you, I’ll always have time. Not just a day—a lifetime, if you want it.” Their sickeningly sweet conversation made me want to throw up. Annie Jo was a fresh-faced, soft-spoken intern who had just started teaching at James’s school. She’d only graduated last year, and I’d even exchanged pleasantries with her a few times. James adored her, and up until now, I’d thought she was lovely. I couldn’t believe someone like her would stoop so low. Rage bubbled up inside me, nearly consuming me. I wanted to storm in and scratch Ryan’s face off. How dare he? Cheating was bad enough, but to go after our son’s teacher? Was he not disgusted with himself? And Annie Jo… seriously? She was young, pretty, and had a respectable job. Was she really that desperate? Listening to Ryan’s slimy sweet talk, I bit my lip so hard it nearly bled. But I knew I couldn’t expose them just yet. If I did, James would be the one caught in the middle of the fallout. They didn’t care about my son, but I did. Ryan’s betrayal might have pushed me to the edge, but it was James who kept me from falling. Still, I wasn’t planning to be a doormat anymore. These two deserved a lesson they’d never forget. I didn’t have a solid plan yet, but one way or another, I was going to make them pay. First, I needed proof. So I started following Ryan after work. It didn’t take long to catch him meeting up with Annie—dinner dates, shopping trips, romantic strolls. To an outsider, they might’ve looked like a regular couple. But Annie wasn’t like Ryan’s usual flings. With most women, Ryan was generous, but it was strictly transactional—money for time, affection, and nothing more. But with Annie, he was different. He was patient. If you want to know whether a man really likes someone, just watch how much time he’s willing to waste on her. Part of the reason Ryan played along with Annie’s romantic games was that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted from her yet. They were both skilled players, trading moves in a careful game of seduction. One evening, I watched from the shadows as Ryan dropped Annie off at her apartment. He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her head away at the last second. “I’m sorry, Ryan,” she said softly, her voice trembling with fake innocence. “I know this is wrong, but I can’t help myself. When you call me, I get so happy. When you ask me out, I can’t say no…” Ryan pulled her into his arms. “Annie, it’s not your fault. My marriage has been over for a long time. My wife and I don’t love each other anymore. You’re the one I truly care about. Once I divorce her, we’ll get married, okay?” Annie blushed and lowered her head. “But what about James? Will he be okay with this?” “You know how much James likes you,” Ryan said without hesitation. Hearing that, my nails dug into my palms so hard that my new manicure snapped. The physical pain didn’t even register compared to the storm of anger and heartbreak inside me. These two scumbags were plotting to take my son away from me. Did they really think James would accept a homewrecker as his new stepmom? Whenever Ryan and I argued, James always took my side. He was like a little adult, wagging his finger at his father and saying, “Dad, women are supposed to be treated with love. You can’t bully Mom.” I had no doubt that this time would be no different. 3. But soon, I came to a painful realization—my beloved son, James, was never on my side. All along, it had been nothing more than my own wishful thinking. This weekend, Ryan said he wanted to take James out for some “father-son bonding time.” He told me it was just the two of them, so I wasn’t invited. Like always, I played the role of the dutiful wife, smiling and waving them off at the door. But as soon as they left, I changed into casual clothes and followed them. And, of course, I caught them halfway through the drive as they picked up Annie Jo. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to hold back my anger. A bitter smile spread across my face. There’s no way my son would be won over by a few cheap tricks. James might be young and innocent, but he’s a sharp kid. These days, kids know far more than we think—exposure to the internet and media makes sure of that. Even if parents or teachers don’t explain certain things, they figure it out on their own. At least, that’s what I told myself. But I was wrong. James wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Annie join them. On the contrary, he was thrilled. “Aunt Annie! It’s so much fun getting to hang out with you!” he exclaimed, his excitement practically bouncing off the car windows. Inside, I was screaming. James, she’s not your sweet teacher anymore—she’s the homewrecker trying to become your new mom! But James couldn’t hear me. The three of them spent the day happily wandering around the amusement park. I followed at a distance, watching as they laughed and played together. When they were done, they headed to a cozy little family-owned restaurant for lunch. After their meal, they continued to a nearby mall, buying clothes and toys for James. James’s smile never left his face that entire day. At one point, I heard him tell Annie, “Aunt Annie, you have such great taste! I don’t really like the stuff my mom picks out for me.” Then he added, “Aunt Annie, I wish you were my mom. My mom’s always bossing me around—telling me what I can’t eat, what I can’t play with. We don’t have anything in common. You’re way cooler than her.” And then, the final blow: “My mom’s like a tiger sometimes, always yelling. You’re so much gentler than she is.” Ryan glanced over at him with a smirk. “So, what if Aunt Annie actually became your mom? Would you be okay with that?” James paused for a second, then shrugged. “Hmm… I’d have to think about it.” In that moment, their voices faded as my world spun around me. I felt dizzy, like the ground had been ripped out from under me. I had accepted Ryan’s infidelity—I had resigned myself to it. But I never expected to fail so completely that I couldn’t even hold onto my own son’s love.

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For seven years, I’ve been two people to my boss: during the day, his meticulous assistant, Ms. White; and at night, his obedient, mysterious girlfriend. Until just now, when my boss calmly said, “I won’t be coming back tomorrow.” “Don’t try to stop me. This house is yours now—as compensation for the past seven years…” Me: “Okay.” “…Scarlett, after I leave, I won’t be returning.” Me: “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” Boss: “???” 0The night before we broke up, Holden bought me a sexy nightgown. As I looked at his deep, composed gaze and the restrained, almost puritanical expression on his face, I couldn’t help but laugh. I never thought a man as serious and uptight as him would pull out something like this on our last night together. Excited, I slipped into the nightgown. But as things heated up, I heard him murmur a name: “Scarlett.” Not “Ms. White,” but Scarlett. I met Holden the year I graduated college. By day, I was Ms. White, his ever-dedicated assistant who handled every little detail of his life. By night, I was his secret, obedient girlfriend. No one except Holden’s senior assistant, Zoe, even suspected that I was anything more than just his employee. Seven years. From 22 to 29, I stayed by his side. Even Zoe once told me, “If I were you, I would’ve made a move ages ago to secure my place. You’re the only woman around him—beautiful, smart, and hardworking. You’re perfect together!” Her words, filled with envy, almost made me believe I had a chance to become the future Mrs. Holden. But then tonight happened. After seven years of loyalty, Holden looked at me and said calmly, “Ms. White, I won’t be coming back tomorrow.” There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes—perhaps even reluctance? Reluctance? Ha! If there was even a shred of truth in that, he wouldn’t have spent the past seven years calling me nothing but Ms. White, both in public and in private. I lowered my gaze, feigning sadness, waiting for his explanation. Sure enough, he continued. “I’m meeting the heiress of the Lee Group tomorrow. It’s a blind date and dinner.” He paused briefly. “This apartment is yours now. Consider it my thanks for the past seven years.” Then, with a hint of condescension, he added, “Ms. White, I hope you won’t waste time trying to change my mind.” This apartment was worth a fortune—located in the heart of the most expensive city in the country. “Okay,” I said. Holden blinked, caught off guard. Maybe my response was a little too enthusiastic? I quickly lowered my head, forcing out a few tears before looking up again, ready to deliver the same heart-wrenching performance I’d perfected over the years. But Holden simply placed a luxury shopping bag on the table in front of me. The next second, I pulled out the skimpiest, sexiest nightgown I’d ever seen—so revealing that even I, a woman, was taken aback. I looked up in shock. Holden’s expression was as serious as ever, but when he noticed my stunned gaze, a faint blush crept up his chiseled face. Then, just barely visible in the dim light, I saw his earlobes turn red—so red they looked like they were bleeding. 0

Me: “…” What the hell? This stoic, “old-school” man could blush? And damn, it was sexy. Unfortunately for me, I’ve always been weak when it comes to good looks. I studied his handsome, restrained expression—the way he sat perfectly upright, his white shirt buttoned all the way to his neck—and felt my lips curl into a mischievous smile. In seven years of dating, Holden had always been so rigid. Even in our most intimate moments, he was precise and methodical. Same time, same place, same positions, every single time. I never expected that on our last night together, he would make such an audacious request. Excitement bubbled up inside me. Smiling, I slipped into the nightgown right in front of him, then straddled his lap. Holden’s entire body went rigid, his eyes darkening as he struggled to remain composed. “Relax,” I teased, brushing my lips against his ear. “Don’t panic.” I didn’t want him to suddenly bolt and ruin my fun, so I whispered soothing words to keep him grounded. Everything unfolded naturally, just like the past seven years—except this time, Holden seemed determined to shed his uptight image. He tried things he’d never done before, as if letting go of his usual restraint. Then, caught up in the moment, he murmured softly, “Scarlett.” Not “Ms. White.” Scarlett. But so what? At the end of the day, men like him always pull up their pants and leave. So, I’ve always believed in beating them to the punch. I opened my eyes the next morning, sunlight streaming through the windows. With a sigh, I turned over and kicked Holden off the bed. The thud was satisfying. For a man who’d spent his life as a powerful CEO, this was probably the first time he’d been literally kicked out of bed by a woman. Holden sat on the floor, stunned. I stretched lazily, then spread my arms with a smile. “Sorry, Mr. Holden. As of today, this apartment—and everything in it—is mine. That includes this bed.” I gestured toward the door. Holden’s jaw tightened, his expression growing colder. For the first time, I didn’t back down. I met his icy glare head-on, refusing to budge. Finally, he stood up, straightened his clothes, and regained his usual aura of cold authority. But as he reached the door, he suddenly turned back. Looking down at me with an unreadable expression, he said, “Ms. White, once I leave, I won’t be coming back.” He paused, his tone softer but still distant. “Are you sure you don’t have anything else to say to me?” 0

Me: “… Don’t let the door hit you on the way out?” Holden’s face darkened, colder than I’d ever seen it. I reached out, shoved him out of the apartment, and slammed the door shut. As Holden’s ever-dedicated assistant, I usually started work at 7 a.m. sharp, preparing his schedule for the day. Today was no different. On the carefully planned schedule I’d drafted yesterday, I added one more item with a blank expression: • 8:00 PM: Dinner with Lee Group heiress. I booked the reservation at one of Holden’s favorite upscale restaurants, in the exclusive VVIP private dining room reserved only for him. I even gave the restaurant manager specific instructions: the evening should be romantic, elegant, and intimate—perfect for a first date. The manager, a longtime collaborator of ours, couldn’t contain her excitement. After all, in all the years she’d worked with us, this was the first time Holden had ever booked a romantic dinner with a woman. “And he’s 35 now,” she gushed. “It’s about time he settled down. This Lee heiress might just be the future Mrs. Holden!” She gave me a knowing look, to which I responded with an equally enthusiastic grin. I even hinted that if everything went smoothly, she could expect a nice reward. The manager’s enthusiasm doubled, and she promised to make the evening absolutely perfect. Meanwhile, I focused on my work as usual, as if nothing had happened the night before. The only small difference was the pink roses that reappeared on my desk that morning. For the past year, I’d been throwing them straight into the trash without a second thought. But today, I paused. Instead of tossing them, I carefully unwrapped the bouquet, grabbed a large red mug I usually used for water, and filled it halfway. I trimmed the stems with scissors during my lunch break, arranged the bouquet in the mug, and placed it on my desk. At 29, I was in my prime—a confident, mature woman. Over the past seven years, I’d worked tirelessly to become the perfect assistant for Holden. I’d pushed myself to meet his every standard, both professionally and personally. During work hours, I was diligent and meticulous. Outside of work, I honed my appearance and skills. I learned foreign languages, perfected my makeup and wardrobe, and even studied the inner workings of Holden Enterprises. I memorized the structure of each department, the preferences of key clients, and the secrets behind the company’s success. I wanted to be indispensable. And I succeeded. Even now, at 29, I was often the subject of admiration during business trips. It wasn’t uncommon for partners to send me flowers as a token of interest. But the person who sent these pink roses was different. Despite my repeated insistence that I didn’t want flowers from strangers, this mysterious sender had been sending them every single day for an entire year—rain or shine. It was… intriguing. At 6 p.m., Holden finished his last meeting of the day. As his thoughtful assistant, I was ready to remind him of his upcoming dinner with the Lee heiress. I’d even gone the extra mile and prepared an expensive diamond necklace as a gift for her. But just as I was about to walk into his office, Zoe stepped out. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Scarlett, Mr. Holden said he already has a gift prepared for Miss Lee. You don’t need to worry about it.” She paused, then added, “Oh, and… he said you don’t need to accompany him tonight. You’re free to go home early.” … So this is what freedom feels like? For a moment, I was overwhelmed with joy. Zoe, however, looked at me with a pained expression. She sighed heavily, her voice filled with sympathy. “Scarlett, don’t take it too hard, okay?” Me: “…” “Thanks for your concern, Zoe,” I replied calmly. “But I’m fine. Really.” Zoe didn’t believe me. She frowned, her eyes filled with even more pity. “Scarlett, there’s no need to pretend to be strong,” she said gently. Me: “…” Before I could respond, Zoe’s expression suddenly brightened. She glanced around, lowered her voice, and pulled me aside. “Scarlett,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I know things didn’t work out with Mr. Holden, but when one door closes, another one opens…” I blinked at her, confused. “I know a great guy,” she continued, her tone filled with excitement. “He’s successful, handsome, and every bit as impressive as Mr. Holden. Do you want me to introduce you?” Wait, what? Zoe’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. Her usually serious demeanor had completely disappeared, replaced by an almost giddy excitement. My instincts told me that this “great guy” must be someone truly exceptional. I hesitated, trying to resist. But then Zoe pulled out her phone and enlarged a photo of the man she was talking about. The man in the photo was breathtaking. He had sharp, masculine features, fair skin that was somehow even paler than mine, and naturally rosy lips. But his eyes… They were those charming, almond-shaped eyes I couldn’t resist. How was I supposed to say no to that? I bit my lip, trying to summon the willpower to decline. “Zoe,” I began hesitantly, “I just broke up with someone—less than 19 hours ago. Isn’t it a little too soon to meet someone new?” Zoe’s expression turned even more sympathetic. “Scarlett, you’re clearly still heartbroken,” she said softly. “But listen to me—this guy is perfect. He’s the CEO of the company next door. He’s in amazing shape—unlike Mr. Holden, he works out for two hours every day.” “… Okay, but—” “He has an eight-pack.” “!” “And he’s only 26. That’s practically a whole decade younger than Holden.” “!!!” I stared at Zoe, suddenly overcome with emotion. “Zoe,” I said seriously, bowing deeply, “thank you for your kindness!” It wasn’t my fault—I swear! Blame Zoe for offering too much!

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My mom runs a boutique selling silk nightgowns. The prices are steep: 2,000forashortone,2,000 for a short one, 2,000forashortone,4,000 for a long one. Yet, women flock to the store, swearing that her nightgowns are made from fabric so fine it makes their skin soft and their complexion glow like spring. But when my sister asked for one, Mom refused. Unhappy with the rejection, my sister decided to sneak into the storage room and take one for herself. That night, I overheard strange noises coming from the storage room. My mom runs her nightgown boutique next to a small nail salon. Her shop is quite unique: it only sells women’s nightgowns, and they’re available in limited quantities—just ten a night, sold only after sunset. One evening, a group of young women, dressed to the nines, gathered outside the shop, giggling nervously and shoving each other but refusing to step in. “Hey, pretty ladies! Why don’t you come inside?” I peeked out from behind my mom and waved at them. The most striking of the group—an older girl with long, flowing hair—flipped her hair dramatically and gave a coy laugh. She nudged one of the younger, blushing girls forward. “Mrs. Carter, do you still have any left? Get my little sister here a nightgown, would you?” She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The longest, most form-fitting one you have!” “There’s still stock,” Mom replied, a faint smile on her face. The girl blushed, a soft pink spreading across her cheeks as she muttered awkwardly. “Well, uh, the last one I bought… I accidentally tore it.” She winced. “Mrs. Carter, can you please pick another one for me? I promise I’ll be more careful this time!” Mom’s expression immediately soured. “How many times have I told you? These silk nightgowns are made from the rarest material—you couldn’t put a price on them! If you buy one, you have to take care of it! How on earth did you ruin it?” “Oh, it’s because… well… it felt so good on my skin that I… never mind! Please, Mrs. Carter, just one more! I’ll pay whatever it costs. I promise to treat it better this time!” “Fine.” She clung to Mom’s arm, pleading until Mom reluctantly nodded. “Short ones are 2,000,longones2,000, long ones 2,000,longones4,000,” Mom said curtly. She gave the older girl a once-over and frowned at the excitement practically radiating off her. “For you, it’s double this time. $8,000. And you’ll have to put it on here in the store. No taking it home.” “Deal!” The girl stomped her stiletto heel in triumph, her face lighting up with joy. “Eight thousand dollars?!” The younger girl gasped, her face contorting in disbelief. She cast a cautious glance at Mom, and when she saw Mom wasn’t upset, she whispered to her sister. “Sis… are these nightgowns really worth that much? I mean, eight grand? Do you know how many hours we’d have to work scrubbing old men’s feet to make that kind of money?” “Trust me,” her sister said confidently. “Mrs. Carter’s silk nightgowns are unlike anything you’ve ever worn. Once you put one on…” Her voice trailed off, and her expression turned bashful. “Let’s just say they’re magical. They make you feel amazing. You’ll see for yourself. And once you wear one, you won’t have to worry about scrubbing feet anymore—you’ll have rich men chasing after you instead.” The younger girl hesitated, then finally nodded. “Mrs. Carter, please remember what I said. Get her the longest, most form-fitting one!” Mom smiled mysteriously, running her hands over the younger girl’s waist and sizing her up. “Don’t worry. We’ve got plenty in stock tonight—long ones, short ones, whatever you want.”

Mom led the two sisters to the back of the shop, where she slowly slid open a hidden door. “Wait… why do we need to go to the basement just to pick out a nightgown?” The younger girl stared nervously at the dark staircase leading down. She swallowed hard, her unease written all over her face. Mom gave her a cryptic smile. “A nightgown like this is different from anything else you’ve worn. The fit has to be perfect—length, size, everything. Otherwise, you won’t get a good night’s sleep.” Before the younger girl could protest, her sister grabbed her hand and pulled her down the steps. I watched as the hidden door closed behind them. Bored, I plopped down on the floor, waiting. Mom had always told me I wasn’t allowed in there. She said kids shouldn’t see what was inside—it wasn’t “appropriate.” But I wasn’t a kid anymore. Pouting, I pressed my ear against the door, straining to catch any sounds. What I heard was… strange. Rustling noises, faint murmurs, and the occasional sharp cry. Were they fighting over the same nightgown in there? I was puzzled. After two hours, I finally heard loud voices from behind the door. It sounded like they had made their choice. Brushing the dust off my pants, I stood up. Sure enough, a moment later, the hidden door creaked open, and Mom emerged with the two sisters. Both of their faces were flushed, but the younger one looked like she could barely stand, her legs trembling. The older sister was now wearing a short, fitted slip dress, while the younger one had on a long, sleek nightgown. But… they didn’t seem that long to me. I frowned in confusion. Still, they did look different—prettier somehow. The girls waiting outside the shop gasped when they saw the transformation. “Wow, your skin looks so radiant!” “And your complexion—it’s glowing!” The younger girl—apparently called Ann—touched her flushed cheeks, embarrassed but pleased, and hid behind her sister. Mom grinned, helping the girls out the door with a touch of pride. “This is just the immediate effect,” she said. “The more you wear it, the better it gets. We only sell to girls recommended by regulars. Save up your money, and you can all buy one someday.” “But remember this.” Mom’s expression turned serious, almost eerie. “These fabrics are extraordinarily rare. You must treasure them. Wear them with care.” “Whatever you do, don’t let them tear again.”

That evening, my sister came home sobbing uncontrollably. It turned out that her boyfriend of four years had dumped her. The reason? He said she was ugly. “Mom! I can’t live like this anymore!” she wailed. “How is it that you’re so gorgeous, but my sister and I turned out like this? Are you even our real mom?” Mom avoided her gaze, brushing it off with a casual excuse. “Oh, don’t blame me—it’s your dad’s fault. He passed on all the bad genes to you.” But we’d never even met our dad. Not once in our entire lives. “I don’t care!” my sister screamed. “Mom, everyone says your silk nightgowns can make women beautiful! I want to wear one too! I want to be just as stunning as those girls next door—you know, the ones who work at the nail salon? I’ll show Jason what he’s missing!” She begged and pleaded, demanding a silk nightgown so she could “transform,” but Mom refused. She wouldn’t explain why, only mumbling something about it being “for her own good.” Of course, my sister wasn’t having any of it. That night, she dragged me out of bed, shaking me awake. “You’re coming with me. We’re stealing one of those nightgowns.” “I know where Mom hides them,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “They’re in the basement under the storage room. Once I get my hands on one, I’ll look just like Mom—beautiful, with a perfect body. Jason will regret ever leaving me!” She was already imagining her ex crawling back to her. I, on the other hand, was panicking. “What if Mom catches us?” I whispered, trying to talk her out of it. But she wouldn’t listen. The storage room was far scarier at night. When the hidden door creaked open, the narrow staircase leading to the basement was pitch black. We stood at the top, staring into the darkness. Neither of us dared to take the first step. Finally, the temptation to be beautiful won out, and my sister mustered up her courage. She ran her hands along the damp walls, making her way down blindly, step by step. Every few steps, she’d glance back at me, her face pale, as if she expected some terrible creature to leap out from the shadows and drag her away. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, either. I’d seen how other people cared for silk fabric—how they’d hang it out in the sun to keep it fresh and dry. So why did Mom’s silk nightgowns have to be stored in such a dark, creepy basement?

Suddenly, there was a loud bang from the basement. I jumped, my heart racing. “Sister! Are you okay?” I called down, ready to run after her. “Don’t come in!” she shouted back. “I’m fine! It’s just… ahhh!” “Did you fall? Are you hurt?” I could hear her voice, trembling and breathless, but instead of sounding hurt, she sounded… excited. “I’m fine!” she called back, her voice muffled. “I found them! Mom’s nightgowns! Don’t come down here—I’ll put one on and come back up, okay?” She told me to stand guard outside the basement door, making me promise not to let Mom catch her in the act. Before I could argue, she slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside. An hour passed. Then another. I was pacing back and forth, panicking. “Sister! Hurry up! Mom always wakes up early—if she catches us, I’m dead!” I banged on the door, whispering urgently. But she didn’t answer. Instead, strange noises started coming from the basement. Rustling, thudding, and—was that crying? “Sister? Are you okay? What’s going on in there?” I pressed my ear to the door, my hands clammy with sweat. For a moment, everything went quiet. Then, finally, I heard her voice again—weak and trembling. “I’m fine,” she said, though she sounded like she could barely breathe. “It’s just… this nightgown is too long. It’s really hard to put on. Don’t come in!” Her words didn’t match her tone. She sounded fragile, almost like she was running out of air. I couldn’t help but wonder—what was she doing in there? Curiosity got the better of me. I crouched down and peeked through a crack in the wooden door. At first, I couldn’t see anything. The basement was so dark that it felt like staring into a void. But as my eyes adjusted, I began to make out a blurry figure.

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